Ankarette glanced out the window, grateful there was no sign of the approaching dawn yet. She was not tired in the least, but she did need to return to her king’s army the next day.
“It went against their pride,” Ankarette said in a coaxing tone. “You had no pride left, my lord. It had been taken from you coin by coin.”
He nodded approvingly. “You see the truth, lass. It’s not luck that calls down the Fountain’s blessings; the Fountain-blessed are chosen. Everyone who is Fountain-blessed has a certain power or set of powers, but those powers must be summoned through disciplined action.” He put his foot on the window seat. “What would you say the Maid’s skill was, Ankarette? Her way of replenishing her magic?”
Ankarette gave him a curious look. “It was said she was exceptional with the blade. Uncannily so for a girl.”
He grinned. “The source of her power came from needlework. Sewing.”
Ankarette was startled. “Truly?” It was especially curious since it was also her method for replenishing her Fountain magic. It made the Maid feel more real—less like a story, and more like a girl from the village of Donremy.
He nodded emphatically. “So few know anything about her at all.” He cocked his thumb and jabbed it into his chest. “She earned her skill with the blade from me. I taught her to fight. She was a natural, there can be no doubt of that. The Fountain had endowed her with multiple gifts, but she needed to sew to fuel them. Repairing shirts and clothes would work, but she loved to embroider the banner she carried into battle. She worked on it constantly, adding little embellishments. What? I’ve startled you again. I see it in your eyes. You weren’t just surprised it was sewing.”
“You read people too well, my lord,” Ankarette said. She had let down her defenses, something she rarely did. “I flinched because that is my . . . my favorite thing. I love to sit and think and do needlework. I always have. Whenever I have a thorny problem, I reach for my needles.”
Alensson smiled approvingly. “As did she. As did our little Genette.” He sighed, lost in a memory. “When we returned with her blade, it was further evidence the Fountain had chosen her as its champion. The prince commanded that a suit of armor be fashioned especially for her. A woman’s set of armor. The blacksmith was agog at the request! The steel was so well polished it was practically white, and the suit was measured and fitted for her. There was a design on the breastplate, a little embellishment like ivy and thorns. The blacksmith was inspired by her, I think. I was given a suit of armor myself. Lord Doone was to command the army to be sure nothing foolhardy was attempted, but I was given orders to train the Maid in the arts of war—to teach her to fight, to ride, to understand the supply wagons and such. It took time for the armor to be done and for the army to muster together.”
Ankarette saw the faraway look in his eyes. “Did your wife return to the cottage with Alix?” she asked delicately.
Alensson looked chagrined. “I sent her away too quickly. She feared being a woman in a soldiers’ camp, as I mentioned.” He put his foot down and then went for his goblet. After taking a healthy sip, he started to laugh. “She shouldn’t have worried about that.”
The poisoner gave him a puzzled look. “And why not? Armies do tend to be rowdy and vulgar. I speak from experience, my lord,” she added.
“As do I, of course,” the duke said with a meaningful look. “I’ve never fought in an army that wasn’t. Except for one. Hers. Genette was different. She was . . . how can I put this? She demanded us to be better. She was intolerant of vice and as outspoken as a deconeus. She never tried to persuade or influence, mind you.” He chopped the edge of his hand against his palm. “She was Fountain-blessed and that was authority enough. So she demanded the army to behave. Yes, there were camp followers there at first, but the Maid ordered them out.” He grinned at her. “At the point of her own sword too!”
Ankarette stifled a laugh. “I wish I had seen that.”
He nodded appreciatively. “It was a sight to behold! Imagine it: a girl of seventeen railing on brazen women of twenty and five, some even older! I remember the night she drove them away from the camp. That was before we marched to Lionn.” His eyes took on that deep feeling again, as if he were reliving memories that were sacred to him. “Who can forget the siege of Lionn? What feats we accomplished.” His lips were quivering with emotion. Then he straightened. “You recall, Ankarette, that Lionn had been under siege for years. The city and duchy belonged to my father-in-law, who was a prisoner in Kingfountain. The city held for him, but they were losing hope.”