The Princess Knight

by G. A. Aiken

  “What, in all the universes, made you think we were virgins?” she finally managed to ask.

  “You’re religious monks, yes?”

  “We’re war monks, centaur. After a bloody, violent, destructive battle, the last thing you want is a moment of prayer. You want ale, you want food, and you want a lusty—”

  “Yes!” he cut in. “I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do now,” he muttered, walking away. Calling back to his sister, “I’m still telling Mum!”

  “Virgin,” Gemma laughed, following him. “What made you think I was a—”

  “Shut up!”

  * * *

  Katla walked into the pub with her brother and several of her fellow war monks. She’d been going out of her way to avoid the queen the last few days. After their unfortunate conversation, she’d decided not to meet with Keeley again until Gemma’s return.

  Of course, Gemma was back but now there were new . . . issues. Issues that were best dealt with by the sisters. Until then, Katla would just keep herself and her brother out of the queen’s way until they were needed.

  At least that was the plan until she walked into the pub and saw some of the worst enemies of her brotherhood listening to the one person they shouldn’t be listening to. The queen’s cousin. Keran Smythe. A woman of great skill in battle and in hand-to-hand combat, but a right mess in life.

  Grabbing her brother by the arm, Katla dragged Kir across the pub, followed by the other monks, until they all stood next to the table that held the group Gemma had brought back to meet with Keeley.

  What was disturbing Katla was what she heard when she came to a stop.

  “Then, of course, came the goat incident,” Keran announced.

  “Keran!” Katla said, her voice much sharper than she’d meant it to be. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Why don’t we go with you back to the castle?”

  “Why? They’re all probably just arguing there. I can’t drink enough ale to sit through that much arguing. Unless it turns physical.” She chuckled. “Then it turns funny.”

  She looked off, stopped talking, and . . . nothing. For a good minute.

  “Are . . . are you all right?” a war priest finally asked.

  She seemed to come back into the moment, her gaze moving back to those at the table. “Huh?”

  By Morthwyl’s cock! This woman!

  “Are you all right?” the priest asked again.

  “Oh, yeah. Been like this for years. I was in a fight guild. You get hit in the head enough and . . .”

  They all waited a bit for her to continue until Katla finally leaned in and slapped her hands in front of Keran’s face.

  “. . . you forget what you were saying,” Keran went on without realizing she’d stopped.

  Then it got worse.

  Keran looked at Katla and greeted her with a “Hey!” as if seeing her for the first time. “Did you just get here?”

  “No. I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

  “Oh. Well, I need to tell you something before I forget. I know I’ll forget, because I don’t care.”

  “That sounds great,” Katla quickly said, taking Keran by the arm and attempting to lift her from her chair. “Let’s go to the bar and get you a nice, cool ale.”

  “I’d love an ale.”

  “Of course you would.”

  “But first,” she said, sitting back in her chair, “I need to remember what I’m supposed to tell you. Just give me a minute.” She stared up at Katla. And stared. And stared. Finally, she snapped her fingers. “Now I remember.”

  “Thank the gods.”

  “I need to tell you that you should keep Brother Ragna away from Keeley because I think that war monk is inches away from losing her tit to the queen’s sword.”

  The brothers near Katla cringed at that description and looked away; Kir just groaned.

  “Why do you hate me?” Katla asked the woman.

  “If I hated you, I would have torn your arm off by now because you’re still touching me. I’m not a fan of being touched, except by close friends. Anyway, your Ragna—”

  “She’s not my Ragna.”

  “—made the mistake of suggesting to Keeley that her younger siblings might be better taken care of by your brotherhood than by her parents. That is a very good way to get your head bashed in. Anyway, Gemma told me when we separated outside the monastery that if it looked like Ragna was starting any shit with Keeley, I should tell you. So, I’m telling you.” She stood. “Now how about that ale?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “You promised me an ale.” Then Keran cracked her neck, apparently making a threat with that little move.

  Katla faced her battle-cohort’s cousin. “You do know I’m an impoverished monk, don’t you?”

  “Really? Because those are nice weapons you have, impoverished monk.”

  Growling, Katla dug out the few coins she had in her purse and slapped them into the held-out hand of the queen’s cousin, who never seemed to be without coin of her own.

  “Thanks, mate!”

  Once the onetime fight champion was gone, it was the temple virgin who asked, “So the queen doesn’t get along with Brother Ragna?”

  “I wouldn’t say they don’t get along.”

  “It sounds like they don’t get along.”

  Katla gave a helpless shrug. “We all know how Ragna is. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be—”

  “Herself?” one of the priests asked.

  “I was going to say difficult.”

  “Ragna loves being difficult,” the temple virgin insisted.

  “Let’s go talk to her,” another priest said, standing up.

  “Good idea,” Katla agreed. “I can take you to Ragna right now.”

  “Not Ragna, War Monk,” the temple virgin practically barked at Katla. “Take us to the queen. We want to talk to her.”

  CHAPTER 19

  They all met right outside the doors leading to the main hall. To say it was awkward would be downplaying it considerably. Because Ragna was already standing there when Quinn and Gemma walked up from one direction and the rest of their travel party walked up from the other. And she was acting as if she was the official greeter for the queen herself, lurking in front of the open doors, forcing each of the travelers to pass by her before they could enter.

  “Oh, Ragna. I wish I could say it was good to see you again but, of course, I’d be lying,” Priestess Balla taunted.

  “Balla,” Ragna replied. “How nice . . . for someone, I’m sure . . . that you survived.”

  “Now, now, ladies,” Vicar Ferdinand chastised with his booming voice. “No need to peck at each other as you females always like to do. Let’s be friends instead!”

  Ragna let out the first frustrated sigh Quinn had ever heard from her before she asked the vicar, “Good gods, why are you here?”

  “The gods have blessed us all!” he happily replied, slapping Ragna on the back and following the temple virgins into the main hall.

  “Was a truce vicar actually on the list,” Ragna asked Quinn and Gemma, “or are you simply attempting to make my life hell?”

  “Well—” Gemma began, but Quinn quickly cut her off.

  “He was on the list. And why don’t I make introductions?”

  “We need no introductions,” Father Aubin sneered, pushing past the master general. “We all know Ragna.”

  “And she knows all of us,” Tadesse of the High Plains said, following the priest.

  Ragna smirked as the representatives of the other sects passed her, only speaking again when the witch Adela was close.

  “How’s your grandmother, Adela?” she asked with what seemed to be an attempt at a smile.

  It took the witch’s two associates to drag the coven leader away as she desperately attempted to get her hands around Ragna’s throat.

  “What was that about?” Quinn asked.

  “She burned Adela’s grandmother at the stake,” G
emma explained, shaking her head.

  “Then why would you ask how the woman was?”

  “Because it amused me to do so,” Ragna answered honestly. “And don’t give me that look, Brother Gemma. Her grandmother used to sacrifice babies.”

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t have burned her if she didn’t sacrifice babies?” Quinn wanted to know.

  “Of course I would have burned her, but that particular coven doesn’t sacrifice babies anymore, now do they? See? It all worked out in the end. So stop being such a bloody—”

  “Blessings of the day to you, Ragna.”

  It was the Abbess sweetly greeting Ragna, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her white robes, a soft smile on her lips.

  Ragna’s entire body tightened as her gaze shifted to the nun.

  “She was on the list?” she demanded of Gemma.

  Her tone was so different, so livid, that Gemma didn’t hesitate. “No. She wasn’t. We picked her up along the way.”

  “And you brought her here?”

  “They saw I was in danger and they saved me,” the Abbess explained.

  “You? In danger?”

  “Cyrus’s men were trying to kill her,” Gemma explained.

  “You should have let them.”

  “Ragna!” Gemma gasped. “We always protect the sisterhood.”

  “It’s all right, Brother Gemma. I’m used to Brother Ragna forgetting her oath . . . especially to her precious god.”

  A blade slashed and Quinn leaned back barely in time to avoid it cutting his face as he pushed Gemma into the arms of Shona and Laila, who’d just walked up. But the blade hadn’t been aimed at him. It was aimed at the nun.

  The Abbess caught Ragna’s wrist and held it, smirking at the war monk seconds before she twisted, flipping the other woman. Ragna landed in a crouch, the blade still tight in her grip.

  The Abbess yanked Ragna’s arm under her own. She bent the wrist back until she forced the monk to drop the blade, then turned to face Ragna again. She grabbed the monk’s tunic, dragged her forward, and head-butted her with a roar that had Quinn shifting into his battle centaur form.

  He moved to shove the two women apart but they were separated by an unseen force, each woman landing hard on the ground, feet apart.

  The red-robed man appeared. Ludolf the warlock. He stepped from inside the castle, gazing down at each woman before nodding at Quinn.

  “Centaur.”

  “Ludolf.”

  Ragna picked herself up. “You? I thought I killed you, Ludolf.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Ragna.”

  “Woman, is there anyone you get along with?” Quinn felt the need to ask the war monk.

  “Ragna is a true follower of Morthwyl, centaur. War is a creator of chaos and that’s what Ragna enjoys doing. Isn’t that right, War Monk?”

  Ludolf held his gloved hand out for the Abbess but she ignored it and got up on her own.

  “Thank you anyway, Ludolf.”

  “Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me . . . the queen should be arriving soon.”

  “You know my sister?” Gemma demanded.

  “I introduced myself. We talked. Did you think I’d wait for you to introduce us, Brother Gemma? I know better than to trust a war monk to do anything for a blood warlock. Ragna made it perfectly clear we should never trust a war monk to do anything for us. No matter what our intent.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Maybe Ragna will tell you one day. Until then . . . I’ve got other business.” He turned to the Abbess. “Hurik? After you?”

  “Thank you, Ludolf.” The nun again smirked at Ragna, before heading inside ahead of him.

  Ragna slipped her sword back into her sheath and started toward the main hall but Gemma grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

  The master general looked down at the hand clutching her and then at the woman it was attached to. “I know you didn’t just grab me,” she said.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “You need to get your hands off me.”

  “Gemma’s right,” Katla announced. “You need to tell us everything, Ragna.”

  Ragna smirked and in that moment, the calm and determined war monk returned. She gazed at the battle-cohorts she’d once trained and asked easily, “And who is going to make me do that, dear girl? You?”

  Then, with a soft chuckle, she made her way into the main hall.

  The small group of people who were left faced one another.

  “What was that?” Kir whispered.

  “At least you’re not crying,” Katla noted.

  “I’m too fascinated to cry.”

  “You know what?” Gemma reasoned. “We’ll deal with this later. We have bigger issues to worry about. Let’s just head inside.”

  “Wait.” Katla held out a scroll.

  “What’s that?” Gemma asked, reaching for it.

  “It’s from Joshua. Thomassin—”

  Gemma snatched her hand back so quickly everyone froze.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Gemma demanded.

  “What?”

  “I can’t read that now!”

  “Why not?”

  “Everything that’s going on and you take this moment to hand me Joshua’s missive from beyond the funeral pyre and then you have the nerve to ask me why I can’t read it now? Really? It’s like you don’t think at all, Katla!” With that, Gemma stormed inside, shaking her head.

  “Well, she’s tense,” Katla sarcastically noted.

  “If I were you,” Quinn suggested, “I’d wait until things here settle down a bit and then give it to one of the servants to give to her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Gemma will never yell at a servant. You, though? She’ll yell at you all day long.”

  Katla thought on it a moment before nodding. “Good plan.”

  The others started to head inside but Quinn noticed that Shona was staring at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I like your horns.”

  “These are antlers. And compliment me all you want. Hurt my sister, and I’ll tear your legs off.”

  “Quinn.”

  “What?” he asked Laila. “What?”

  “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Make better choices then.” Laila grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side.

  “You’re actually telling me to make better choices?”

  “Yes. What about that nice merchant in town?” he suggested.

  “You just like her because she gives you all those extra cooked chickens!”

  “And she’s nice. Not some soldier nailing every innocent girl she meets!” he finished on a yell in Shona’s direction, prompting her to walk inside.

  “Innocent girl?” Laila asked.

  “Yes. That’s you. Mostly. You’re nice and innocent. And you deserve nice and innocent.”

  He went toward the main hall.

  “But, Quinn, in what world am I an innocent—”

  “Don’t want to hear it!”

  * * *

  As the warlock had said, Keeley was not in the main hall yet. So everyone stood around and waited for her. Not surprisingly, the longer they waited, the more tense everyone became.

  Until Keeley’s demon wolves came in. The priests, temple virgins, and the Abbess were immediately uncomfortable when the creatures trotted in from the kitchens. Adela attempted to approach the wolves again, but they went around her in a way that had Gemma smirking. She enjoyed that they completely ignored the witch. What she didn’t like was how they went right to the blood warlock, circling his legs and then sitting on either side of him. He reached down and petted two of them on the head and all of those who’d traveled back to the castle with her turned to stare at Gemma.

  “What’s going on there?” Ragna asked Gemma.

  She leaned in close to the master general and confided, “I’ll tell you what’s going on between him and those dogs when you tell me w
hat’s going on between you and the Abbess.”

  Ragna’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Don’t forget whom you’re speaking to, Brother Gemma.”

  “Don’t forget that we’re the last of our order. We’re starting over. You’re starting over.”

  “That just means I’m in charge. Not a novitiate.”

  Gemma stepped closer to Ragna. “Would you like to test that point?”

  Ragna appeared ready to do just that when a massive horse body wedged its way between them.

  “Gods-dammit, Quinn!”

  “Don’t make me lift my tail,” he warned.

  “I have no idea what that means,” Ragna said with an eye roll.

  “You’ve worked with enough horses, Master General. You know exactly what I mean.”

  Quinn stomped off, tail swishing, but Ragna didn’t watch him go. She had her eyes closed.

  “That’s disgusting,” she complained.

  “At least he warned you,” Gemma said with a shrug. “From what he’s told me . . . there are others he has not warned.”

  “These are the people you’re associating with, Brother Gemma?”

  “At least they like me. Sadly, you cannot say the same.”

  * * *

  Keeley finally made an entrance as only Keeley could. While yelling at her uncle.

  “Mention the family axe again, old man, and I’ll use the ones I do have to split your head open!”

  “Should have killed him when I had the chance,” her father tossed in while petting a baby goat. He put his feet up on a table that Quinn had just noticed was brand-new. What had happened to the old dining table?

  “Daddy,” Ainsley chided.

  “What? He’s an asshole. Bothering my baby girl.”

  His “baby girl” stalked across the room. She’d wiped the blood of the earlier battle off her face, neck, and arms but it was still on her sleeveless brown leather jerkin.

  Keeley stepped on the chair and from the chair onto the table in one easy movement. Without preamble, she launched into what she had to say.

  “Cyrus the Honored is doing exactly what we all suspected he’s been doing. Simply annihilating the other religions so he can make his god’s religion the one and only. That’s why he wants to be king. Not for himself, but for his god. I don’t know about you, but I find that more frightening than if he wanted to be king for himself. Nothing is worse than a fanatic.”