Vero spent two weeks adjusting herself to life in the keep and letting her lungs adapt to the thin air.

She did her best to be unobtrusive and focus on her training. She was so short of breath and feverish that she had no other choice, but once she had acclimatized, she began to consider how to get her sword back.

There was no hint of any forthcoming decision from the Curia. She had already put aside a collection of food scraps, not enough to get her to Burgorad yet, but she would have enough soon.

Vero was reciting her morning prayers to Mother Luna when she felt the path forwards reveal itself to her. She realized her fever had broken.

Vero confronted Pentarch again at breakfast.

Looking over her trencher of eggs and bacon, she asked him directly, “How much longer am I going to be held prisoner here?”

“You’re not a prisoner, you’re an apprentice,” he replied, without looking up from his own meal.

“The Curia told me it would only be a few days, but it’s already been more than a fortnight.”

“You’ve at least seen them. That’s more than the illusionist has gotten. She’s been waiting for the meeting she was promised for months now.”

“If you won’t return the things you stole from me, will you at least tell me what you want them for?”

Diana and Phillip made a show of being too preoccupied with one another to notice anything else. Conner looked uncomfortable.

Pentarch remained implacable. “Your use of the term ‘stolen’ is rather incendiary, and presumes an obvious and unquestioned status of ownership. I would rather use the word ‘quarantined’.”

“I can understand depriving a prisoner of her weapons and armor. But do you question the ownership of my clothes? My boots? My mother’s prayer book? My breast cloth-?”

“Enough, Vero. It’s the sword we need as you well know. I shall have the rest of your things returned to you, if you wish- aside from your opiates.”

“I do so wish. It may surprise you, but I would like to change my smallclothes eventually. So, it’s only my sword you question my right to. I can assure you; my claim is genuine. It belonged to my master who inherited it from his own teacher. I took it when he died, it belongs to me.”

“And what was his name? The man who trained your master Aquinas?”

Vero did not know his name, but she evaded the admission by reciting what little she did know of him. “He was half an elf. His father taught at one of the ancient slayer academies before they were closed.”

Pentarch looked bemused. “Our noble visitor from the south cannot be unaware that she is standing in one of those slayer academies at this very moment.”

“Are you claiming that he stole the sword from here and then fled with it?”

“The Curia claims so- although I’ve only had that second-hand through the Toad. If that is true, then it would have happened long before I was born.”

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“So, the Curia are both the accusers and my judges? In that case, my verdict should at least be a swift one. How much longer must I wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

Vero found that answer profoundly unsatisfying.

Diana must have sensed as much, because she finally entered the conversation, in what appeared to be an attempt to mollify her. “Don’t be hasty. The longer they make you wait, the more time we have to prepare you.”

“Prepare me for what? I’d be more apt to help you if you told me what it is you wish to accomplish. If you wish me to trust you, as you claim, you might do well to start by trusting me.”

Diana may have entered the conversation to mediate, but when Vero challenged her, the shortness of the giantess’ temperament showed almost at once. “Trust must be earned. In capability as well as motive.”

She had difficulty controlling her pride, Vero could use that. “Then let me prove it.”

A look flashed across Diana’s eyes; she was intrigued. “How so?”

“I challenge you to a game of skill. If I win, you shall tell me what it is you wish from me. If you win, I shall silently do as you wish like a good girl, until you tell me to do otherwise. How does that sound to you?”

Diana looked towards Pentarch. “I wish to accept, but I’ll refuse if you order me to do so.”

Pentarch acted uninterested. “Do as you like.”

Diana grinned and turned back to Vero. “Very well then, what shall our contest be?”

“As the one accepting the challenge it is for you to set the contest.” Pentarch appeared to be speaking to his breakfast. “May I suggest an archery competition?”

Vero stood no chance in an archery match, even if she were allowed to use a crossbow. Diana was magnificent with the longbow, better than anyone Vero had ever seen shoot before. Diana was just as aware of how uneven such a competition would be and waited for Vero to speak first.

“I issued the challenge; I’m prepared for whatever that may entail. Diana has the right to ask for such a match– if that is the manner of contest she wishes to have between us.”

Diana chewed her lip. “You would prefer a competition in spellcraft, I’m sure.”

Diana had little aptitude for magic, and the contest would have been equally uneven in the opposite direction. Calling for a match like that would only backfire.

“No,” Vero answered. “The simplest contests are the best in my opinion. My preference would be a direct fight without weapons. Either wrestling or pankration. That would be the fairest, I think.”

Diana looked Vero up and down, judging the size discrepancy between them. She stopped chewing and the grin returned.

They agreed to a pankration match that afternoon.

Both she and Diana eased their way through the morning training. Vero took Conner to the ground by snatching up both his legs at once as soon as their sparring began. Then she held him down until their time elapsed. She spent most of her attention on Diana, and took note that her coming opponent was showing the same lack of interest in her grapple with Phillip.

Vero already revealed that she was trained as a wrestler over the past fortnight. It was her preferred method for disabling Conner, and she mentioned it to Diana as a potential contest first to make her think that was how she intended to fight. To date, she had kept the depth of her technical expertise as a pugilist hidden.

When the time came, they went to the indoor gymnasium and stripped down to pants, a shirt, and cloth shoes. It seemed half the castle was in attendance to watch, including Isolde and Richard. Pentarch and Phillip each stood by Diana and whispered advice into her ear.

Vero stood alone. The stone under her feet was terribly cold and the room stank of sweat. Her fever was gone at last though, and she felt wonderfully alive.

“Good luck, my Lady.”

Not so alone, it seemed. Conner came out of the crowd to stand in her corner.

“Thank-you, lad. Call me Vero if you like, I’m not a proper lady.”

Pentarch moved to the center of the space in which the contest would occur. “You shall fight until one of you offers verbal submission to the other, until I judge you no longer capable of reasonable defense, or until you cannot return to your feet at my call. There shall be no striking with a closed fist to the head, nor gouging of the eyes. If your opponent places your joint into a position of pressure where they may break it, or if they catch you in a strangle, you shall honorably yield to them. If I order you to stop, you shall stop at once. Is this understood?”

Pentarch turned to Diana, and she nodded.

He turned to Vero. “Is this understood?”

Vero nodded.

“Then let combat commence.”