Aim and push. That’s it.

"OW! Why can’t they... make—these—comfortable?!?" I say, trying to shove and adjust the metal plating to make the armor less... pinchy. Someone clearly designed it with a man in mind, and there are some places on me that can be hidden behind baggy tunics—but the metal is form fitted and doesn’t know that. Ugh.

Hans eyes laugh at me. "Regretting your decision, eh, minx?"

I glare at him. Then a slow smile grows. "Why’d you not volunteer, Hans? I’m sure the crown would love to have their infamous Honor Knight in the running."

Jenny slaps my hands away and gets busy adjusting more of the buckles while Hans watches from the doorway.

"Yes, Hans dear, why not enter the running?" She grins from ear to ear, reminding me of the wolf who caught the rabbit.

He deadpans his wife with a look, but it’s the slight blush on his cheeks that spikes my interest. "You very well know why, dear."

"Yes, but of course Ri here doesn’t." She ducks her head as she continues to piddle with my armor, hiding the broad, unladylike grin stretching across her cheeks.

"There’s no reason—"

"Come off it, dear. She might as well know."

"No." He crosses his arms like a petulant child.

Me and Jenny exchange a grin. Well, I grin. Hers is a small smile that makes her eyes crinkle, but is bigger than most she allows.

"I will get the answer out of you, Hans. Don’t worry," I say lightly, even if I don’t feel it. As Jenny jerks on the metal, I have to hide a wince. Every touch, every brush of fabric and especially metal… hurts. Or maybe aches? It’s almost like I’m knee deep in the keifer fever, when your nose is running and you’re nearly delirious with sickness and everything that touches your clammy skin is too much because your senses are already in overdrive. But I’m not sick. Hopefully it’ll go away soon. There’s only so long I can hide how much this hurts. I’m dreading the actual jousts.

"Too stubborn for your own good, minx," Hans grumbles, but the begrudging affection in his voice makes me smile.

Jenny’s eyes twinkle as she winks, but there's an exhaustion about her that worries me.

I look around, trying to take my mind off the coming competition and the ache of my body and the weariness of my adopted aunt and uncle.

We’re in a room inside the arena. Well, perhaps it would be better to say under the arena. A place for challengers to get ready. It’s a pretty drab place, not much bigger than my old room at the cottage I grew up in. It has a small cot, a plain table and chair, a dwarf sized vanity with a bowl of water to rinse in beside the full-length mirror, and a rack for weapons and armor. All is harsh and cold, made of cheap wood and dirt. The scent of stale earth permeates everything.

"There. Now how does that feel?" Jenny asks, jerking the armor and re-strapping a part her husband had done.

I move around for a minute, and then grin. "Much better." I open my arms for a hug, but she waves me off. I clink and clank as I back off, trying to hide a grimace when I can’t hardly move my arms. A scarecrow has better range of motion than me in this torture device.

"Better not try that, dearie. You’ll end up knocking one of us down." She grins, and I unsteadily wobble over to the full-length mirror. The person who looks back at me—I don’t recognize her. She’s slightly distorted by the inferior mirror, sure, but it’s more than that.

The blue eyes gazing back at me are far harder than the carefree gaze of my youth. The weapons of war Pa taught me then were just... fun. I enjoyed learning to watch the hands and feet in swordplay, enjoyed wrestling my body under control to strengthen it for feats of acrobatics Pa couldn’t achieve to give me an edge. I enjoyed the time with my father, being the firstborn son he never knew he wanted. The time with him was the part I loved the most. And now he’s gone.

Yet the knowledge he taught is being used for more than a game. It’s a trial of life and death. A hidden war behind espionage and politics and hidden agendas and worlds with unknown goals.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

The time I lost my family has made my eyes grow hard, my smile grow wan, and my heart grow cold. The trials I’ve faced have made me into something I had never wanted to become, and I hate my appearance for reminding me of this.

Dark circles are beneath my eyes and my cheeks are gaunt from pushing myself to the edge time and again even with the food Jenny pushes on me. The harsh lines of my face, my high cheekbones and sharp chin, that has come from malnourishment and pushing myself beyond normal capacity. Losing too much blood takes a toll. I know it. But it’s like a drug, and I can’t stop. Not when lives are on the line. Not when La’Maciago still threatens and my world is on the brink of a hidden war. Not when… when…

I shake my head. My family isn’t lost anymore... and yet, it feels as if they are. Ever since they returned, I feel anxious, worried, and nearly awkward around them. Every time I look them, I see how I felt when they were taken. When they were chained and broken... because of me. My voice catches in my throat and my heart grows into a pit in my chest.

They can’t see the blood on my hands, but I feel each sticky drop as it covers my soul and chips away at who I once was. I’m not the Aria they remember. I try to be… but I feel she died back when they were taken. She died because of the things I had to do in order to get them back. The monster I’ve released in my Gift and the people I’ve hurt—both those deserving and undeserving—have scraped me raw until I hardly recognize myself, inside or out.

I turn my gaze back to my reflection. My hair pokes up as if I’d spiked it. I took no time for it since it’s going straight under a helmet, so it’s truly bed-head and still stinks of seaweed and fish despite washing it with a bar of lye. I bite my lip, my hard and determined eyes giving way to a softer, keener emotion. Despair. I look away from the image of my hard yet exhausted appearance in disgust.

Jenny places a hand on one shoulder. "You are beautiful, even as a boy," she says softly, mistaking my disgust at my reflection for disgust as a boy. No, my disgust is deeper than that.

I bark a harsh laugh and shake off her hand, unable to deal with the pain of her hand on top of the metal digging into my skin and making me want to throw it into a wall or curl into a ball and sob. Instead, I clench and unclench my fists, letting my fingernails dig into my palms, fighting pain with pain. "My lady, I’m no beauty. My nose is a little crooked, my eyebrows too thick, and my chin too pointed. No, it’s not the outside that disgusts me, but what I have become." What would father think of me? That thought strikes me to my already bleeding core. He always resorted to violence as a last resort, despite being the most capable warrior I’d ever seen. He wished me to heal, not kill.

"Now you listen here," she says sharply, her eyes darkening in a glower. "There is nothing wrong with you, inside or out. What you have become is a person of great beauty who shines brighter than the stars above in a dark and tumultuous time."

I give her a wan smile and drag myself from the mirror, reaching for the helmet with a blue and silver feather.

Hans watches me, rubbing his bearded chin in thought. "Warrior sickness."

I look up from the feathers. "What?" I ask him, my brows drawing together in a puzzled frown.

"Men who come home from battle are different. The life and death, watching the light drain from the eyes of enemy and friend... it changes a person." He takes my plumed helmet from my hands and polishes where I rubbed it with my thumb. "Some it attacks more than others. I withdrew from my family, hating myself and what I had to do despite the necessary pillage of war. It wasn’t until you came and showed me a better way that I—changed." He runs a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. "Still am changing, in fact."

Jenny places a hand on his arm, and he covers it with his free hand. They communicate something in a silent exchange I’m not privy to. I glance away, content not to be privy to it.

"No matter that, my love. I didn’t provide what you needed, so I also am sorry for the distance I placed between us."

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it, and she squeezes his hand with a lovely smile turning her red lips and lighting her entire face until she looks nearly like a being from Sixth.

He looks up then, meeting my eyes with the stark wisdom of knowing what I’m going through and accepting it. "You’re a child compared to most war-honed men. Yet you’ve seen more battle than most of the knights in this city. Including my Honor Guard. That makes you strong physically, but your soft spirit for others—" he trails off.

Jenny glances away, blinking quickly. "It makes it hard for you, dear, because you’d rather die than take a life, but you will kill to protect. This pulls you in two very different directions."

Hans grabs my shoulders, and I force myself to meet his stark grey gaze as I try to hide the pain of his weight bearing into my skin. "You are a warrior. Inside and out. Some days will be a struggle to remember why we fight, but remember Whose you are, and why you became who you are. It was a necessity. You protect those you love. You do not do such for yourself, making you one of the most selfless people I’ve known. Perhaps too much so. That makes you a fine warrior and an even better leader." His voice is gruff with emotion. "I am proud of you." He slaps the side of my head gently, then pulls me into an embrace, clacking, pinching armor and all.

I choke up, unable to speak. I would almost swear I heard two voices, one of Sir Hans... and the other of my father.

I feel crushed in Hans embrace and the aching of my skin intensifies, but also a healing, shared burden that he knows, he’s been here, and he made it through. I can overcome this Warrior Sickness. Someday.

"Go knock those bastards off their stallions."

I give a wet chuckle, then pull back and snap a sloppy salute. "Sir yes sir!"

He ruffles my hair, a smile playing at his lips. "Don’t go getting cocky on me, minx."