Rosslyn was dripping sweat from what felt like every inch of skin.
It is nice to know I have not weakened physically, even if my vision is not what it was.
Matilda stood opposite her, panting and almost equally covered in perspiration.
Having spent the last day and a half sparring with Sir Jaren to try and remove the rust from her skills following her coma, Rosslyn had decided to try Matilda again. She was the only person in the palace besides Rosslyn’s father who could hold her own with Rosslyn fighting at full power. And holding back her strength in a fight had become more difficult since Rosslyn lost her eye. Without depth perception, it was hard to gauge the distance an opponent stood at, and with Rosslyn’s body having remained still for the last couple of weeks, she still had not regained her usual level of finesse.
It was easier just to go closer to all out, and that was also the only way that Rosslyn could ever push her own power to a marginally higher level—even more important now that her skill would forever be handicapped by being half-blind.
Rosslyn charged straight in, feinting a direct attack aimed at Matilda’s head. The other woman blocked the perceived attack, only for Rosslyn to drop her practice blade to a lower height, aiming at Matilda’s chest instead.
But the other woman, having predicted this, quickly pulled back—her reflexes were cat-like—and with the added space, she used the hilt of her weapon to knock Rosslyn’s blade point harmlessly away.
Matilda bared her teeth in a savage grin. Though she was almost as sweaty, and probably almost as tired, as Rosslyn, she was obviously having fun.
It was easy for Rosslyn to understand. If I was stuck in this place all day, with no choice but to do whatever menial tasks were commanded of me, I would live for the occasional break like this.
But Rosslyn did not allow herself to be distracted by thinking of how Matilda must be feeling. Any momentary lapse of attention was a gaping chasm in Rosslyn’s defenses that Matilda would exploit. The woman was clearly a born warrior.
After a dozen more exchanges—at this point, Rosslyn was starting to want a longer break than just a few seconds without blade contact—the two combatants stepped apart again, and Rosslyn spoke.
“Time out for just a minute,” she said quietly, so that only Matilda could hear.
Matilda nodded and looked at Rosslyn expectantly.
“How am I doing?” Rosslyn asked, unable to keep her slight nervousness out of her voice. “Have I managed to compensate for the lack of my eye?”
Am I going to be useful enough, if it comes to war? she wondered.
Her heart was pounding from the hours of exercise she and Matilda had just engaged in. All Rosslyn wanted was to be told that she was all right. That she could still defend her people and represent her country adequately with the level of skill, strength, and coordination she retained—even absent one of her eyes.
Matilda’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. Rosslyn could tell that Matilda understood what Rosslyn was really asking, the reassurance she was looking for.
She suddenly wondered if she could expect a simple, truthful answer, an answer that would flatter her, or an answer that would be intentionally cruel.
But as soon as Matilda opened her mouth, Rosslyn knew. The cruel twist to the slave’s expression gave the answer away.
“You are a broken doll,” Matilda said, speaking in the same low tone Rosslyn had addressed her with. “Still somewhat pretty to look at, but useless. Before, you were just a subpar member of the Royal Family. Now, if Alistair has any sense, he will refrain from putting you forward as his heir. I imagine he must be considering his contingency options right now.”
Rosslyn felt as if she had been slapped in the face. She knew that Matilda was telling the truth. Or some version of it. The harshest, most malicious formulation that she could devise, perhaps. The slave collar forbade its wearer from lying, from what Rosslyn understood—that sort of magic being as far from her specialty as whatever power the demons used to control monsters and make dungeons activate in the run up to an invasion.
A broken doll? Her face grew hot. The impertinence of this bitch…
A part of Rosslyn wanted to be relieved at Matilda’s analysis. She had never wanted the throne for power’s sake. She had been raised to believe it was her duty to protect and guide her people, but it had never been her particular wish to occupy the role of Queen.
She should have been a bit relieved, but the sense of relief was drowned out with hurt. Matilda’s words seemed to confirm all of Rosslyn’s self-doubt of the last several days—which was built on the doubts she’d had going back to before her injury.
And even if she could tell herself that it would not be her responsibility to lead after all, where would that leave Claustria? If she was ruined as an option, who was next? Her brother was not old enough to lead, and it was far from clear how strong he would be once he reached maturity. Her father looked tired, anyone could see that, and someone would have to succeed him before Baltazar came of age. Carolien was not as strong as Rosslyn, so making her regent would not be an improvement. Plus, she seemed to have picked up a limp following the fight in the forest.
It felt as if Matilda was pronouncing the Kingdom doomed—and all with a spiteful grin twisting her features.
“Let us resume,” Rosslyn hissed quietly.
She allowed Matilda the time and distance to raise her guard again, and then Rosslyn struck like one of those exotic, hooded snakes that she had seen when a traveling menagerie came to Wayn when Rosslyn was a child.
The Princess’s quick, sharp attacks put Matilda on the back foot, although the slave was still able to block most of them before they struck her armor. Rosslyn was pleased to see Matilda wince at one of the blows that landed.
That was far less than she deserved for taking pleasure in the misfortune of the country—and of Rosslyn and her family.
Rosslyn left Matilda no room for counter attacks under her flurry of blows.
If I am a broken doll, this should be easy for you, Rosslyn thought. Stand there and take this, or fight back if you can!
For several minutes, Matilda simply took what Rosslyn dished out. Rosslyn vented her fury, and where before, she had begun to feel fatigue, now she felt that she could go on forever. Anger gave her greater strength and stamina.
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Matilda finally managed to break out of the onslaught of Rosslyn’s attacks and pivot to the side. Then she launched her own offensive, starting with an overhead swing that Rosslyn assumed was a feint—but when she tried to sidestep it, Matilda slammed the sword down onto Rosslyn’s shoulder blade, almost bringing her to the ground with the sheer force employed.
The Princess’s shoulder went numb as she forced herself to stagger away.
She is definitely using more Mana now, Rosslyn thought. She gauged that Matilda was probably taking the spar as seriously as Rosslyn was at this point.
Rosslyn pushed Mana into the affected shoulder to keep her arm moving at its usual strength and speed.
The two exchanged a few more of those vicious strikes before either of them spoke again.
Rosslyn found that she was still not tiring. The longer the fight continued, the angrier she became. It was something that Matilda had said—or rather, it was the way that Matilda had said something.
The part that the slave seemed to take sadistic glee in was not the idea that Rosslyn would be disinherited. That would have been strange, since Matilda did not know Rosslyn beyond these sparring matches.
No, what Matilda seemed to take pleasure from was the idea that Alistair, Rosslyn’s father, was in a bind because of his daughter’s weakness. Rosslyn still did not understand exactly why Matilda had this grudge against her father. She knew it had something to do with the circumstances under which Matilda had become a slave, but it could not be that the situation was simply unjust—or Matilda would have said so to Rosslyn’s face. There would be no better way for her to try to divide father and daughter.
Another clash of blades occurred and pulled Rosslyn’s attention to the present. Matilda was not pulling back now, she was pushing forward as if she thought that she could force Rosslyn’s blade back far enough to get within her guard.
Rosslyn let Matilda push her a bit. Rosslyn wanted to ask her something. She might as well let Matilda get in somewhat closer. She allowed Matilda to narrow the distance to within a few inches before she spoke.
“Why do you hate my father so much?” Rosslyn whispered, in a moment when the two women’s blades were locked, neither of them giving another inch. Their faces were almost near enough to kiss, had either of them been so inclined.
“You never asked him anything about me, then?” Matilda replied. She sounded disappointed. “He would have told you the truth. By most standards, he looks like he has the right of the situation.”
“Just answer the question truthfully,” Rosslyn ordered firmly. “I have no desire to make my father uncomfortable or burden him with your mind games. He already has enough to deal with. It is not easy to lead.”
“You bear of a woman,” Matilda grumbled. “Using your power like that—and with such a temper!” She smiled humorlessly. “Well, the fruit does not fall far from the vine. You are more like him than I realized when we first met. Fine, I will tell you the truth. I hate him for standing in my way. Because I wanted to be Queen, but I could not if he was alive.” The words looked painful as they came from her mouth.
“How did that work? How did you have the idea that you could be Queen?” Rosslyn asked. “Are you a member of our family or—”
“My family is just as close to the royal lineage as his—yours. It is a pure matter of luck that his line ended up on the throne. My family offered him my hand. Technically, we were only a ducal household—but we were cousins. It would have been a good, logical match, a way to keep the bloodline strong. We could have ruled together. But he turned it down and married your mother instead. Arrogant fool. I had always had the sharper mind. I had seen how this country has circled closer to being absorbed by the Empire. He has seen it too, but too late to do much about it. I would have reversed that trend years ago. We would not now be on the brink of war.”
Rosslyn could not suppress her surprise from showing on her face.
“Oh yes, Princess,” Matilda said, snorting. “I know about how close we are to open war with them. The palace is full of whispers.”
“I suppose gossip is all you have to do,” Rosslyn retorted. “How dull your life must be.”
“All I have to do now, yes. But it should have been me on the throne!”
“The law said otherwise,” Rosslyn said, almost certain that she was correct about that.
“The law is refuse. It can be bent or broken if there is good reason. There should have been an exception made.”
“You tried to overthrow him,” Rosslyn said in a hushed tone. “You tried to force an exception.”
“I should have succeeded,” Matilda said. “But your father has always been stupidly strong. There was no way to force him to give up the throne. In the end, I was forced to choose between execution or a life of service.”
“What makes you so special?” Rosslyn could not help but ask. “What makes you think you would have been a good ruler at all? Good enough to justify a coup? Why not try to advise my father instead of—”
“I remember three of my past lives,” Matilda said.
So what?
“In one of them,” Matilda continued, “I was Warrior Queen Maud.”
“That is not a basis for inheritance,” Rosslyn replied automatically.
Even as her lips moved, her mind was paralyzed. She could scarcely process the information. The Queen she had most admired in history, who she had seen give everything for their country in visions—the Queen who had been so unfairly maligned by historians hostile to a woman on the throne, in full control of their country—was now incarnated in the body of the bitter woman in front of her?
It was hard to believe.
But she cannot lie to me with the collar on, Rosslyn reminded herself. Can she?
“Spare me your petty legalism, Princess,” Matilda said. “I know that. If my coup had succeeded, I would have changed the law and made it a basis for inheritance. If I only had my previous incarnation’s full strength, instead of just her heart and mind… When you win, you change the law to say that whatever brought you to power was legal. And the great leaders of the past, even if they are only preserved in shadowed memories, are obviously better choices for rulers than the mediocrities of the present. Especially in moments of instability. The country needed me, and he stood in my way. I underestimated him, how much of an obstacle he would be.”
You would have opened a new can of worms, allowing anyone willing to lie to establish a possible claim to the throne, Rosslyn thought. But her mind was still whirling with the new revelations. She could not formulate a quick reply.
“I think this spar has gone on long enough, would you agree?” Matilda said. She instantly pulled back the pressure on Rosslyn’s blade, releasing the blade lock and stepping to the side.
Rosslyn almost stumbled but caught herself before she could have an embarrassing slip in front of her unexpected cousin.
Matilda looked almost as disappointed in Rosslyn’s failure to fall as Rosslyn felt at learning that the Warrior Queen was now this.
Maybe past lives do not mean as much as I have sometimes thought they did. And Matilda was Rosslyn’s cousin, too. Perhaps bloodlines do not mean as much as everyone thinks they do. Blood carries power, yes, but does it convey fitness to rule?
She could not imagine the bitter woman in front of her as Queen—or at least not as a good Queen.
Maud, what happened to your soul between that incarnation and this one?
“Yes,” Rosslyn managed to reply, suddenly aware that Matilda had asked her a question. “I think that we have done enough for today.”
“Very well,” Matilda replied. She saluted with her sword and turned away before she could see if Rosslyn returned the gesture.
“I will send for you when I am ready for another bout,” Rosslyn called after her, trying to keep some sense of her command of the situation.
“If you want your father to take you seriously again, you have to prove that you are more than a broken toy, Princess,” Matilda called back without turning her head. “If I were him, there is no way I would allow you to ascend the throne after me. I would already be planning how I would replace you with someone worthier.”
A bitter gall rose in Rosslyn’s throat at Matilda’s words.
She might be right.