Page 51 of The Warrior Priest
“No. Now, you are beginning your training. You can read tonight.” She ushered me out of the office.
“But it’s late and we’ve been traveling all day.”
She simply smiled as she locked the door of the office behind her. Then she began my training.
I trained all day and some nights. The sessions were a mix of physical activity that ranged from lifting weights to increase my strength, to long runs around the city to improve my stamina. She taught me to use a sword, knife, stick, spear, and rocks as weapons, as well as how to fight without any weapons at all. We trained in the cold and wet, we trained in the pitch black of night. She’d wake me early, sometimes even in the middle of the night, so that I’d learn to fight instinctively, even when a lack of sleep meant I was too tired to think properly.
“You have very good instincts,” she’d said to me, “but they need to be better. That’s where your excellent memory will help.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your body remembers. Even when your mind is distracted or tired, your body will recall its training and will move in a way that saves you without you even thinking. Trust me, it will be important.”
She said that phrase a lot.
It was the beginning of a grueling autumn, but it wasn’t all terrible. Giselle had new clothes made for me. The trousers were snug compared to my old ones, and by dispensing with the waist padding and the cloth wrapped around my breasts, I almost didn’t recognize my own figure when I saw it in the mirror for the first time. I had feminine curves.
“See?” Giselle said as she teased my hair off my face. “You’re beautiful.”
“All Glancian women are pretty, so they say.”
She clasped my shoulders from behind and peered at our reflection over my shoulder. “But you have a quality that other Glancian women don’t have, and that makes you an intriguing puzzle that people will want to solve, particularly men. Beauty is merely the packaging around the puzzle, and as you say yourself, pretty packaging is common. The puzzle is unique.”
I made a scoffing sound. “But I don’tfeelbeautiful.”
“You will.” She tugged on the ends of my short hair. “Perhaps if you grow it a little, you’ll feel more feminine.”
“Can I use the same tonic you use on your hair? It’s so sleek and shiny.”
She laughed. “We’ll buy you a different bottle tomorrow from the market. The tonic I use is for thinner, naturally flat hair. You need something for thick Glancian hair.”
The following night, she took me to a tavern. The pomade in my hair kept it off my forehead and without the curtain obscuring my eyes, I was a little self-conscious. Before we entered, Giselle touched my chin. “It’s all about confidence, Jac. Behave as if you belong and no one will question you.”
“But I don’t feel confident.”
“You will eventually. For now, simply pretend. It’s what I did for the first year after I left my family.” It was one of the few times she’d mentioned having a family. When I’d asked her about her parents in the early days of our journey from Tilting to Upway, she’d brushed me off then changed the subject.
That first time going to a tavern opened my eyes to how men treated women without an escort. My bottom was pinched a half dozen times before I managed to find a stool to sit on. I was leered at, propositioned, and had my breast squeezed. Giselle punched that fellow in the nose. It was as good as an announcement that I was under her protection.
“Next time, you’ll do the punching yourself,” she told me.
And I had. It was both satisfying and amusing to see the man stumble back onto a table. It was a little less amusing when the other man whose ale had been spilled wanted revenge. A brawl soon broke out among the drunkards.
Giselle and I fled the tavern. “Knowing when to retreat is just as important as fighting,” she said as we ran.
“Can we drink in a nicer part of the city?”
“That’s not much fun. Besides, you need to learn to look after yourself, and that won’t happen if you’re sipping good wine beside a fireplace. You need a rough port tavern where good manners means not burping in someone’s face.”
We jogged all the way home in the frosty night, and I was pleased to reach Giselle’s house and find I wasn’t breathing heavily, thanks to the regular training. Instead of having an early night, however, she decided to go out again. We headed to the docks.
“I want you to tell me everything you notice,” she said. “I want to know every flag flying on the ship masts, every conversation you overhear, how many mice scurry past your feet.”
“Why?”
“I’m testing you.”
“On what? My knowledge of flags?”
