“Oh, Maeve’s teeth.” I groaned, dropping a half-eaten apple slice and pushing myself back to my feet. “I was too busy thinking to rest. That’s not fair.”

“Neither is combat. Stop whining. You have a squire now, and that means you have to be the mature one.”

“I should have read the fine print.”

Sylvester just laughed.

We buckled on our swords and walked back to the ballroom. I groaned again as we crossed the threshold: we had company. May and Quentin were sitting on a bench against one wall, and they looked like they were planning to stay a while.

Sylvester smiled brightly when he saw them. “Good day, you two!”

“Good day, Your Grace,” Quentin said.

“Hey, Syl,” May said, waving back. Quentin flinched. He’s loosened up a lot, but he still can’t seem to wrap his head around the idea that nobles have personal names, much less diminutives.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked. Sylvester turned and bowed to me. I responded automatically. It’s no good arguing once Sylvester decides practice has started. Refusing to get my sword out would just result in some painful new bruises.

“We came to watch you work,” said May. My former Fetch was dressed like an acid flashback to the mid-80s, combining virulently pink jeans with a silver foil concert T-shirt for a band I didn’t recognize. Rainbow barrettes were clipped in her short magenta-and-green-streaked hair.

May and I used to be functionally identical, before the elf-shot “killed” me. She was supposed to fade out of the world completely that day. That’s what Fetches do. Amandine somehow stopped that from happening, and that broke the connection between us. May gets to live. And since we weren’t connected when Amandine changed the balance of my blood, May still looks like the changeling I used to be, while I barely recognize myself in the mirror some days. I’m still not sure how I feel about that.

“It was May’s idea,” Quentin added.

“I’m sure it was,” I said. Sylvester started circling. I dropped into a defensive position. “I’m not really comfortable with this, May.”

“Cope,” she said.

“Maybe an audience will make you shape up,” Sylvester said, and lunged.

I parried. “Maybe an audience will distract me and get me gutted.”

“Let’s see some carnage!” hollered May, pumping her fist in the air.

“This isn’t professional wrestling!” I snapped, trying to hit Sylvester’s ankle. He blocked, turning my thrust aside and nearly disarming me. “And I swear if you shout ‘take it off,’ I am coming over there.”

“Take what off?” asked Sylvester.

“Nothing, Your Grace,” Quentin and I said in unison.

“Wimps,” May said.

“Shut up.” I parried again. Sylvester pressed his advantage, and I fell back, trying to keep him from hitting me. The distractions faded away as I focused on the rhythm of his attacks. There was a slight pause after each swing. It wasn’t long, but it was there. I knocked his sword aside and lunged for his stomach, slamming the blade of my own sword into his middle just above the navel.

Sylvester stopped immediately. “I believe that was a killing blow,” he said, sounding both slightly winded and ridiculously pleased for someone who’d just had the wind knocked out of him.

I lowered my sword and stepped back. “Does that mean we’re done?”

“My dear, you just killed me for the first time. This calls for celebration.” He bowed, signaling the end of our bout. I bowed back. “How did you catch me?”

“There was a pause between your attacks while you brought your sword back.”

“I wondered how long it would take you to notice. It won’t be there next time.” He winked as he sheathed his sword and handed it to me. “We’re ready to make things hard.”

“Oh, lucky me,” I muttered, walking over and hanging our swords on the wall before heading toward May and Quentin. “Happy now?”

“Don’t touch me.” May wrinkled her nose. “You’re all icky, and I have a date.”

“Jazz meeting you here?” She nodded. “Will you be home tonight?” May and Jazz—her Raven-maid girlfriend—had been getting serious, despite the little issue of May being essentially nocturnal, like most fae, and Jazz being diurnal, like most birds. We’d already had the discussion about whether or not Jazz was allowed to move in.

I said yes, of course. At least when Jazz is around, May occasionally lets me have the remote control.

“We should be,” May said.

Sylvester walked up, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He didn’t look half as beat as I felt. Sometimes the world isn’t fair. “Ah, Quentin. A word with you?” I glanced to him, and he nodded. “It seems appropriate to do it now.”

I swallowed the urge to protest. “You’re the boss.” We’d have to tell Quentin eventually.

Quentin looked between us, frowning. “What’s going on, Your Grace?”

“Quentin, do you remember that I said I was looking for a knight for you?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said.

“If you assigned him to Etienne, I get to hit you,” May added.

I eyed her. “Why?”

“Because ‘boring’ is not a virtue.”

Sylvester smiled. “No, I’m not assigning him to Etienne.” Quentin’s shoulders relaxed: interesting. I hadn’t realized he felt so strongly about the subject. “I can guarantee that the knight I found for him isn’t boring.”

May gave me a speculative look. “Is that so?”

“May—”

“Your Grace, may I speak?”

Sylvester and I both stopped, blinking at Quentin. Sylvester recovered slightly faster than I did, and asked, “Yes, Quentin?”

“I’d like to request I be assigned to Sir Daye.”

All right, I hadn’t been expecting that. “Oak and ash, why?” I demanded, before I could stop myself.

“Because he has taste,” said May.

“Because I think I have a lot to learn from you,” Quentin said, before elbowing May sharply in the side. She yelped. “I like you, and you teach me things no one else does.”

“Like what it feels like to be shot?” I asked.