The Prince's Angel

Chapter Six - Kindness and Captors

By morning, there was no trace of Atara's volatile mood of the previous evening. She had donned a dress the color of a bluebird's wing, her dark hair woven into a type of braid Stefan had never seen before.

"What do you say we go on a picnic, princeling? It's too lovely of a day to spend it inside."

They gathered sandwiches, carrots, bunches of grapes, and water jugs in a picnic basket and set out. Torin had been playing at Josiah's house with all the Woodmourn boys, but when Atara and Stefan arrived, they were told by the housekeeper that the boys had all gone to the training fields at the Forum.

A peculiar sight greeted them on the fields. Josiah's sixteen-year-old brother, Jotham, was helping the younger boys stage sword fights, and giving them pointers on their technique as they slashed, stabbed, and maimed imaginary enemies with their blunted blades.

Breha, the only girl present, was shyly hanging close to Jotham, asking him if her grip on the sword was too tight or if her stance was relaxed enough. Jotham, patient as ever, pushed brownish-blond hair out of his eyes and answered each of her questions with a maturity that far surpassed his age.

Stefan leaned close to Atara and whispered, "Breha likes Jotham."

He could just make out a tiny smile tugging at Atara's lips. "I see," she murmured, striding forward with the confidence of a warrior.

When they saw Atara, most of the boys immediately halted their horseplay and glanced at each other nervously, as if scared she might put a stop their shenanigans.

For a few moments, Atara stood there with her hands on her hips, surveying this most motley crew of youngsters. "I say, you're all a little young to be sword fighting, are you not?"

Stefan's forehead knotted in confusion. That didn't sound like something Atara would say.

"Pardon miss, but they're never too young to learn," Jotham said quietly.

"I suppose you're right. Have you been teaching them how to combat someone who has a weapon other than a sword?"

The boys shuffled around, as if the thought had never occurred to them.

"No, miss," Jotham answered. "We haven't gotten that far yet."

"Well, it's high time we learn, don't you all agree?" Atara prompted.

The boys all nodded. Stefan noticed that Torin was the only one with a scowl on his face. He wished his little brother wouldn't be so obstinate against the idea of Atara mentoring them, but judging by their conversation the night before, Torin was in no mood to let Atara mother anybody.

Within minutes, Atara had obtained an armful of lightweight training maces, quarterstaffs, and dull daggers and dumped them on the ground. She selected a staff from the pile and turned to face Jotham.

"Now, act like you're attacking me," she instructed.

Stefan had always known Jotham to be brave; not someone to shy away from a challenge, but at Atara's command, Jotham blanched.

"Perhaps I should find you another sparring partner, m'lady," he murmured.

"Nonsense, I'm certain you can hold your own against me," Atara said smilingly. "Come on, give it your best."

Jotham considered the weight of his sword for a moment, turning it this way and that... and lunged at Atara.

A gasp caught in Stefan's throat as the sword point barely missed Atara's neck. She had deflected Jotham's strike by throwing up her staff and forcing Jotham's arm above his head. He quickly recovered, however, and the entire troop of boys stared, transfixed, as they watched this deadly dance.