by C. J. Archer
Instead of entering through the palace's front door, we diverted to the right and followed the external wall of the northern wing almost to its end. Max was about to push open the door to the garrison when something further along caught his attention. I worried that it might be the prison next to the garrison, but then I saw the fight.
Max cursed under his breath. "Go inside, Josie," he said as he marched off.
I hesitated before following him past the prison entrance to the guards' training ground, mostly hidden from view behind a brick wall to the side of the palace. The two fighters had been visible through the arched entrance, and as we drew closer, I could see four other guards looking on. Some shouted encouragement, and one laughed, but none tried to stop them.
"Brant!" Max shouted. "Get off him!"
Brant, who sat astride his opponent, grabbed the other man’s shirtfront, lifting him and shoving him back against the ground. The opponent groaned. I couldn't see either of their faces yet.
"Brant!" Max ordered. "Enough! You want to kill him?"
Sergeant Brant stepped back, giving me a view of the other man's face.
"Quentin!" I rushed forward and knelt by the youth's side. Blood trickled from a cut on his lip, and his dark hair was gray with dust and matted with sweat. He smiled at me, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Josie! What are you doing here?" He sat up only to wince and clutch his ribs.
"Let me see," I said, lifting his shirt.
Behind me, Brant snorted. "Weakling."
"I said enough!" Max barked.
"I was teaching him a lesson. He needs it. Pathetic."
I shot to my feet and stabbed my finger into Brant's shoulder. "Are you such a bully that you feel the need to fight a smaller, less experienced man who poses no threat to you? You, Sergeant, are the one with the weak, pathetic character."
My tirade was met with a silence so thick it felt smothering. I suddenly had trouble drawing a proper breath and my body felt heavy, my head light. No one moved, yet everyone seemed to tense. Brant's eyes darkened until they were as black as pitch.
I swallowed. I couldn't decide whether to move toward the safety of Max or turn away and tend to Quentin, so I simply stood there, frozen.
As if he sensed my fear, Brant's lips stretched into a hard smile. "You’d better go, Josie." He kicked Quentin's foot. "Take your pet with you." He went to walk off, but Max grabbed him by the shoulder.
"I have to report this to the captain," Max said.
Brant wrenched free. "Go ahead, run to Hammer. I don't care. The little turd hit his own lip with his sword hilt." He jerked his chin at the other guards, still standing about. "Ask any of them. They'll tell you he's hopeless."
"So why'd you fight him if he did nothing to you?" Max asked.
"I told you. To teach him a lesson. He needs to become a man. The captain ain't going to show him how, so it's up to me."
"The captain hasn't got time."
"The captain treats him like a little sister." He sneered at Quentin. "Maybe because he's as useless as a girl." He ambled off toward the two swords discarded in the dirt. "He should never have been a guard."
"I didn't have a choice!" Quentin shouted after him from the safety of Max's side.
Brant gave him a rude hand gesture. I wondered how he'd learned it, since his memory loss would have wiped such things from his mind.
I turned back to Quentin and inspected his lip. It had stopped bleeding and didn't require any stitches. "Clean it up and place a damp cloth on it," I said. "It'll sting for a few days. Now, show me your ribs."
"They're fine." He smiled but winced as it stretched the cut on his lip. "Thanks for what you said, Josie, but don't do it again. You've got to be careful with Brant. He's got a temper."
"As have I."
"Aye, but he uses his fists when he gets mad. You just use words."
"The effects can last as long, if not longer." But I conceded his point with a nod and agreed not to antagonize Brant further. "I'll do my best to stay out of his way. As should you."
"Aye," Max said, rejoining us after speaking to the other guards. They were once again sparring with swords on the far side of the training ground. "Both of you need to stay clear of Brant. Quentin, you're not to train when he's here. Understand?"
"But he's always here," Quentin whined.
"Then you wait for me or the captain, or Erik. You can't rely on them to protect you." He glanced at the other guards, sparring as if they wanted to kill one another.
"Why does he hate me?"
If Max knew the answer, he didn't say. He simply walked off toward the arched exit where he stopped and waited for me. I picked up my bag and went to join him.
"You got a patient, Josie?" Quentin asked, falling into step alongside me.
I nodded but didn't elaborate. Max had made it seem as if the matter should be kept private.
"Who? What's happened? Someone sick?"
"Leave Josie alone," Max growled. "Go clean yourself up."
"But—"
"Go!"
Quentin pouted and ambled off toward a trough of water, his shoulders slouched. I followed Max out of the training yard only to be met by Theodore striding toward us.
"There you are," he said. "The guards at the gate said you'd arrived. Max, you should have brought her straight to the garrison. I've been waiting."
"There was an incident in the training yard," Max said.
"Brant? Is that why he was puffing like an enraged bull just now?"
"Best to keep out of his way for the rest of the day."
Theodore clicked his tongue. "We shouldn't have to tiptoe around him. Hammer needs to force him into line."
"Easier said than done. Besides, Brant's just frustrated with how things are and the fact there ain't no cure for us." Max tapped his temple.
"We're all frustrated, but no one else is picking fights and acting like they're the only one who's lost their memory." Theodore took my bag. "Josie, come. Max, you should carry a lady's bag if she has one."
Max blinked then looked down at his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Seems I weren't brought up with manners like Theo and Hammer."
"It's all right," I said, trying not to smile at his blush. "It's not heavy." To prove my point, I took the bag back and carried it myself.
I entered the palace with Theodore through a service door just past the garrison entrance. We climbed a set of narrow stairs, walked along corridors and trudged up another three flights. We walked what must be the entire length of the palace past an endless series of closed doors, each with a brass number nailed to it.
I peered through one of the dormer windows lining the corridor on the opposite side to the doors. It overlooked the square commons building that housed the kitchen and other service rooms. Beyond the stables and coach house, I could make out the length of the Grand Avenue slicing through the forest like a scar. The intersection with the Mull road was hidden behind dense trees, but I could see the village itself, nestled on the edge of Tovey Harbor. If it weren't for the tiny ships crowding the harbor's entrance, sea and sky would have been indistinguishable on such a dull day.
"Is this where the servants sleep?" I asked, turning back to Theodore.
"This is the southern wing," he said without pausing his brisk stride. The king's valet didn't seem weary or hot whereas my damp clothes clung to me in unmentionable places and I was a little short of breath. "The room Ruth shares with another maid is not far. The palace maids occupy the attic rooms in the southern wing. The footmen have the ones in the northern wing, while the attic rooms in the central section of the palace are currently occupied by the visiting servants. Higher nobles are housed on the first and second floors in more spacious rooms. Lower ranking nobles are accommodated in the pavilions with any visiting entertainers. Kitchen staff and some of the outdoor servants have rooms in the commons, and the remainder of the outdoor servants sleep in the stables."
"And the guards?"
"Have ro
oms on the ground level, near the garrison. Except for Hammer, who sleeps in a room next to the king's. I sleep in the king's room, on a truckle at the foot of his bed, and Balthazar gets a nice room all to himself not far away." He stopped in front of room two-five-one. "Do you want to know what we ate for breakfast too?"
"Oh, er, no. Sorry for prying. I find the palace fascinating."
He chuckled. "I don't mind your questions, but be careful you don't ask the wrong person." I was about to ask why but he continued. "Ruth's alone in here. If you think she needs time off from her duties, I'll inform Balthazar. I'm afraid he'll also need to know what's wrong with her, but there's no need for her to know that. Oh, and don't tell her you know about our memory loss. Don't ask her any questions that will force her to tell you. I can't stay. The king will return from his hunt soon and will probably require my services. He might want a bath," he went on, sounding distracted by the notion. "Certainly a change of clothes, and I imagine hunting is thirsty work."
"If he's been gone a while, he might want something to eat."
"Good point. Thank you. He's never gone hunting before, and I'm not sure what to expect."
"I'm sure he doesn't expect you to anticipate his every need."
"Nevertheless, it's my duty." He knocked on the door and a woman invited us to enter.
She sat on the bed, her feet firmly together, her shoulders rounded, and gave me a hesitant nod. Theodore introduced us then backed out of the room and shut the door.
I set my bag down on the other bed and regarded my patient. She was young with dark brown hair and perfect skin. She was pretty but in a quiet, subtle way that required a second and third look before really appreciating just how much. She glanced up and blushed. She was nervous. No, worse than that. She was frightened. Of telling Balthazar that she was carrying a child? Of telling the father?
"Are you unwell, Ruth?" I began.
She shook her head.
"You're with child?"
Her huge brown eyes stared at me then suddenly watered. Her face crumpled and she buried her head in her hands.
I put my arm around her shoulders. "It's all right if you are," I said. "Don't be scared. I'll tell Balthazar for you, if you like."
"I don't want a baby," she said between sobs. "I don't want his baby."
Dread settled into my heart, a hard, bitter thing. "Whose?" I asked carefully. "Ruth, who is the father?"
Her sobs grew louder. "I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
It took several moments and quite a lot of gentle talking for her to calm down. Her crying finally abated, and she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "He came up to me in the dark from behind. He forced me to the floor and lifted my skirt and…"
I folded her into my arms and caressed her hair. Her body shook uncontrollably. I rocked her and told her over and over that it would be all right, that she was safe now.
But how could she be safe? Her rapist was still somewhere in the palace. With almost a thousand staff, and hundreds of visiting nobles, each with their own servants, finding him would be a mammoth task. It could be anyone, from the lowest servant to the king himself.
Chapter 2
Ruth offered to show me back to the garrison after I'd finished checking her, but I declined. I wanted the time to myself to think. It wasn't until later that I wondered if she'd wanted my company. It may be broad daylight, but some of the service corridors were poorly lit and many twisted and turned, providing ample corners to hide behind.
I'd told Ruth that I would have to inform the captain, and she was in agreement, although she asked if I could be there if he needed to question her.
I barged into the garrison without really thinking and stopped short upon seeing Brant. He sat at the table with another four guards, a tankard in one hand and a piece of dried meat in the other. He eyed me from beneath heavy, drooping lids.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"I had to see a patient. Is the captain—"
"You ain't a doctor."
"Is the captain in?"
"He'll be back soon," said one of the guards.
Another guard offered me a cup of ale. I hesitated then accepted it when I realized it was Zeke, the guard who'd chased me into The Row when I'd been on the trail of the poison seller. He looked eager to earn my forgiveness. He pulled out a chair for me at the long table and I sat.
Brant got up and sauntered over. "I asked you a question, Josie."
"And I decided not to answer it," I said. "If the captain wants you to know, he'll inform you."
He leaned down, his face so close to mine I could smell the ale on his breath. "More fucking secrets. I reckon you're all in this together. I reckon you all know what happened to us and you ain't telling."
One of the guards mumbled something, but when Brant glared at him, the guard shut his mouth. No one else spoke and the silence stretched thin.
I was thankful when the door opened and Erik strolled in with Max. Max glared at Brant, but Erik beamed at me.
"Josie!" cried the big blond Marginer. "You are here. Brant, go away. You stink."
Brant straightened and backed away, hands in the air. He spilled some of his ale on the floor.
"Clean that up before someone slips," Max barked.
"I ain't a maid," Brant said between his teeth. "And you ain't my superior." He picked up a chair and slammed it down on the flagstones. He sat and drained his tankard.
"The captain's on his way," Max told me. "I see you've been given refreshments. May I offer you something else?" He opened the lid of a tin on the sideboard only to screw up his nose and close it again.
"It's all right," I told him. "The ale is enough."
"I can send someone to the kitchen for food."
"Merdu," Brant muttered. "I'm surrounded by pathetic fools."
Erik tore a chunk of bread off the loaf on the table and threw it at Brant. Brant caught it and shoved it in his mouth.
"I'm fine," I said again to Max. "Thank you."
Erik lowered himself onto a chair and flicked the long coils of hair over his shoulder. The dot tattoos on his forehead drew together in a frown. "It is good to see you, Josie. Why do you not visit? Are we not your friends?"
"Of course you are. It's just that, well, I suppose I was waiting for an invitation."
"Invitation?"
"To be asked," I explained.
"Why not come if you want to come?"
"Perhaps there's a different custom in the Margin," I said. "But here, we wait to be invited before we visit new friends."
He grunted. "Then how do you make friends? I could die waiting for you."
"Or you could just invite me."
He grinned. "I will."
Brant made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "You all make me sick. Tom, spar with me. I need to hit something."
The large man called Tom hesitated. The guard sitting next to him punched him in the arm and Tom hauled himself to his feet. "Fists only," he said to Brant as they left.
I expelled a long breath as the door shut behind them. Max finally sat. He rolled his shoulder and, with a grimace, dug his fingers into the flesh near his neck.
"You have a pain?" I asked him.
"It ain't too bad."
"Describe it to me."
He pointed to the spot and told me how it felt tight and sore with certain movements. It sounded muscular, not a bone fracture or worse.
"No heavy lifting for the next few weeks," I told him. "Is that your sword arm?"
He nodded.
"Then no sparring until it heals."
"Will you tell the captain for me?" he asked.
I laughed. He did not.
"If you wish," I said. "Regular massage will also help."
Max began to unlace his shirt.
"Not from me," I said. "It might be seen as medical assistance."
Erik grunted. "Idiot rule. You are good doctor and should be allowed. The king should make it so."
"Agreed," Max said, continuing to unlace his shirt. "No one will find out, Josie."
I glanced at the external door, expecting someone to walk in at any moment. "It's unwise."
"None of us will tell." He glared at the other men.
They all nodded.
"Perhaps you have a particular friend among the staff who would like to get her hands on those impressive shoulders of yours," I said.
A ferocious blush crept across Max's cheeks, earning snickers from the other guards. He sheepishly dropped his hands away from his shirt. "Sorry, Josie," he muttered.
"I suppose it won't matter this one time." I directed him to remove his shirt but stilled when I saw the scars striping his back. I'd forgotten about them. Dane had shown me his at the beach and asked me to identify what made them. I could only guess that he'd been whipped. According to Dane, he, Max, Erik, Brant and a few other guards had them, but Dane sported the most.
I pressed into the flesh at Max's shoulder. When I found the knot, I pressed harder. Max grunted then groaned, a rolling sound that rose from the depths of his barrel chest. He tipped his head forward.
The door to the internal service corridor suddenly opened. Dane stood there, unmoving, and stared at us. His lips parted but no sound came out.
"Why'd you stop, Captain?" came Quentin's voice from behind him.
"Keep going, Josie," Max murmured.
Dane entered the garrison. He removed his sword belt and hung it up on the hook by the door. "What is this?" he asked.
"Max has a sore shoulder," I said. "It required massage."
"By you?"
"By anyone."
"Is this your professional opinion?"
"Yes."
"Then stop." He plucked Max's shirt off the table and threw it at him. "You should know better, Sergeant. Josie isn't allowed. You've put her in grave danger—"
"It's not his fault," I said. "I wanted to help."
"Doctor Clegg is in the vicinity. If he'd seen you, I wouldn't put it past him to report you."
I sat down again as Max put on his shirt. "I could have claimed it wasn't medical," I said.
Dane arched his brows at me. "You're not naive, Josie. You know what rumors would be spread about you if you said that."
