The private combat courtyard echoed with the clack of wooden practice daggers.
Antonia, now ten years old, was standing in the center of the training ring, wearing a light leather tunic and knee-high boots. She was currently attempting to execute the ancestral Scarlet footwork.
And boy, was she failing spectacularly.
"Your left foot is leading, Antonia." I shook my head as I watched her spin in the wrong direction and nearly trip over her own boots. "If you pivot that way against an opponent, you leave your whole flank open to a sweep."
Antonia dropped her wooden dagger onto the dirt, letting out an exaggerated groan.
"I don't understand why I need ancestral footwork, Mom!" She tossed her wild mane of fiery red hair out of her eyes. Her eyes flashed with stubborn frustration. "Can't
