Sapphire

by Sarah Olson

  “No, no,” I said. “It’s not that, I’m just surprised you would want me to wear that.”

  “Just try it on and you’ll see.”

  The pants fit perfectly and the material breathed and allowed for easy movement. The shirt was tight as well and outlined my body. Betsy pulled out a black leather corset and wrapped it around my torso. When the leather straps buckled around my middle, I stared at myself in the mirror. Who was this wild and dangerous looking woman staring back at me?

  “Now,” Betsy said, admiring her work, “this is strictly for training, and when you aren’t, you can put one of these over. She pulled out three dresses. One was dark green, the other navy, and the last one white. Each would go over my current outfit and lace up the front fitting perfectly against the corset. Two slits ran up from the hem to my mid-thigh that would allow me to ride Dusk comfortably. The last thing was a pair of black leather knee-high boots.

  “You made all this when we were in Malan?” I asked, running the fabric of the green dress between my fingers.

  “Yes,” Betsy said proudly. “I had a lot of time on my hands.”

  “Thank you,” I said, hugging her. “I really do appreciate it and must say that I would have never expected you to make something like this for me. I mean, what is this material?” I ran my hands over the black pants.

  “Some sort of Malanese specialty,” Betsy replied with a smile. “And I’m glad you like them.”

  The next morning, Charlotte’s knock pulled me from my dreams. Once I stumbled my way to the door and unlatched it sleepily, she came bursting in with energy I knew I could never have.

  “Why aren’t you ready?” she exclaimed.

  “Shhh!” I said quickly. “Aria is sleeping.”

  “Sorry,” Charlotte whispered apologetically. “Why aren’t you ready?”

  “I just woke up,” I whispered back.

  “Hurry up then,” she said, plopping down onto the canapé sofa by the fireplace.

  I dragged myself back into my room and put on my new clothes gesturing out the door for Charlotte to come and help with the corset.

  She laughed quietly as she tightened the straps. “I’m guessing there was no way Betsy was seeing you in men’s clothing.”

  “You are just jealous she didn’t make you one,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.”

  When we stepped out onto the porch, I took in the stillness of the morning. The air was warm and the sound of chirping birds floated from the trees. We left the house quietly as the sun rose splattering pale pinks and oranges across the fading night sky. Charlotte led me around the back and into the woods to a small clearing a hundred yards in.

  “So what’s first on the training list?” I asked her.

  “Getting you into shape,” Charlotte replied with a sly smile.

  “Wonderful.”

  She ignored me. “So here’s the plan for the next few months. Every day, you will be getting up this early and run for half an hour. Then we will increase the time by fifteen minutes until we reach an hour. After you get to that point, I will start teaching you to fight with weapons. You’ll have archery lessons and sparring with blunt swords.”

  “Blunt swords?” I asked.

  “I’m not handing you a sharp sword of any kind until I know you can block an attack with one that’s dull,” Charlotte said. “Then you’ll start learning how to fight when you’re on the back of a horse. Got it?”

  “I guess,” I said, seriously dreading the upcoming training days Charlotte had planned. “Any days off?”

  “Just Sunday,” she replied with a smirk.

  Charlotte had an entire route planned for running. But it was not just running. When we would reach a creek, she would have a log over it and have me balance my way across it.

  “You have to move faster than that!” Charlotte would say. “Balance and lightness of feet are very important in a soldier. You go too slow or lose your balance, you’re dead!”

  She was like a drill sergeant. I dreaded hearing her knock on my door in the morning but I kept my mouth shut and continued. After a few weeks, my body became used to the training and no longer ached when I woke up every morning. It made caring for Aria easier as well. The more in shape I became, the less tired I was when I returned home. I would still have energy left to help Betsy with the house and play with Aria. When I was able to run the full hour, we began archery. I was a bad shot, and it did not help that we would head to the range after the run.

  “Come on Charlotte!” I exclaimed. “How am I supposed to hit that if I can’t keep my arms still? I’m exhausted!”

  “Do you think that soldiers are well rested before they head into battle?” Charlotte asked irritably.

  I knew she was right because she hit the target every time and had undergone the same training. But it was not until Mitchell offered to help that I became better.

  “Keep your elbow down and pull your arm straight across your chest,” he said, giving me some pointers.

  Mitchell’s specialty was archery and after a few of his lessons, I was much closer to the bull’s eye than I had been before. It was also nice to actually see my arrows hit the target and not the dirt.

  “Now try that while riding a horse,” he joked as we left the range.

  I rolled my eyes as Charlotte laughed, taking his hand. He gave her a kiss on the cheek in return.

  It was wonderful to see Charlotte so happy and in love.

  Chapter 30

  “SO, WHAT DO you think?” Mitchell asked me eagerly.

  Charlotte’s birthday was in a few days and Mitchell wanted to show me the present he had for her. It was a young mare that had been born to one of his horses during the past winter. She was a beautiful chocolate brown with a thick black mane and a white blaze running down her face.

  “She’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Charlotte loves her,” he said.

  “I think anyone would fall in love with a face like that!” I exclaimed, stroking her soft muzzle.

  “It’s her birthday present,” Mitchell said with a smile.

  “She’s going to be so happy.”

  Mitchell took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “If I asked Charlotte to marry me, do you think she’d say yes?”

  I blinked back in surprise. “Mitchell—I can’t answer that. I don’t know.”

  “Well, you’re her best friend. That is why I asked. I do not want her to think I am rushing her into things. She’s so dedicated to this rebellion, I’m afraid she will turn me down until it’s over.”

  I had never seen Mitchell so vulnerable and I could not help but pity him. He was so in love with Charlotte and while I wanted to comfort him, I could not help but feel he was right. Charlotte loved Mitchell, but her heart was also in the rebellion and I was not sure she was ready for the commitment of marriage.

  “Do you think I should even try?” Mitchell asked. “Or should I just wait?”

  I sighed. “I think you should do whatever you feel is right. She does love you, and if she is ready, she will say yes. But even if she is not, that does not mean you have to lose her. She really cares about you and I’m sure the two of you will work things out.”

  Mitchell nodded. “Thank you, Layla.”

  I smiled, hoping she would say yes.

  ☐☐☐☐

  Charlotte’s eighteenth birthday finally arrived, and Mitchell and I threw her a special feast at my house. Betsy and I cooked all day as Mitchell helped with cleaning and setting up. Mrs. Hopkins made a wonderful cake that we kept out of sight. When the time came, our guests arrived. First came Charlotte’s parents with Charlotte, then Raphael, a few close friends from the town and then James, who we invited out of respect.

  “Happy birthday!” I said, giving her a big hug when she came in. “You look beautiful!”

  Charlotte had put on a blue dress with white lace that flattered her. Her black hair fel
l around her shoulders in long curls. She looked more like the Charlotte I had known from Maplewood Forest.

  “Thank you,” she said, blushing.

  “Happy birthday,” Mitchell said, graciously taking her hand and kissing it.

  Charlotte instantly turned a darker shade of red.

  The dinner was full of conversation that thankfully revolved around other things than King Luther and the rebels. Instead, the words that filled the room were of humorous stories and the recounting of great memories. It reminded me of when we were back at the cabin in Maplewood Forest except for the missing presence of Robert and Tristan.

  “And here’s the cake!” Mrs. Hopkins exclaimed when she brought it out.

  The guests clapped as it was set in the center of the table for everyone to admire.

  “Thank you so much!” Charlotte said as Mrs. Hopkins began to slice it.

  The cake was delicious. The batter had fresh berries cooked into it and the frosting was fluffy and sweet. When the cake was finished, Charlotte opened her presents of jewelry and dresses. They were not exactly the type of thing she would usually use these days, but she was grateful for them.

  “My present is outside,” Mitchell said, getting up from the table.

  We all followed him out where he presented Charlotte with the beautiful mare.

  “For me?” Charlotte gasped as she almost tripped down the steps. “Are you serious?”

  “She’s all yours,” Mitchell said, handing her the lead rope.

  “Oh, Mitchell!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and pressing her lips to his. “She’s beautiful.”

  That night, Charlotte and Mitchell became engaged. Charlotte was the happiest I had ever seen her and I selfishly thought that it would mean a break from training. Instead, it picked up speed as it was time for me to learn different techniques with a sword.

  “Swing high, block low!” Charlotte commanded.

  It was useless. While I was steadily improving at archery, sword fighting was a disaster.

  “It’s too heavy!” I gasped.

  “Just put your arms into it,” Charlotte said. “Plant your feet firmly whenever you are going for a block.”

  I tried to avoid Charlotte’s sword, tripped over a log and fell backwards onto the ground. Her laughter filled the clearing.

  “You could help me up, you know,” I said as I propped myself up on my elbow.

  Charlotte pulled me up from the ground. “I think that’s enough for today,” she said looking up to the sky where a rainstorm was forming. “Do you think you could take the swords back to the armory?”

  “Of course,” I said sarcastically, “my arms can handle it.”

  She rolled her eyes and handed them to me.

  During all my time in the village, I had never been inside the armory.

  The cabin sat behind the small shops in the forest. Tools and broken weapons were scattered around the entrance that was an old and weatherworn wooden door.

  “Hello?” I said as I knocked softly.

  No answer.

  I pushed it open with a creak and stepped into the dusty room. I was greeted by a hot gust of air and the view of the swords, bows and arrows that lined the walls. Hot coals lay in a huge furnace with red-hot swords ready to be shaped and sharpened. Work tools of all sorts were spread out over long wooden tables.

  “Hello?” I said again.

  The only sound was the simmering coals.

  “I just came to return the swords Charlotte borrowed,” I called out.

  A door at the end of the room opened and Raphael entered.

  “Just leave them on the table,” he said as he walked up to the fire, picking up large tongs to take a sword out of the heat. He placed it on the anvil and with his other hand he picked up a hammer and began to hit it.

  “Alright then, thank you,” I said, turning to leave.

  “Why did you have them?” he asked, as I was about to pull the door open.

  “Training.”

  “I see,” he said in between bangs of the hammer.

  I stood there for a moment in silence unsure if I should say something else or leave. “Well, I guess—”

  “How has that been working out for you? One of James’ bright ideas?”

  “Not too bad . . . I think,” I said, trying to figure out if he was insulting me.

  After another pause, he used the tongs to place the sword back onto the coals. Raphael finally turned to me. “Who’s training you?”

  “Charlotte Livingston.”

  “And she’s having you use a sword?”

  “I’ve also done some archery.”

  “How’s your aim?” he asked.

  “Okay,” I replied, suddenly feeling like I was being interrogated.

  “Shooting on horseback?”

  “Awful,” I admitted. “I can’t aim well when I’m trying to control the horse at the same time.”

  “I see,” he said. “I’m not too good with them myself. But I can tell you one thing—a sword is not for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Raphael pulled a long sword off the wall and handed it to me. It was bigger than any I had ever used and I felt its weight immediately.

  “Now swing it,” he said, taking a few steps back.

  I lifted it awkwardly and swung it with all my strength. I lost my balance and I spun around almost falling back.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Your arms aren’t strong enough to keep it steady. In my opinion, I’d say you’d be good with a bow, but you’re telling me you’re an awful shot.”

  I blushed.

  “My next guess would be that you look like you can move fast.”

  I agreed mentally, especially with the way my speed was picking up when I ran with Charlotte. My balance had greatly improved as well. “What would your recommendation be then?”

  Raphael walked over to a rack and pulled off two of the daggers hanging there. In a blur, he threw one of them across the room where it planted itself in the wall. My jaw dropped.

  “Daggers,” he said, walking over and prying it from the wall. “They are much lighter than a sword and they allow you to use both arms at different times. And if you ever have to make a run for it, they will not weigh you down. Swords are too heavy. The only thing is it takes a lot of dedicated practice to learn how to use them.”

  “I don’t think Charlotte knows how to use those,” I said. I was not actually sure how I felt about learning to use daggers instead. It seemed like they would defend me less than a sword.

  “If you decide to learn, I can teach you,” Raphael offered.

  Somehow, I knew it was an offer I should not refuse. “I think that’d be great,” I said with a smile. I was desperate to learn any skill close to what my mother had.

  Chapter 31

  I DECIDED NOT TO tell Charlotte about my lessons with Raphael. I wanted to learn how to use the daggers well and surprise her. She had been pushing me so hard that I felt positive I was not very good at anything. Put a bow in her hands and she would hit just about any bull’s-eye in front of her. Charlotte was a natural.

  My lessons with Raphael began every day after my practice with Charlotte in the barn outside the armory. It was the perfect place. Even though now I would train much longer in the morning, I was grateful that I was able to be home by noon and be with Aria.

  Raphael was not easy on me. He did not care that I had been up since dawn and never let me get away with excuses of being tired. More than that, he never let me give up.

  “It’s all in the wrist action!” he barked, when I was trying to throw the dagger into the worn wall. “That’s what gets it to flip and hit your target! Your arm is the force.”

  I tried, and tried again, missing the wall by three feet which Raphael measured each time. But with the strength my arms were gaining from the sword practice with Charlotte, my skills with the daggers steadily improved.

  When Raphael was not having me throw daggers, h
e was teaching me to defend myself with them. He used blunt swords and knives to attack, training me how to take the impact from such blows.

  The next two months flew by and Charlotte’s wedding was just around the corner. On my eighteenth birthday, my dagger flew from my hand and embedded itself into the wall. Silence filled the room as Raphael inspected my work.

  “Excellent,” he said.

  I took a steady breath and stared at my handiwork.

  “Come with me, Princess,” Raphael said after prying the dagger from the wall. “I have something for you.

  We walked back to the armory where Raphael had me wait as he went into the back room. After a moment, he returned carrying a wooden box and laid it down on the table. “I made this for you.”

  I looked at him suspiciously and slowly opened it. Inside, tan cloth was wrapped around two of the finest daggers I had ever seen. The blades were a shining silver and the handles were blue like my sapphire.

  “Wow,” I breathed, picking them up.

  “Be careful with them, they’re much sharper than anything else you’ve used so far. I thought it would be appropriate to give them to you now, since it’s your birthday.”

  “Thank you.” I could not take my eyes off them.

  “You’re welcome, Princess,” he replied. “The next time you spar with Charlotte, I want you to use these and not a sword.”

  “You think I am ready to?”

  “I know you are.”

  I could barely contain my excitement in using them until Charlotte announced that we would be training in the camp the following day—where the soldiers trained. Some of King Luther’s soldiers had been spotted near the river and James did not want me leaving the vicinity of the village and camp.

  I hated the idea of training in the camp because it embarrassed me that anyone could watch us now. I was afraid of making a fool of myself. Just because most of the village was not up that early, men in the camp were. Betsy thought otherwise. Her view was that now I could prove my dedication to the rebel cause by showing the men I knew how to fight now. To demonstrate her enthusiasm, she added a place inside each boot to fit my new daggers. She measured it to perfection so they slid in and out easily and would not fall out or cut me. When she finished, the handles were completely hidden.