After Tristan left, Sam received no more visitors in the infirmary for six days. The first day, she hadn’t minded; despite Addie’s warning, Tristan had overexcited her and she spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sleeping. But she quickly grew lonely and bored. Addie talked to her sometimes, not only about doctorly things, but funny stories about her father and the men who tried to court her. Addie never asked about Tristan, which Sam appreciated. Still, Sam was one of many patients and Addie seldom had more than five minutes at a time to spare for her.
On the third day of no visitors, Sam asked Addie about Braeden. She thought maybe she had missed him while she was sleeping; had their positions been reversed, she would have been by his bedside night and day, if he let her. “Has Braeden come by to see me?” she asked while Addie replaced her bandages.
An uncomfortable look crossed Addie’s face. “Aye, he came,” she said vaguely.
“Oh,” said Sam, and some of the tightness in her chest dissipated. “Was I sleeping? Did he say he would come back?”
Addie applied a cool salve to her wound and didn’t glance up. “He came by right after you woke up, and he left almost immediately. He said nothing much to me beyond hello and goodbye.”
“Ow,” said Sam. Her chest hurt.
Addie furrowed her brow. “That shouldn’t have hurt,” she said, and finished wrapping Sam’s bandages.
Was Braeden mad at her? Sam thought they had mended the broken fences between them, but perhaps she was mistaken. What awful thing had she done that he couldn’t be arsed to come see her? She’d almost died, and she didn’t even warrant a “hello” or an “I’m glad you’re not dead?” The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her.
Braeden didn’t come the next day, or the day after that. Sam grew angrier and angrier until she thought she would choke with it. Or choke him with it, if he ever afforded her the opportunity.
Finally, on the sixth day, she caved. “Addie,” she called, “would you fetch me a pen and paper?” Hastily, Sam scribbled a note:
Braeden—
Come see me in the infirmary. I miss you.
-Sam
In return, she received:
Busy, sorry.
-B
He hadn’t even bothered to sign his full name. Sam crumpled his note into a ball and seethed silently.
“I don’t envy the man on the receiving end of that look,” said Addie. She shuddered. “Scary.”
“Men are idiots,” Sam said feelingly.
Addie raised an eyebrow. “There’s no need to state the obvious.” She smacked her forehead with her hand. “Speaking of idiot men, I almost forgot—I have a gift for you.”
“A gift? For me?”
Addie ducked out of the curtain opening and returned to Sam’s bed a moment later. The doctor held a long, curved object with her fingertips, as though it were filthy. “Here. This is yours.” She dropped it on Sam’s lap.
It was a scabbard—a beautiful sheath plated in bronze, inscribed with intricate patterns. The hilt of a sword stuck out of the bottom: the disk-shaped pommel and guard were made of gold, and the grip was covered in tan sharkskin.
Sam wrapped one hand around the hilt and the other around the scabbard and pulled apart. The sword slid out of the sheath with a metallic whisper. Impossibly light in her hand, the blade was steeply curved, single-edged and obsidian in color.
Oh gods, it was a scimitar.
“A note came with it, too,” said Addie. She unfolded a piece of parchment and placed the open letter on Sam's knee.
To Sam of Haywood—
May this blade serve you well.
Regards,
Tristan Lyons
He who would have bought her a gown had instead brought her a sword. Sam recognized the gift for what it was—a peace offering, and one she would gladly accept. She was relieved: She valued their relationship, but hadn’t been sure it could survive both her lies and the fallout from his proposal. Like Tristan had said of her, Sam wanted him around—just not in the way he intended. Even without his title, Tristan would forever be her Paladin.
Sam slid the scimitar back into its sheath. “If you see Tristan before me, please give him my thanks.”
“I will,” Addie promised. “He dropped it off here yesterday, but I didn’t want to give you any ideas.”
“Ideas?”
Addie put on a mock-stern face. “Don’t even think about swinging that thing until you’ve fully healed.”
“Would I do that?” Sam asked innocently. Surely one practice swing couldn’t do much harm…
“You are not to be trusted,” said Addie, “which is why I’m taking it back for safekeeping until your stitches are out.” She plucked the sheathed sword from Sam’s grip.
“Oi!” Sam protested, grabbing for the sword. “Give it back!”
Addie twisted out of reach. “Don’t be such a ninny. I’m taking your stitches out in a week. You can come back for it then.”
“Come back for it?”
Addie smiled. “Aye, you’ve healed quite nicely, and it’s time to relinquish your sickbed to another. I’m kicking you out.”
“But…” Sam bit her lip, feeling utterly lost and alone. “Where will I go?” Braeden was avoiding her, she certainly couldn’t impose on Tristan, and neither returning to the Center or Haywood were options.
Addie’s face fell in sympathy. “Oh, Sam,” she said. “You can stay here in the Beyaz Kale, of course. My father was supposed to come by to talk to you about it, but he’s been tied up with an emergency.”
Reassured, Sam asked, “Will I stay with Tristan and Braeden?”
Addie went crimson. “Will you…stay with Tristan and Braeden? Share a room with two men?” She shook her head adamantly. “No, no, definitely not. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I’ve been sharing a room with them for months,” Sam said practically. “What difference would it make?”
“You’re a woman now,” said Addie.
“I was a woman then, too,” Sam pointed out. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed,” said Addie. “The world knows you’re a woman. You can’t go on as you were.”
Sam glared at the doctor. “Where I’m from, Haywood,” she said, “there are no woman doctors. How would you have liked it if your father forbade you from practicing medicine?”
Addie chuckled. “He did just that,” she said. “I ignored him.”
“Then you should understand.”
Addie sighed. “You’ll need to make concessions, Sam, as did I. When you’re at battle and no alternatives present themselves, share a room with a man, by all means. But here, in Luca, you are a single woman and must observe the rules of propriety as best you can. It is not so big a concession.”
“No,” Sam said bitterly, “I suppose it is not.” She wished she could go back to the way things were. It wasn’t as though she had planned to hide that she was a woman forever, but she’d wanted to reveal her gender on her terms.
“You know,” Addie said, tapping her chin, “it would be much easier if you were married. Married women can do whatever they please.”
Sam groaned. “Not you, too.”
“I thought as much,” said Addie, almost to herself. To Sam, she said, “It was just a suggestion. As for your sword fighting, I would never tell you to give it up, although I don’t understand the appeal myself.”
Addie looked so repulsed Sam had to laugh. “I’m surprised. You like cutting up things well enough.”
Addie sniffed. “Surgery is a precision art. Sword fighting is all…” She waggled a fisted hand wildly in the air.
Sam started giggling and went to cover her mouth. She stopped halfway and dropped her hands to her sides. Since everyone already knew she was a girl, she could giggle if she damn well wanted to. And so she did, loudly.
With strict instructions from Addie to attempt nothing more than light exercise, Sam was escorted to chambers one floor above the infirmary, “just in case”. She grimaced at the single mattress covered in lacy pink—bright pink—bedding. That was going to take some getting used to.
The servant who had escorted her asked, “Is the room not to your liking, Lady Samantha?”
Sam winced at the name. “The room is fine,” she said. “And please, call me Sam.”
The servant looked horrified. “Milady, that wouldn’t be seemly. Not seemly at all.”
Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. Addie, who had told Sam in confidence that her real first name was Adelaide, had gotten all of Luca to call her Addie or Doc; Sam would get there one day. But not tonight. “My chest is bothering me. Please leave.” The servant bowed apologetically and left her alone in her new chambers.
The next morning, Sam discovered that all of her belongings—excluding her new sword—were in her closet, in addition to several clothing items that were definitely not hers. Gowns of varying cuts and colors hung inside the closet in between her formal tunics. “No thank you,” she told the gowns, and reached for a pair of breeches.
Sam headed outside for the Uriel training grounds. She wasn’t going to do anything—she’d promised Addie, and though she felt much stronger, she knew she wasn’t up to strenuous exercise—she just wanted to see what the grounds looked like. And maybe go for a short run. Addie couldn’t object too much to that.
Winter had hit Luca hard in the weeks since Sam, Braeden and Tristan had left with Sander in tow. Sam slogged through ankle-deep snow to the training grounds, which were located on plateaued land down a shallow slope from the Beyaz Kale. A line of pine trees dusted with white surrounded the perimeter of the grounds, serving as a natural fence.
Blowing out puffs of cold air, Sam broke out into a light run to keep her blood warm. By the time she reached the grounds, she was doused with sweat, her clothes molding to her body.
Through the trees, Sam could see men training, either dueling each other or flogging and slashing at practice dummies. Included among the men was Tristan, who shifted gracefully between sword forms. He must have seen her, because he lost focus and stopped abruptly. His hand made a jerking waving motion, as though it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to wave at her or not.
Tristan jogged to meet her halfway across the training yard. “Sam,” he said. His gaze drifted downward and then shot up, his face turning beet red.
“What is it?” she asked warily.
“It’s just…” Tristan ran his fingers through his hair and turned redder, if that was possible. “I really don’t know how I didn’t realize you were a girl. It’s sort of obvious.” His eyes dropped lower again before he snapped them back to her face.
That was what Tristan was looking at? Sam smacked him in the arm. “I didn’t bind my chest today,” she said hotly, her face no doubt as red as his. “It’s bad for my wound, and besides, it’s bloody uncomfortable.”
“It’s very strange seeing you in men’s clothing while you have—” Tristan traced the shape of an hourglass with his hands.
“Tristan!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, Sam, I’ll get used to it eventually,” said Tristan, properly chastened. “How do you like the scimitar?”
Now Sam felt guilty for smacking him. “I love it,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
“You didn’t bring it with you?” Tristan asked, disappointment coloring his voice. “I was sure you’d want to take a few practice swings with it now that you’re free from the witch woman’s lair.”
Sam laughed. “You mean Addie? She’s really not that bad.” She made a face. “Although she is holding the scimitar hostage until my stitches are out. Apparently she doesn’t trust me.”
Tristan grinned. “Smart lady.” He sobered quickly. “Listen, Sam, there’s something I need to tell you. I was going to come find you later, but since you’re here…”
Tristan looked decidedly nervous, an expression he seldom wore. Sam narrowed her eyes at him. “Out with it.”
“You know I was worried about you when you were wounded,” he said in a rush. Oh gods, Sam hoped he wasn’t going to propose again. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it, and I thought if I had a daughter—”
“If you had a daughter?”
Tristan continued, “If I had a daughter, I would want to know whether she was alive or dead. Even if she had run away from home.”
"Tristan, I—”
“That’s what you did, isn’t it?” Tristan asked. “Run away from home?”
Sam hung her head. “Aye.” He made her sound like an impertinent child.
“Did you tell your father where you were going? Or leave him a letter?”
“No, I just…left. I thought it would be better that way,” she said. Tristan was trying to make her feel guilty, but it wouldn’t work. She had seen her father in Haywood—that was not the face of a grieving man. He was more inconvenienced than anything else; the duchy would go to one of his bastard sons, unless he procured himself a new wife and heir.
Tristan scuffed the toe of his boot in the snow. “I thought your father should know what happened to his daughter. So I sent him a letter as soon as we left the Diamond Coast. I told him that you were alive but there was a good chance you might die. I told him I would bring you to Luca, where you had the best hope of surviving.”
Sam sneered at Tristan. “What a waste of parchment,” she said. “You don’t know my father nearly as well as you think, Tristan Lyons. He will find your letter irksome, nothing more.”
Tristan sighed. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Your father is coming to Luca, Sam. He’ll be here in a week.”
A/N: Beautiful Paladin art to the side from Lydia Bg.
Also, for my few readers who have a neutral stance on Tristan and Braeden, new Paladin reader @darkdestiny came up with the name Team Bristan, haha, if you feel like you need a team too.