Meanwhile...

"There’ll be no turning back now," Irastenys says, taking a practice sword from the weapon rack. "I’ve already told Kalmin." Shifra knows that already. A promise made to the King is one that cannot be abandoned, and thus, it cannot be made lightly. He kneels to lace up his boot. 

"You know, by rights, that doesn’t mean I have any obligation to help," he teases, glancing up to watch Irastenys testing the balance on the practice blade, making a few lazy swings that nevertheless whistle through the air. Shifra hasn’t seen him with a sword in his hand since the civil war, even in practice, and that had been more than enough to last him for the rest of his days. Irastenys is a terrifying swordsman, and even though this next fight will be a playful one, Shifra still can’t help but hope this will be the last time he ever has to see just how frightening his lover can be. That Femi is so worried on Irastenys’ behalf takes some of the sting out of the desire–it’s funny; if she knew, she might never fret over him again, but it isn’t Shifra’s to tell. This excursion, he thinks, is Irastenys’ circular way of showing her a glimpse. A reassurance, without revealing so much that he must confront his terror that she might become afraid of him. Shifra, who has urged even the most disparate elements of the kingdoms towards a more peaceful path, cannot quite budge Irastenys, when it comes to that fear. So this small step is something to celebrate.

"Don’t dawdle," Irastenys says, nudging Shifra with his hip. "I’m not about to knock you out of your boots… Although, with a medic present…" He looks sidelong to Femi, a sly smile curling in the corner of his mouth. Shifra, too, turns to her, but to implore, brows creased, eyes wide.

"Surely such a fine medic would urge some restraint, my lord Bishop…" Femi looks between the two of them incredulously.

"This fine medic would advise you to choose a more formidable training partner," she says blandly. "Shifra, you know you cannot talk him into laying down his sword, don’t you? This fine medic knows neither of you have fought in years. As a medic, I’d advise against this whole matter if it were not a promise made to the King. Now as a woman I wonder why I’m here at all. There’s nothing for me in watching you two beat each other with sticks, you know," she says, sighing. "We could have more playful pain in bed, but instead, you want me to watch you fight for sport. I suppose it’s practice for my role this year, but really, how am I supposed to watch you fight the Bishop of White without covering my eyes about it? That man is dangerous, he’s not known for restraint, and you believe that you will prepare yourself for his ruthlessness by fighting Shifra?" She has made these complaints already on the way to the training space, but now that she’s actively been asked for her opinion, it would seem that her confidence in Shifra’s ability to hold his own with a sword is nowhere near as strong as her belief in his diplomatic capabilities.

"No offense to you, my love," she decides to say when she seems to realize she’s been scathingly frank. "I wouldn’t manage it either. If Irastenys practiced on me I’d be all the more annoyed that it’s happening somewhere where people can catch us at it."

"Thank goodness for me, then," Shifra says with a grin. "Mustn’t fuss. There’s still something in this for you to enjoy." He strips down to the waist, and he doesn’t miss the look he earns from Irastenys when he does. Femi appraises him in much the same way, her disapproval vanishing as she looks him over. It’s nice to be so admired.

"I only need a little warm-up," Irastenys says, "but it’s more engaging with company… I am quite prepared for the Bishop of White." Shifra doubts that that will convince Femi, even when said so blandly, but he knows it for the truth. Irastenys makes his way to the centre of the training ring, and the way he moves changes. No longer adrift, he is present in a way that he seldom is, without the promise of a fight. Shifra had gotten most of his blade training from their Knight, and though he has been well-prepared, it still makes his heartbeat quicken. Sometimes he wonders if he would feel differently if he didn’t know the truth. That Irastenys has honed his skill through centuries. Shifra tries to let himself forget, to unburden himself of that tremendous secret.

"Try not to make me look too inept," he teases, the slightest twinge of regret at volunteering himself curling in his belly. He’ll be sore tomorrow. Irastenys is already sinking into his stance, a flicker of cold focus in the darkness of his eyes. The teasing rolls off him like water off the back of a swan.

"On your signal, Femi," he says. Femi makes her way between them and sighs again.

"You’re not going to take your shirt off too?" she complains even as she raises her hand. She considers them both and there is a moment of reluctance as she does. Femi doesn’t have any idea how capable either of them actually are, and she’s never found the art of combat interesting. She must be considering just then that it’s possible Shifra and Irastenys might actually hurt each other and her displeasure returns. She frowns, but then lowers her hand. "Begin."

Gamely, Irastenys unfastens the closure at his throat, letting his shirt fall open, and Shifra almost forgets that he’s about to get hit. Irastenys moves with the quickness of a striking snake, with the certainty of a man who knows when the answering stroke will come. And he does. Shifra feels the faintest touch of the practice sword, the point grazing his chest. Irastenys will land a number of these soft touches, a testament to his unerring control. In a real fight, it’s over in the first exchange, but since it’s only practice, Irastenys leads him along like a spider toying with a fly… A wasp, perhaps, if Shifra is charitable with himself. He tries his best to hold his own, to enter each clash of weapons with commitment enough to threaten Irastenys, but his lover is making a point. He is far beyond threatening with weapons such as these. The first bout ends when Irastenys chooses, knocking the sword from Shifra’s hand. Shifra retreats, signalling a yield, and for just a fraction of a second, he’s not convinced that Irastenys sees it. But then the Bishop of Black is himself again, and his gaze softens. Shifra wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, attention shifting back to Femi, wondering if she’s seen enough.

"Again?" he asks.

"The victory is the Bishop of Black’s," Femi announces, her expression difficult to read. "You’re asking me, again? Irastenys is your combatant. Unless this is some scheme you two have concocted." Femi points out, looking between them. "My concern still stands. Shifra is capable, well done, my love," she says as an aside. "But Dreigas Theiris he is not. Even if Shifra can take up the sword, I don’t think he is a suitable training partner. I am inexperienced in the matters of combat and even still I can see that you unfairly outpace him." Femi moves over to Shifra then to rest her hand upon his shoulder, the dark orange dye on her fingers glowing faintly green and with that glow, what pain Irastenys’ blows dealt vanishes entirely.

"Why not call on another to test his skill? You are popular, send for the Knight or the Rook. If your aim is to convince me that Irastenys will face Dreigas and not end up beneath my hands in the medical tent, this isn’t sufficient. You are very handsome fighting, though. Thank you for showing off for me."

"Insufficient as it was," Shifra says with a wry chuckle. Swordplay is not primary amongst his skills, but he can’t help a slight feeling of sheepishness. "Suppose we’ll need someone more reputable, and I should put my shirt back on." Irastenys is already doing the same, perhaps having glimpsed some outcome that makes Shifra feel like he should hurry not to be caught in such a state of undress.

"And what fun I hoped for is gone," Femi says, resting her hand against her brow dramatically. "If you two kept your shirts off, whoever you choose to help us in this matter might do the same! Isbellor, without a shirt? Tajorinen, without a shirt? My mind does wander," she says with a laugh. "You could even call upon the King, I am still surprised he will allow this. Our lord loves to fight, he relishes his turn in the games. But I suppose it is that you are well loved, Irastenys," Femi says, moving to him next to touch him and apply her magic. It will not undo what bruising and damage was done, but her gift nullifies the pain of any injury, even such small ones.

"I did not know you could fight at all, Shifra. I am impressed," she says, hoping to be soothing. "And were this a matter of… philosophical debate or law or historical reference, I’d have no hope for Irastenys at all." She turns her attention to Irastenys then. "You hide your skill well," she notes, because at least she has seen that in him even without knowing just how capable he is in a technical sense.

"Too well, if I’ve not convinced you," Irastenys says wistfully. He rolls his shoulders, stretching idly, and to his chagrin, Shifra notices that he has yet to even break out in a sweat. "But I will," Irastenys says, "and you will be able to keep your eyes open for my bout with the Bishop of White." Some of that crispness, that coldness returns, just on the edges of Irastenys’ tone. Even now, Shifra has not quite managed to turn him from his distaste for the White Kingdom, has not reached the root of the anger that his lover carries, even in these peaceful times. Femi doesn’t know and cannot detect that iciness, there’s no context for her to notice it, so it’s no surprise that she smiles and pinches Irastenys’ cheek.

"Prove it," she tells him, chuckling warmly and brushing Irastenys’ hair back over his shoulder once she’s released his cheek. "Who will you call upon?"

"Ah, hello, all." As though summoned by the conversation itself, Tajorinen, the Knight of Black comes into the gated training area. "I hoped I might find you here. You have brought our physician as well, good. I hope your service has not been needed, lady," he says as he closes the space, warmly affable and polite as always. He rests his large hand on Shifra’s shoulder, feline eyes bright with interest. "Have you had your first rounds? How did you fare? I was pleased to find you still sharp even with many years between us and the last war," he compliments. Femi looks between them questioningly, but clearly decides not to comment.

"Not well enough to convince the lady, I fear," Shifra says. "She’s concerned for the safety of our Bishop in the upcoming bout." Irastenys has taken up a ready position, training sword at his side, heels together, as he waits. It’s a casual enough posture, but Shifra recognizes that tension in him, though he’s never gotten Irastenys to tell him what it is, particularly, about Tajorinen that raises his hackles so immediately. Tajorinen laughs outright at the suggestion, looking to Femi.

"Oh, miss. You needn’t fear at all for our Irastenys. It was before your time, but had you seen him take up his sword for our King during the war you’d know that the White Kingdom could form a line and still not defeat him as long as his weapon is in hand." Femi blinks at this, and looks to Irastenys with open incredulity.

"That is very high praise my lord Knight. Would you demonstrate for me, so I might be as certain as you are?" Tajorinen looks to Irastenys then.

"Would you allow it, Irastenys?"

"I will," Irastenys says, and Shifra can see him remembering himself, masking that coldness behind an affable smile, the careful uncoiling of his posture. "Though I wouldn’t want to distract you from your own training." Tajorinen holds up a hand to dismiss the concern.

"I came only to see how Shifra was faring against you. Our training together was quite productive, but as I have said, it would take some years between he and I to challenge you. I am happy to assist in your efforts to reassure the lady, though, please forgive my impropriety." He says, reaching for the clasps of his cape. He removes it and puts it over his arm, then begins undoing the buttons of his fine, fitted jacket. That is placed upon his arm too, and the laces that hold together the shirt beneath are undone as well and with a roll of his wide, strong shoulders, the shirt comes off to reveal tan skin littered with old scars. Femi looks to Shifra with an expression of barely contained excitement.

"Will you keep these for me, please?" he asks her, and Femi nods, her smile thin lipped and her eyes wide and sparkling.

"Yes of course, my lord," she says and while Tajorinen doesn’t seem to note it, her voice is tight in her chest in a way that Shifra knows means she is barely holding back a laugh. Shifra, too, has to suppress a chuckle, knowing that they’ll share the joke together when the fighting is done. They’ll have to save it for Irastenys, nearly insensible to such things as he becomes when there is a weapon in his hand, even one designed merely for practice. He is still, so much so that Shifra almost worries that he is adrift, but then he catches the slightest turn of the head, the way he is already tracking Tajorinen’s movements.

"I am ready," Irastenys says softly. Tajorinen takes stock of the weapons available to him, but does not select one.

"I am sure you need no instruction," he begins as he moves closer, stopping at the appropriate distance for the bout, "but I will say for peace of mind for the lady that it is unlikely Dreigas will enter combat with a weapon. His body is a weapon all on its own. It is also worth knowing that because of this he will likely attempt to disarm you. In the spirit of giving an appropriate demonstration, should your weapon end up in my grasp, I will destroy it." Having said that, he moves to close the space between him and Irastenys, fast on his feet even with how large he is. Tajorinen’s ancestry is tied to a long line of warriors who used blood magic to make themselves as physically capable as the mountain jaguars that prowl the Black Kingdom’s mountains, unsurpassed as predators in their environment. His senses allow him to maneuver around Irastenys even with his skill, ducking and tipping around swings of his sword, reaching out to slash with his long, dark claws. Femi makes her way over to Shifra, keeping an eye on the fight as it unfolds.

"I told you having shirts off would be fine," she whispers, snickering softly even though she’s focused on Irastenys and Tajorinen as they go around one another.

"You next, then," Shifra answers behind the back of his hand. Irastenys moves with utter precision, controlling the fight as if he has already seen how it will go. Shifra takes in a breath when he sees Irastenys catch Tajorinen with one of those soft, goading touches. Gods be good, he’s fast, already in motion as the Knight strikes at him. His sword flicks out of Tajorinen’s grasp again and again, as he draws out the spar like an artist who creates without ever lifting their brush from the page. It’s beautiful, and even Shifra struggles to read the motions of their Bishop and Knight. Shifra crosses his arms over his chest, sighing softly. He really is outclassed, when it comes to sheer fighting skill. The next time Irastenys draws his sword away, it’s to strike Tajorinen hard in the diaphragm with the heel of his hand instead. He isn’t as strong as their Knight, but he makes up for it with precision, honed over the ages. Tajorinen lets out a harsh breath, nearly a wheeze when Irastenys strikes him, but the bout continues despite the fact that he draws back some and is put on the back foot trying to catch his breath. There’s only a few more blows between them before he raises his hand to yield, huffing out a laugh of pleasure as he does.

"Immaculate as always, lord Bishop." he compliments. "The win is yours." He turns then, and Femi straightens because she was just about to say something salacious to Shifra.

"Irastenys has struck me here, here, and here. Also, the slash across here." Tajorinen points out the attacks on his body to Femi. "In an actual combat scenario, I would have bled out perhaps two minutes ago. Also, his strike to my chest would have disoriented me—I reflexively used my magic to protect myself from the brunt of the impact, but it was still effective. Dreigas will not have any such defense. Should Irastenys hit him as he hit me, he will be winded and may even double over. It could be but a moment, and that would allow Irastenys the win." Tajorinen rubs the spot Irastenys struck him, chuckling still. He enjoys a good fight as much as the King does when it is for the sake of play and was just as pleased when he’d been training with Shifra. Femi glances sidelong at Shifra once, before speaking in a charmingly polite tone.

"It would seem I have nothing to fear for our lord Bishop. I appreciate this demonstration very much. That strike must have been painful, my lord Knight. Shall I soothe it for you?" She is responsible for caring for all of the court members and undoubtedly had her hands on Tajorinen before, but she is playing this up for the joke now shared between them.

"No need, lady. Thank you." Tajorinen turns to Irastenys then and puts his hands upon the other man’s shoulders. "You have not lost even a little of your edge. It has been a pleasure. Consider the lady convinced," he says amiably.

"When I hear it from the lady herself, I surely will," Irastenys says. He steps back smoothly, out of Tajorinen’s grip. "You have improved since the last time we fought. I shall have to be mindful not to fall behind. Thank you." He doesn’t linger in favor of returning his weapon to the rack, making space between himself and the Knight.

"Forgive me if I don’t ask for the next match," Shifra says with a chuckle, settling the slight tension there before it can become palpable. Tajorinen watches Irastenys, but then turns to come to Shifra and Femi, taking his clothing from her.

"It is of no consequence. Though I do hope you ask for time with me again. You have potential to be a fine warrior, and with Irastenys teaching you even more so," he says while putting his shirt back on, buttoning up his coat while regarding Femi.

"Lady?" Femi seems to forget for a moment what her part in this exchange is.

"Oh. Yes. I am satisfied. I wish only for the safety of our court and I am assured that when our lord Bishop faces the Bishop of White, it will be a match that he will win soundly. Thank you again, my lord Knight." Tajorinen smiles, clipping his cape back into place before taking her hands.

"You are most welcome. Thank you for your service to our court," he says, before he leans down to her and presses his face into the crook of her neck. Femi doesn’t flinch even though she’s making the face again, the one where she wants to laugh but must not. Lothbardae greetings and goodbyes are rather intimate, and Tajorinen being raised there comes with such traditions being upheld even though necking someone in the capital is understandably intimate. There are of course people he doesn’t do such a thing with, his Second among them because Syl would throw him out of the nearest window, but as his physician Femi is fair game for such a forward gesture. Tajorinen moves to Shifra next, and does the same, before turning his attention Irastenys’ way.

"I know the look on you, Irastenys—I won’t give you a goodbye and get another palm to the chest," he jokes, instead waving to the other man. "Be well, all. My work here is done." And with that, he turns and goes. Femi waits for him to be gone before looking to Shifra slowly, eyes wide, before she snorts hard through her nose, bursting into bright laughter.

"What can I say? The man’s eminently perceptive." Femi’s laughter is infectious, and Shifra is effortlessly caught up in it. "I hope you enjoyed the show," he says, still grinning.

"I did," Femi assures, leaning into Shifra to wrap her arm around his waist. "So much so that if we are done here, we can go inside and you can watch me take off far more than either of you have shown," she flirts, raising her eyebrows at him. She looks to Irastenys then, holding out her free hand. "Come, my valiant warrior. I will let you have the honor of removing my dress if you want it," she teases.

"If I what?" Irastenys blinks slowly, so quickly adrift, and so quickly returned to them that Shifra can only imagine the disorientation. The Bishop puts his hand in Femi’s mechanically.

"Our darling one was just telling us how she’d like help removing her dress once we’re alone," Shifra supplies. "But for that, you’ll have to stay with us, hm? Come back, love." Femi leans to kiss Irastenys’ cheek, repeating Shifra’s sentiment.

"Mm, you went away for a moment… Stay with us and let me celebrate you. I was really worried for you, but I’m pleased and proud to know my worry was unfounded." She brings Irastenys’ knuckles to her lips to kiss them too. "Now, hear me, and say to me you’d like to see me naked," she says with a laugh.

"Ah, and so I would…" Irastenys sighs. "I would like to see you naked." His focus sharpens again, and he catches Shifra in that same loving attention. "Both of you."

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