With a quick shout, Shifra swung her shield upward, shoving Master Atin’s stave away. She followed through with a jab from her own stave, holding it under her left armpit. He grunted from the impact, her strike pushing his shield into his chest.

She grinned.

It had been several days of practicing since that conversation with Qadi. She had a few bruises from her distractions. She knew Qadi felt her lessons were a waste of time. Most other politically minded women didn’t bother with such training, instead focusing on their studies to pass the Exams of Rule.

Despite the logic of Qadi’s arguments, Shifra still couldn’t help but enjoy being good at something. Her knowledge of and affinity with saurians was better than most, she could hold her own at healing and philosophy, but here…

Here, she excelled.

She swung her stave toward Atin’s shoulder. He ducked, raised his shield, and spun. She stepped as well, keeping him from flanking her left. Shield to stave. As he taught her.

Their weapons hit again. Testing each other.

She tightened her grip on her stave, feeling the fine texture of the carved pole beneath her fingers. It didn’t weigh much, but oak was solid enough to break bone when its tip moved fast enough, all the mass and force of the wild, powered by the strength of her twisting body.

A familiar pang of guilt hit her. She’d read of war. Her father had talked about it plenty. Men died. Families were destroyed. She shouldn’t enjoy this as much as she did.

Master Atin struck low with his stave. Shifra swung her shield down, knocking Atin’s strike away. The force of her shield hitting the padded floor of the dojo gouged a deep mark.

Master Atin raised an eyebrow at her. “Is something bothering you?”

Shifra felt a confusing rush of curiosity and frustration. She realized she was glaring and shook it off. “Yeah.”

Master Atin stepped to the side, he feinted a shove with his shield then struck again. She half blocked it, the side of the strike grazing her hip. Despite the padding she wore, it still hurt.

She winced at the strike, angry at the growing bruise her distraction had earned her.

“Well, are you going to tell me about it?” Master Atin said, almost as an explanation for the strike.

Shifra shoved his shield and struck. First low, then high, then low again. He blocked each, but she was getting closer to hitting him.

“No,” Shifra said.

She got back into the fight, shoving her frustrations aside. They danced in the chamber, moving swiftly, gauging, striking, stepping. Master Atin was more than twice her weight in pure muscle, Shifra’s only chance at anything resembling competition was her speed. Master Atin was one of the top spearmen in Ateya, just behind her father.

She struck at his chest, and he blocked with a grunt. “Are you sure?”

He made a few successive rapid strikes, one of which grazed her shoulder and the other of which almost knocked her stave out of her hand. She huffed in frustration.

“No,” Shifra said. Breathing hard. Her distractions rushing to the forefront of her mind, “Honestly? I’m trying to figure out how to stop Yishai from strangling our country.”

Master Atin frowned and looked over his shoulder. No one else was in the dojo. Omrai paid for her to have private lessons. She took the moment to strike, striking at the side of his helmet. He reacted instinctively, raising his shield and stepping aside. The attack had come very close. He half-stumbled, frowning at her. She smiled.

“Now you’re the one getting distracted,” she said, her grin returning.

“And you better watch your tongue when speaking of the high judge,” he said shortly.

“I’d love for him to hear, then maybe I could argue with him myself.”

Master Atin came forward, striking. He pushed hard on her shield and it took all her strength not to stumble. She tried to use his strength against him by deflecting his momentum to the side, but he anticipated her moves. She only managed to half-trip backwards.

“Watch your footwork!” he snapped.

She bent her knees in a defensive position, her stave whipping up to ward off attacks.

“There are ways to disagree with him,” Master Atin said, “But for now, there’s nothing you can do. Being the high general’s daughter gives you no authority in the government.”

“That’s why I’m going to become a senator,” she said, circling around him.

Master Atin laughed.

She frowned. “What? I’m serious!”

“Oh no, it’s nothing. I’m just imagining Speartip’s daughter in politics.”

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She jumped forward, guarding her body with his shield and striking with her stave. He managed to step aside. “Why is that so hard to imagine?” He could make her doubt the most well-thought out plans with a single questioning glance.

“Back in the war,” –Master Atin only ever referred to the rebellion against the emperor as “the war”— “Your father couldn’t wait to hand the governing to his brother. He would have hated being in charge.”

“He doesn’t have a problem commanding armies. What’s the difference?”

Master Atin narrowed his eyes. “More than you might expect. I saw plenty serving at your father’s side, and by his father’s side before him.”

“If Omrai is such a great leader, then why would it surprise you I want to get into politics?”

“Because Omrai works with soldiers, men who want to follow him because they respect him. They respect his skill, his accomplishments. Yishai, strong-willed as he is, is working with people who consider themselves leaders in their own rights. Omrai doesn’t have to argue to get people to follow him, nor convince them. He commands, they obey.”

“Then why doesn’t he rule the country? The more I hear of this war; it sounds like he did all the hard work.”

Master Atin shook his head. “Because the government of Ateya has little to do with soldiers and everything to do with nobles and merchants.”

“My father forced them to change in the rebellion, why not now?”

Master Atin’s frown deepened. “Omrai had to use the sword to bring about that change. His blade is a last resort, the final scythe hanging over the nobles’ heads. Yishai’s subtlety is a less... bloody way to manage this country. Do you want to live in a country eternally at war with itself? Nobles killing each other for an ounce of control? Do you think that’s better than what we have now?”

Shifra scowled. She realized their sparring had ceased, and they were just circling each other. She stopped walking, and so did Master Atin.

“No,” Shifra said, “I just don’t think it has to be one or the other. We can do better.”

“Well, I fought and killed for the world you have now,” Master Atin said, lowering his stave, “Forgive an old soldier for being done fighting.”

Shifra suddenly felt a wave of weariness. Which made her even more frustrated. They had not been sparring long. They hadn’t even been talking long. Every time she spoke to her seniors about these issues, she was stopped at every turn. Her mother treated her concerns as shaming the family name, and her father pushed her concerns aside, always stating he had something more important to worry about. Day in and day out, she watched those who were poor suffer under the weights of church and state.

And there was nothing she could do.

With a grunt, she tossed her shield aside, gripping her stave in two hands. She was going to achieve something today.

Master Atin grinned and did the same, widening his stance. Once, when she had been just a girl, his bulk had intimidated her. She was a woman now. Not only that, but she was also a daughter of the Abaddonian line. As conflicted as she was about what that meant, she couldn’t deny the thrill she felt now.

The thrill of a weapon in your hand, facing down a challenge, and striking it down with all the force one could muster. She did her best to shove aside the guilt and confusion around it. A part of her, the educated part, told her that war was wrong. That combat was a base, lower pursuit.

If that were true, then why did fighting just feel so good?

She moved in, feinting left then bringing her stave around for a tripping move. Master Atin stepped aside and swung for her head. She ducked and spun her stave, hitting his aside and going for the opening.

He twisted and released his stave with one hand, grabbing hers. Her eyes widened and with a grin he yanked her forward, throwing off her balance. She tucked forward, twisting her stave and rolling down. Her stave twisted in Master Atin’s grip and he released it with a grunt.

She swung a leg out, catching the back of his knee. He stepped back adroitly with his other foot, but she wasn’t done. She swung her stave down, then up, coming up behind him. He swung his stave to block a strike to his leg, but she wasn’t going for his leg. His stave struck the ground, and hers continued its path.

And stopped an inch from his groin.

She almost gasped. She didn’t think it was going to work. Master Atin was the greatest spearmen in all Ateya, only her father came close to matching him.

“Lucky shot?” Shifra said.

“Half of my kills were lucky shots,” Master Atin said. “Damn, you’re getting fast.”

Shifra couldn’t help but smile at that.

He spun on his two feet, grabbing Shifra’s stave and twisting it out of her hand. Now, she did gasp as she lost her grip. Before she could react, Master Atin’s stave was an inch from her skull.

She scowled at him. “Well, that was cheap.”

“Now you know how I got the other half of my kills,” Master Atin said, stepping back. “The warrior who triumphs is not the most noble, but the most cunning.”

“But my father-”

“Your father’s reputation of mercy is a recent development. Because now, he can afford to be merciful. He controls the greatest military in the world. We weren’t always that way.”

Shifra frowned. “But the stories, about the war…”

Master Atin chuckled. “About how we beat the empire on the field of battle, and Omrai defeated the emperor in a mighty duel? Exaggerations. We snuck up from behind, tunneled under. It was deception, subterfuge, and sabotage. You think we took these walls fairly?” Master Atin motioned outside, to the walls which surrounded Ativa. “We snuck in, right to the emperor’s throne room. It was the emperor’s head, dangling from Omrai’s hand by the hair, that made the imperials surrender.”

She froze. Her father, the shining ideal of honor, had used subterfuge and sabotage? Suddenly, his honor felt like hypocrisy. He was willing to break the conventional rules of warfare to achieve his goals. So why did she have to respect his wishes? If her father wanted her to keep her current apprenticeships, but she felt she must study with Senator Thersha, what, could stop her?

With a sudden realization, she knew what she had decided. She suspected that she had known for a long time.

“I quit, Atin.”

He pursed his lips in concentration. “You… quit?”

“No need to stay late for me anymore,” Shifra said, lowering her blade and shield. “I’m not coming back.”

“And where are you going?”

“To train with Senator Thersha,” Shifra said, “To prepare to take the exams of governing.”

“But your father wants-”

“My father can’t have everything he wants,” Shifra said.

A knowing smile spread across Master Atin’s face.

Shifra scowled at him in confusion. “What is it?”

“About Nethered time you finally told him that.”

Shifra was taken aback. “What? I thought you deferred to him?”

“I do,” Master Atin said, “but now I think you’re beginning to learn what we all must. The world won’t bend just because you want it to. You have to make it bend.”

Shifra smiled at Master Atin. “I think I understand.”

Master Atin smiled again. “No, you don’t. But you will.”

He looked at his own stave. “Besides, you’re better than your father was before he started active duty.” He turned back to her. “I see the look in your eyes when you fight, Shifra. Don’t shirk everything you love for what you think is your duty. Forget the schedule, but if you don’t come back and spar, I’ll track you down to whatever nethertaken library you’ve buried yourself in and crack your skull.”

Shifra’s smile widened. “If you can catch me, old man.”