Arielle stood before the long silver mirror, dressing for the day’s training.

Her movements were methodical, almost ritualistic. She wore a brown training leathers, fitted but flexible. The kind worn by warriors who expected to be bruised and bloodied by the end of the day.

She put on the leather bracers around her forearms, pulling the laces tight until the pressure pressed against her skin. Her knuckles, still covered in the small plasters Drusilla had applied, throbbed with a dull, ...