“Fighting is not about who is stronger or who is bigger,” Joslyn said. “It’s about who has the advantage in any given moment, and who can keep or steal that advantage. Right now, I have the advantage because I surprised you and grabbed you before you were ready. What can you do to take the advantage back?”
Tasia pulled again on Joslyn’s arm, to no avail. “I don’t know,” she said, frustrated. “There’s nothing for me to do to gain the advantage.”
Tasia felt the guard nod against her head. “Your attacker also doesn’t think you have any advantages to leverage. But that is exactly your advantage. I used the advantage of surprise by grabbing you when you did not expect it. How could you surprise me?”
“By… pulling your arm away from my throat?”
“If that was something you were capable of, it would be surprising, but you’ve already tried and failed that,” Joslyn said. “Besides, as your attacker, that is exactly what I expect you to do — pull at my arm. So I was already prepared for that. Think, Tasia: What am I not prepared for?”
Tasia tried to think of what Joslyn was not prepared for… and came up with exactly nothing. “I don’t know,” she said at last, frustrated.
“Right now, you and your attacker are both thinking of the same thing,” Joslyn said. “Your throat. The first thing you need to do is get him thinking about something else. Kick me in the shin — ”
“Joslyn, I don’t want to — ”
“ — or stomp on my foot.”
“I can’t stomp your — ”
“Stomp on my foot, Tas — ”
Tasia lifted her riding boot high and drove the heel down onto Joslyn’s foot. The guard gave a soft grunt into Tasia’s ear, and the arm around the Princess’s neck loosened by a fraction of an inch.
It was enough. Tasia pushed her fingers into the space between her throat and Joslyn’s forearm, then pulled her head down and away through the gap she created. The friction against Joslyn’s chest yanked the bun from her hair, but she escaped the guard’s grip.
The guard grinned. “Good. That’s good.”
“Did I hurt you?” Tasia asked.
Joslyn let out a rare laugh. “No, not really. Though the stomp was harder than I expected it to be.”
“Oh, Mother Moon! I’m so sorry.”
Joslyn shook her head. “No apologies, Princess.”
“No one else is here. Just call me Tasia, honestly.”
“Alright, Tasia,” Joslyn said, though the informal nickname sounded awkward when she said it. “No apologies. Your assassin isn’t likely to be gentle on you, so you shouldn’t be gentle on me.” Joslyn wrapped her arm around Tasia’s throat again. “Let’s do it again. But this time, don’t stomp my foot. Do something else — anything else. Be creative. Steal the advantage by surprising me.”
The women practiced until the morning sun was high and burned away the haze that hung above the ocean. Joslyn grabbed Tasia from behind, or from the side, or around her waist; for her part, Tasia elbowed, bit, pinched, kicked — anything to take the advantage away from the guard. The Princess suspected that nothing truly surprised Joslyn and that she was going easy on Tasia, but the guard encouraged her anyway, pausing now and again to give her tips on technique or to suggest another avenue of attack.
Eventually, Joslyn’s attacks progressed to pushing or pulling Tasia down to the sand.
“If you find yourself on the ground,” said the guard as she straddled Tasia’s waist, “remember two things: First, you never want to be the person on the bottom. Second, if you do find yourself on the bottom, escape is all about freeing your hips first.”
They practiced another thirty minutes that way, rolling together through the sand. Joslyn taught Tasia how to rock side-to-side to free her hips from beneath an attacker, how to maintain control of her arms by keeping her elbows close to her chest, how to use her legs to sweep an attacker off of her.
Tasia succeeded in scoring one unexpected success, in which she somehow managed to roll Joslyn onto her back and pin the guard’s arms with her knees. Tasia held the collar of the guard’s loose linen shirt with both fists, ending up with her face only inches from Joslyn’s. They met eyes, and Tasia could smell the guard’s skin. The scent was a mixture of soap, leather, and something that was Joslyn’s own — a smell of desert sand and wildflowers, hard sun and steel.
Tasia let go and sat up hastily, unsure why the scent of the guard’s skin had so unnerved her.
“It’s probably time for the morning meal,” she said. “And I’m supposed to meet with my father’s advisors after that.”
“Yes,” Joslyn said, pushing herself up from the wet sand. She wouldn’t meet the Princess’s eyes as she got to her feet and brushed the sand from her clothes. “That’s enough for one morning anyway.”
#
They were late for the morning meal, which made Tasia late for the bath Mylla had drawn for her, which made for a cold and unpleasant experience as the Princess washed the sand from her skin. The chambermaid had likewise drawn a bath for Joslyn in the antechamber, and as they both bathed in separate rooms, Tasia couldn’t help but think about the smell of soap on the guard’s skin, couldn’t help but wonder if Joslyn’s naked skin puckered with goosebumps from the cold water the same way Tasia’s did.
She pushed the thought from her mind with a fierce shake of her head. She couldn’t think of Joslyn like that. Joslyn certainly didn’t think of her like that. And Mylla was wrong. Tasia wasn’t interested in the guard.
Was she?
Tasia stepped out of the cold bath as quickly as she could, toweling herself dry and shrugging into the dress Mylla had left out for her.
“Out for the rest of the day with Father,” read a note in Mylla’s handwriting beside the dress. She’d drawn a small heart at the bottom of the page, and the sight of it made Tasia’s chest clench with guilt. She hadn’t started the fight last night, but she still regretted it. Everything with Mylla had felt strange and uncomfortable lately, and Tasia wanted to do something to change that.
Joslyn stood waiting in a flawless black guard’s uniform when Tasia opened the door to the antechamber.
“Shall we head to my father’s office, then?” Tasia said.
Joslyn nodded without meeting her eyes.
Guard and Princess walked side-by-side down the royal family’s wing once more, this time in silence. They passed guards and the occasional Wise Man, each of whom hurried along with business of their own.
The corridor that led to the royal family’s apartments ended in an interior courtyard with a sunken atrium in its center. High skylights let in the bright light of the mid-morning sun; a fountain in the center of the atrium gurgled at them cheerily as they passed. The lush indoor garden was one of the nexuses of the palace, with hallways branching in every direction like spokes from the hub of a wheel. Down one hall was a series of adjoining ballrooms, where royal functions and balls were held; down another were the offices of the Wise Men; down a third were guest quarters; down a fourth were her father’s offices and the council rooms.