by Patty Jansen
“No, not at all. It’s just that your dress . . .”
“Is a little revealing?”
He said nothing.
“Then I will order proper garments.” She hated these flimsy garments the courtiers made her wear anyway. Layers of gauze so thin the wind breezed through them even when she walked around the room. They were designed to keep her indoors.
“You could do that.” Rider Cornatan stopped pacing and stared out the window, hands clasped behind his back. A couple of gulls sat on the outside windowsill.
“I want a dress such as the maidens of the city wear. One that’s warm enough for outside. I want to go into a real meltery and meet real men.”
He stiffened. “Out of the question.”
“Why? I will speak the words you tell me to speak. I will dance only with men you have chosen. Hire the meltery if you wish. Tell the owner to put guards at his door and let in only Knights. They don’t have too much trouble drooling over my puppies when I’m merely walking past.”
“Your Highness, where did you learn to speak so? If you were my daughter—”
“Which I am not. I am your Queen, and this is how my men speak about me. I listen to their voices, Rider Cornatan.”
He let another silence lapse. She knew he would offer a compromise of some sort. A trip in the royal sled—she didn’t care as long as she could leave this room. She didn’t really fancy getting a close-up view of Knights drooling over her anyway. The junior Knights maybe, but the Senior Knights scared her.
“We could organise for you to witness a race and a walk over the festival grounds. Every year one of the Apprentice Knights is chosen to be the Queen’s Champion. You could choose the winner yourself.”
Yes, she could, but it was just another boring official function, not something she wanted to do. “Could I see the Legless Lions?”
His lips twitched into a smile. Was he glad she no longer mentioned men?
Hoping for a kiss and awkward fumbling in the dark with a young man of her age was futile anyway. The man who took her would be older, experienced, and in her bed for only one reason: to get his blood on the throne. She was probably facing that very man right now.
She had known it all her life.
There is no point fighting, Jevaithi, her mother used to say. The Knights do as the Knights want to do. She could still see her mother over there in the bed, pale and sickly. Devoid of a will to live.
“We can certainly arrange for you to see the Legless Lions, and the bears. Perhaps you would like to see the ritual killing?”
She shuddered at the thought of guts and blood on some beefy butcher’s hands, but nodded. The longer she was out there, the more time she had to do real things and pretend she was a real girl. And real girls wouldn’t mind to see an animal killed. For them, it meant work and food.
“Yes, I would like that.”
Rider Cornatan bowed. “I will organise that for tomorrow, with your permission.”
“You have my permission.”
He bowed again and left.
Drained and still hungry, Jevaithi sank down on the bed. Her plate remained on the table, the sauce congealed into a jelly-like blob. A servant scurried to take it.
“You haven’t eaten, Your Highness.”
“No. Next time, I want you to bring me real food.”
The man’s eyes widened. “But Ruder Cornatan says—”
“Never mind what he says. Bring me adult food. If he tries to mistreat you, come to me.”
The man nodded and retreated.
She gazed out the window, where the people of the city moved about like little black specks.
She would try to charge into a meltery once she was out there. When they were surrounded by the people, Rider Cornatan wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on her. The people loved her, not him.
Mother, maybe you gave up the fight, but I will be free.
Chapter 10
* * *
ISANDOR TOSSED A COUPLE of coins onto the bar and wriggled sideways between sweating bodies to pick up the tray of drinks the barman had put there. A maid burst out the kitchen door, yelling at two younger girls who were collecting tottering piles of dirty glasses. In the din of the meltery room, Isandor couldn’t hear what she said, but the gist of it was written on her face. Hurry up, work faster. The girls were rosy-cheeked, their hands red from alternately washing up in ice chips and tending the roaring fire, or stirring the giant vats of meltwater and mixing in spirits and berry distillate to make bloodwine.
Isandor lifted the tray with drinks carefully over the heads of a couple of fishermen and backed into marginally less-crowded territory. Here, patrons sat at tables, every chair occupied. Some talked, some were gambling, and here and there, a few couples were engaged in other activities. A layer of smoke hovered over the patrons. It wafted from the fire every time the door was opened, which happened a lot.
A heaving crowd on the dance floor made so much noise that it was hard hearing the musicians.
Carro and his cousin Daman sat alone at a table. Carro leaned his head in his hands and stared into the crowd, while Daman fiddled with the hem of his tunic.
“Hey, smile,” Isandor said as he set the tray down. He regained his seat and distributed the drinks.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Carro muttered into his glass. His pale blue eyes had a haunted look to them.
Isandor laughed. “Yeah, we’ll have this race in the bag, and then you’ll just have the swimming and running races to win.”
Carro clamped his large hands over his glass as if to retain the warmth of the wine. “The running and swimming are unfair competitions. I’m the only Knight Apprentice who can compete as Outer City citizen. It’d be embarrassing if I didn’t win those races.”
“Carro, have you noticed I’m from the Outer City, too and I didn’t even enter.”
“It’s different for you.” He let the reference to Isandor’s peg leg hang in the air. “Besides, the flying race tomorrow is important. Knights live for flying.”
“And so we won our selection heat. Smile, Carro. We won. We’re in the final.”
“I almost fell off,” Carro said. “Look, why don’t you find another partner. You’re so much better than me, you deserve someone who can actually control their bird.”
“Carro, please . . .”
Why did he go into sulky moods like this? Isandor had thought it would get better when Carro was away from that horrible father of his, but if anything, being in the Knighhood had made it worse.
Carro shook his head and drank deeply from his bloodwine, staring ahead. Daman still fiddled with his tunic. His eyes were following one particular girl swept in the tide of dancers. Tall, with curved hips and tresses of honey-coloured hair, and completely out of his league.
“Hey, good evening boys!” A girl dropped into the empty chair. Her cheeks were red from dancing and bloodwine and her perfume mingled with a faint scent of sweat. Around her pale-skinned neck, she wore a simple strip of leather with on it, a gull’s tail feather.
“Uhm, good evening, Korinne,” Isandor said. “Still here? I thought you said your father wanted you to come home.”
Stupid. That’s sounds too hopeful. Bloodwine had addled his thoughts. He had to clamp his jaws to stop himself laughing, because laughing at the daughter of Rider Cornatan’s closest advisor would never do.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Carro was just telling a joke,” Isandor said.
“What?” Carro woke up from his moody thoughts.
Isandor gestured, You deal with her. All day, Carro had been staring at this girl like a hungry pup whenever she came near.
C
arro began, “Oh yeah, I can tell you a good joke. Did you hear about the two Chevakians who went fishing . . .”
Isandor stifled a groan.
The girl continued to look at him, batting long eyelashes over her clear grey eyes. She fiddled with her feather. Yes, he knew she was available. He’d hardly had a chance to forget it.
“I guess you already heard the joke,” Carro said, his voice flat.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on winning your race. It was amazing. I saw you come back so far ahead of everyone else. You flew really well.” Then she glanced at Carro. “Both of you, of course.”
Carro rose from his seat. He’d already finished half his glass and stood unsteady. “Can I invite you to dance, Korinne?”
“Knights can always ask me to dance.” She giggled, and as Carro led her away, she gave Isandor an intense stare and added, “Whether I agree depends on who’s asking.” She winked.
By the skylights, that stupid girl just didn’t give up. She had been following him around all night.
Isandor drank deeply from his cup, letting the bloodwine sting its way into his stomach.
“For someone who’s had their first taste of booze only yesterday, you sure know how to put it away,” Carro’s cousin remarked.
Isandor had almost forgotten about him. “So,” he said to Daman. “Do you know what happened when the two Chevakians went fishing?”
“I think we shouldn’t joke about Chevakia. One day they will invade us. You know my father says”
Isandor let his mind drift off. He didn’t mind discussing politics, but not today and not with Carro’s cousin.
Carro and Korinne came past on the dance floor. He was talking to her, his hand on her shoulder—too close to her neck—and his head bent towards her. He was too tall, and his steps too large. She held her body stiff, so she didn’t touch him, and stared past him at Isandor.
Isandor averted his gaze. Between the dancers, his eyes met those of a much older man, a noble from the city proper, with golden swirls tattooed on his cheeks. He sat alone at a table. More than twice the age of most patrons, he didn’t belong here.
Isandor shivered. This was the man he’d seen after the race today, the man whose presence he’d felt.
“Heh, d’you think that one fancies you?” Daman asked, looking at Korinne whirling past.
“Does she really?”
“It’s not fair,” Daman went on, oblivious to Isandor’s sarcasm. “The best girls are always taken by you Eagle Knights.”
Isandor took another gulp from his drink, stifling the comment that Daman could have her if he wanted, and that if it was so unfair, maybe he should sign up for the Knighthood himself instead of whinge about it.
Before he could say anything stupid, and he was feeling rather drunk by now, Carro and Korinne came back to the table, both red-faced. Carro picked up his glass took a large gulp from his drink.
“Oh, Isandor, you’re not going to ask me?” Korinne said.
“Oh, come on, be a man to her,” Daman said. “She’s throwing herself at you.”
Carro sunk into his chair, his face hard and not meeting Isandor’s eyes.
All right, so they had a disagreement. Let’s see. It would have been about Carro treading on her toes or grabbing her too tightly? Next thing she would go back to her friends and gossip about it.
Oh, by the skylights. Isandor wanted to stay with his friend. No, he wanted to leave this stuffy place and walk with Carro back to the birds, or find some place more quiet, and away from pushy females, to have a drink and a good talk, but he couldn’t refuse such a blatant offer by the daughter of Rider Cornatan’s advisor. So the took the girl’s hand and led her onto the dance floor, where it was so busy that bodies pressed into him from all sides. The musicians struck up a rowdy tune.
Soon, they were swept up in the tide of dancers, and Korinne attached herself to him, like a suffocating parasite. He had to concentrate hard to keep his gait even, to make sure that his empty boot didn’t get stuck or pulled off his peg leg. The crowd heaved and surged. And he was attached to this girl, red-cheeked and bright-eyed with bloodwine, holding him more closely than necessary.
“You dance well,” she said.
He just nodded. Never mind that he didn’t think so, not when dancing had become a matter of life and death.
“I could dance with you all night,” she said into the hollow under his chin. Her breasts pressed against his chest. When he looked down he could see into the deep crevasse between them.
Sweat rolled down his back. His hands felt like slippery fish. The scent of her perfume made it hard to breathe so he concentrated on his steps. One, two, three, four, one, two . . .
“It’s so hot in here,” she said.
This was the part where he should say We can always go outside. And then they’d go into the chill air, and he’d have to keep her warm with his kisses and no doubt she’d taken her ichina and was after a bit more than kisses, and that was all fine during Newlight, as long as the girl fell pregnant.
Part of him wanted to go, badly. No doubt she could feel that part in the space between his hips and hers. But he couldn’t. It would mean taking his clothes off, and she would see his wooden leg. And although the Knights at the eyrie must have seen that he was Imperfect, no one seemed to have actually noticed it. He didn’t understand why, and knew that someone would, one day. And while he was vulnerable, literally with his pants down about to ride a girl was not the time for that to happen. Especially while he was so drunk that he could barely see the opposite side of the room. He wasn’t supposed to have lived. He knew no other Imperfects. According to the books, Imperfect babies were left to die on the ice floes, not to join the Knights, win races, or attempt to get any girls pregnant.
But it was so hot in here. He concentrated on his dancing. Korinne pouted. Isandor’s heart was going like crazy. Would it hurt just to give her a kiss and see if he could do that? To see what it was like? But no, his body might betray him, like it did sometimes at night when he dreamed of this girl who came to the markets sometimes. She didn’t know him, or how beautiful he thought she was. But for some reason in this dream she would come up to his sleeping shelf—he was always at home or some other place that was a weird combination of home and the eyrie, and he was always alone—and then she would take off her clothes, but as soon as she folded back the covers to get into his bed, he’d wake up and then he would be all wet. But he hadn’t actually wet himself, since it didn’t smell like piss, and it wasn’t unpleasant at all, just embarrassing. Definitely too embarrassing to be thinking about now, since the thoughts only made his . . . problem worse. Korinne would be able to feel it now for sure.
Carro was sitting at the table with his cousin, who gabbled away, probably about some political thing, but Carro stared at Isandor with uncomfortable intensity, as if he knew what Isandor was thinking. His eyes said, Get your hands off my girl.
Sweat made Isandor’s shirt stick to his back. Everyone was staring at him. He could see the question in their eyes. What was he waiting for?
Then, thankfully, the music ended. His face and ears glowing, he led Korinne back to the table, raising his eyebrows at Carro and hoping that Carro would get the hint and take her off somewhere to a dark warehouse. It might cheer him up. As for him, he felt like getting disgracefully drunk.
“Oh, do we stop dancing already?” Korinne said.
“I’m tired. I have to think of tomorrow’s race and feed the birds. I think Carro would like one more dance with you.”
A painful look passed over her face.
Carro was already getting up from the table, ready to take her hand, but she stepped back. “I promised my father I wouldn’t stay out too long.”
A feeble excus
e. No girl promised their fathers anything during Newlight except that they’d do their very best to fall pregnant.
She extracted herself from Isandor’s grip and ran out, her lips pressed together.
Isandor cringed. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, and didn’t know how he was meant to have rejected her without hurting her. What a mess.
“What, Carro? M . . . my sister laughed in your face, din’ she?” The voice was haughty but the speech was slurred.
Oh no, Jono. He stood at the table, his usual smirk on sharp-nosed face. He had taken off his Knights’ cloak, displaying the distinctive red tunic.
“Shut your stupid mouth.” Carro took a step towards him.
“You in . . . ssssulted my sister,” Jono said.
“She came here begging for a dance.”
“Heh,” Jono sneered. “Why sh . . . should my sss..sister ever want you?”
“Shut up!” Carro grabbed Jono by his shoulder.
A circle formed as other dancers stepped aside, faces keen and eyes wide.
“Oh, Carro, come, don’t be silly,” Isandor said in his friend’s ear. “This isn’t worth a fight.”
Worst of all, the Tutor had warned that any Apprentices caught brawling would not be allowed to go out tomorrow.
Carro didn’t move.
“Yeah, that’shhh right,” Jono said, his arms over his chest. “Get y . . . your friend to sss . . . sort it out for you.”
“Shut up!” Carro said again, this time louder.
“What? You’re jjjjealous be . . . becaushe your friend gets more girls than you?”
Carro lunged.
But he was drink-addled and Jono evaded him easily. Carro lost his balance and almost fell, but Jono grabbed him by his tunic. He drew Carro back to his feet. “So y . . . you want to fight? Let’sh fffight!”
“Carro, no,” Isandor called.
“Don’t, Jono!” Korinne said. “You’ll be in so much trouble.”
“Shut up, all of you!” Carro shouted.
