"She kept the voice the same. And the clothing always gave her away. My mama, though, she was a constant. She was always a dark-skinned woman, so she wouldn't have to worry about her skin getting burned when she went riding. She only changed her hair color for holidays."
Ikram's smile slipped, and he stared off into space. "They didn't want to fight. They always told me that Xeira created us to make peace. That all life was sacred and precious, and that we as malaa'ika have a responsibility to protect it. Even to the point of not eating meat."
Myles bit her cheek. "Sometimes, you have to destroy a life to save a life."
"But you shouldn't be forced to make that decision." Ikram gave a weak, watery chuckle. "They called us cowards for not wanting to kill others. It wasn't cowardice that killed them, it was hatred. The kind of hatred that's not supposed to win. We're supposed to be able to conquer it, not be forced to live in it…"
Myles moved. She sat next to Ikram and put his head on her shoulder, running her fingers through his hair. He took deep breaths, trying to gather himself.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't apologize for what you can't control," Myles said. "There's no point."
They were silent for a long moment. Myles found herself truly hating her country in that moment, for destroying something that had been so good, that hadn't deserved to die. She had vowed to shield the innocent and fight evil. She'd also vowed to protect her country and fight its enemies. What was she supposed to do when her country was run by villains and its enemies were innocent?
"I'm leaving," Ikram said.
Myles frowned. "Now?"
"Soon. Some other Yastabulians and friends, we're purchasing some land in Novae Terrae. As soon as it's done, we're leaving. We're going to start over. A new Yastabul across the sea."
Myles's fingers were frozen in Ikram's curls. "That… that's great, Ikram," she said. "You deserve it."
She was surprised at the part of her that raged at the thought of Ikram leaving, and despaired at the realization that he would go. She hated herself for it.
*~*~*
The war camp was on the border between Tieraustria and former Yastabul, at the base of the mountains and on the other side of the range from the original Septimos. Soldiers' tents were neatly lined up, making it easy to count.
"We won't be able to do much with only four thousand men," Ikram grumbled.
"More will come," Myles promised. "Tieraustria's known for its legendary navy, not land troops. And look." She pointed across the camp, to Marcello's pale dragon. "With a dragon, the number of men becomes a lot less important."
Ikram hummed distractedly. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and his normally well-oiled hair was in tangles.
Myles bit the inside of her cheek. She leaned over to whisper, "I know Tieraustria was neutral in the last war, even smuggled supplies and food to Yastabul. If this makes you uncomfortable…"
"It's not that," Ikram said. "I'm leaving soon, remember? I just need to find… ah! My Lord Cohen!"
A large burly man with white hair beamed at them as Ikram dismounted. Myles placed his age at above sixty, but that didn't stop him from wearing a sword and breastplate with a bear engraved on it. He spoke with an Em'malkuthian accent. "Been a long time, my friend." He tipped his head to Myles. "Sir Myles."
"My lord." Myles also dismounted, giving her horse to the stable lad. She gave Ikram a questioning look, and he mouthed old friend.
Ah. So this was the man who'd sheltered Ikram during the Changeling War.
"Congratulations are in order, Sir," Lord Cohen said. "I hear you'll be leading the vanguard."
Ikram stiffened. Myles paused. "This is news to me, my lord."
"Then you might want to get to the command tent," Cohan chuckled.
Ikram gave her a troubled look, but soon replaced it with a smile. "I'll see you tonight, Sir Myles."
*~*~*
"They want me to lead the vanguard," Myles said as soon as Ikram entered her tent.
Ikram stood just inside the flap. "Oh. That's… a great honor."
"Only the best soldiers get into the vanguard!" Myles cheered. "Do you know how often I've dreamed of this?"
"Often?"
Myles paused and finally looked at Ikram. "What's wrong?"
Ikram ran his fingers through his hair and tried for a smile. "Nothing. Congratulations."
"Ikram."
He winced. "I just… the vanguard's the most dangerous place on the battlefield. I don't want you getting hurt."
Myles gave him a look.
"What? I worry!" Ikram defended.
"I can handle myself."
He snorted. "I noticed. Still worried."
"Are you worried about all the other soldiers of the vanguard?"
"I don't care about all the other soldiers in the vanguard. But I care about you. A lot," Ikram confessed. "A… rather terrifying amount, in fact."
Myles didn't know what to say. She felt like she was wearing one of those awful corsets again, because she could barely breathe.
When Ikram's lips met hers, it was a shock to her system. After the initial surprise, she leaned into it (she was kissing her best friend!), and thought that for this, for the gentleness and loving care, she could do this.
But then her skin rubbed against his beard, and she breathed in the very male scent, and she just couldn't. She pulled back, pushing against Ikram's chest so he couldn't follow. "I'm sorry, I can't."
Ikram frowned. "What's wrong?"
She stepped back. "Um…"
"Myles?" The concern in his voice was a knife in the belly.
For a second, she considered lying. Telling him that he'd misinterpreted the situation, or it was merely pre-battle nerves. But Myles couldn't do that. She couldn't lie to her friend. And after all the secrets they'd shared, what was one more?
It still took a long moment before she was able to gather her courage and say, "I… like women."
Ikram gave her the strangest look, and then he laughed.
Myles stepped back. Her sword was two paces away. She didn't want to use it on Ikram, but if he was going to try something…
"My dear, is that the only thing holding you back?" Ikram asked.
Myles paused, her face beet red. "Um…" Well, in for a penny… "Well, yes. If you weren't a man, I would've offered myself ages ago."
Ikram grinned at her. "And did you forget that malaa'ika can change form?"
Myles blinked. "Um…"
Ikram shook his head, chuckling, and began to change. He shrank a couple of inches, his hair grew down to his shoulders, and his voice went from deeply masculine to high and gentle as they talked: "Changing our sex is as easy as changing our hair."
Myles couldn't tear her eyes away from Ikram. They still had the high cheekbones, the dark hair, the sharp eyes that sparkled with mischief. Except now they had a full chest and hips, and sable locks Myles itched to run her fingers through.
Ikram still had smudges of shadows under their eyes, and the added length to their hair only worsened the tangles. She was the most gorgeous woman Myles had ever seen.
Ikram grinned against Myles's lips when she grabbed her and kissed her. And this time, she did not let go.
*~*~*
Myles felt a new sense of contentment she hadn't known existed the next morning, when Ikram turned into a cat and stretched on her bed. She turned back into a naked woman and curled into Myles's side.
"To think, we could've been doing this for weeks," Ikram grumbled.
Myles smirked and buried her nose into Ikram's hair. "I need to get up."
Ikram groaned. "No, you don't."
Myles kissed her forehead. "Someone has to go fight the villain."
Ikram stiffened. Myles cursed herself. Wrong thing to say.
"You know… you don't have to," Ikram said.
"It's part of being a knight," Myles replied.
"True. But Lord Cohen told me the purchase for the land at Novae Terrae went
through. When we leave, I want you to come with me."
Myles stared at the ceiling of her tent for a long moment. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I'm asking you to commit treason, break your vows, abandon your homeland, and come with me to a strange new world several hundred miles away," Ikram said.
"All right, you do know what you're asking," Myles muttered.
"I'm offering you a place and community where you wouldn't have to hide, or be afraid of someone discovering you," Ikram continued. "There were plenty of female Yastabulian soldiers. Still are. And it doesn't matter who they take to bed at night."
Myles considered what leaving Septimos forever would mean. She'd never see Magnus again. Never have any chance of seeing her homeland or her family, on the off-chance that they decided she was wanted. It would also leave a smear of dishonor on her name. She'd be abandoning the people, the king, the country she'd sworn to protect, and everyone would know.
On the other hand… Ikram.
"I… I need to think about it," Myles said.
*~*~*
The battle was going great, until the changeling arrived.
And yes, Myles knew that changeling was a derogatory word. But since malaak literally meant earth-bound angel (she'd asked Ikram), she decided that this bastard didn't deserve the title.
She was on the back of her horse, her sword coated in red, a dozen new dents in her shield. Her arm was numb and her body was drenched in sweat. In the back of her mind, she remembered that this was how she'd fallen asleep with Ikram the night before—with a lot less bloodshed. As much as she loved the thrill of combat, she wanted to be back in her tent.
Myles blocked an axe with her shield and slashed the attacker with her sword. She looked up as the larger Septimoan force, with the help of Marcello and his dragon, finally managed to push the Tieraustrians against the mountain wall, cutting off all escape. They were almost done; with any luck, they'd be home in time for dinner.
The horrible shriek made everyone freeze.
The emerald dragon flew over the mountaintop like a green fireball. Myles watched it fly overhead, spewing fire upon the Septimoan army on its way to tackle Marcello's dragon head-to-head. The Tieraustrians cheered, roaring in triumph. The flames were inches away, Myles's horse's mane catching fire. The horse reared, screaming, and the reins slipped from Myles's hands. The ground gave her a bruising embrace, knocking the wind out of her and her helmet from her head.
Myles scrambled to her feet. A Tieraustrian ran at her with a spear aimed at her heart. Myles pivoted out of the way and buried her blade in his belly. He gurgled, dropping his spear. His fingers scrambled over her breastplate while his other hand went to his belt. Too late, Myles noticed the knife.
She managed to duck enough that the blade went to her shoulder rather than her throat. It cut into her collarbone and the straps of her breastplate. Choking on smoke and her scream, Myles shoved the dying soldier off of her. Her breastplate hung at an awkward angle. She yanked it off entirely.
By the time Myles was rearing for her next enemy—she was down an arm, but she didn't care—she was nose-to-nose with the emerald dragon.
Behind the beast were a dozen Tieraustrians. And behind them, Marcello's charred corpse was sprawled across the bloody, dead pale dragon on the ground. Myles glared at the Tieraustrians' beast. "That was a boy."
The dragon, instead of roasting her like a beast would, shrank, and morphed into a human.
He was tall, with pale skin, dark hair, and spiked armor. "He was old enough for war; he was old enough to die."
"Helios's beard, that's a woman!" one of the Tieraustrians shouted.
Myles looked down and realized that her breasts were clearly visible beneath her tunic.
The Septimoan retreat horn sounded. Myles found herself surrounded by hostiles.
She dropped her sword and raised her uninjured arm in surrender.
*~*~*
Myles's wound was stitched and bandaged. When she was brought to Siccus Castle a couple of weeks later (some twenty leagues from the battlefield), she was given an elegant gown complete with corset.
She was sorely tempted to tell them that she wasn't nobility, but that would mean surrendering her high status, being treated like a beast, and drastically decreasing her chances of survival.
So she was soaked in perfume, her hair slicked with oil, and wearing a ridiculous pink monstrosity when she met Sir Jesualdo Fierro for tea.
"My lady," the Tieraustrian knight said, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. His skin was tanned from living in the southern country, and he was shorter than Myles by half a head. "I hope your injuries are healing nicely."
"I've had worse," Myles said, slipping her hand away.
Jesualdo gave her a dubious look. "Might I inquire where the real Sir Myles is?"
Myles rolled her eyes. "I am the real Sir Myles. Did you think I stole some knight's armor to play at war?"
"You expect me to believe that you've masqueraded as a man for the last fifteen years?"
"Seventeen," Myles said, crossing her arms.
Jesualdo raised an eyebrow.
"Ask my father, Lord Gideon Balendin," Myles said. "I was a horrible daughter."
"And your name?"
Myles sighed. "Floriane."
Jesualdo smiled and bowed. "An honor to meet you, Lady Floriane."
They both sat at the table and watched the servant pour the tea. Sir Jesualdo did most of the talking, to Myles's relief (and annoyance). Most of it was about his betrothed, a lady from one of the islands along the southern shore of Tieraustria. By the time Myles returned to her chambers (her glorified cell), she could describe Lady Lucida Sylvester with perfect detail, from her golden hair to her singing voice to the size of her dainty feet.
Myles sat at her window, watching the sun set over the castle's ramparts. She wasn't going to pray. But she hoped Ikram was on her ship, far away from this war.
*~*~*
Myles was tense as she followed the guards down the halls.
For three weeks, she'd been confined to her guest chambers. She had been fed elegant meals three times a day, bathed regularly, given clean clothing, and once every four days—weather permitting—half a dozen guards escorted her on a walk through the gardens.
Sir Jesualdo might not have thought her much of a threat, but the person ruling this castle clearly did. Myles wasn't sure whether to be flattered or irked.
It'd been storming all day. Thunder shook the walls of the castle. Wherever these guards were taking her, it wasn't the courtyard.
They led her to an audience chamber. Paintings of bloody combat and romanticized battle hung from the walls, as well as antique swords and shields. Myles calculated how long it would take her to reach one of those weapons before the guards hacked her down. Too long.
Sitting on the plush furniture in the center of the room were three men. Sir Jesualdo stood when she entered. The changeling from the battle was also there, wearing silks instead of armor. And the other man was…
"Father?" Myles gasped.
"Good evening, Floriane," Gideon Balendin said, looking and sounding like he was swallowing a lemon.
He had not aged well. The hair that had been dark with a few streaks of silver when Myles had left was now a pale grey. Wrinkles were carved into his worn face, and he had an impressively round belly.
The silks and leather shoes he wore were of a slightly lesser quality than the other men in the room, and were in good condition. So while he may not have been a true lord, he had the money for it.
For all of her training and battles and skill, Myles became a ten-year-old girl again, shrinking before her father's cold glare. She felt even more awkward in her pale blue dress and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts.
"As you can see, your daughter is alive and well," the changeling said.
"Unfortunately, yes." Gideon took a sip of tea. "How much do you want, Syed Bahadur?"
"Ten thousand gold co
ins."
Gideon barked a laugh. "Even if I had the money, I can think of a million better ways of using it."
"Your son recently acquired a lordship, so don't tell me you lack funds," the changeling—Bahadur—said.
"Calvin is a lord now?" Myles asked, startled. The last she had seen her brother, he'd been a chubby youth who barely fit into his armor.
"He recently married into the Albani family," Gideon explained, looking as miffed as Jesualdo at being interrupted by a woman. "Which you would know, had you not been playing soldier."
Myles bristled. "One doesn't 'play' at being a soldier for seventeen years, Father."
"You expect me to call you a knight?" Gideon challenged. "Legally speaking, you're not. The law is clear: women cannot bear arms. Therefore, women cannot be knights."
"Well, let's get some swords and put that theory to the test," Myles said sweetly.
Gideon turned to Bahadur. "You see why I hesitate to take her?"
"I'm from Yastabul, so no," Bahadur said.
"Right," Gideon said, rolling his eyes. "Five hundred gold coins, final offer."
Bahadur shook his head. "Good day, Lord Gideon."
Gideon set his teacup down and stood. "If you manage to break her while she's in your custody, I'll consider a higher payment."
"Have a safe journey back to camp," Bahadur said.
Myles watched Sir Jesualdo walk Gideon out. There was a dull throb in her chest when Gideon didn't even look back or offer her a word of farewell. She ruthlessly squashed it down.
"Lady Myles," Bahadur said, and the use of her preferred name startled her enough that she turned to him. "Please, sit."
Eyeing Bahadur and the guards still in the room, Myles sat across from him.
"Tea?" he offered.
"No, thank you."
Bahadur shrugged and refilled his cup. "I apologize for not acting the part of gracious host as I should. Things have been busy."
"Do Septimoans keep killing your soldiers?" Myles asked.
"Yes, and I have to go out and rain fire on them for doing it," Bahadur replied testily.
Myles watched him pour sugar in his tea and stir it. "Why am I here, Syed Bahadur?"
"To satisfy my curiosity. You understand that if you do return to Septimos, you'll never fight again. All your good deeds, the battles you've won, the enemies you've slain, they mean nothing in the face of your deception."
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