Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 by Joel Shepherd Page B

could close entirely. Sasha jerked awake, a hand moving fast to the knife beneath her pillow. But it was only Fara, wrapped in a towel from her morning wash and holding two mugs of tea.
    “Thanks,” said Sasha, as the other girl placed the mug on the floor beside the bed. Fara returned to her own bed and began dressing.
    Neither being a princess, nor the uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt, had been enough to gain Sasha a room of her own. She didn't mind. She and Fara shared the best upstairs room at the Velos, a crumbling little brick-walled space with floorboards that creaked, and rickety wooden shutters that let inthe rain in a storm. At least they had a view of the docks—Liam and Rodery were stuck in the back room with only a dingy courtyard to look upon.
    The tea was spiced something fierce. Sasha winced as she sipped it, opening the window shutters enough for a view. Already there were small fishing boats heading out past the large ships at mooring. Men clambered over boats along the piers, tending to ropes, nets and sails. The sun glared several hands above the ocean horizon…someone had been nice to her, Sasha realised, and let her sleep in past the dawn. Quite likely some of the men would be back from their first fishing trip soon, having set out before sunrise. Others would be off to North Pier to work at the warehouses, shifting the rich families’ cargo. Another day in Petrodor.
    Serrin put something in their tea that woke a person up real fast. She sat on the floor and did her stretches. Then came the exercises, fast sit-ups and push-ups in her underclothes. Then she lifted her chin repeatedly above the crosswise ceiling beam, with relative ease.
    “You should do more exercises,” she encouraged Fara, who sat on her bed and arranged little parcels of medicines in small leather pouches, along with other implements Sasha did not recognise, and placed them carefully in a wooden carry box. “Then the boys won't beat you up at training so bad.”
    “I do enough,” said Fara. Fara was a quiet girl with long, light brown hair and eyes that never quite met a person's gaze. Her uman was a healer, skilled primarily in the serrin lore of medicines. Her uman was also a woman; and that, in Sasha's estimation, was where the problems began.
    “You could do better,” Sasha suggested, stretching her arms.
    “Not everyone has to learn to fight with swords,” Fara said with irritation, her eyes not leaving her precious medicines. “Fighting was the last of the serrin's skills the Nasi-Keth learned to do.”
    Sasha shrugged, extended her arms, and leapt for the beam once more. “The last and most important,” she added, lifting herself up and down, breathing hard.
    “Important to you, maybe. Not everyone's a muscle-bound warrior like you.” There was an edge of sarcasm to her voice.
    Sasha snorted. She completed several more lifts, then dropped to the floor and pulled off her sweaty undershirt. “Do you know your problem?” she told Fara, tossing the shirt on her bed. “You enter the Nasi-Keth, the home of all open-mindedness and learning, yet you cling to old prejudices like a child to a mother's skirts. All these serrin women, and now me as an example, and no Petrodor woman wants to admit that women can fight.”
    “Oh, you're a wonderful example,” Fara said with gritted teeth, uncomfortable now that Sasha wore no top.
    Sasha knew that her physique made the locals edgy. Her new tattoo, even more so. Tongren had made it curl expertly about her upper bicep, three interwoven strands, like the tri-braid on the side of her head, dark like forest vines against the pale skin.
    “I'd much rather heal people, thanks.”
    “Most male healers can do both,” Sasha reasoned.
    “I'm an exception,” said Fara, testily.
    “Look, why don't you at least come on a run with me? It'll do you good, I find all my skills improve when I'm fit.”
    “Sashandra, why don't you leave me alone?” Fara retorted, looking up for the first