Lyn’s subsequent duels passed in a slightly painful blur until she was at last facing her final opponent: Sir Orenel, a knight who had graduated from the Knights’ Academy a few years before she did, and had fought impressively in each of his duels. Skilled though he was, Orenel had been a bully at the Academy, especially to her, because she was a girl and hadn’t grown past five feet seven inches: on the higher end of average for a maiden, but short compared to most male knights.

She was a little winded at this point, and she’d have bruises for days along her ribs, cramps in her leg muscles, and tension in her shoulders; but she didn’t care. Lyn knew by now that always having an ache or pain was something that came hand in hand with being a knight.

Lyn knew that Orenel would try to taunt her and get under her skin, to throw her off and gain himself the upper hand. If she didn’t focus, he could best her because of a few petty comments. She hadn’t come this far for nothing.

“Commence combat!”

Right away, Orenel spoke; loud enough for Lyn to hear, but not loud enough for the crowd to know what he was saying. “Look who it is. Little Emmy Emelyne, playing at swords still? I thought you’d realize by now that you’ve got a pair of tits under there. Or have you never had a man who wanted to touch them?”

Lyn took a deep breath and started watching his feet, ignoring the smirk that she could hear in his voice.

“Poor Emmy. Too weak to keep up with the men, not pretty enough to be a woman. I’m sure the local whorehouse would take you if you begged them, so long as you really are a woman between the legs.”

“Real men use their swords to fight. Words are the weapons of callow little boys,” she said calmly. Orenel’s wrist muscles were tightening, so she knew that he would soon make a move.

Lyn guessed correctly—Orenel surged towards her with a calculated strike, but she was ready, and blocked it smoothly. The next couple of minutes were a flurry of parries and blows and blocking, until they broke apart for a moment.

“I don’t know how they even let you into the Academy in the first place,” Orenel sneered, although sweat was glistening along his brow. “I bet you bedded the maesters to get in.”

“I wish you had learned something worthwhile during your time there. Guess you were too busy picking on first-year pages to learn what it means to be a true knight,” Lyn countered.

Orenel scoffed. “You say that as if you know better than I do. Look at you, not even worth enough to leave Leincrad with your own shield.”

“I’m leaving Leincrad tomorrow,” Lyn told him. “After I win this tourney.”

Orenel narrowed his eyes. “Not going to happen, Emmy.” He came at her again, slashing his sword in wild yet skillful strokes. Lyn blocked his advance and managed to whack the side of his face. The crowd cheered, and Orenel flung his helmet off in frustration, fighting the ringing in his ears. Lyn removed her helmet as well, evening the playing field.

Orenel attacked again, getting in close enough to drive his knee up into Lyn’s stomach while she fended off his blade—a dishonorable move, but not an illegal one. Lyn saw stars as she fought the pain that exploded in her ribs, and dropped to her knees, just barely managing to hold her sword up against the continual blows Orenel rained down upon her.

“Bet this is the only time you’ll ever see a woman on her knees,” Lyn taunted. Enraged, Orenel swung his sword back to deliver a forceful strike to the head; one that would surely cause lasting damage now that she had no helmet protection.

Orenel brought his sword back too far, and Lyn knew she had the advantage. She leapt forward, driving her shoulder against Orenel to push him back. As he fell, Orenel lost his grip on his sword, and Lyn rolled forward on the ground, jumping to her feet just in time to catch the blade in her left hand. She stood over Orenel, who had fallen on his arse in the dirt, and pointed both swords at him wordlessly. Lyn had won the final match of the tourney.