Bile paints the cobblestone as a boot stabs into my ribs. In between coughing fits, I manage to wipe my mouth and slide away from my attacker.

"Half-blooded wretch," the nobleman sneers. "You're lucky I don't kill you. Your kind doesn't belong here." He spits the last few words as if they leave a displeasing taste in his mouth.

My gaze cuts away as I use my numb arms to scoot closer to the wall behind me. All of this for bumping into him. My eyes flick to my right. Merchants avoid intervening in case the nobleman's anger gets redirected to them. I scoff and return my gaze to the man in front of me.

"Got something to say, filth?"

I grin, a toothy display of my confidence. He's too easy to rile up. "I don't usually engage in mental combat with the unarmed, but I'll make an exception for you if you wish to continue with half-witted insults."

That earns another kick to the ribs, and I cough up more blood, my body rolling away with the force. As the coughing subsides, I greedily gulp in a lungful of air, trying to push myself up on noodle-like arms.

If father were here he would scold me for egging the nobleman on. The best thing to do is take the initial beating and let him move on. But there is something satisfying in seeing the pudgy pig of a man glare down at me as if he is superior in every way and riling him up.

"I suggest you step away. Now," a voice growls from behind my attacker. Arlin steps forward, muscles toned from long days as a blacksmith's apprentice rippling. "Hurt my sister anymore, and I'm not sure what might happen."

The nobleman steps back, eyes widening in the shadow of Arlin's seven-foot figure. Realization dawns in his features and he throws his hands up, slinking away as fast as his heavy body allows him.

Arlin grits his teeth as he watches the man's retreat, before his gaze dips to my hunched figure. His gaze softens and he bends down to wrap his arms under my shoulders and help me up.

"Sigrid, how do you get yourself into these situations?" Arlin examines my face and reaches out to touch a cut but retracts his hand. If he touches it and it gets infected, it will be harder for mother to heal it.

"I accidentally bumped into him. I was looking at that new merchant's trinkets." I roll my eyes and wince as a twinge of pain flares in my side. "No one bothered to call the guards when I was beaten. I could have fought back but..."

"I'm glad you didn't," he says. "Fighting back wouldn't have done anything but get you into more trouble – get us into more trouble."

"I don't understand why -"

"You will, eventually." He lets go of me as we reach mother's shop, knocking on the door.

Mother opens the door and frowns. "Arlin? You're back ear – Oh, Sigrid!" She rushes past Arlin to pull me into the shop, forcing me into her healing chair. "What happened?"

"Just a misunderstanding," I say as Arlin grabs mother's heartsrune. The purple gem hums happily as he hands it to her. Her energy fills the room, electrifying every atom and dust particle as she wraps her fingers around the heartsrune and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, her eyes glow sapphire and darkness spreads in the corners of my vision.

I close my eyes and allow the darkness to take me as my wounds begin to heal.

When I regain consciousness, I'm back in my bed surrounded by warm furs. I yawn and stretch, savoring the feeling. My foot hits something hard, and I crack open one eye slightly.

Arlin is sitting beside me, holding his staff. "It's time to train."

I open my eyes the rest of the way and groan. "Already? I just woke up."

"Do you enjoy getting beaten?" When I glare at him, he shrugs and stands up, dropping the staff onto my lap. "That's what I thought. Let's go."

"It's amazing how much joy you could bring to a room just by leaving it," I call as he begins to walk away.

"Your insults are getting tame," he retorts.

"I'm just warming up." I stand and stalk after him, snatching the staff off my bed as I go.

Arlin is out of sight when I enter the alleyway behind mother's shop, but I can sense his presence for a moment before he launches out of the shadows, staff aimed for my head. I roll out of the way, bouncing up into a defensive stance.

Knees shoulder-width apart, feet slightly father out than that. One leg a few inches behind the other. Weight evenly distributed but balanced on the balls of my feet. Check, check, and check. Just like Arlin taught me.

His blacksmith's uniform is gone now, shirt thrown precariously on a stray crate so it won't get ruined. His weight is evenly distributed between both of his feet, shoulders squared and muscles rippling with tension. He's going to make a move. I can feel it.

"Ready?" He straightens his posture and raises his staff parallel to his body. The light from the bright sun shines in my eyes, and I squint against it. He doesn't move for a moment, so I inch myself toward him, muscles tensed and ready to strike at only a moment's notice.

After years and hours upon hours of training with Arlin, my agility and situational awareness have been heightened. My only problem is patience.

"Come on, Sig, are you waiting on me?" he asks as he taps his staff against his palm. He grins at me, taunting me with his eyes.

"What happened to never striking first?" I reply, straightening my stance and circling him.     It would be too easy for him to catch me if I tried to attack from there. I wasn't letting him get me, this time. "Patience is a virtue, right?"

"If patience is a virtue, I think I might as well be considered a monk by now."

"I beg to differ." If he's going to toy with me, I can do the same. "You don't seem the type."

"I guess I should do better, then, huh?" He takes a slow step toward me, almost imperceptible as the sun peeks around the corner of the shop. Using this to his advantage, he lunges at me, jutting his staff toward me. I don't get the chance to deflect it before it hits my arm, leaving a stinging sensation behind.

I jab a knee into his stomach, grabbing his ankle to trip him. After he hits the ground with a hiss of air leaving his chest, I put my foot in the crook of his back and press. Hard.

"I got you." I grin triumphantly and step back.

In a split second, I'm on the ground with the end of his staff pointed toward my face.

"Never let your guard down." He steps back and puts distance between us, brushing his clothes off.

I shrug. "You're just mad that I got you."

"Tch."    He leans his staff against the wall and scowls at me but doesn't argue.

3. A Royal Visitor

After a couple of hours, long after I've lost feeling in my arms, we re-enter mother's shop. The building is made of clay and sandstone, much like the rest of Towen's buildings, but each room on the inside is painted with a different scene. The ceiling, however, remains painted like the sky.

A sharp knock echoed off the front door, twice quickly, then after a moment, again. Arlin and I look at each other. None of mother's customers knock. They know that they can just walk right in.

"I'll get it," mother says as she appears from one of the side rooms. Her brows furrow, and I can tell she's confused, too. While tourists from other countries or regions wouldn't normally be odd, since the war began, the only travelers have been guards or soldiers.

"Good day," a tall, uniformed man said as mother opened the oak door. His uniform wasn't one of most guards or soldiers that came through our town. It was made of fine brown leather and a gold silk braid attached on either side of his neck. "I am the Captain of the Palace Guard. Are your children with you?"

Mother glances at us, then back at the Captain. "Yes. May I inquire as to why you're asking?"

A smile ticks at the corner of his mouth. "I am glad you asked. Since the war has begun, we have lost some of our lower-ranking guards to the army. We have been searching for recruits to replace them. It is our understanding that your son Arlin is the best fighter in this village." His eyes shift behind mother and lock onto mine. "Apparently, your daughter is not far behind."

Arlin's hand grasps mine.

To be a guard was all we'd ever wanted, but after the war began, that dream had been put behind him as Arlin began to train with the blacksmith. Dreams had seemed too silly. But now...

"May I discuss it with them?" Mother asks.

The captain nods. "Yes. Training begins tomorrow at midday at the palace. If they are not there, we will assume they have declined the invitation and will look elsewhere. I truly hope to see them there." With one last smile, he turns.

Mother shuts the door slowly, watching the captain leave. "I wasn't aware that they came to our doors to recruit."

"Mother," Arlin says, and she faces him. She presses her lips together, already knowing what he is going to say. "We have to go."

She chews on her lips and looks at her feet. "I know."

He steps closer and takes her hands in his. "I know you will worry, but if you don't want us to go, we won't."

I nod. It's rare to be invited to the palace, especially for citizens of Towen, but being a Palace Guard is dangerous. Now, more than ever. I couldn't live with myself if we went and mother didn't want us to.

She shakes her head. "No. This is your dream. And your father would want you to do it. I can't stop you."

Arlin turns to me, a grin lighting up his face. "Road trip."