If that was evidence of progress, gods help us if she regressed. I kept my thoughts to myself as we travelled the metal pathways back home, and once we were back on the manor’s grounds, I was so excited to soon be out of those pinchy green shoes that I forgot all about our insane queen and spooky pre-Elemental magic. Before I could change, or even put on a pair of sneakers, I was met by a pleasant surprise—while Micah and I were off at the Golden Court, Ash had completed my sword.
The blacksmith had personally delivered it only a short while earlier, and Mom had accepted it on my behalf. From the way she kept absently wiping her hands, I assumed that Ash had arrived in his usual filthy state. Nice to know that he didn’t bother cleaning up when he made deliveries to his lord’s home.
Regardless of the dirty hands that forged it, the sword itself was a thing of beauty. It was perfectly balanced, and I held it as effortlessly as if it was an extension of my arm. Delicately engraved ravens and oak leaves swirled down the length of the wickedly sharp blade, and the steel hilt was accented with incised copper filigree.
“Ash knows that I’m of copper?” I murmured, tracing the delicate hilt that had somehow been wrought by that oafish man. Micah and I had retreated to our bedroom, since I felt that meeting one’s first sword was a somewhat private matter. “And a Raven?”
“All know that the Lord of Silver has lost himself to a copper girl,” Micah said. “And all know that the Raven clan was instrumental in Ferra’s demise.” He stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist while we admired the sword—my sword—together.
“Let me change, and then you can give me my first lesson,” I said as I wiggled free of his arms.
“I advise against changing out of your lovely clothes,” Micah said. “You should learn sword fighting while wearing one of your gowns, so you will understand how to compensate for their restrictions.”
“Micah, that’s ridiculous!” I suspected he was having some sort of damsel in distress fantasy that featured me waving a sword while my skirts whipped around my legs. “And I hardly ever wear dresses.”
“You know I wish you’d wear them more often.”
Good gods, if it wasn’t babies, it was dresses. “Okay. I’ll let you teach me sword fighting while I’m wearing a dress, on one condition.”
“Name it, my Sara.”
“You, Mr. Silverstrand, must wear a skirt.”
His smile faded, and his eyes glazed over in mingled horror and disbelief. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“Well, you seem to think it’s no big deal for me to wield an edged weapon while dressed to kill,” I explained. “Prove it.”
“Your argument is flawed.”
“How so?”
“As a man, I would never don such a garment.”
“In the Mundane realm there are entire countries where men wear skirts. All the time.”
“You’re making—”
“Are you insinuating that your consort is lying to you?” My hand flew to my breast in mock outrage. “How could you ever, ever, suggest such a thing?”
Micah stared at me, his mouth smushed into a crooked line. “When next I venture to the Mundane realm, I will verify this claim,” he warned.
“Go ahead. The place is called Scotland.” After a bit more glaring and grumbling, we fashioned a passable kilt from one of our bed sheets and Micah’s sword belt. (He outright refused to wear one of my gowns. Spoilsport.) He wouldn’t even put it on in front of me, but retreated to his dressing room, muttering curses that would make even Mom blush. And I think I heard him throw a few things.
When Micah finally emerged in his skirted glory, he proclaimed that our lessons should take place in the gardens, as much for the open space as the soft ground to land on. And, you know, the fact that it was somewhat removed from the manor so no one would see his bare knees. Being that I had no reason to dispute his logic, off we went.
The walk through the manor was entertaining, to say the least. We encountered no one but silverkin, yet Micah’s eyes darted after every noise. Who would have thought the confident Lord of Silver could be so undermined by a simple garment? I felt like I’d won already.
The ideal sparring location turned out to be the far side of the maze, that had no stone benches to stumble over, or potential onlookers to witness Micah’s humiliation. It really was a shame that we didn’t have an audience; what with Micah’s sword, black boots, and white lace-up shirt, he was totally rocking the sexy pirate look.
“You’d make a great pirate,” I teased.
“Pie rat?” Micah repeated. “First, you trick me into donning this humiliating garment, and now you compare me to a rat that eats pies?”