Page 26 of The Turncoat King
Nabi was a problem.
It suddenly occurred to her that her rejection of his offer of bed sport, shortly after she’d joined the column, had clearly not been well received, no matter that she had done it politely and firmly. He’d managed to persuade a number of women to invite him to their tents since then, and he'd been nothing but trouble to all of them afterward.
“Well, possibly more luxurious than my traveling tent,” she agreed with him.
“If you think a foreigner is better than one of your own.” Nabi's tone was ugly enough to attract the attention of others.
“The Commander is certainly the best one for me. And our people agree, it seems, given the size of our army here to join him.” Ava scooped the last bite of stew out of her bowl, and stacked it with the other empties in the bucket beside the fire.
She didn’t look Nabi’s way as she waved goodbye to Deni, but he didn't notice. He was watching Nabi, his face set in disapproval, and Ava left them all to it, weaving through the small knots of soldiers chatting after their meal, and skirting around games of boules and pins.
She crossed the narrow space between the two columns and stepped into the almost identical tent world of the Rising Wave.
People sat around the fire, relaxing at the end of another day’s travel, although there was a sense of excitement in the air here she assumed came from the arrival of the Venyatux.
A few people looked at her curiously, but no one stopped her or challenged her right to be there.
Her hair was not in the Venyatux style, and both sides had very similar clothing, so she guessed there was no reason to suspect she was a stranger.
She headed toward the largest tent in the column, set at the very heart of the Rising Wave.
She frowned as she walked toward it. Luc should not advertise his location so obviously, if this was in fact his tent.
At least there was open space around it, so whoever approached would be exposed and could be—
“Halt. Who are you?”
Her cloak told her the woman blocking her way meant her considerable harm.
Ava considered her carefully. This might be one of Luc’s friends. One of his lieutenants. “My name is Ava. I’m looking for Luc.”
“Luc’s been with Ava since late this afternoon. Try again.” The woman pulled out a knife, as long as Ava’s forearm.
Ava lifted both hands. “But he hasn’t been with me.”
A man roared out an unintelligible shout to the left of them—a feral, out-of-control sound—and as Ava turned to look he ran toward her, pulled back his arm, and threw something at her.
She leaned to the right, and a long metal object flew past her, so close she felt the air of its passage brush her cheek.
The man was running full tilt now, and he roared again as he leaped the last few steps toward her, hands outstretched.
Ava crouched down, and he flew over her head.
She wondered if she could have avoided him without her cloak.
She had not added any workings to the clothing she wore during her sparring. She wanted to be seen as competent but not outstanding. She wanted to rely on her own abilities.
She hadn’t realized how well Carila had taught her until she’d won almost every session she’d fought.
More than half of the Venyatux in the column were volunteers; learning to fight in daily training.
They were farmers, herders, tradespeople.
Whereas she had been taught by a weapons master, and had practiced what she’d learned every day, even when she’d been imprisoned.
Sybyl had started pairing her with more experienced opponents, some the size of the man attacking her now, and she had lost a few times, but she’d enjoyed the test to her skill.
Since joining the Venyatux, she had never had to work so hard, and in the last two weeks, she knew she was fighting better than she ever had before.
