by Ginn Hale
Kiram’s entire face flushed red and Javier laughed. Elezar appeared amused, while Atreau just shook his head. Nestor squinted at Kiram but had obviously missed the entire exchange.
“Try not to get so easily flustered,” Javier said. “The boys from the Yillar Academy are going to say a hell of a lot worse things to you during the autumn tournament.”
Kiram nodded. He didn’t want to tell Javier that the words themselves hadn’t flustered him. It had been Javier’s intense gaze and the easy way his tone slipped from jovial to sensual. Kiram was sure that the information would only serve to feed Javier’s conceit and fuel more of his heartless flirtations.
Kiram resumed the square, Cadeleonian fighting stance.
“Good stance but…” Javier suddenly shoved his hand into Kiram’s chest. The strike landed faster and harder than Kiram expected. He stumbled back.
“Still too stiff,” Javier finished his criticism.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Just concentrate. You need to find your center of balance and maintain it. It won’t matter how many maneuvers you master if you can’t stay on your feet.”
Javier’s words reminded Kiram of one of his dance instructor’s lectures. She had told him to stay balanced at all times and to remember that the center of his body rested on the edge of his hips. Even during the supplest twist or most exhausting leap he needed to remain centered in his hips. He shifted his stance slightly, disregarding Master Ignacio’s insistence on stiff shoulders and squared hips, and slipped into his familiar dancing stance. This time when Javier shoved against his chest, Kiram swiveled aside. Only Javier’s fast reflexes kept him from falling forward. Kiram couldn’t suppress a pleased grin.
Javier’s expression changed as he considered Kiram’s new stance. For the first time Javier’s study of him was neither playful nor condescending but hard and calculating.
“Let’s try that again.”
The second time Kiram pivoted aside, Javier twisted with him and then toppled him with a quick shove. Kiram hit the floor.
“You weren’t supposed to fall over.” Javier frowned down at him.
“Well, what did you expect? You pushed me hard enough.” He could feel wood shavings clinging to his back and working down into his pants.
“You looked like you knew what you were doing,” Javier said. “You’re not actually hurt, are you?”
“No,” Kiram admitted.
“Good.” Javier grabbed Kiram’s hand in a firm grip and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s keep working on your stance, then.”
Kiram spent the next two hours learning to dodge Javier’s rapid strikes. When he successfully evaded, Javier pressed the assaults, harder and faster. Kiram twisted out of reach only to have Javier trip his legs out from under him.
Despite the constant falls, there were moments of triumph. At least once during each exchange, Kiram moved fast enough to evade six strikes in a row. The two of them circled and spun as if they were dancing until, inevitably, Javier overtook him and brought him down.
By the end of the lesson, sweat and sawdust caked Kiram’s body. His dark blue pants were strewn with wood shavings. As he wiped away the sawdust clinging to his knees, large clumps of it fell from his curling hair. Javier brushed off Kiram’s back.
“You did well.” Javier hardly seemed to have broken a sweat. “Better than I would have expected, to be honest.”
Giddy from exhaustion, Kiram grinned at the compliment.
“Not much of a fighter’s body, but you have the right spirit.” Javier paused, mulling something over. “If nothing else you’re tenacious. In a real fight sometimes that makes all the difference.”
Even if he hadn’t fully mastered a balanced stance, Kiram felt certain that he had learned something more integral to combat. It was just what Javier had said. Combat demanded dogged persistence, of both his body and spirit. More than once he had been tempted to remain on the floor after Javier knocked him down, but his pride had not allowed it and now he was glad.
As exhausted and bruised as he was, he was standing at the ready, meeting Javier’s approving gaze with a tired grin. He wasn’t lying on the floor gasping like Ollivar, or crouching with his hands wrapped around his ankles as Ladislo was. Nor did he feel as miserable as both Nestor and Chilla appeared. Chilla sported a large red scrape across his forehead. Beads of perspiration dripped from Nestor’s hooked nose; his chest and back were red and slick with sweat.
Elezar opened up the wooden trunk he’d brought with him earlier and tossed a roll of bandages to Chilla and Ladislo. He dropped a small towel over Nestor’s head.
“Wipe up,” Elezar said gruffly.
Nestor wiped the sweat from his face and then flopped back onto the mats of the wrestling ring.
“At lunch this afternoon,” Javier interrupted Kiram’s contemplation of Nestor, “I think you and Nestor should sit with Elezar.”
“What? Why?” Kiram asked.
“The two of you look too vulnerable out there with the first-year brats.” Javier briefly frowned at the back of Procopio’s head as the young man stood over Ladislo. “You should be sitting nearer to your upperclassmen.”
“Elezar isn’t my upperclassman,” Kiram pointed out.
“No, but he’s my friend and he’ll look after you while I’m at chapel.”
Kiram couldn’t keep from scowling at the mention of chapel. “Why are you suddenly doing all these things for me? I mean, taking penance and this sudden interest in my wellbeing?”
Javier shrugged and offered Kiram a sharp smile.
“I might be thinking of taking Elezar up on his wager. I could make a pretty sum if I can keep you in one piece during the tournament.”
Kiram gave Javier a sour glare, but his upperclassman didn’t seem at all concerned. He picked up his shirt and light jacket.
“I’ll see you after I’m done at chapel. Remember what I told you. Take your lunch with Elezar.”
Chapter Nine
An hour later when the school bells rang out the lunch break, Kiram followed Nestor to the third table beneath the arching windows of the eastern wall of the dining hall. Nestor was overjoyed at the invitation.
“The higher tables get the better servings, you know. And every Sacreday they receive wine and sweet cherries.” Nestor beamed as he seated himself across from Elezar.
Elezar acknowledged his younger brother with a quick, affectionate wink and then continued to speculate with Atreau about which of the horses were the best jumpers.
“Lunaluz has endurance. On the long course there is no way Llama can beat him. That’s where I’m putting my money.”
Atreau seemed about to reply but then his eyes flicked to Kiram.
Elezar looked as well and frowned. “Don’t just stand there like a knee-less moron. Sit.”
“What about Fedeles? Shouldn’t someone sit with him?” Kiram stepped back from the table. “I think I should wait for him with the first-year students.”
“Fedeles is none of your concern. He sits where he wants, with whomever he wants,” Elezar stated. “You, on the other hand, will sit where you’ve been told to sit, Underclassman.”
“I am not your—”
Nestor jerked Kiram down onto the bench beside him.
“Fedeles is eating up in his room today, and we’ll get better food here anyway,” Nestor said quickly. Then, to Elezar, “It’s fine. Really. Kiram and I are happy to eat with you. Thanks for the invitation.”
“That’s good to hear.” Elezar eyed Kiram suspiciously. “Because I’d hate to think to that Javier’s underclassman is some kind of ungrateful runt who’d insult his generosity.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. We’re both honored and thankful for the chance to dine with the older students.” Nestor bumped Kiram’s leg under the table.
Kiram knew he was behaving badly and a little pointlessly as well. It was Javier who he wanted to argue with, not Elezar. As it was, he was only aggra
vating Elezar, worrying Nestor, and living down to the Haldiim reputation for rudeness.
“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful.” Kiram bowed his head politely. “I had assumed that Upperclassman Javier would want me to remain with Fedeles. But since he’s dining privately I would be honored to accept the invitation to your table. Thank you, Upperclassman Elezar.”
“Well, that was prettily said,” Atreau commented with a smile.
“Pretty indeed. I guess your friend has some manners after all, Nestor.” Elezar tossed a copper coin to Nestor and gave him another conspiratorial wink. Nestor beamed as he stuffed the coin into his jacket pocket.
Kiram felt almost as if he should take a bow, like some kind of stage performer. Instead he accepted a glass of lemon water from a servant.
Elezar returned to his conversation with Atreau. Other third- and fourth-year students took their seats at the table, adding their opinions to Elezar’s speculations on the upcoming tournament. Nestor watched their interaction with fascination, now and then pushing his spectacles up higher on his sharp nose.
Kiram watched them as well. He had seen all of these students before, though he knew very few of their names. They were the young men he always saw lounging around Javier, laughing at his jokes and marveling at his tricks. None of them seemed to take more than a moment’s interest in either himself or Nestor. They made wagers with Elezar or chatted among themselves, grumbling about mathematics and law classes.
Nestor pressed closer to Kiram as a last upperclassman squeezed in on his left. With both Nestor and himself added to the table, the seating was tight, but Kiram noticed that no one took the space to Elezar’s left, where Javier usually sat.
Kiram wondered if the place was left empty out of respect for Javier or fear of him.
“Elezar,” a freckled young man called from the far end of the table. “Who’s that with your brother? Is it Javier’s brilliant Haldiim?”
Kiram felt his face flush but he wasn’t sure if it was due to being called Javier’s or brilliant.
“It is, indeed,” Elezar replied. “Second-Year Underclassman Kiram Kir-Zaki.”
The freckled upperclassman narrowed his gaze at Kiram. “So, are you really the genius Scholar Donamillo claims you are, or did Haldiim seduction get you into the academy?”
Kiram gripped his glass, barely suppressing the urge to hurl it at the freckled upperclassman.
“He won the Silver Leaf Challenge last year, and he’s already beaten both your best scores in Scholar Blasio’s class, Morisio, so I’d put my money on him being a genius,” Elezar replied before Kiram could respond. “You’re just going to have to accept that Master Donamillo has found a new favorite.”
“Jealousy is so unbecoming in a gentleman,” Atreau commented. The freckled upperclassman went scarlet but said nothing. He drank a little of his water and kept his eyes averted. Kiram was astounded. Both Elezar and Atreau had come to his defense without hesitation. He wanted to thank them but neither of them seemed to think anything of the interaction. They were already back to discussing shield designs and the newest black barrel cannons.
Javier had said that Elezar would protect him but somehow Kiram hadn’t imagined that it would be from his own peers. Kiram was suddenly glad that he’d come to the third table. For the first time he had a hope that he might one day belong in the academy.
For the rest of the meal, he and Nestor quietly exchanged comments on the superior quality of the bread and stew served at the high tables. Slices of soft golden cheese were served along with fresh apples and pears. Nestor looked like he might weep from joy as he devoured the fruit.
Kiram enjoyed the food as well but he found himself glancing to the door from time to time, wondering when Javier would return from chapel.
After lunch and through his afternoon classes, the thought lingered with Kiram. Between art and history he dashed back up to their shared room, but there was no sign that Javier had been there.
How long could his penance last? Terrible images of ruined flesh rushed into his mind and Kiram’s worry increased.
When he and Nestor took dinner at the third table with the upperclassmen, Genimo and Fedeles were there as well. Fedeles sang the names of his favorite horses and leaned against Kiram. Genimo sat at the opposite end of the table. The place at Elezar’s left was once again left vacant.
Kiram hardly noticed his meal. Nestor pointed out that this was the first time that he could recognize the cuts of meat on his plate. The pork and apples were followed by a course of cheese and bread. Kiram chewed without really tasting anything.
He couldn’t help but notice that Elezar also stole glances at the door as if he, too, worried over Javier’s long absence. After dinner Elezar stepped up next to Kiram.
“If he isn’t back by dark come get me,” Elezar whispered. Then he strode away to join Atreau and the other upperclassmen for an evening ride.
Kiram went to his room to work on his history paper while he waited. He managed to write a string of obscenities about Nazario Sagrada, also known as Nazario the Impaler, Scourge of the Haldiim. He couldn’t concentrate. He paced past the windows relentlessly. Outside the blue sky turned golden as the sun burned over the horizon. He suddenly thought that he’d been doing the same thing last night, pacing and waiting for Javier. And Javier had not come.
Kiram gave up on waiting. He headed downstairs and across the academy grounds toward the chapel.
A high wrought iron fence surrounded the ornate building. Small, flowering trees and rose bushes filled the inner courtyard. Deep gold light flashed off the glittering stained glass windows of the sanctuary building.
Kiram peered over the wall and then very cautiously swung the wrought iron gate open. He was forbidden from entering the chapel, but he tried to assure himself that the courtyard might be a different matter.
Still, his heart pounded wildly as he stepped on Cadeleonian holy ground. He crept from shadow to shadow, slowly circling the perimeter fence, searching for any sign of Javier.
Kiram found him lying under a pear tree. His white skin shone like moonlight from the shadows of the tree. His eyes were clenched closed and dark blood pooled around his outstretched arm.
Chapter Ten
Panic bolted through Kiram, scattering his thoughts in a dozen different directions. A stream of blood still trickled down from Javier’s wrist. Kiram had no idea what to do.
Only the memory of his physician uncle’s battlefield stories gave Kiram any direction. He whipped off his jacket and dropped down beside Javier. As he wrapped the sleeve of his jacket around Javier’s arm he noticed that there were already bandages swathing his wrist. Javier’s dark red blood soaked through them.
Kiram knotted the sleeve of his jacket just above Javier’s elbow and twisted it tight to form a tourniquet. He should have used some kind of stick to twist the knot even tighter. Kiram was sure his uncle had mentioned using a stick, but Kiram didn’t dare let go of the jacket now. He held the thin cloth in place, applying pressure to the wound.
His uncle always said to apply pressure. Kiram wracked his memory for anything else. Raise the limb above the body; slow the flow of blood from the heart to the wound. Kiram lifted Javier’s limp arm up onto his lap.
This was what his uncle would have done, wasn’t it? Kiram couldn’t remember his uncle ever saying he’d used a jacket sleeve for a tourniquet.
Nor had he ever mentioned how hot fresh blood felt or how pungent it smelled. He had not told Kiram that a man’s mouth could turn ice blue from blood loss or that his taut muscles would loosen and hang like slabs of cold meat. Javier’s chest didn’t rise or fall.
Kiram felt suddenly, sickeningly sure that Javier was dead. Something between a wail and a sob clenched Kiram’s throat but he couldn’t get the sound out. He couldn’t even pull in a breath. Every muscle of his body seemed to clench and shake.
Then Javier opened his eyes. He looked at Kiram and forced a slow smile, as if his own death were a joke.
“Well, if it isn’t Kiram Kir-Zaki. What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you.” Kiram could barely gather his thoughts to speak. He was relieved that Javier was alive but almost unable to credit it. “You were—you looked like you were dead.”
“Yes, I do that from time to time.” Javier’s laugh emerged as a dry rasp. He closed his eyes and, as if it took all his concentration, drew in a slow breath.
Faint color returned to Javier’s lips, though his skin still felt cold. A living tension slowly spread through the muscles of Javier’s body.
Blood clung to Kiram’s fingers like hide-glue. He tried to wipe his hands on his pants but they wouldn’t come clean. “There’s so much blood.”
“Muerate poison keeps wounds open. It can be a little messy…”
“You weren’t moving.” Kiram found the quaver in his own voice disturbing. He shouldn’t have been this upset. Javier was alive and he seemed to be recovering his strength. But the thought of his death, the sensation of his limp body, and heat of his blood had been burned into Kiram’s mind. Never in his life had he been so close to someone dying. It had seemed so immense and terrible and he had been so utterly helpless to stop it. Now he couldn’t believe that Javier was alive, staring up at him and carrying on a conversation as if this were a trivial matter.
“I think Scholar Donamillo must have administered a little too much of the poison before Holy Father Habalan bled me.” Javier sounded disinterested. “I can’t feel my left hand.”
“I tied a tourniquet around your elbow to slow the bleeding,” Kiram said. For the first time he noticed little tremors moving beneath the blood-soaked bandages. Then he saw a tiny white spark skip over the mass of cloth.
“Take it off, will you? I don’t think it’s doing any good now.” Javier tried to sit up but then slumped back down against Kiram’s thighs, muttering, “Damn.”
Kiram worked the knots loose and slowly unwrapped his jacket from around Javier’s elbow. He watched Javier’s wrist closely, fearing a sudden gush of blood. Instead more white sparks danced through the bandages. Javier’s fingers twitched minutely.
