by Lee French
“My wiles?” Claire had never heard that word before, and his speech reminded her of old-fashioned movies about royalty and manners. His resemblance to her father made her belly flutter with confusion. She pushed all that away and decided to be grateful he hadn’t hacked her in half without giving her a chance to speak. “Whatever. I’m a Knight, and I’m here to make this knife real.”
“Girls cannot be Knights.”
She’d been told that more than enough times. “Yeah, I get that’s weird. Look, you’re connected to the Palace, right?”
“I am the Heart of the Palace.”
Claire figured that meant “yes.” Though she hated doing it, she pulled the locket out from under her shirt and held it up. “You can see stuff without trying, I’m guessing, or maybe just know things. I’m a Knight because my dad forged this to save me. The dragon—” She suddenly noticed Enion no longer lay draped around her neck.
Behind her, Enion stood on the precipice, his wings mantled for balance. Somehow, he’d grown to the size of a horse without her noticing. Like this, she could see a corkscrew curve winding up each of his horns, delicate blue ridges over the bones in his wings, and the hint of a slitted pupil in each eye.
“Uh. Right.” Claire coughed, hoping to cover her surprise and nerves. “The dragon is my sprite.”
The man slid a hand under the locket. Abject terror washed over Claire as she imagined him wrapping his hand around it and ripping the pendant away for the crime of not deserving it. With biceps thicker than her thighs, he could do anything he wanted, and she’d be powerless to resist. The pendant kept her alive. She’d die if he took it.
Beside him, the white horse whuffed, reminding Claire of Tariel. The man nodded and said, “A great deal of love fashioned this.” He let go of the locket.
Claire breathed again and tucked the necklace under her shirt.
“It’s intriguing that was forged without my knowledge or intervention. However, I see the truth of your statements. You are a Knight, if only because of this trinket, and the bond between you and this dragon is somehow that of a sprite. You’ll be the envy of many Knights for such a coup.”
“Great. Just what I need. So, um, how do I do the knife thing?”
He stroked his chin. Claire noticed he’d stopped touching his sword and hoped that meant he didn’t consider her a threat anymore. “Will you pledge to me, in this place, that you will always uphold your duties as a Knight, no matter what may befall you?”
“If that means saying I intend to try really hard not to die while fighting corrupted spirits and that sort of thing, then yes.”
“Very well. Then prove your worth.”
She waited for more instructions, or for him to do something. When he offered nothing else, she figured she had to ask better questions to get better answers. “How do I do that?”
The man lifted his brow. “I can’t remember being asked that before. Every time I say that, I get attacked. How refreshing. Perhaps we should have more ladies among the Knights.”
Again, she waited for more information that didn’t come. “So…am I supposed to attack you, or is there another option?”
“Do you think another option would prove your worth?”
“I don’t know what that means. You’ve already told me you believe I’m a Knight. I pledged to act like one. What more do I actually need to prove?”
“Tenacity. Strength of will. Courage.”
“Then…” Claire frowned. Justin had said it would be a hassle, but she’d expected some kind of mad obstacle course or ghosts to battle. “This is the test for whether I have what it really takes to be a Knight? What happens if I fail?”
“You die.”
She blanched. “I came here to make my dagger real. How does that deserve death for failure?”
The Heart’s brow quirked as he spoke down to her. “A Knight who cannot prove himself worthy of the duty is a danger and a distraction who will get other Knights killed. Better to cull the weak than suffer a fool. No one is coddled here. No excuses are tolerated. But you may withdraw if you feel you aren’t ready to face such a test. Do you wish to scurry away and preserve your life?”
Claire squared her shoulders and raised her dagger. She needed this blade to help Enion and to do her job. “No. I’m just not very happy about the terms of this. I’ve only been a Knight for a few weeks.”
He drew his sword and pointed it at her. “If you choose not to flee, then you must prove yourself.”
With no idea what else to do, Claire ducked her head and charged. He sidestepped with ease and stuck his foot out. She tripped and fell face-first onto the stone. Enion roared and pounced. The horse reared and kicked the dragon in the face, throwing him off the precipice.
Knowing Enion could fly, Claire didn’t worry about him. She lurched to her feet and ran at the Heart again, this time from behind. He whirled and lazily batted her dagger aside with his sword. He planted a sandaled foot on her chest and shoved her so hard she flipped in the air. Enion flapped into view again and breathed fire at both man and horse. Even though she’d been flung several feet and landed in a heap on the jagged rocks, Claire’s shirt caught fire.
Flopping desperately to put out the flames, Claire had no idea what else to do. She couldn’t beat this guy. To be entrusted as the arbiter of worthiness for the Knights, he had to have more skill and experience in his pinky finger than Justin and Djembe combined. Either of those Knights could beat her handily.
This demented ghost-thing toying with her stoked a fire in her belly. She’d never learned to fight with a dagger, and her scant sword training had barely stuck. Had Justin sent her here expecting her to win against a master soldier? And this soldier expected her to “prove herself”? Though fear gripped her, she glared at the Heart and struggled to her feet.
“Fighting an untrained Knight must be a real challenge for you,” she snapped. Holding her dagger up, she figured she could let him come at her instead. At least that way, she could try putting some of Justin’s training to use.
The horse pivoted, planted its rear hooves into Enion’s chest, and flung the dragon onto the rocks beside her.
The Heart held his sword in front of his face as a salute and smiled with satisfaction. “Your sprite is your partner, Claire. Remember that.” He slashed his sword through the air.
Claire blinked and found herself back in the tiny room with Justin, green light shining down on them. He rested against the wall, his head down and his chin touching his chest. His breathing, deep and even, suggested he’d fallen asleep.
Still draped around her neck, Enion stirred and cooed with too much weariness for coherent words.
She looked down at the dagger still in her hand and turned it over. The test the Heart had given her made no sense, other than he clearly didn’t want her to turn and flee. If he only wanted to see if she’d stand her ground, then she supposed she’d succeeded. On the other hand, he could have lied about the penalty of death for failure.
Until she left the Palace, she wouldn’t know if she’d succeeded or failed. The Heart’s final words banged around in her head and she wondered why he’d made a point of saying that. Of course Enion was her partner. Some stupid mystical thing had bound their souls together for no apparent reason. If anything happened to him, it would affect her.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she muttered, wondering if the Heart could hear her. Given he hadn’t been aware of her father’s creation of her locket, she guessed not.
Justin sucked in a breath and rubbed his eyes. “Welcome back. What did you think?”
“I think this whole Knight thing is messed up.” Claire lifted her arms and felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks all over her. “Ugh. Can we just stay here?”
“Because it’s so very comfortable.” Justin chuckled and braced his arms on opposite walls to stand up. “No, we need to get home. I’d hoped we could go free Enion’s family tonight, but I’m dead on my feet here.”
She
took Justin’s offered hand and let him help her up. “Tomorrow, then,” Claire said. “After school, I guess.”
“You’re staying home sick to sleep this off.” Justin thumped the wall with his fist, and the stone folded out of the arch, giving them an exit. “Whenever you get up, we’ll go.”
Too tired to discuss it further, Claire nodded and trudged out behind him. This time, Knights filled the corridor, passing them in both directions. Justin greeted several. He stopped in front of one. Claire stopped with him.
“Elder Yun. You look good. Have you met Claire yet?” Justin gripped her shoulder and pulled her closer to him.
“No.” The hunched Asian man gripping a wooden staff stood only an inch taller than Claire. Deep wrinkles creased his weathered, spotted face. A wispy halo of white hair danced with every movement of his head. His sparse eyebrows rose to reveal filmy eyes.
When he reached a thin, gnarled hand for Claire, she recoiled, afraid the slightest touch would break him. “Nice to meet you,” she stammered.
“The young ones, they’re so predictable.” Yun wheezed as he withdrew his hand. His mouth stretched, and Claire couldn’t tell if he smiled or frowned. “I’d heard this one was feisty.”
Justin chuckled and bowed his head. “We’re both up past our bedtime.”
“Bah.” Yun thumped his staff on the floor. “You kids. Go on, I’ll meet her again some other time.” He waved them off and shuffled away.
Justin tugged Claire by the arm, getting her moving again. They reached the spiral stair sooner than she expected, and when she looked back, she couldn’t remember passing the kitchen this time.
“Yun is the oldest Knight. He’s been the oldest Knight since before I started. I have no idea how old he is, but he rarely leaves the Palace anymore.”
Claire touched the wall as they climbed the stairs, not sure she had enough energy left to climb them without aid. “Why not?”
“We heal constantly inside the Palace. It lessens chronic pain and extends our lives.” A shadow crossed Justin’s face. “Usually.”
She knew his elder mentor had died recently and wondered if it had been from something the Palace couldn’t fix, even temporarily. They reached the fourth-floor landing, and she patted his arm. “I got it from here.”
He nodded and opened the door for her. “Sleep here if you want. Come home whenever you’re rested.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 5
Justin
Justin stepped out of his sycamore and picked his way through the woods to the house. In the light of the full moon, he spotted a paper turkey taped to the front window. With all the coloring inside the lines, he guessed it was Lisa’s handiwork. Missy hadn’t yet mastered the patience for such delicate work.
The bird stared at him in mute disapproval for his late return. He sighed and paused in the mud room to take his boots off. When he flipped the lights on for the kitchen, he found a pink post-it note on the table with messy crayon scribbles. Lisa had been practicing so hard on her writing but still had a long way to go.
Unable to decipher it, he checked in the fridge and found a plate tucked inside a crinkled freezer bag. He pulled it out and set the plastic bag aside. Marie had made Biscuit Stew, which he regretted missing the first time around. Peas and carrots rolling around on the side of the plate reminded him of Missy “accidentally” flicking them across the table.
With a smirk, he stuck the plate in the microwave and rinsed the plastic bag while he waited for his food to heat. Tomorrow, he needed to watch Missy all morning while Marie’s parents handled their routines. If he took Missy to the store with him, that chore would be done before the rest of the kids got home from their last day of school before the holiday. Except he’d given Claire the day off from school. Whenever she turned up for the day, she needed to train.
He’d never fought with a dagger and had no good plan for teaching her that skill. He couldn’t think of any Knight who used a dagger or could train her. Leaning against the counter, he remembered Kurt’s first visit to the house, not long after Lisa was born.
At the time, Justin had two months of high school left, and Marie had dropped out with a year and a half to go. They’d moved in here only by the grace and largesse of her parents, Jack and Tammy, and had nothing. All this furniture had come from a trip around town in Jack’s pickup truck, snatching up what college students had discarded.
That whole evening had been awful and strange enough for his memory of it to remain clear.
~*~
Spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove, waiting for Marie to wake up from her nap with Lisa. Justin sat at the kitchen table, rushing through the last of his homework. Knocking at the front door interrupted him as he scribbled answers to essay questions about the Cold War. He answered the door with his pen still in hand and froze at who he found there.
“Boy.” Dwight Evans, Justin’s father, stood on the front stoop, his hands tucked into his dirty jeans pockets. He stood two inches taller than Justin, with broader shoulders and thicker limbs. Sometime in the past week or two he’d shaved his graying brown beard, but not more recently than that. His worn flannel shirt hung open to show his dingy white t-shirt underneath. Fresh streaks of mud and filth stained his clothes. He must have come straight from his job as a garbage collector.
Justin stared with no idea how to react. He thought he’d made it clear when he left that he didn’t want to see the man again. “How did you get this address?”
Dwight scowled. “That any way to greet your old man?”
Wild ideas about punching him flitted through Justin’s head. Instinct born of living under this man’s control for most of his life made him recoil from the idea. “What do you want?”
Dwight shrugged and looked around, not meeting his son’s gaze. “Are you going to invite me inside?” His words slurred a tiny bit, like they always did.
Before he realized what he’d done, Justin stood aside to let Dwight in. He knew he should’ve slammed the door in the man’s face, but thought of it too late. Dwight stepped into the mud room and walked into the kitchen without bothering to take off his muddy work boots. As his father passed, Justin thought he smelled bourbon, Dwight’s favorite drink.
“Nice little place.” Dwight pressed two fingers on the table, causing it to wobble. “Suits you.”
Eager to keep him away from Marie and Lisa, Justin stepped between Dwight and the rest of the cottage. “Why are you here?”
Dwight shrugged as he scanned the room. “Heard I have a grandkid. Thought I’d come meet her. Is that dinner almost ready? Smells good. Guess you picked a decent wife.” He took a step to bypass Justin.
Justin shifted to bar his passage, trying not to show how much his hands shook. Getting out of his father’s house had been hard. He’d managed it on his own, though, getting himself into foster care at fifteen. Things hadn’t actually gotten better until he met Marie. He thought he’d never have to see Dwight again. Yet here he stood, somehow magically knowing about Lisa’s birth.
“I don’t know how you found out about the baby,” Justin said, “but I think you should go.”
“That so? Always did think you were better than me, didn’t you?” Dwight raised his hand.
Justin flinched, wishing he could run to the bedroom to get his sword. “I—I am better than you.”
Dwight balled his hand into a fist, his mouth twisting into a snarl.
“Who’s this?” Marie walked into the room, her platinum blonde hair floating around her head like a halo. Her loose pajamas didn’t hide what remained of her belly from the birth five weeks ago.
Justin glanced at her. “No one. He’s just—”
Dwight let his fist fly, hitting Justin in the gut hard enough to make him double over. “Don’t you dismiss me, boy.”
Marie shrieked and ran to Justin, trying to help him and cower away from Dwight at the same time. Before Justin could recover, Dwight belted him across the face.
“St
op it!” Marie held onto Justin, keeping him on his feet when he otherwise would’ve fallen.
Dwight held up his hand, threatening to slap Marie. Knocking on the door kept him from following through. He pointed a finger at her. “You tell them to go away, girl, or this’ll all be worse.”
Marie held up her hands and edged around Dwight to reach the front door. Justin knew she wouldn’t tell anyone to go away. She’d either run and get her father or bring the visitor inside. Dwight’s attempt to control her by threat wouldn’t work.
Justin swiped his hand across his face. It came away bloody. He straightened and kept his eyes on Dwight. He’d been training for a few weeks now, and should’ve been able to deal with someone this sloppy. Were it anyone but his own father, he could’ve dodged that fist.
“Where’s my granddaughter?” Dwight shouted.
“You’ll never see her.”
“Wrong answer.” When Dwight threw his fist again, Justin stepped in to catch it on his shoulder as a glancing blow. He tried to follow that up with a kidney jab, but Dwight turned his follow-through into an arm around Justin’s neck. Either his fist or his knee hit Justin in the lower back.
Struggling to break free and breathe, Justin squirmed and flailed his legs. He felt six years old again, trying to fight back for the first time while his mother sobbed into her hands. Blackness crowded into his vision, and he wondered if the bastard would kill him this time.
Suddenly, it stopped. Dwight let go, and Justin dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. Marie rushed to his side, checking him over with tears in her eyes.
“I’m okay,” he told her, though he ached all over. He’d have to go to the Palace to heal this, because he hadn’t found his sprite yet. A commotion in the kitchen made him look up.
Kurt held Dwight’s arm twisted behind his back. “If you ever come back here,” Kurt growled, “I will kill you and not shed a tear. No one will hear you scream. And you will scream. And you know what? There’s plenty of woods to bury your body in around here.”
~*~
