
By the time Amaryllis had managed to pick herself up off the floor and borrow a pencil, the
set-to was over. Both combatants had survived, though both were also bleeding from a number
of superficial wounds, besides which Santorma sported a shiner. Their teacher observed them
with an expert's eye and pronounced, "Not bad. Neither one of you would nave lasted five
minutes against one of the girls from my old regiment, but you fight well enough to deceive a
prince who wants to have a swordmaiden for a wife."
Santorma did not accept her teacher's praise graciously. She spat a gob of blood studded
with a couple of her smaller teeth and decreed: "I quit." She touched her blooming black eye
and added, "If our remaining princes have gotten so cursed finicky about having to wed a
swordmaiden, then I say to the netherpit with them! I'm going home. First I'm going to have a
nice, hot bath, then I'm going to marry my father's swineherd, and then I'm going to bribe as
many minstrels as it takes to spread some cockamamie fairy tale about how he was really a
prince in disguise. And I will personally slice the head off anyone who says anything
different!" She unbuckled her sword-belt, let it fall to the floor, and gave it a savage kick
before stalking out.
A short silence followed this scene. At last Talona remarked, "Well! I suppose the rest of
you are going to follow that pathetic example." Her eyes swept her remaining students,
including Gethina, who was still standing in the middle of the floor, breathing hard.
"Not bloody likely," Amaryllis muttered.
"What was that?" Once more Talona sprang-this time in the purely figurative sense. "Speak
up, young lady! If you nave something to say, say it so that the whole class can hear."
For an instant, Amaryllis toyed with the idea of making up another lie. Then she dropped it.
The one about Rushy Glen hadn't worked worth spit. She knew she was a poor liar, and
besides, she was angry. Why shouldn't she. be able to come late to class because she'd stopped
to browse at Hamid's? Why couldn't she indulge in her favorite occupation anymore, simply
because it wasn't proper for a sword-maiden? She opened her mouth to speak and what came
out of it was as honest as her heart could make it:
"I said not bloody likely! And you know why it's not bloody likely as well as we all do.
Santorma's father is the richest king for leagues around and she's his only child! If any one of
our fathers had half his money and if any of us were our kingdom's only heir, we'd be out of this
place so fast it would melt your buckler! But we're not rich and we're not sole heirs, so we
can't marry swineherds and turn them into princes. That would be a picnic. But, oh no, we've
got to marry princes, only there are hardly enough of them to go around since the Witches'
Auxiliary turned so cursed many of them into frogs!"
"It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just left it at turning them into frogs," Pucina sighed. "Then
we could kiss them, break the spell, and they'd have to marry us. But as soon as they become
frogs, those odious witches nab them for the brewing of their triply-damned Vorn's Sovereign