Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(37)

Captain Niall was holding himself back. He must be. He is a werewolf, after all, and twice as fast as even the most highly trained soldier. He was also ten times as strong, if the legends were to be believed. Nevertheless, Sidheag isn’t at all bad. She keeps her stick in motion, always pressing forward, looking for a hole in her opponent’s defenses.

After a few minutes, Captain Niall called a halt to the impromptu match.

“Very interesting, Lady Kingair. I sense some of your”—he paused delicately—“father’s training.”

Sidheag inclined her head and resumed her place in line.

Sophronia, Dimity, Preshea, and Agatha all turned to stare at her, mouths slightly agape.

“I guess we found ourselves a teacher’s pet,” said Monique. “Then again, can you be a pet to a werewolf?”

“Oh, now, Miss Pelouse, I understand that playing favorites with professors is more your approach,” Sidheag shot back.

“Now, ladies, what you really want is to never get into the kind of situation Lady Kingair and I just demonstrated. You never want to actually engage with a rival. Your greatest advantage is surprise. Make the decision to strike first and with intent, and—if you will excuse the pun—stick to it. Miss Pelouse, if you would like to demonstrate?”

Monique moved forward, head held high, a small smile on her face.

Captain Niall approached her.

Monique, instead of striking out in the manner of Sidheag, Kr o Ni stepped in toward the werewolf. She commented on the pleasantness of the night and the beauty of the countryside. She fluttered her eyelashes in a way Sophronia had come to recognize as very advanced. I should never have thought there would be a time when I would envy another girl’s eyelash manipulation.

Playing her game, Captain Niall leaned in. He flirted back. He looked deeply into her eyes.

Monique struck him hard in the side of the neck with her stick, behind and below the ear. A stick that she had, somehow, sharpened into a point.

It speared into the werewolf’s body half an inch at least.

Blood leaked out around the stick.

Captain Niall winced and gave a little gasp of pain. “Ah. Yes. Very good, Miss Pelouse.”

Sophronia gasped herself, raising a hand to her mouth in horror. A small, untraumatized part of her wondered why Monique had not displayed such skill when faced with flywaymen. Had she wanted them to kidnap her?

Several of the other girls gave little mewling cries of distress.

Captain Niall reached up and pulled the stick out of his neck. Blood oozed forth, but not of the color or quantity that Sophronia expected. It was darker, almost black, and slower. Then, right before her eyes, the wound began to heal and close.

The werewolf handed the bloody stick back to Monique, who took it with a little curtsy.

Dimity fell facedown into the grass in a dead faint.

Sophronia crouched over her friend and with a gesture signaled Sidheag to help.

The tall girl bent down, and under cover of the hum of confusion, Sophronia asked, “What did you mean by that? What you said to Monique?”

Sidheag looked at her, assessing. “Only that the rumor is she has an advocate among the teachers.”

“Like a patron?”

“Very like.”

“Who?”

“No one knows





.”

Sophronia nodded, then turned back to Dimity. Someone passed over the sal volatile, and soon enough, her friend’s soft brown eyes blinked open. Sophronia helped Dimity to sit, and while she did so whispered in one ear, “Monique has an advocate on staff. I think that’s how she’s managed to keep the prototype location secret.”

Dimity looked at her, still recovering. “Really, Sophronia, it makes me most uncomfortable how you manage to sort everything out every time I faint.”





HOW NOT TO FLIRT


Sidheag, why does Captain Niall behave differently around you?” Sophronia had decided that her tactics with Sidheag ought to imitate those she used when handling her brothers. Direct questions, lack of delicacy, and a general roughness of manner is clearly called for. Consequently, the two girls were developing some kind of a relationship. It could not precisely be termed friendly, but Sidheag was less hostile to Sophronia than she was to most everyone else.

The girls were gathered in their parlor Nr o Ned , practicing discarding gloves with purpose, during a moment of peace before bed.

Sidheag didn’t even look at Sophronia. “I dinna ken your meaning.”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

Sidheag sighed. “I was raised by wolves.”

“Yes, so Monique intimated.”

“No, literally. Kingair Castle is a werewolf holding. Lord Maccon isn’t my father; he’s my great-great-great-great-grandfather. And he’s still alive. He was bitten after he had already bred.”

Sophronia blinked in startlement, and not in the correct eyelash-fluttering manner. Lady Linette would have been most upset. “That must be odd.”

“You have no idea.”

Dimity tilted her head. “Are they all soldiers? Like Captain Niall?”

“Of course.”

“Well, that explains your conduct,” said Monique snidely.

Sophronia looked at Monique. “I’d watch your tongue if I were you. Sidheag here is rather adept with weapons, and judging from our flywaymen experience, you are not.”