Pivot, the Chief Armorer of the Duke, was sparring with her cousin Linch, a typical activity for the two of them. It wasn’t a true fight—they were being much more elegant than they would be in a real battle, swinging their weapons in a manner more showy than practical. That evening, they were to perform for the Duke’s guests. He loved showing all the other nobles his female Armorer, and how she could best any fighter. Afterwards, Pivot and the Duke would laugh at his counterparts and what fools they were. They swaggered so, those popinjays, and believed themselves to be great, and they were so astonished that a common girl could beat them.

“What sort of performance do you have planned for tonight?” Linch asked conversationally as he flipped his wooden staff over his head and swung it down toward Pivot. She blocked it mere centimeters from her shoulder. His staff slipped and hit the dirt floor of the Armory.

“Oh, I don’t know…” she replied. “Whatever will shock those noble fops. It’ll probably just end up being the stuff that looks flashy, not anything that requires actual skill.”

Linch laughed without breaking his concentration as they continued to whack their wooden sticks together. “You know, I heard that there’s someone special here tonight.”

“Who?” Pivot demanded.

“A royal.”

Pivot grasped her staff in both hands and held it out in front of her, twisting to block Linch. “Why would one of them come here? It’s not as though they’re touring their perfect little country right now, to look at their pretty land and feel proud of themselves.”
“I know,” Linch said, smiling, as he backed her up against the wall. “But that’s what Axle said. Before he left to visit his mother this morning, he had to hang the pennants of the visitors, and one of them had the royal seal on it. Not the king’s pennant, but maybe one of his sons.”

Pivot laughed, feinting to the left. “Oh, I hope not. A prince would challenge me to a fight and I wouldn’t want to hurt his poor manly pride!” She swung her stick to the side and around, pulling it toward her as she knocked it against the back of Linch’s knees, forcing him to the ground.

“Cousin, there’s not a man alive who could keep his pride after a fight with you.”

They ate lunch together, in their cottage a few minutes walk from the Duke’s manor. Pivot’s fiancé, Axle, the third Armorer, joined them. He had an easy smile and dark hair that accented his smoky gray eyes. They had been betrothed for eight years, half of their lives, and were close friends.

“So, Axle. I heard there’s a royal here. Who?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Does it matter so? What difference does it make? I assume she won’t even watch the fight. Generally, rich girls prefer embroidery to weaponry.”

“She?” Pivot asked. “So it’s one of the princesses or the queen. It’s probably not the queen, since they say she rarely leaves the palace, and never without her husband. So, one of the princesses. Cira or Luanna?”

“I won’t tell you,” he teased. Pivot picked up a knife lying a few feet away and flicked it at him. He dodged easily, but said, laughing, “All right! It’s Princess Cira.”

Ten minutes later, when they had finished eating, they heard a knock on the door. Linch went to open it, and from around the corner Pivot and Axle heard, “Your Honor.”

They quickly stood up and followed Linch. The Duke stood just outside with a pretty blond girl in a fancy blue dress. She looked about fifteen, only a year younger than Pivot, but they could not have looked more different. Pivot’s hair was dark, chopped off halfway down her neck, while the blond girl’s hair flowed halfway to her waist. Pivot had suntanned skin, a fighter’s body, and dark, untrusting eyes, but the other girl was pale like one kept inside all the day, small and slight, and blue eyes that were too sharp for comfort. In short, she looked like a noble.

Pivot turned to the Duke. “Your Honor, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

His smiled at her. Pivot knew that he enjoyed the games they played as much as she did, the games of acting so proper, like liege and servant. “Your Highness,” he said in a stately voice, “may I present my Chief Armorer, Pivot?”

Pivot glanced at Axle, surprised, before turning to the girl. “You are Princess Cira?”
“I am,” she responded stiffly.
“Pivot,” said the Duke, “Princess Cira has come to me with an interesting request. She is going to slay a dragon and is in need of weapons. I am the only one who has considered helping her.”
“No. Absolutely not.” She didn’t even think before she answered. What was the princess thinking, slaying a dragon? There was no way Pivot would be a part of this mad venture.
“Pivot, I’m not asking you to simply hand over weaponry. But spend a week training her and, if at the end of the week you honestly believe she is up to the task, we will give her what she needs.”

Pivot wanted to protest some more, but the Duke’s tone was firm. She would talk to him later, she decided. For now, she would work with this noble girl. “Fine. Princess, come with us. If you want to kill a dragon, we may as well start today.” She gestured for Axle and Linch to follow, and set off at a quick pace for the training area. Before going too far, she paused and turned back to the princess. “Are you planning on training in a dress?”
The princess held her head high. “A princess does not wear, ah, breeches.”

Pivot glanced down at her own legs. She wore skirts…. Occasionally. Perhaps four or five times a year, for ceremonies and the like. There was absolutely no way to fight in them, especially while also wearing a corset. “You can change when we get to the barn,” she decided. They trained in an old wooden barn where they used to keep cows, over twenty years ago. Now the cows were out in a newer field and the barn was nothing but a large room with hay on the floor and along the walls.

When they got there, Pivot grabbed an extra outfit and made the princess change before Axle and Linch could come in. The clothes were far too big, but Pivot didn’t really care. Her Highness could deal with it, and bring appropriate clothes the next day.

When she returned, Pivot asked the princess what her favorite weapon was. In response, she pulled out a beautiful knife. It must have cost more than Pivot made in a year. The hilt was gold and the edge was so sharp that upon barely pressing her finger against it, a drop of blood blossomed from Pivot’s fingertip.

“Tell me, Princess, how does one fight with a knife?” Pivot asked.

“One does not,” the princess replied. “Knife fighting is dangerous, more dangerous than the sword or the bow or any other weapon. The art of the knife is the art of surprise.”
Pivot nodded, recognizing the quotation from Vidor’s Weaponry, written several centuries before. “So you’re well-read then. Tell me, Princess, have you ever seen a knife fight?”
“My title is ‘Your Highness.’ And no, I have not.” The girl smiled smugly.

“I’ll call you what I like!” Pivot snapped. “If you want me to train you, I’m not going to call you ‘your highness’ or ‘my lady.’” She glanced at Axle and Linch who were sitting in the corner on bales of hay, trying to hide their laughter.

The princess stared at Pivot in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

Pivot shrugged. “If I’m training you, I’m in charge. Take it or leave it.”
“Very well, Pivot,” Cira sneered. “Now, could you do me the favor of actually training me?”
“Fine,” Pivot began. There would be time later to make sure the princess respected her. “How many days, again?”

“Seven days, after today.”

“Fine. So, today we’ll start by testing you and figuring out what you need to work on.”
It turned out that Cira could actually use a sword reasonably well. In a real duel, Pivot could have beaten her instantly, but Cira could hold her own against most laymen. During the course of their fight, Pivot accidentally nicked Cira in the arm, and she began to bleed. Axle went inside to get a bandage, and Cira just pressed the wound to stop the bleeding. She had a most curious expression on her face. She had looked shocked when the sword first cut her, but then her face relaxed into a sort of half smile. When Axle came back outside, Cira insisted on tying the bandage herself, and she did a good job of it. Pivot had to admit that it was a quite useful skill, being able to take care of wounds.

After she left for the evening, the three Armorers went back their cottage to get ready for the dinner they would have to attend in the great hall. “I hate nobles!” Pivot exclaimed. “They think they’re so much better than the rest of us.”

Axle looked at her. “But what else has that girl ever known? You can’t blame her for being noble.” Blast him for being so understanding! She could never complain to him about anything.
Pivot groaned. “Don’t you go and be on her side, Axle. Spare me that, please.”
With that, they left for the manor. They sat at their own little table on the side, along with some other highly ranked servants. After dinner, the Duke announced the “Spectacle of seeing a female fight and excel.” She stood up and bowed, asking, “Are there any who will challenge me?”

Of course one of the men stood. He was wearing one of those ridiculous hats, the ones with brightly colored plumes. He called out, “I shall! I shall best the demon within you!” She sighed inwardly. A demon? Really? These nobles always thought there was something wrong with a girl who could fight.

They all walked out to the field and the fight began. In a true fight, Pivot could have won within a minute, but she carried it on for over ten. She had been wrong earlier, she realized. It actually took skill — to keep from beating him. In the end, he refused to just admit defeat. “I lost on purpose,” he pronounced theatrically. “It would be cruel to defeat a woman.”

The next day, Pivot set Cira to doing some simple sword drills with Axle and Linch. She argued first, but Pivot was firm. If they were going to work together, she had to know the princess could cover the basics.

Pivot went up to the manor. The Duke was holding court, so she waited patiently, but he soon let her in.

As soon as she walked into his study, Pivot burst out, “I won’t do it.”

“And why not, Pivot?”

“Because she is so... stuck-up. It took almost ten minutes to convince her to work with “those common boys,” just because she’s a princess. And you want me to waste a week on her?”
“What else would you being doing during this time, Pivot? Anything terribly important?” he asked.
“Tha-that’s not the point,” she stammered. “The point is, I can’t bear to spend an entire week with her!”
The Duke folded his hands on his ornate wooden table. “Pivot, sit down.” She sat. “Pivot, you look up to me.”
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Why?”
She glanced up at him. “Well… because you’re so good to us. You take care of your people, and you care about us more than most nobles care about their peasants. They abuse their peasants and treat them so awfully, but you don’t do that.”
“Pivot, how do you think I am treated among the nobles for acting this way?”
She shrugged. “Like someone different, I suppose. But it’s worth it, isn’t it?”
“For you all, maybe,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “And I suppose your gratitude is reward enough for the most part. I don’t enjoy the way the other nobles treat me, you know, but I still respect them. If I weren’t the type of person to honor them even when they treat me unpleasantly, I wouldn’t be the type of person who could treat my peasants right.”
“So?” she asked.
“So, sometimes I must do unpleasant things—socialize with the other nobles in this case—in order to be a good person. And Princess Cira is already a good person, just one who grew up a noble. Like I did. Maybe she can become like me, but a queen. Do this for me, please, Pivot, as a favor.”
She nodded reluctantly. She owed it to the Duke to do whatever she could for him.
“Oh, and Pivot?”
“Yes?”
“You could be nicer if you tried. It might make this week more pleasant for you.”

Halfway through the week, Pivot decided that she would start being nice to Cira. “What do you say we practice with the sword?” she asked on their way to the Armory.
“That would be most satisfactory,” Cira responded stiffly. “I shall use that in defeating the dragon, after all, when I stab its heart.”
Instead of laughing at Cira for thinking dragons were killed that way, Pivot took a breath and asked, “You do know there are other ways to slay a dragon, right?”
Cira paused and looked at the Armorer. “Really? Such as what?” She sounded surprisingly interested.
“Well, for one thing, stabbing the heart is too difficult. It’s easiest to use a dagger or arrow covered with a leipol poison while the dragon sleeps.”
Cira blinked. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
Pivot stared at her for a moment, and then burst into laughter. “What are you talking about? Of course I know what I’m doing!”
“It’s only,” Cira muttered, “that I’ve never heard of this before.”
Pivot chuckled. “Who wants to hear the heroic tale of the brave knight who shot the sleeping dragon with an arrow from a hundred yards away, and then rode off on his majestic white stallion in case the dragon woke up? Not nearly dramatic enough for those knights.”
Cira looked at her curiously. “Why are you not a knight? You are talented enough at fighting, that they would take you even though you’re both common and a woman.”

Pivot kept walking as she formulated a reply. “Well,” she said after a few seconds, “I honestly never really thought about it. I like being the Chief Armorer. It’s fun. I can fight all day. And my friends are here.”

“But the kingdom could use you! And if you performed excellently, which you certainly would, you might become a noble.”

Pivot pursed her lips at that. “I don’t ever want to be a noble,” she said emphatically as she swatted at a fly bobbing around her head.
Cira turned back around and glared at her. “And just what is wrong with us?”
“Well, nothing, if you want a pampered, sheltered life. You never go hungry, but you never learn to be strong.” Pivot spat angrily.
Cira glared back at her. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever gone hungry either,” she said finally. “Not living in this castle. Other peasants, maybe, but not you. How are you yourself any different than a noble, besides lacking a title? And as for learning to be strong, well, you’ve always been loved, and I suppose it has all gone so easily for you.” Pivot was getting angry, but she said nothing. Cira had spoken true. The girl looked ferocious, her eyes steely and her mouth tight.
“Have you ever had such unreasonable expectations set for you, been expected to be someone you entirely are not?” she continued. “And to have the weight of knowing that if you aren’t prim and proper, docile, and everything that could be contained in an animated doll, you will lose the only chance of pleasing your father? A good marriage! That is the only thing Father wants from me.
“Did you even realize why I, a princess, needed to come to the Duke for weapons? My own father sent me out on my own. I wanted an opportunity, a single opportunity, to be something more than a china doll princess, and Father determined that I should be sent on my own, with neither guards nor weapons that I could not persuade other nobles to give me. And the Duke is the only one who even considered helping me.” The princess was getting angrier and angrier as she spoke, her voice rising louder and louder, her face getting red, and a stray tear or two slipping down her face.
“All my life, I have wanted a chance to fight. To win. To be more than a girl married off to whatever second son of a king will offer Father the highest price. Have you ever once had to, or even wanted to, defy those who control your life? Have you ever even imagined how horrid your life would be, as a girl and a natural fighter, anywhere at all outside of the Duke’s castle?” Cira stopped, caught her breath, and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she was like stone, a model of perfect composure. She looked Pivot steadily in the eyes, and they stared at each for a long moment. Cira seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but Pivot held her tongue and said nothing.
Finally, Cira said in a low, dark voice, “You care only about yourself, with not a thought towards anybody else, judging without knowing a single fact other than my title.”
That was too far. Pivot wouldn’t listen to this. She grabbed Cira’s wrists to stop her, but the girl shrieked and pulled away, racing off across the grass.
Pivot swore under her breath, as she raced after Cira. The girl was going to get herself killed, acting like that. She caught up to the smaller girl quickly and grabbed her from behind. Cira shrieked, but Pivot only swung the princess to face her.
“Princess, I’m not trying to hurt you. But your enemies will not be so kind if you aggravate them like this,” she hissed. “You might want to, in the future, be careful about insulting killers. We, on the whole, tend to have tempers. Best to make a habit of watching your tongue unless you can best in a fight the one you insult.”
Cira studied Pivot for a moment, and asked in a surprisingly steady voice, “Have you truly killed before?”
“Yes,” she said shortly as let Cira go and they both continued walking to the weapons shed.
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t, not really. They had never identified the man, and in the end all that had mattered was that he had been her first kill, and it had changed her. She had grown harder, tougher, and started learning the part of the fighter, the killer. That’s simply who she was.
They walked in silence the rest of the way to the weapons shed, and then when they were inside, Cira sat down cross-legged on the floor. “I will not move until you tell me who you’ve killed.”
Pivot stared at her. “What?”
“Exactly what I said. I will not move from this spot until you tell me about the first time you killed someone.”
For some reason, Pivot sat down beside the princess. She didn’t quite know why, but she decided to tell Cira the story she hadn’t talked about in years, not even with the people who were there.
Perhaps it was how similar they were. Pivot envied Cira her strength, which seemed so natural. She herself had had to learn to act strong, and even now she never quite had it all together. She just kept messing up, like when she lashed out at Cira. Cira, she was sure, never did things like that.
“I was young,” she began. “But already a talented fighter. I’d just never had an opportunity yet to use those skills for something real...” Her voice trailed off as the memory fought its way into her mind, still unwanted, vivid but distant, as if she were watching herself from the outside.

It’s Midwinter Feast. Pivot is eleven years old. She sits at the table with the other servants, in between her cousin and her fiancé, like always. They laugh and chatter together, in good spirits. Halfway through the meal, Pivot glances up at the Duke’s table. Her father sits near his master as a guard. Her heart burns with pride for her daddy, the Chief Armorer, the best there ever was. She believes he can do no wrong.
The hall doors swing open and a man comes running through, dressed in black. He is running fast, faster than anyone Pivot has ever seen. She notices the glint of silver in his hand and screams.
He runs right past her. She could have stopped him. She knows she could have. Even now, so young, it would have been easy to stab him with the dagger strapped to her wrist, or to just trip him. But she’s paralyzed with fear and can’t do anything but scream.
The man runs until he reaches the Duke’s table, and then raises his weapon and is about to stab at the Duke, but then her father leaps forward to save the day, just like he always does. He pushes the man aside, pulling out his own sword, and they began to fight. Pivot isn’t worried, because her father has never lost a fight.
But then something’s wrong. Her father is bleeding, something that’s never happened before. He stumbles. The man in black stabs again and her father falls to the floor. “No!” Pivot screams, and is up and moving before her friends can stop her. She moves faster than she ever has before and attacks the man from behind, hurting him and hurting him long after he stops moving. She feels someone shaking her. It’s the Duke. Overcome, she collapses into his arms.

She opened her eyes and continued speaking, staring at the bale of hay on the opposite wall. “My father was killed defending the Duke from an assassin. So I killed the assassin. They never did figure out why the he had come.”
“I don’t regret killing him.” Her voice grew hard and cold, but urgent at the same time, desperate to explain. “Or the others, even though there haven’t been many. You have to understand that about me. I’m a killer. The only thing I regret is not stopping him before he killed my father….”
While she had been telling the story, she wouldn’t look Cira in the eye. Now that she was done, she finally glanced at the girl. Instead of pity for her father’s death, or disgust at her deeds, Cira simply looked kind and compassionate.
“It’s fine, Pivot,” she said. “You did nothing wrong. As you said, it wasn’t your fault.” She leaned over and hugged Pivot, and then stood up and looked at the weapons. “I suppose you’re not the sort of person who enjoys wallowing in her emotions, so shall we train?”
Pivot laughed a little shakily. “Yeah, sure. So do you still want to work on sword fighting today, and we can practice with the dagger tomorrow?”

The next day, Pivot decided to give Cira the afternoon off. “Could you show me around?” she asked. “This is the first break you have given me, and I haven’t seen much of your little manor.”

“Okay, princess,” Pivot said with a grin. “Let’s go to Axle’s village.”

“I thought Axle lived with you and Linch!” Cira exclaimed.

“He does, but he was born and raised in the village. Since working for the Duke is an inherited position, his family and mine arranged our betrothal.”

They stopped at the stable to get horses. When they arrived, they tied their horses up outside the home of a wealthy peasant and gave his son a few coins to watch the horses. “Some of these villagers would steal a horse to sell for a bit of coin,” Pivot explained. “They don’t always have enough money to eat, or for new clothing when their children grow, or to fix what breaks.”

“But the Duke is famed for his kindness toward his peasants!” Cira exclaimed. “How could he possibly leave his people in such poor condition?”

“He does what he can for them. None of them ever starve, and their lives are still so much better than most peasants. Haven’t you ever traveled through the country? The real country, not just the roads in between manors.”

“No,” Cira admitted. “I have not.”

“Well, then. But this is the reason plenty of these peasants would give an arm and a leg to marry their child into the Duke’s service. That’s why my parents arranged my marriage to Axle, to save a village kid.”

“Oh.” Cira looked a little disappointed. “I had hoped you were madly in love with him and just didn’t show it in front of me. I’ve always found it so beautiful, that peasants can often marry whomever they choose.”

Pivot started laughing. “Oh, no! We’re not in love. He’s a great friend, to be sure, but we are definitely not in love.”

“Then why are you marrying him? Does the contract not allow you to break the betrothal?”
“I wouldn’t, not ever. Then he would have to go back to the village, and I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“But you’re denying the both of you the opportunity for true love!”

Pivot laughed inside. She would bet the princess was the kind of girl who loved sappy romances and paintings of skies and rivers. “Princess, you don’t have the opportunity for true love either. It’s not like you won’t try to be happy just the same, with whoever your father chooses for you.”

Cira smiled. “True.”

While in the village, she talked to the peasants, those “common people” that she had ridiculed only days before. Pivot marveled at how much the girl had changed throughout the week, and even how much she changed during the course of the day. She was so kind to them, so understanding, and Pivot wished she could be as good as the princess.

On the afternoon of the last day, they were sitting together in the armory and making extra leipol poison.
“Who are you?” Cira asked suddenly.
“Princess, what do you mean? You know who I am.”
“No, I want to hear you say it. Tell me who you think you are.”
“Well,” Pivot began hesitantly. “I am Pivot, Chief Armorer of the Duke. I am a master fighter, and have won many tournaments. I am a killer, but prefer saving lives. I am cousin of Linch, betrothed of Axle.”
Cira nodded. “But those are just facts. I could have told you all that. What do you want to do in the future? What do you care about? What sort of person are you? Those are questions only you can answer.
“I am Cira, the Princess, which means I am daughter of a King. I was raised in a palace. I have great knowledge of politics, and I want the best for my country. But I also want to be my own person and live on my own terms, away from my father’s plans. I have a duty to my country, so I will obey, but I need just a few tastes of this freedom. I wish I could be Queen in my own right. I believe I would do a good job.” She stopped and halfway covered her face with one hand, looking away from Pivot as she continued.
“Recently I… made a friend, and she showed me what needs to be done by the ruler of this land. I am a girl who can sit perfectly still through hours of ambassadors talking, but used to run in the fields with my younger siblings. I am a girl who learns to fight, despite my father. I am prideful, but I am learning the value of others. Who are you?”
Pivot looked at Cira a moment longer, and then shook her head. “I don’t know.”

That morning, a small group of the Armorers, the Duke, and a stable hand gathered to bid the princess farewell. Before she left, Pivot spoke to her. “Cira.”

She smiled. “You called me Cira, instead of princess. I think that’s the first time.”
Pivot smiled too. “Well, Cira, go kill that dragon. I think you might actually be able to do it. You’ve surprised me.”

“You have surprised me as well. I did not expect someone who would claim to be my equal, much less my superior.”

“I expected you to be exactly how you acted.” They both laughed. “Cira, you’re the fourth person I’ve ever cared much about, I think.”

Cira paused. “You care about me?” And then, “You don’t care about anyone else?”
“No,” Pivot shrugged. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“You should, Pivot. People are important, foolish as that sounds.”

Pivot grinned, getting ready for the surprise. “But, Cira,” she said innocently, “I’ll be too busy becoming a knight to care about that.”

“You will become a knight? When did you change your mind?” The princess sounded so excited, Pivot was glad she had revealed it this way.

“Two days ago, when you asked me what I wanted, and I realized I’ve never had an answer to that question. Maybe by trying something new, I’ll learn what I want and who I want to be.”
Cira tilted her head to the side. “It does work, you know. Over this week, I’ve learned that I want to be important, to make a difference to these people. So will you petition to become a noble lady when you finish serving?”

“No. I told you before, Cira, I don’t ever want to be a noble.” Pivot grew very serious and looked her new friend straight in the eyes. “You are special, you and the Duke. I don’t know, maybe more nobles could be like you if they had the chance, but for the most part, I don’t think I could stand to be around them.”

Cira sighed. “All right, Pivot.” She started to turn away, but Pivot grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

“Cira. When you’ve finished your quest, come back here before you go back to the palace. I don’t want to have to hear from the Duke how our Princess Cira took over the kingdom and became queen.”

“Pivot, I promise you, if I ever do a thing like that, you will be the first to know.” She walked over to her horse. Before she rode off, the two friends looked at each other one more time.

“Goodbye,” they said.