by M. S. Brook
“Do you forget that the Northlands have fallen? Canwyrrie must look to her own interests.”
“Mind your words, Ailin!” Sir Donal said. “We are sworn to serve the House of Enfys. But…I do agree that we need more information. I say we send Lionel north as our spy to learn what’s happened to King Aidan and his son. I believe we can trust him to report what is true even if he does have Northern loyalties. What do you say, Fergal?”
“I agree, and so will Jamis.”
“Ailin?”
“If we must, but I doubt we’ll learn anything.”
“One word of caution,” Sir Donal said. “We must keep this matter to our own council. We don’t need more uncertainty in these times.”
There was murmured agreement; the meeting was coming to an end. Careful to tread silently, I moved away from the door and made my way back to the herb room.
The pot of liniment I’d made earlier was cool enough to bottle, but my hands were so shaky that I spilled a good bit of it on the work table. The king had a son. But where was he hiding? Was he safe from Saduk’s reach? And why did King Aidan not contact us? Surely there could be more than one reason for his silence. I wiped the bottles with a clean cloth and pressed corks into their mouths. When I finished, I lined them up on a shelf like a row of soldiers.
After evenfest, Uncle Leo came to sit at our hearth. In his quiet way, he told us that he’d come to take our leave for a while. “I’m headed north again,” he said. “I expect I’ll be gone well into autumn.”
“Not again!” Mama said.
“I have business that cannot wait.”
I was paying more attention than usual to the shirt I was mending and almost jumped when Uncle Leo spoke my name.
“I must ask you to pull more than your fair share while I’m gone,” he said. “You’ll have my duties in the herb garden as well as harvest season and helping at the smithy. At least you don’t have lessons until after harvest is done, but still, I’m sorry to put so much on you.”
“I’ll be fine. I just hope you aren’t gone too long.”
“I know you will.” He stood and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “And I’ll come back as soon as I can. Winter comes early in the North, and these bones aren’t used to the damp cold of the coast anymore.”
“We will look for your return, good friend,” Papa said.
We made our goodbyes and embraces, and Uncle Leo was gone into the night. I went up to my loft window and looked across the green at the shadowy keep, sensing a new prickle of fear. It was a good thing I’d be busy while he was gone.
I didn’t have the courage to listen at the keyhole again even though there were stormy council meetings through the end of summer. It was clear that the council was unable to come together on a plan of action. When Uncle Leo returned from the North many weeks later, nothing had changed at Highfield except the weather. I almost didn’t recognize him coming up the oval lane. Dark, untidy clothes hung loose on his tired frame, and when I ran out to greet him, I saw deep shadows under his eyes. I hugged him, and he felt thin around the shoulders.
“Uncle! Are you well?”
“Nothing that a hot bath and a few good meals won’t cure,” he said with a trace of his usual wry humor. “Is Daryn about?”
“He’s in the smithy.”
“Fergal?”
“He’s there too—his leg is completely well now! Says it’s like it was never broken.”
I was relieved to see a familiar smile come back to his face. “That’s the best word I’ve heard in weeks! I’ll stop in at the smithy, but I must first speak with Lord Kempton.”
“Did something happen, Uncle?”
“Let’s just say that I’m glad to be back. Very glad.”
I walked to the tower with him, and he asked how our summer had gone, but not a word about his journey slipped out. “Papa thinks we’ll have a cold winter,” I said. “How was it in the North?”
“Cold. I saw snow already coming south through the mountains.”
He didn’t say what else he’d seen in the North, and we fell into silence until we entered the tower ward. I reached for his horse’s reins. “Here, I’ll take care of Arrow for you.”
“Thank you, you’re a big help.” He touched my shoulder and walked off toward the hall. I spent a good hour in the mews, brushing the mud out of Arrow’s hooves and trying to restore the usual chestnut sheen of his coat while he munched on a rich mash we gave to ailing horses. When I was satisfied that he was much improved, I headed back to the smithy to close up for evenfest. Papa was sweeping the floor—usually my work. I told him about Uncle Leo and helped him finish.
“I’ve never seen him like this, Papa.”
“I know what you mean. He stopped by a few minutes ago. I’m afraid he made an unhappy discovery in the Northlands.”
“What happened?”
Papa limped over to a wooden bench and motioned for me sit beside him. He took my hand in his large, calloused ones. “Over the years, Lionel has told me a little about his journeys to the North. I know he’s kept in touch with friends as best he could, but—”
“Did he find the king while he was there?”
“No.” Papa looked at his hands. “I don’t think he’s seen the king in a while.”
“Oh...”
“He used to meet with royalists on his northern journeys, those who remain steadfast to the king and are forced to live in hiding. But this time he couldn’t find any of his people. The king’s Household in the Northlands has been utterly scattered. Many were killed. We can only hope that some have escaped to remote places in the mountains.”
“So he learned nothing?”
“Nothing good. He went all the way up to the coast to spy on Ashling Keep and found it in a terrible state. The black flag of Domaine flies over it now. It’s occupied by Saduk’s war bands. The nearby town of Deep Harbor is little more than ruins. The few brave souls still living there were so frightened they would hardly speak to him. Saduk’s men are constantly searching for royalists. They bring their vithons when they question the townsfolk. If the Blackcoats don’t like their answers, they burn down houses…and worse.”
“That terrible Saduk! How can he do these things?”
Papa shook his head. “You can see why Lionel doesn’t look himself. He couldn’t find a single person who would claim ties to King Aidan—not by blood or duty. No one dared speak of the king for fear of their lives.”
“Poor Uncle Leo! And those poor Northlanders.” I pressed my hand to my heart and felt the oval shape of the pendant under my tunic. “I don’t understand it, Papa.”
He sighed. “No one does.”
“Will the Blackcoats take over Canwyrrie too?”
“You can be sure we won’t let them, but we’ll need to be ready for a fight. It will take all of us doing our part and then some.”
It was a good thing Uncle Leo was helping me get ready. I wondered if I should tell Papa about my warrior dream. I’d always meant to tell him, but it was late now, better to wait for another time. Instead I said, “I want to do my part too.”
“I know you do, Princess. Now, let’s get cleaned up for evenfest. Your Mama will wonder what happened to us.”
Before bedtime, Papa took his company sword down from its place of honor above the hearth and carried it into the sleeping room. Mama saw him do it, and her creamy-white skin flushed pink. She put her hands over her face and hurried after him. I heard smothered sounds of crying coming from their room, and it shook me. Mama was always so calm about everything.
“I’m just being careful, Clare,” I heard Papa say in a soft voice. “There’s no need to worry.” But the crying sounds, and Papa’s soothing murmurs, didn’t stop right away. I wondered if Papa had told me everything. Surely if something terrible had happened to the king, Papa would have told me.
I got ready for bed and then went to the back door where I kept the strong oak cudgel that I used for practice with Uncle Leo. I fetched it up to my loft, making sure it was in handy reach by my bedside before I went to sleep.
Chapter 9
The crisp breath of autumn blew down from the North, sweetening the late apples and dressing the forest in red and gold splendor. Winter would soon follow, and cruel winds would strip the lovely branches bare, but before that happened, it was time to celebrate all that the harvest season had brought us. At the new moon the Household crowded into the chantry to sing anthems to the Maker of Songs, declaring our gratitude for the yield of our land, and in the morning we began preparations for our feast.
We brought in swathes of red and gold foliage to make the Hall festive, the arched vault echoing the sound of our happy voices. Wild geese and venison hung on spits in the huge fireplaces, dripping sizzling fat onto the fire and filling the air with the smell of roasting game. Even the boys, who didn’t have kitchen duties, found excuses to linger close by, giving the spits a turn or stacking extra wood by the fire.
Nieve and I were assigned to the kitchen, where we scrubbed basketfuls of potatoes, parsnips, and carrots. We cut them up, coated them with a bit of fat, and put them in pans ready for roasting in the huge brick ovens, all the while chattering about the music and dancing that would come after the feast.
When everything was ready, we raced across the green to my cottage and changed into our best embroidered tunics. Mine was a deep wine color, the yoke and sleeves edged with gold ribbon. I tied the gathers above my waist and decided that my slim gold trousers set it off just right. Nieve was in deep blue, the color of her eyes. Her long straight hair fell down her back in shining golden locks. I shrugged at the mirror while she did her best to help me arrange my wild curls.
The hall was crowded when we hurried back to serve the meal. Nieve and I helped to ferry hot platters from the kitchen to each table. Meanwhile, Arvel and Rowland were in a contest to see who could serve drinks the fastest.
Rowland was running past the kitchen with a pitcher of cider in each hand, and we almost collided in the hallway. I laughed as Arvel danced past us with two brimming jugs.
“I think you just fell behind!”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Rowland whirled and rushed after Arvel, spilling a puddle of foaming cider on the floor.
“Hey! Clean up your mess!” I shouted as Rowland disappeared around the corner. “Chief regent’s son,” I grumbled to Nieve. “Good thing there’s only one of them.”
“And here I always thought you were sweet on Rowland,” Nieve said.
“I’m not sweet on anyone!”
Nieve sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Well, that’s not all that’s gone sour. It smells like the inside of a cider barrel in here. I’ll find a rag.”
I was on my knees wiping up, when Arvel came back through. “Did we spill cider? Here, let me help you.”
Rowland rushed by, but Arvel stayed until the floor was finished. His eyes were a perfect sky blue, just like Papa’s. I felt my breath catch when he took my hand to help me up.
We managed to get every table served, and then Lord Kempton gave a short speech on behalf of the king, thanking all of us for our hard work and devotion to the Royal House. When we had eaten our fill, Lord Kempton stood again. He was older than Papa, but still strong and handsome though his red hair was seasoned with gray. And if he was a stone or two heavier than the younger men, it only served to mark his air of authority. “I have an announcement to make,” he said, clearing his throat and waiting for quiet. “I am sorry to bring a serious note to our celebration, but I will be done quickly.”
He cleared his throat again. “The council of regents has decided to increase our patrols, especially in the border region. To make this possible, we have invited yeomen from all over Canwyrrie to put forward their best young men for a place with the Royal Guardians. The young men of this Household have been training to become Guardian warriors all their lives, and we will ask them to help train the newcomers.” There was a cheer from Arvel and Rowland and the other lads who stood at the back of the hall. Lord Kempton smiled at their enthusiasm.
“The council begs your understanding in sparing our young men from a portion of their usual duties. We will need everyone to do their part and more.” Heads nodded in agreement throughout the hall. “The new boys will be here in a fortnight, and we will meet on the field below the wall at midday.” He smiled and looked around at the gathering. “Now, I think we all came for music and dancing.”
The minstrels set up their harps and pipes, flutes and hand-held drums, and we began our celebration, but I no longer felt like dancing. The Guardians were opening their select ranks because they needed more warriors, but the invitation was for young men. That was how it had always been, and I’d never seriously questioned it until I dreamed of being a warrior myself. Now the injustice rankled.
I seemed to be the only one in the room who wasn’t happy. The boys were in high spirits, and Nieve was enjoying the attention she always received when there was dancing. I slipped away to find someone else who wasn’t impressed with the celebration. Gwyn was in the kitchen, curled up on a rug by the still-warm ovens. I sat down beside her, and she crawled onto my lap.
“It isn’t fair, Gwyn,” I said. Gwyn nudged her moist nose against my neck and purred. “Why shouldn’t I be trained as a warrior too? Maybe I should just show up at the training ground. That would give them something to think about. Lord Kempton himself said that everyone must do their part. I could use his own words to make my argument.” Gwyn opened her mouth in a sleepy yawn, and I decided it was time to go home.
Mama and Papa were surprised to see me back so early. “Did you not enjoy the dancing?” Mama asked.
“No, I didn’t. All I could think about was Lord Kempton’s announcement. I want to be a warrior and take the Guardian training.”
Mama and Papa exchanged another surprised look. Papa motioned for me to sit beside him on the wooden settee. His face was unusually serious. “Aidriana, you’re a very strong, very able young lady,” he began, “and I’ve no doubt you can do whatever you put your mind to. But this warfare training is something different. It’s not that you can’t do it. The thing is…you’re a young lady, and it’s not going to work.”
“But why should that matter?”
“It’s just not what a young lady of the king’s Household does,” said Mama. “And even if we allowed it, I can promise you that Lord Kempton will not accept a girl for warrior training.”
I looked at Papa, and he nodded. “I have to agree. He wouldn’t allow it.”
I wanted to argue, but deep inside I was afraid they were right. “That’s so unfair!”
“You may not see the reason for it, but people don’t like to change the way things have always been done. You know how strong tradition is in the Household. Men have always been the warriors.”
“But you’re the one who told me about Nerys the Seer, how she fought to save the Northlands from invaders. She was a warrior.”
“Nerys was a queen,” Mama said. “The Royal Family has different responsibilities than the rest of us.” She sat beside me on the settee and patted my arm. “Isn’t there something else that would interest you? I know that you and Nieve love helping me dye wool into beautiful colors. What if we drop spinning for now and I teach you how to weave cloth? You could use whatever colors and patterns you like.”
I dropped my head, and Papa said, “We’re proud of you, Princess, don’t think we’re not. But no one will see this like you do.”
My hands were clenched in my lap, and Mama gave them a gentle squeeze. “Try to be practical, Aidriana. Think about your future. Your papa and I won’t be here forever. You will need to find a husband and start a family of your own before too long. And young men will want to marry a woman who knows about keeping hous
e. With war threatening, they will be anxious to settle down.”
I pulled my hands away. “I don’t care about all that—”
“And what if you’re hurt? Those boys are much stronger and rougher than you. What if they knock you off your horse? Or hit you in the face? You could be injured for life!”
“Wait a bit, Clare,” Papa said.
“No, listen to me. Warfare training is no place for a girl. We’ve allowed Lionel to teach you to defend yourself, but Guardian training is different, and it’s not going to work.”
“You may not understand it now, Princess,” Papa said, “but in a few years it will be clearer to you. I promise you, it will.”
Even Papa was pulling out on me. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, knowing how ridiculous I must look, how unlike the warrior I wanted to be. I jumped to my feet. “You don’t even know me!” My throat felt like I’d swallowed a hot poker, but I carried on. “I dream about being a warrior…all the time. I’ve never dreamed about weaving pretty cloths! Or about being someone’s wife!”
I turned away and ran up the ladder to my loft, where I sat on my bed in the dark. In a little while, Papa and Mama called good night to me. “Good night,” I responded. I got ready for bed with only the light of the moon and then looked out my window for a long time. My heart was sore, as if I’d been kicked in the chest. My own family didn’t understand me, and I wasn’t sure I understood myself.
It wasn’t until later that I remembered I had never told them about my dream. I’d kept it inside, afraid that it would seem too grand, too impossible, that they wouldn’t understand it. I was holding them responsible for something I hadn’t had the courage to tell them about. And why was that? I’d always found a reason for keeping silent. Was I afraid of the dream myself?
Uncle Leo found me in the herb garden the following afternoon, where I was mulching plants for the winter. “Daryn tells me you want to join warfare training,” he said.
