Several weeks later, Fortney padded through the palace in her bare feet. She nodded to bowing servants as she passed.

  She arrived at the training hall. She stepped in alone.

  Kadir was occupied today, so she would be training alone. She lit the torches and set up the striking stand. It was a vertical frame with boards of good solid oak slotted in, facing outward at two angles. She put on her training gloves and took a stance in front of the striking stand.

  Fortney took a deep breath. Then she drove a punch at the bare wood.

  The blow caused the oak to clatter loudly within its frame. The sting of contact traveled up her arm. She set her jaw and struck again, with her left fist this time.

  Back and forth, she slammed her fists into the unyielding wood, keeping her face stiff through the pain, never pulling a punch or taking a light hit. Sweat began pouring off of her, effort-sweat mixed with pain-sweat. Still she drove on.

  After a time of this, she paused. Her knuckles and fists were throbbing. She stripped off the gloves. They were not thick, but they provided some protection against the harsh wood.

  Fortney considered her callused knuckles in the dim torchlight. She slowly rubbed her hand across them, feeling the horny carapace she'd developed over years of training.

  Stronger. She had to be stronger. She needed the strength to protect her kingdom. Protect her father. Protect the people she loved.

  She had to protect everyone that was left.

  She closed her eyes. A vision flitted across her mind: a palace maid with a flash of bright red silk and a kind smile.

  With a shout of anger, she drove her bare fist at the training boards. And again. And again. She relentlessly pounded the boards, trying to drive away the memory with her fists.

  Fortney Nurani, six years old, rushed into the playroom.

  "Dāyah!" she cried, holding up a small tooth. "Dāyah! My tooth came out!"

  A matronly nanny stood in the playroom, tidying up, with an armful of toys: clay animals and dolls. Other toys were scattered around the airy room: board games and leather-stuffed balls, toy carts, and small musical instruments.

  Rahima Halimara, dāyah to the princess of Namar?n, was dressed in a simple, tidy, ankle-length linen tunic, with a woven cotton belt at her waist. Her sole concession to vanity was a red silk shawl draped over her shoulders. She was in her thirties, but her face carried the wisdom of the ages.

  She sank to one knee before the princess.

  "Oh, let me see," she said. Fortney proudly held the tooth out to her. "Is that the one that's been loose?"

  Fortney nodded firmly, a wide grin fixed on her face.

  "Dear child, you're bleeding," Rahima said, a worried frown creasing her brow. She pulled a rag from a pouch at her waist. "Open your mouth and let me see."

  Fortney dutifully opened her mouth wide. Rahima dabbed at the socket where the tooth had been.

  "Fortney, dear, did you pull this tooth out before it was ready?"

  "It was ready, dāyah! I was wiggling it like you said. It was loose! So I pulled really hard and it came right out!"

  Rahima sighed with exasperated affection.

  "Didn't that hurt?"

  "Only a little. But look! It came out!" She waved the tooth around.

  "Oh, Fortney. My little babr-e mādeh, my tiger-maiden. You should have let it come out in its own time."

  "I decided it was time."

  "Fortney, what am I to do with you? So strong-willed. Well, come, we'll rinse your mouth out and then we can show the Sultan your tooth."

  "Okay. Dāyah... carry me?" Fortney held up her arms.

  Rahima smiled. "You're getting to be such a big girl, though. Can't you walk on your own feet?"

  Fortney bit her lip in thought. "If you carry me now, I'll have more energy for playing later."

  Rahima laughed in delight, then hefted the little girl onto one hip. "The kingdom is in trouble, once you grow up," she said.

  Fortney laid her head on Rahima's shoulder, nuzzling in. "I love you, Rahima," she said.

  "I love you, too, child," Rahima said, tapping her nose playfully. She walked toward the door and pulled it open.

  A tall, lean man with piercing, eyes stood beyond the door. His hair was wild and his beard was patchy, as though he had been ripping chunks of it out with his fists. He grimaced, showing crooked, rotting teeth.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "They're talking to me again," he said in a broken voice. "They're talking." He reached out for Fortney with a hand full of hooked fingers.

  Rahima shrank back, turning her body to hold Fortney away from the man, and shrieked with all her might.

  "She can still the voices," he said, shouting over Rahima's screams. He advanced on the dāyah and child. "They told me!"

  Rahima backed into the room. The wild man continued to approach steadily.

  "Tabāhī-nap?u!" Rahima screamed. "Power-rotted!"

  The man stalked forward, his hands reaching out for the princess. Fortney buried her face in Rahima's neck. They were nearly back against the wall. Rahima tried to dart around the madman, but he lunged with inhuman speed, snagging Fortney's arm.

  "No, no!" shrieked Rahima. She clung to Fortney's legs as the man tried to pull her away.

  "She can still the voices!" he howled, yanking roughly on her arm. His mad strength nearly tore Fortney from Rahima's grasp. Rahima pulled back with all her strength. The man drew them closer, baring his teeth. His breath smelled of raw earth and corruption.

  "You will free me," he croaked, washing her face in his sepulcher breath.

  Fortney balled up her free fist and struck the man right between the eyes with all her strength. But the strength of a child was not enough to faze the madman. He didn't even blink. She struck again and again, crying and flailing at him, to no effect.

  She had no weapons. She had no strength. She was powerless.

  "Let her go!" cried Rahima, trying to yank Fortney back.

  The man's hand dipped to his waist, grabbed a knife, then struck out. Rahima cried weakly, and her hold on Fortney loosed.

  "Dāyah!" Fortney screamed. "Dāyah! Dāyah!"

  "You can still them," the madman breathed. His grip on her arm was punishingly tight. Her arm began to turn purple. He grinned, a terrible expression that was half pain and half euphoria and all teeth. He pulled her closer, their foreheads nearly touching. "The Daughter of the Sun is my salvation," he hissed. "I can--haaaaaah!"

  His eyes went wide, and his face locked in a grimace. The tip of a spear protruded from his stomach. He turned his neck at a bone-snapping angle to look over his shoulder. A palace guard held the spear, driven through the madman.

  "Mine!" he cried. The guard pulled his spear clear and jabbed again. More guards appeared in the doorway. The madman screamed and grabbed the spear with his free hand, pulling it out of his body. He held Fortney with his other hand, her little body dangling from his strangling grip. She cried and kicked at him fruitlessly.

  "Mine!" he repeated. The other three guards rushed in, and they began driving their spears into his body mercilessly. "No! Mine!" he cried. His grip on her arm loosened. "She can save me!" Fortney slipped out of his grasp and tumbled to the floor.

  She scrambled away from the screaming madman. The guards had finally driven him to the floor, and were brutally ending his life with their spears.

  Fortney crawled over to Rahima. The nanny was splayed out on the floor, her bright red shawl spread out around her.

  "Dāyah!" Fortney wept. Tears poured down her face. "Be okay! You have to be okay!"

  "Shazedah," Rahima said weakly. She tried to raise a hand to Fortney's face, but could not find the strength. "My little babr-e mādeh, my tiger-maiden." She smiled. "Don't cry, little babr."

  "I won't!" Fortney vowed. "I'll never cry again if you are okay!"

  "It doesn't hurt," Rahima said. Her shawl appeared to be growing as her voice weakened. "Be strong. You have a steel heart. My strong Shazedah." She smiled, and her eyes dulled. Her body relaxed.

  "Dāyah! I won't cry! I promise! Please! Just please don't go!" Fortney huddled over the still form of her nanny as the palace guards finished their grisly work behind her.

  The training boards clattered violently as Fortney drove her bare fists into them.

  "You still push yourself," Kadir said. Fortney started. She turned to the door. Kadir leaned there, his arms crossed. Her hair stuck to her face with sweat, and she heaved. Her brow was soaked but her eyes were dry.

  "Mo'abbi," she said, bowing. "I apologize. I did not hear you come in."

  Kadir uncrossed his arms and stood up straight.

  "Fortney, why do you train so?" he asked. "You are no soldier. You are no preening darbārī, no courtier trying to impress young ladies."

  Fortney glared at the floor, slowly getting control of her breathing.

  "It is my duty," she said finally. "You are mo'abbi, and I must honor your tutelage with all my effort."

  "Oh? And are you so dutiful with your other studies? The mo'allem of music tells me you haven't touched her instruments in months. The mo'allem of languages sits lonely in his study. Even the hunters say you do not visit them. What of their honor?"

  Fortney flushed.

  "I am... suited for this. I am no idle musician, nor babbler, nor collector of meat."

  Kadir raised an eyebrow.

  "So the Shazedah chooses for herself what she will learn, then?"

  "I do study with the others!" she cried defensively. "I do! I will learn from them. I just..." She curled her fists, looking at the callused knuckles. She spoke quietly. "When the last moment comes, when darkness sweeps over you and all friends are far away, there is only self. There are no weapons, there are no allies. There is only self." She raised her fists. "I have these, and nothing else."

  Kadir scoffed. "You have the entire kingdom ready to support you. To ignore the help of others is weakness."

  "No!" She backhanded the striking stand hard enough to knock the frame over. "I will never be weak again!"

  Kadir's mouth twisted.

  "You are weaker than you know. You disrespect the teaching of others, and now you disrespect my teachings in my own masul."

  Fortney immediately bowed low.

  "I am sorry, mo'abbi," she said. "I acted foolishly."

  "You have continued to act foolishly. I have trained your body, but your heart is still that of a child. You do only what you want, and lash out at correction."

  "I will do better, mo'abbi." She deepened her bow.

  "You have disrespected every other teacher in the palace. You disrespect your father and your station with this Bayze Shab nonsense. And now you disrespect me. You obey with your hands, but not with your heart." Kadir said. He shook his head, and his face darkened. " You may no longer call me mo'abbi'."

  Fortney looked up at him, stricken. She sank to her knees.

  "P-please, mo-- please no!" She clasped her hands together. "Please do not cast me away!" She placed her palms flat on the floor and bowed from her knees, pressing her forehead to the floor of the training hall. "Please!" Her voice was raw, cracked, and muffled from pointing at the floor. She set her elbows on the ground, stretching her hands out to him. "I will do anything!"

  Kadir frowned at her.

  "Then show me you understand respect. Show me you understand what real strength is. Study under the other teachers. Turn that fiendish focus of yours to learning. If the others tell me that you have become as powerful a student as you are a fighter, I may reconsider."

  "I will! I swear it!"

  "Then go. There is no place in my masul for those who are not training."

  Fortney's shoulders hitched: once, twice. She squeezed her face shut and swallowed hard. A hard lump of pain settled in her chest as she sharpened her grief into determination.

  "I will not cry," she whispered.

  She stood slowly, and straightened her back. Her eyes were moist, but no tear fell. She bowed deeply.

  "I thank you for your training and correction, m--Kadir," she said. Then she stormed out of the training hall.