“Oooh,” said Dimity, “How pretty!”
“For vampires, of course,” said Monique, trying to impress, but Captain Niall wasn’t listening to her.
Sidheag, grinning, stepped forward out of the line.
The girls murmured in confusion.
Sidheag lunged first. Using her stick as though it were actually a bladed weapon, she slashed out at the werewolf. It was not a wild slash, either, of the kind Sophronia and her brothers played at with fake swords.
Sophronia watched with interest, partly from a learning perspective and partly because Sidheag was exposing more of her character now than she had over the past weeks of intimate acquaintance. She’d been trained by someone who actually knew how to fight.
“Sidheag even moves like a boy!” commented Dimity.
“Yes, but she’s good, isn’t she?” Sophronia was favorably impressed. Better than my brothers, that’s certain!
Preshea wanted to know, “What high-rank lady gets that kind of training?”
“A lady by title only.” Monique crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air.
Captain Niall was holding himself back. He must be. He is a werewolf, after all, and twice as fast as even the most highly trained soldier. He was also ten times as strong, if the legends were to be believed. Nevertheless, Sidheag isn’t at all bad. She keeps her stick in motion, always pressing forward, looking for a hole in her opponent’s defenses.
After a few minutes, Captain Niall called a halt to the impromptu match.
“Very interesting, Lady Kingair. I sense some of your”—he paused delicately—“ father’s training.”
Sidheag inclined her head and resumed her place in line.
Sophronia, Dimity, Preshea, and Agatha all turned to stare at her, mouths slightly agape.
“I guess we found ourselves a teacher’s pet,” said Monique. “Then again, can you be a pet to a werewolf?”
“Oh, now, Miss Pelouse, I understand that playing favorites with professors is more your approach,” Sidheag shot back.
“Now, ladies, what you really want is to never get into the kind of situation Lady Kingair and I just demonstrated. You never want to actually engage with a rival. Your greatest advantage is surprise. Make the decision to strike first and with intent, and—if you will excuse the pun—stick to it. Miss Pelouse, if you would like to demonstrate?”
Monique moved forward, head held high, a small smile on her face.
Captain Niall approached her.
Monique, instead of striking out in the manner of Sidheag, stepped in toward the werewolf. She commented on the pleasantness of the day and the beauty of the countryside. She fluttered her eyelashes in a way Sophronia had come to recognize as very advanced. I should never have thought there would be a time when I would envy another girl’s eyelash manipulation.
Playing her game, Captain Niall leaned in. He flirted back. He looked deeply into her eyes.
Monique struck him hard in the side of the neck with her stick, behind and below the ear. A stick that she had, somehow, sharpened into a point.
It speared into the werewolf’s body half an inch at least.
Blood leaked out around the stick.
Captain Niall winced and gave a little gasp of pain. “Ah. Yes. Very good, Miss Pelouse.”
Sophronia gasped herself, raising a hand to her mouth in horror. A small, untraumatized part of her wondered why Monique had not displayed such skill when faced with flywaymen. Had she wanted them to kidnap her?
Several of the other girls gave little mewling cries of distress.
Captain Niall reached up and pulled the stick out of his neck. Blood oozed forth, but not of the color or quantity that Sophronia expected. It was darker, almost black, and slower. Then, right before her eyes, the wound began to heal and close.
The werewolf handed the bloody stick back to Monique, who took it with a little curtsy.
Dimity fell facedown into the grass in a dead faint.
Sophronia crouched over her friend and with a gesture signaled Sidheag to help.
The tall girl bent down, and under cover of the hum of confusion, Sophronia asked, “What did you mean by that? What you said to Monique?”
Sidheag looked at her, assessing. “Only that the rumor is she has an advocate among the teachers.”
“Like a patron?”
“Very like.”
“Who?”
“No one knows.”
Sophronia nodded, then turned back to Dimity. Someone passed over the sal volatile, and soon enough, her friend’s soft brown eyes blinked open. Sophronia helped Dimity to sit, and while she did so whispered in one ear, “Monique has an advocate on staff. I think that’s how she’s managed to keep the prototype location secret.”
Dimity looked at her, still recovering. “Really, Sophronia, it makes me most uncomfortable how you manage to sort everything out every time I faint.”
HOW NOT TO FLIRT
Sidheag, why does Captain Niall behave differently around you?” Sophronia had decided that her tactics with Sidheag ought to imitate those she used when handling her brothers. Direct questions, lack of delicacy, and a general roughness of manner is clearly called for. Consequently, the two girls were developing some kind of a relationship. It could not precisely be termed friendly, but Sidheag was less hostile to Sophronia than she was to most everyone else.
The girls were gathered in their parlor, practicing discarding gloves with purpose, during a moment of peace before bed.
Sidheag didn’t even look at Sophronia. “I dinna ken your meaning.”