by Helen Lowe
“Provosts coming!” he yelled. Those on the periphery of the assault looked around and began calling to the others to break away. “Hurry!” Khar yelled. “They’re almost on us!” He threw a look behind him, as though sighting provosts—and the attackers broke off and fled down the opposite corridor. Ralth lurched into Dab as he passed and a flurry ensued, before Dab shoved Ralth clear and another straggler hauled him away.
Both Taly and Bajan were breathing heavily but looked ready to fly, too, until the Bronze Holder saw his page. “Was that a ruse?” he demanded, between gasps, while Dab leaned against the wall.
“It was,” Khar replied, “but someone will have heard the clamor. We should make ourselves scarce before the provosts do turn up.”
“Or the others come back.” Taly’s breath was already steadying.
Bajan nodded, but took a moment to rumple his page’s hair. “Well done, Liy.” He held out his other hand to Khar. “That was sound strategy, Storm Spear.”
“We need to clean ourselves up.” Taly was terse. “Otherwise our appearance’ll give us away—” She broke off, swinging around as Dab slumped to his knees. Myr saw the bloom of blood across his tunic’s right side and ran forward, but although Taly had an arm about him, Dab could not stand. “He’s been knifed,” the ensign said, as Khar knelt on Dab’s other side.
“We need to get him someplace safe, where we can see to his wound.” Khar spoke quietly. “And you two can set yourself to rights.”
Taly nodded, the line of her mouth tight, as Myr made herself look away from Dab’s wound and meet Khar’s eyes. A corner of her mind noted that they were gray, rayed with gold, and that the gold gleamed in the lanternlight—but the light was gleaming on Dab’s blood as well. “My old rooms are only a floor above the training halls.” Myr’s voice was strained, but better than a whisper. “They’re empty, so we can go there.”
“Lady Myrathis!” Taly’s head snapped around. “What by all Nine Gods are you doing here?”
“It is her,” Liy whispered, as the others stared, although Khar’s look was fleeting before he slipped an arm beneath Dab’s shoulders. Despite the blood and Dab’s gray-white pallor, Myr’s voice must have reached through to him, because the guard’s eyes opened.
“Lead on, Lady Mouse.” He managed a ghost of his familiar grin. “We all need to scamper now, before bad turns worse.”
24
A Chosen Band
Their flight did feel like scampering as they moved from shadow to shadow, dispensing with Faro’s lantern in favor of stealth. Myr led the way, but was not the only one to keep glancing over her shoulder as though pursuers might appear at any moment. Bride of Blood or not, Myr knew she could not save them if that happened. The New Blood might only pay lip service to Kharalth, but many holds still clung to the old ways and would demand that the purity of the Honor Contest be upheld. And because it touched on honor, many of the New Blood would be of the same mind.
Hurry, hurry, Myr’s nerves whispered—but they could not hurry Dab. Khar and Taly were practically carrying him, his arms draped over their shoulders and his eyes closed. Taly had wadded her jacket inside his, and Bajan and Liy followed, the page using her undershirt to wipe up any drops of blood. Hurry, Myr’s heart drummed, but she kept her pace slow as they skirted the training halls. Blood’s nine-headed hydra reared above the entrance onto the stair where she had met Khar, and Myr felt as though every stone eye was boring into her. As if it, too, saw her as the Half-Blood, corrupting her House’s heritage.
But if Ralth and the New Blood can pick and choose among Derai traditions, Myr thought, including the rites that govern an Honor Contest, then so can I. She would always choose Taly and Dab, too, no matter what rule said an Honor contestant must not fight outside the arena. Besides—she addressed the hydra’s stone stare in her mind—they were ambushed, so if they hadn’t defended themselves and Bajan come to their aid, they would have been killed. Where’s the purity in that? Shivering, she glanced back again and saw the Storm Spear, his face set, carrying Dab across his shoulders while Taly followed them up the narrow spiral.
Not overly tall, but built like a mountain wall. Myr acknowledged the accuracy of Hatha’s observation now, although she thought Khar was glad to put Dab down once he reached the top. She hoped Dab might make a joke, but his eyes stayed closed, as though staying conscious was taking all his strength.
“We’re close now.” Taly was supporting Dab’s other side again, but Myr was not sure whether the ensign was speaking to him or Khar. This time she did hurry ahead, so she had the door into her old apartments unlocked—despite dropping the key because her hands were shaking—by the time the others arrived. She locked the doors behind them again and prayed Liankhara’s eyes-and-ears were too busy to monitor empty rooms. “We’ll put him on your bed, Lady Myr.” Taly was already moving toward the bedchamber door, and Myr signed to Faro to open it. Bajan stayed by the main entrance and sent Liy to keep watch over Ise’s former rooms.
“There’s water there,” Myr told the page, and described how to find it, before taking a taper and lighting the lamps around her former dayroom. The space felt small after the Bride’s great suite, but achingly familiar. All the old furnishings were still in place, and when Myr entered the bedchamber she found her bed had been left made up. She frowned as lamplight flickered over a tapestry that had belonged to her mother and gleamed on the shield opposite, which served as a mirror after the fashion of an earlier age. The chamberlain had promised to have both packed in preparation for her journey to the Keep of Winds—but Myr dismissed Aralth’s failings as Taly and Khar lowered Dab onto the bed.
“It’s not as deep as I feared.” Khar kept his voice low as he reexamined the wound. “And it’s low and to the side, so there’s a good chance the blade missed vital spots. A healer should still clean and stitch it, though.”
Taly looked as haggard as if she were the one injured. “We can’t go to the infirmary or the field surgeons, because no one will believe it’s a training accident if they find evidence of the fight. And once questions are asked, Ralth’s lot will be prime witnesses against us. He’s like that,” she added contemptuously.
I don’t like him either, Myr thought, still surprised he had acted independently of Kolthis and his other cronies. She remembered him as surly and aggressive, but not particularly clever. The memories made her shiver, a reminder to light the fire that had been left laid in the grate.
“Is there no one you can trust?” Khar asked Taly. “The Sea envoy has a healer with him, but knocking on their door, especially at this hour, would bring any hunters down on us.”
Myr straightened from lighting the fire to meet the question in Taly’s eyes. No! she thought. Ise might have taught her drug lore and how to stitch household wounds, but doing so herself was very different from helping her Rose preceptress. Although perhaps if she were to fetch Ise from Thiandriath’s chapel—except Meya was there, too, which meant any secrecy would be lost. Myr knew, too, that fetching Ise would be almost as slow as getting Dab back here . . .
Taly’s steady hazel gaze still held hers. “You have to do it, Lady Myr, for Dab’s sake. Mistress Ise says that you have an aptitude: that if you’d been born into the Rose, you would have been sent to learn from the healers of Meraun. And she never says what she doesn’t mean.”
Myr still wanted to protest that household injuries were not the same as those sustained in battle—although, in fact, Dab’s wound did not look significantly worse than some of the injuries from the keep’s stables, smithies, and kitchens that she had helped Ise treat. Ise had left the bulk of her healing supplies stored here as well, again ahead of transportation to the Keep of Winds. Not the expensive and dangerous medicines, of course. But many of the commoner herbs, as well as salves, linen, and reserves of needles and bandages, were all still in the storeroom.
“I’ll need boiling water,” Myr said, gathering her resolve, and went to find what she needed. When she returned, Khar
had hooked up Faro’s lantern to cast a better light over the bed. Nervous now, Myr washed her hands and arms before finally turning to Dab. She had hoped he might be unconscious, because Ise had left none of the precious drugs that brought that state, but found his eyes fixed on her.
“You can do it, Lady Mouse,” he said. Again, the ghost of his grin flickered. “And they breed us tough in Froward Hold.” Myr summoned a smile at the old joke, because it was really Forward Hold, but Dab always said “froward” because Sardonya had complained that his levity was disrespectful. It was why he had been transferred from Anvin’s household guard to Myr’s: a demotion for him, but one that had worked out for her. “Heart up,” he whispered, as she hesitated.
“Tough or not, bite on this,” Khar said, and Myr saw that he had taken off his sword belt, wiping the heavy leather band clean before placing it between Dab’s teeth. After that, she shut out everything except the wound and what her hands were doing. Dab passed out while she worked, and by the time she was done, Myr felt as white and wrung-out as his unconscious face.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured to him, then straightened, stretching out the tension in neck and spine. Her handiwork looked all right, she thought: perhaps not as neat as what Ise would have managed, despite her age, but competent enough. She had cleaned the wound thoroughly, too, and Dab was young and strong, so with luck infection would not set in. If Ornorith smiles, Myr told herself, washing her hands again. “Although once, if what Ise says is true, we would have had the Golden Fire to call on for healing, rather than relying on luck.”
Myr only realized she had spoken aloud when Khar raised his eyebrows. Immediately, other sounds reasserted themselves: the rustle of the fire in the grate, the thunk as Faro put another log on the blaze, and the murmur of Bajan’s and Taly’s voices from the dayroom, talking while they cleaned themselves up. At least that meant only the Storm Spear and his page had heard her blunder. “Of course,” she added hastily, “I know that’s all just fireside tales.”
“Do you?” Khar looked interested rather than contemptuous. “But you’ve done a good job here, Lady Myrathis, even without Golden Fire.”
Myr flushed, with pride as much as embarrassment, and could not think how to reply. “A very good job,” Taly echoed, returning. She studied Dab’s unconscious face. “We may even get him down to the training halls before the keep rouses tomorrow. Then we can simulate a training accident before anyone is around to know otherwise.”
She and Bajan, it seemed, had already deliberated on ways and means, and Taly continued to discuss the mechanics of the plan with Khar while Myr tidied Ise’s materials away. Once she rejoined their conversation, the ensign insisted that Myr explain her presence in the midnight keep. Her eyes narrowed when Myr mentioned the service entrance, but however much Taly might frown over the rest, she remained focused on their plan to save Dab. “You’re the key to making it work,” she told Myr. “We need Mistress Ise to say that she was returning that way and tended the wound herself. You’ll have to join her at the chapel as you originally planned and find a reason to send Meya on ahead, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.”
No, Myr thought, because Meya was goodhearted and accepted events at face value. “Then I can say any supplies Ise needed came from here.” But the whole plan relied on too many variables: on Dab being able to play his part, on getting to the training hall ahead of anyone else, and on not encountering others along the way. Most of all, they would be relying on Ise being willing to create a false impression for Myr’s sake. She’ll probably do it, Myr decided, but she won’t like it. And the whole construct, she felt uncomfortably certain, wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny.
Khar’s expression suggested that his reservations matched hers, and Taly must have read their doubt because her mouth tightened. “We can’t just tell the truth and think we’ll be excused.” The ensign looked older, her expression harder than Myr had ever seen it. Her stare challenged them all as Bajan came to stand in the bedroom door. “That ambush wasn’t a disgruntled few acting on drink and spleen. And Lord Kharalthor giving a speech doesn’t make the Honor Contest open. As soon as it was announced, word came down that entrants from the keep garrison would be preselected. A chosen band,” she said, cool now. “Everyone else was to keep their noses out.”
And then I practically ordered you and Dab to enter, Myr thought. She felt bleaker still, recalling how Kharalthor had identified Kolthis as a potential Honor Captain—before Taly unhorsed him and Hatha got Commander Asantir to agree the ensign was Honor Guard material. A situation, Myr supposed, that someone must have decided to remedy before the contest resumed.
The Storm Spear looked doubtful. “The contest comprises warriors from every hold and outlying post of Blood, as well as the keep garrison. Given that sort of mix, no one could hope to control who makes the Honor Guard.”
Taly shrugged. “My guess is that it’s more about ensuring those selected won’t be personally loyal to Lady Myrathis. That risk is much lower with holders who won’t know her anyway, especially as Lord Kharalthor can nominate the captain, who then selects the other officers. The suggestion,” she added, “not that anything was ever said right out, was that any other situation would be too dangerous. Especially with you, Lady Myr, being so young and untried.”
Myr thought it more likely her Rose lineage meant she was not seen as a true Daughter of Blood, but one who might abandon duty and honor under pressure. Khar shook his head. “That implies a Bride might lead in the field, which would be unusual.” He studied Myr, his expression reminiscent of Commander Asantir’s on the first morning of the contests, an officer weighing an unknown recruit. “And surely the Earl will send advisors with you anyway?”
Myr felt grateful for all Ise’s lessons in schooling her expression, since no one had mentioned advisors accompanying her. Yet now it seemed obvious that just as Night emissaries were currently in the Red Keep, Blood officials would accompany her to the Keep of Winds. Possibly it was too early for that, just as nothing here had been packed, but it did seem odd . . .
Taly’s face was still hard. “Who knows the true reasons? But once we defied the word that came down and entered the competition . . .” She shrugged. “We knew it wasn’t a question of whether retribution would come, only when.”
“But this is an Honor Contest. And what you’re saying, this deceit—” Bajan broke off, shaking his head. “It profanes one of our oldest and most sacred traditions. When Lord Narn finds out—”
“You mustn’t tell him.” Myr surprised herself, her voice was so steady. She felt as though she were gazing at one of the puzzle games she had played as a child, with all the pieces fitting together. Even Hatha’s championship of Taly, and her insistence that the ensign and Dab were Myr’s candidates, could now be seen as drawing attention to what otherwise might have been overlooked. While Ralth, however surly and aggressive, would never have acted on his own initiative.
Not without orders, Myr thought, equally sure that no direct order would have been given. Nonetheless, Ralth and his fellow ambushers would have been led to believe that they served the ruling kin’s will. No doubt, too, it would have been implied—without ever being said outright—that the ambushers’ advancement would be guaranteed if they only resolved this little problem of Taly and Dab. Well, Dab was out of it now. “And you,” Myr told Taly, “must withdraw.”
“Why?” Taly asked, blunt as a practice sword.
Myr blinked, because although she might see the pattern of events, she had no proof, and to speak would cast doubt on her family’s honor. Possibly even my father’s, she thought, recalling his words after the banquet. Myr shook her head, knowing she would never dare voice that doubt, and chose what she did say with care. “Because it’s the group contests next and I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.” She felt certain that if Taly, or any other unwelcome contender, could be dispatched in the mock battles without open dishonor, then Kharalthor would let the deed pass. “I
couldn’t bear if anything happened to you just because I wanted familiar faces in my Honor Guard.” Not you, Taly, Myr added silently, while the three warriors exchanged glances she found impossible to read.
“Lady Myr—” Taly began, then stopped.
“You have a right to ask those who serve you to compete on your behalf,” Bajan said. “Any fault in this doesn’t lie with you, Lady Myrathis.”
“We knew the risk, Dab and I.” Taly spoke again, her look steady. “Having entered the Honor Contest, I can’t withdraw without dishonor. Especially now, when it would mean letting Dab down, as well as myself.”
And now you’re a contestant, I can’t order you to do so, Myr thought bitterly. Only Kharalthor, the Battlemaster and presiding judge, can do that.
“No one may come between a warrior and his or her own honor, Lady Myrathis.” Myr could see Khar would not be moved on that point, any more than Taly would—or Bajan either, she acknowledged, glancing toward the Bronze warrior. “To persist in asking,” the Storm Spear continued, “will wrong Taly, since more than any of us now, she carries your honor in this contest.”
Myr bowed her head, feeling the weight of all their eyes, but she knew Khar was right. “It’ll be all right, Lady.” She was not sure when Liy had joined Bajan, but the page’s young face was full of confidence. “You’ll see. My master will have your guard’s back, just like he did tonight. The Storm Spear will, too, and they’re the three best fighters in this contest.”
“Hearken to the sage,” Bajan said, grinning. Faro leapt up to enact some page’s ritual of affirmation with Liy, which from what Myr could see mainly involved punching each other, and the tension dissolved. Khar grinned, too, before saying he would take the first watch and sending everyone else to get what sleep they could.
Myr curled up in the bedchamber’s deep armchair with a blanket, so she could watch over Dab, while Faro lay down by the hearth. He fell asleep almost at once, burrowed into his coat, and Myr went to fetch another rug to place over him. Khar had taken up Bajan’s former station by the outer door, and although he nodded to her, neither of them spoke. Returning to the bedroom, Myr blew out all but one lamp, which she turned down low. Her face, glimpsed in the shadowed metal of the mirror, looked wan and tired. Bedraggled even, she thought ruefully—although at least the fire’s light was comforting, casting its glow across both mirror and wall hanging.
