Sisters of the Sword by Maya Snow

done?
    I decided to test him—to mention Father and watch Ken-ichi to see what his reaction was.
    â€œI beg your forgiveness, sir,” I said in a respectful tone, bowing low. “We are two humble boys, strangers to the province. We seek only to improve our skillsand heard that the Jito , Lord Steward Yoshijiro, sent his sons to this dojo.”
    Ken-ichi didn’t flinch when I said Father’s name. “That’s true,” he said with a shrug. “Harumasa and Nobuaki are students here. What of it?”
    His tone was easy and natural, and I was certain that he had no idea that my father and brothers were dead. I bowed lower. “If the sons of the Jito were students here, then this must indeed be a very great dojo.”
    â€œIt’s the best in all Japan,” Ken-ichi said proudly. “Too good for the likes of you. Now get out of the way, rice boy. My friends and I have an appointment in the village, and you’ve delayed us long enough.”
    With that, Ken-ichi beckoned to his friends and deliberately shoved past me, coming so close that the saya scabbards of our swords clashed together. The harsh sound echoed in the clear morning air.
    I froze. Ken-ichi and his friends whirled around and the nearby guards stared at us, their eyes wide with shock. A clash of saya was a grave insult to any samurai, student or not.
    I glanced at Ken-ichi. His eyes were as sharp as swords. “How dare you!” he hissed, his face growing red with fury. “You—you— stinking peasant !”
    I was sick of being called a peasant, and I felt my temper rise. “It was your fault!” I exclaimed, fistsclenched in the folds of my hakama trousers. “You pushed past me!”
    â€œI am the nephew of the Jito ,” Ken-ichi retorted. “You should have shown me respect by backing off and going down on your knees while I passed by.”
    â€œI don’t go down on my knees to anyone,” I muttered fiercely.
    â€œThen perhaps it’s time you did,” Ken-ichi said. He drew his sword in a single fluid movement. “You’ve come here to learn, have you? Then I’ll give you a lesson in respect , rice boy. Draw your blade!”
    The guards stared blankly ahead as if they had suddenly gone blind. A breeze shifted through the pine trees behind me.
    Ken-ichi glared at me. “We fight to first blood.”
    I exchanged a glance with Hana. Her mouth was set in a grim line and her hand was on the hilt of her nihonto . As if they sensed she would come to my aid, Ken-ichi’s two friends moved quickly, blocking her. She tried to step around them, but one of them shot out an arm and held her back.
    I turned back to Ken-ichi and quickly drew my sword.
    Ken-ichi stared back at me. “First blood, rice boy,” he said again.
    I tested the weight of my nihonto . The hilt felt smooth and familiar in my hand, the steel perfectlybalanced. I slid my right foot backward and stared at Ken-ichi, trying to read him as he shifted his weight and took a two-handed grip on his sword.
    He let out a bloodcurdling yell and came at me hard and fast. The tip of his blade glittered in the sunshine as it sliced the air. I brought my nihonto up in a high deflection. Steel clashed on steel, the sound echoing from the walls surrounding the dojo.
    Ken-ichi showed me no mercy, and I expected none. He was a good fighter—better than I expected—every bit as swift and skillful as my brothers had been. His dark eyes fixed on me; he came at me with quick, fluid attacks, fueled by anger and aggression that he only just kept under control. I was forced to block again and then quickly slide my right foot forward, keeping my stance strong as I raised my blade and brought it slicing down.
    Our swords crossed and then twisted together, blades ringing, the sound carrying in through the open gate of the dojo.
    Ken-ichi didn’t let a single opportunity slide by—he attacked the