“You were placed in the formerly defunct Order of the Weasel for two reasons. The first reason is rather indelicate, I am afraid. Apparently, every single knightly order in Andeluvia refused to admit you.”
I sort of slumped against the table, feeling defeated. Even after I’d helped save the damned kingdom – more than once, I might add – this was the reception I got? I closed my eyes and forced myself to ask the obvious question.
“So, what was the second of those two reasons, Herald?”
“Because King Fitzwilliam himself ordered that you be placed in it.”
Yeah, that made me feel better. The one person who supposedly backed me without question just stuck me in the worst organization in the kingdom, and the one with a mountain of debt. From where I stood, it sure as heck felt like my one ally on the royal court had just stabbed me in the back and cranked the handle around a few times.
“Okay, if I’m the sole member of this defunct supper club, why am I liable for their debts? And for that matter of fact, how did they get into debt in the first place?”
“When a landless knight dies, any outstanding debt of his becomes assumed in common by the Order. As the sole member and head, the ‘in common’ is you.”
“What if I got someone else to join the order?”
“Then that person would be liable in common, the same as you.”
I let out a groan. “Well, that sort of puts the kibosh on any recruitment drive.”
“Undoubtedly so. As to the source of the debt, it varies. Some are failed investments in land or commodities. Most are more ‘individual’ in nature. Over time, many of the Order’s more colorful members left gambling and drinking debts behind. The Order chose to stiff anyone who made a claim against them, so that ‘doubling’ penalties were levied by the kingdom’s courts.”
“Even in a medieval fantasy world, there are overdraft charges,” I sighed.
“To keep the peace, the Exchequer simply bundled the debt into one lump sum and levied it against the Order, at which point the few remaining members simply walked away from their vows. Their knightly status was revoked immediately, of course.”
“Rodents abandoning their vessel as it takes on water,” Galen fumed. “I recall the Good King Benedict telling me how the kingdom’s laws were changed to prevent more knights or lords from discharging their own debts in this manner. Unfortunately, I don’t see how that helps us in this present predicament.”
“It does not.” Herald paused and snapped his fingers. “Ah, that reminds me. The last remaining relic from the Order was their old membership list. I had placed it in the wizard’s saddlebag as well.”
Galen turned his upper torso and fished around in his left hand saddlebag. He pulled out a large book with a plain blue cover in roughly the same battered condition as the weasel mascot. The wizard held the book by one corner and gave it a gentle shake. A handful of sand or dust sifted out.
“Obviously, shelved away and forgotten for an extended period of time,” Galen observed, as he handed me the item.
Curious, I opened the book and turned around so that my three friends could read over my shoulders. I slowly flipped through the contents on the first few pages. They listed the names of the leading knights in the Order, along with a sentence or two on their biography or their then-present achievements.
It wasn’t inspiring reading.
Sir Buckman the Lame. Lord Slate the Bowless. Sir Dawler the Toll-Collector. Sir Hillard the Blind. Lord Broodu the Fat. Sir Ontom the ‘Easily Unhorsed’.
“Interesting accomplishments these fellows have,” Liam said. “It looks like Dawler was known for charging travelers on his roads a fee simply for walking or riding upon them. What an odd concept!”
“‘Tis a scanty list,” Shaw complained. “Slate the Bowless got his listing as thanks when saving the Order some coin. For refusing to hire a company of trained archers.”
I shook my head. “And I don’t even want to know about Ontom’s accomplishments on horseback.”
“It appears to be more ‘off’ horseback,” Galen observed wryly.
Again, I had to fight off a wave of despair. Of course, at that point Herald had to speak up one more time. The man had the most perfect timing.
“Regardless of the membership of the Order, the fact remains that you only have two options available.” He threw in a sympathetic tone I didn’t buy for a New York minute. “Find a landed knight or lord to marry in the next couple of months. Or admit defeat when it comes to paying your Order’s debts back, and have your status as Dame revoked. Which choice shall you make?”
The room went deathly quiet.
I set the book down. Then I crossed my arms and closed my eyes. Behind me, I heard the clop of hooves on the stone floor as either Galen or Liam nervously shifted their weight.
My heart felt heavy, as if it had been carved out of stone. I wasn’t about to marry anyone for their money. Maybe it was from my modern upbringing, which valued marriage for love over an alliance to gain lands, security, or power. Maybe it was from the loyalty I felt to Alanzo Esteban, now that we were trying out the whole ‘relationship’ thing.
But at base...it just wasn’t in my character.
And yet, it burned me to my core to admit defeat. I would always have my friends, the ones I thought of as family. But damn, did it hurt all the same.
To walk in front of the entire Royal court, a court where the lords still sneered at me. Where I thought I’d finally made a tiny bit of headway with some of the knights, at least. That ember of respect I’d earned would be snuffed out and thrown away.
I’d faced a choice like this before. I’d been twelve years old. Either-or, my life choices in the balance.
What had I done then?
My mother had given me the two choices. She had set aside some of her hard-earned waitressing money to send me to a ‘crafts camp’ where I could learn how to knit fabric coasters and make scented soaps. Alternatively, she would buy me a pair of ice skates and a couple months with a skating instructor.
I would have to knuckle under and fulfill her dream of having a champion ice skater or crafting wizard in the family. Or she’d shelve the opportunity and hand it to my sister in two years, when she got old enough.
But I refused to accept what my mom offered me. I had a creative brain, and even back then I knew that what is possible could change if you were creative enough. What people put on the table weren’t the only options. Often the choices were based on a false premise. Or the person offering them wanted to force you down one path or another.
I created a third choice and took that one.
So I’d asked instead for a second hand bike. And I used that bike to collect recyclable cans, bottles, and newspapers. Turning in enough of all those items gave me the cash needed to buy my own ‘Junior Science Whiz’ chemistry set.
So I knew exactly what to say to the Lord of the Pursuivant as I turned to face him.
“I choose neither,” I announced.
Herald stared at me, open-mouthed. “But...your duty! Your debts!”
“You let me worry about those. I have a plan that shall handle both.”
He bowed stiffly as he said, “Very well. I shall be receiving reports from today’s session of Royal court, and I am more than mildly intrigued by what you plan to tell our King.”
With that, he turned and strode from the room.
“Well spoken, Dayna,” Liam murmured.
“Better than that!” his griffin friend agreed heartily, with a clack of his beak. “‘Twas most confidently done!”
Confident, yes. I let out a relieved breath. But I still had to think of what I was going to say at court. Hopefully, I’d have a bit of time left to do just that.
A rather timid knock at the door followed on the heels of that thought.
Shaw let out a snort. “What, is Lord Fop back again already?”
Galen admitted the same blond page with the Dutch-boy haircut. His voice was as timid and g
entle as his looks. I actually found myself straining to hear him.
“His Majesty is convening the Royal court now. He requests the presence of the Court Wizard as well as Dame Chrissie.”
Inside, I groaned. So much for having the time to think things through. It was a good thing I wore pants more often than skirts, because I sure as heck flew by the seat of those pants an awful lot.
It wasn’t a thrilling prospect, though. The last time one of my improvisations yanked my bacon out of the fire before the Court, I’d ended up travelling to – and getting banished from – the Reykajar aerie.
And with that happy thought taking up residence in my head, I followed the page out the door and on the way to the throne room.
Chapter Five
It wasn’t that long a walk from the Dame’s Tower to the throne room. Sometimes I wished it were closer. For example, during the time I had to convey Thea there under threat of attack from the Noctua. Other times, I wished it was a lot farther away.
This was one of those times. I must have had a seriously worried expression on my face, because Galen leaned forward so he could speak to the page.
“Precede us,” he ordered. The page gave him a startled look, then moved off down the hall. The wizard chuckled and slowed our pace down to something closer to what my friend Shelly would have called a mosey.
“I decided that it was in our interest to extend our travelling time,” Galen said. “For example, there is a question that plays upon my nerves. What is this ‘plan’ that you have in mind to present to the King?”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sort of making it up as I go along.”
Galen let out a sigh. “I fear that I shall grow old before my time from hearing you utter that phrase.”
“I know, it’s not ideal. But I’ll think of something. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be forced into a marriage as some sort of medieval debt-relief scheme, Fitzwilliam’s backing or no.”
“The King’s backing can be a mixed blessing at times.”
“We’re in agreement on that. I didn’t expect to see you arrive at the tower, given that royal ‘secret project’ Fitzwilliam’s had you on. I’m guessing that you’re finally done?”
My wizard friend’s chest bulged with pride under his vivid burgundy jacket. “Blessedly done, yes! I still may not speak of the project’s aim or fruition. But at least I shall be able to travel beyond the bounds of the palace walls for a change. Confinement of any sort is irksome to a centaur.”
I suppressed a smile at that. It did make sense. Any extended stay indoors would surely grate on a species that was built from the ground up for fast overland travel.
“Liam said you got a chance to look at the pieces of Wyeth’s new antler. He also told me you confirmed my guess that it was made up of magically infused crystal.”
“Most certainly it was, but my tests didn’t say much more than that. The coloration and granular cleavage was different from the ‘Phantom Quartz’ crystals taken by Hollyhock and her siblings from your peoples’ museum. Yet it was certainly highly charged with magic.”
“Any idea who did the charging? Wyeth, or someone else he could be working for?”
“Obviously, by someone familiar with the use of crystals in general. Earth magic in particular. However, that is all I can say for now.”
Galen’s statement was literally true, for at that moment we passed through the antechamber and into the throne room. I did my best not to shiver as I entered.
The daylight that filtered into Fitzwilliam’s high-ceilinged throne room had an icy-blue tone that made it feel ten degrees colder. The room was also much more dimly lit due to the damage that had been done only last month. The rosette window that used to let light in from above the throne had been covered with a tarp that whistled like a flatulent elephant when the wind blew just right.
Thanks to Raisah’s attack, the room’s furnishings had taken on what the upscale stores in Southern California called the ‘distressed’ look. Given how close the renegade Noctua leader had come to bankrupting King Fitzwilliam, a lot of the repair or refurbishment work had to wait until spring. Both of the long tables provided to the knights and lords of the Reaches had been badly scratched and battered. The King’s throne still had an inch-wide gouge down the back, made by a huge chunk of falling glass.
I still had what I now called the Worst Chair in the Kingdom (patent pending.) Of course, given the way my luck ran, it had survived unscathed in the midst of a battle between armed knights, homicidal owls, and a magically controlled dragon. But at least it wasn’t the only chair to creak or list to one side anymore.
Directly across from the throne and tables, the royal hearths were kept blazing. A whole team of pages made sure to keep feeding wood into the hungry fires. They did their work well. Even at a distance I felt the hearth’s radiant heat.
King Fitzwilliam hadn’t called the court into session yet. In fact, he remained deep in conversation with a man I recognized as one of the palace doctors by the Physician Guild’s traditional rust-red tunic. Commander Yervan had placed my seat to the left of the throne today, so I went over to it while Galen clip-clopped his way up the steps to stand at the King’s right.
I’d ended up gluing a plastic shim to the bottom of my chair’s shortest leg so I wouldn’t list too far to one side. Even better, I’d torn out the lumpy, stained cushion. That left the piece of furniture even rattier looking and about as comfortable to sit on as a tree stump. But at least I didn’t feel like I was perching on an unevenly sloped sandbag.
And I got a victory of sorts upon my entry this morning. For the first time, I got the evil eye from less than half the assembled knights and lords. Many of the remainder simply ignored me – perhaps by now they’d accepted me as simply part of the scenery. This included Sir Ivor, who steadfastly refused to make eye contact with me. His father had returned to Castle Ivor on urgent lordly business, so the younger knight ended up sitting directly to my left.
Several of the lower-ranked knights now eyed me speculatively. I’d have liked to think that this was the result of my standing in battle with them. More likely they were wondering if the jump in rank they’d get from courting me would be worth the risk of taking on a huge debt. Still, I’d take half a loaf.
And speaking of loaves, the toe-curlingly wonderful aroma of baking bread wafted into the room as a group of servants wearing aprons entered, carrying baskets of freshly made loaves. I’d completely forgotten about this ‘breaking of bread’ ritual, which happened roughly once a month. The same servants also set out wide-mouthed crocks containing butter and bright blue bowls holding coarsely ground crystals of rock salt.
I leaned over to tear off a hunk of bread and, as Andeluvian custom dictated, swiped the torn end across the crock of butter set nearby. Then I waited for a salt bowl to come my way. As soon as one did, I reached over – only to have it nudged just out on reach by one of the nearby lords. In fact, I recognized the toothless sneer directed my way as belonging to Lord Alvey. The old man cackled as he saw my indignant look.
Abruptly, Sir Ivor stood, drawing his sword from its scabbard. Fitzwilliam held up a hand, stilling the conversation he’d been part of, and watched the proceedings with interest. Other knights, including Alvey’s retainers, cautiously laid their hands on the hilts of their own weapons.
Sir Ivor stabbed the azure salt bowl with the point of his sword. The steel blade made a loud shunk! as it hit home. He looked around with a challenging glare at his fellow knights and then slid the blade to his right.
The bowl followed along with the sword and came to rest directly in front of me. Then Ivor withdrew his sword, sheathed the weapon, and sat back down without a word. I gingerly reached out, took a large pinch of salt, and sprinkled it over the buttered end of my bread. No one made a move towards the bowl when I was done.
Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose, but he made no further comment. Conversation around the tables resumed, since no violence seemed to be in the offing.
The King dismissed the physician as he sat and began tucking into the bread, butter, and salt with a will.
I kept my eyes straight ahead as I spoke under my breath.
“My thanks, Sir Ivor.”
“Think nothing of it,” the younger Ivor said, in similarly low tones. “You have proven your mettle to me and a few others. I would not suffer any lord to treat a fellow knight as such.”
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that my heart leapt when I heard those words. This wasn’t the giddiness of love or attraction, but the solid feeling of approval. And even if none of the knightly orders wanted me, one of their highest ranking members had just called me worthy of the title. Savoring that feeling, I took a big bite of my bread.
It tasted magnificent.
“It is time again to bring this session of the Royal court to order,” Fitzwilliam announced a few minutes later, as he brushed away errant crumbs from his vest back onto his plate. The few lords or knights who had remained standing quickly took their seats. “Given the amount of talk I have been hearing as of late, I find it imperative to begin with our most urgent issue at hand.”
I almost winced at that. Lately, the most urgent issues had been yet more wrangling over the budget. The King either had to call for more resources or knights from the lords, or the lords stood to demand more largess from the nearly empty royal treasury.
Not for the first time, I wished that I could smuggle a demitasse of espresso into Fitzwilliam’s court. Actually, I wished I could bring in an entire thermos. But at least I could kick back and just pretend to be interested in the issue at hand.
“And with luck, the subject of our most pressing concern is present today,” Fitzwilliam concluded. “That issue being, of course, Dame Chrissie.”
I rolled my eyes.
When was I going to learn?
Chapter Six
A loud creak from all the damaged furniture in the room hung in the air as every lord and knight present shifted in their chairs to look at me. I even heard a pair of hoof beats as Galen turned my way in surprise. Yeah, that made me want to crawl under the table right then and there. Instead, I managed to freeze the semi-startled look on my face before it slid into abject fear by coughing into my hand for a moment.
Forgery of the Phoenix Page 3
