Fin stood on the stone ledge overlooking the yard, his shoulder strapped tight against his torso in a sling. It'd need until the end of the day to heal.
A training sword rested in her right hand, angled toward the ground, and the way she held it told Fin everything he needed to know before the assessment even started.
She gripped the handle too high. Her elbow was locked when it should have been loose. The blade's weight sat in her wrist instead of her forearm, a mistake that would cost her within the first three exchanges against anyone who knew what they were doing.
A soldier stepped forward. Broad-shouldered, confident, the easy posture of a man who had done this a thousand times and assumed this would be a thousand and one. He was taller than Serena by a full head, his training blade resting against his shoulder, and when he stopped in front of her, he gave a short bow that was respectful without being deferential.
