by Jocelyn Fox
Finn had been serving at a lower dais. He’d glimpsed the shimmer of tears in Rye’s eyes, but he’d also admired the stubborn set of her shoulders and the way she made it seem like she was walking out of the dining hall of her own accord, rather than being escorted out by the Vaelanseld.
“So, what was this gossip about Rye and Tyr,” Finn said lightly.
“Well, you know how they left Court,” said Kieran. “Apparently, they traveled north.”
Finn smiled a little. He already knew where this gossip headed. “To the wolf-hearths.”
“Exactly,” said Kieran. “And apparently, the ulfdrengr let the girl train with them.”
Finn shrugged. “Perhaps they’ve already realized what we’ve yet to learn,” he said. He couldn’t resist when Kieran looked at him questioningly. “In some ways, women are stronger than men. They might well make better warriors.”
“If you keep talking this nonsense, I’m going to have to give you a hit like I gave that page this morning to set you straight,” said Kieran, only half-joking.
“Only if you can catch me first,” replied Finn with a beatific smile.
“You’re infuriating,” muttered Kieran. And with that, they let the conversation settle into stillness. They arrived at the Queen’s Courtyard and took their places with the other squires along the outer wall, their squire’s vests gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Finn felt a warm glow of pride. He wasn’t a Knight yet, but sometimes when he stood with the other squires, here at the edge of their gathering, he remembered all the years of blood and sweat that had led him to this moment. He remembered the years as a young boy when he stared enviously at the pages presented in their white shirts and black breeches. Becoming a Knight had seemed as far-fetched to him as flying into the sky and capturing a star; yet, now here he stood, on the cusp of grasping his brightly burning dream.
The gentle murmur of the gathered Knights’ voices fell silent as the first of the Queen’s retinue appeared on the balcony. Only Mab’s most favored courtiers spent such intimate time with her…and of course the most favored courtiers tended to be the most talented and beautiful of the Sidhe who made their homes in Darkhill. Lady Elaine happened to be one of the Queen’s ladies this day, and it wasn’t lost on Finn that Kieran straightened at the sight of her.
“She can’t see you, you know,” he murmured to his besotted roommate.
“You don’t know that,” Kieran replied, his eyes following the slender lady as she walked the length of the balcony. She turned every so often and spoke over her shoulder to the graceful young man behind her. Kieran made a sound something like a growl when the young man said something that made Lady Elaine laugh.
“Easy,” said Finn with a low chuckle.
“I’ll break the namby little fop’s legs if he makes her laugh again,” Kieran muttered.
Finn only sighed and left the other squire to his murderous thoughts. Queen Mab swept into the courtyard like a blinding flash of sun on pure white snow, her radiance so bright that it rendered Finn temporarily sightless until his eyes adjusted to the brilliance of his queen. He brushed away a spark of irritation; sometimes he thought that the queen blinded them purposefully to remind them of her power. To believe that she couldn’t control such a small enchantment as the silvery flash that heralded her arrival seemed strange to him; those court mages who worked with taebramh always emphasized that the greater the power, the more necessary a refined and total control by the wielder. So, he could only assume that Mab produced the blaze of light willfully. As his vision cleared, he carefully shepherded his thoughts back to safer territory. It was not chivalrous or honorable to think of his queen in such a way…or so he had been taught.
As Finn turned his attention back to the balcony to await the Queen’s choice of Knights for the afternoon, he noticed with surprise a second chair placed to the right of the Queen’s. The courtiers all perched on stools and benches piled with jewel-colored cushions; only the queen had the luxury of a true seat. But now a slender dark-haired young woman stood at Mab’s right hand.
“The princess,” murmured Kieran.
“Must you say everything aloud?” wondered Finn, but he’d been thinking it as well. For some reason, his eyes lingered on the princess. Just as when he’d glimpsed her at the dais the night before, she eschewed the glittering gowns that her older sister favored. Today, she wore a simply draped gown of light blue silk. The color emphasized both the perfect paleness of her skin and the rich darkness of her hair. Here in the courtyard, he was close enough to see the details of her face. He could see the resemblance to Mab in the perfect proportions and beautiful composition of her features, but the princess’s cheekbones were a bit sharper and her chin a bit more pointed than that of the queen. Her face was more heart-shaped than perfectly oval, and even at a distance Finn saw that she held one of her dark eyebrows slightly arched, as though observing some eternal joke or expressing a tiny bit of disdain for all the glitter of her sister’s Court. On another woman, the expression might have looked pinched or rude, but coupled with the princess’s wide eyes and impish nose, it simply made her look more like a woman than a girl. With a blink of surprise, Finn realized that he found it…charming.
“You’d better stop teasing me about staring at Lady Elaine,” whispered Kieran.
Finn quickly redirected his gaze, but that didn’t stop the smug grin on Kieran’s lips. The Knights and their squires stood at attention as Mab held up a slender white hand. She gazed over the assembled men, her own light reflected in their eyes and on the silver inlays in their leather breast pieces.
“Ah, my Knights,” the beautiful queen said in her lilting voice. “Today my sister Andraste has deigned to join us, and so we must show her a reason to keep attending these little get togethers in the courtyard, mustn’t we?” Queen Mab laughed throatily. “So, in honor of the Princess, we will have an impromptu tournament.” She smiled in a way that reminded Finn of a cat. “I would like to see which of my Knights have improved with their blades since last Solstice.” Her eyes flashed. “I shall give you a quarter hour to prepare. Vaelanseld, see to the organization of the tourney.”
The Vaelanseld bowed his head from where he stood in front of the balcony.
“Now, let us see who among you are truly my champions.” Queen Mab signaled the end of her speech with a flick of her wrist, turning to Lady Elaine.
Finn quickly counted the number of Knights assembled in the courtyard. He knew Kieran was doing the same, and they were estimating the amount of time each bout would take. They reached the same conclusion quickly. Finn began handing Kieran the gear for Knight Arian.
“We’re going to be here past dusk. I’m going to go get the pages. Knight Arian probably won’t be fighting for at least an hour, but please attend him if he needs it.”
“He won’t be angry?” Kieran asked, even as he held out his free arm for Finn to give him Arian’s sword belt.
“I’ll be back in less than the quarter hour, and someone has to go get the pages. I think I have enough good credit stored up with Arian to do the trick,” said Finn.
“Always the sacrificial lamb, eh?” said Kieran with a grin.
“Well, you can keep an eye on Lady Elaine now, so…” Finn shrugged and deftly sidestepped Kieran’s half-hearted swat.
“I’ll keep an eye on the Princess for you as well,” Kieran said as Finn divested himself of the last of Arian’s gear.
“Say that loud enough and I’m sure you’ll earn yourself a word with one of the Queen’s Three,” cautioned Finn, but a half-grin lingered on his lips as he leapt away, his long legs already eating up the distance toward the pages’ quarters.
Chapter 5
“Why are you trying to make me sleep in a boat instead of a bed?” groaned Ramel, pressing his arm over his eyes.
“Well, first, I’m supposed to make sure you’re not sleeping, and second, it is a bed. I think your head is just…” Murtagh shrugged.
“Knocked out of it
s orbit?” suggested Ramel. He tried to lie very still, but he still had to breathe and that small movement alone created ripples of nausea in his stomach.
“If it was knocked out of its orbit, wouldn’t you think that you’d be headless?” Murtagh said mildly.
“I don’t know.” Ramel sighed. During the first few hours of the spinning room and pounding headache, he’d convinced himself that it was all worth it. Now, after retching twice and Murtagh pronouncing that he was fairly certain Ramel’s nose was broken, he was thoroughly tired of having a head injury, even if it was from training with the squires.
Murtagh glanced up from the center of the room. He’d pushed aside their desks to clear their makeshift practice ring, and he’d occupied himself with staff drills for the afternoon. He didn’t want to be merely mediocre at staffs, but he couldn’t seem to muster the fluid movement and speed that he’d seen Ramel demonstrate.
The assembly bells suddenly sounded throughout the page’s barracks. Small bells mounted in the passageways alerted them to summons by a squire or a Knight. Ramel gritted his teeth and sat up, thinking that perhaps if he moved quickly he could trick his body into ignoring the movement.
“That was a bad idea,” said Murtagh, hastily handing him the washbasin.
Ramel took it but clenched his jaw stubbornly, forcing down the bile climbing up his throat. He swallowed and said thickly, “We have to go.”
“Squire Finnead said to stay in the barracks with you,” pointed out Murtagh.
“Squire Finnead didn’t know we’d be summoned,” countered Ramel. He took a deep breath and berated himself silently. If he wanted to be a squire, much less a Knight, he had to demonstrate that he had the fortitude to push through bad circumstances. He gathered himself, set aside the washbasin and stood.
“Unless it was Squire Finnead doing the summoning.”
Ramel blinked, sure that the dark-haired squire was an apparition of his knocked-about brain. He did his best to stand at attention, but he wasn’t sure which of the three squires standing in front of him he should look at. He settled for the middle one and hoped he was right. Rapid movement at the corner of his blurred vision indicated that Murtagh had snapped to attention.
“Squire Finnead, sir,” Murtagh said, but then fell silent, ensure what else to say.
“Don’t call me sir,” Finnead said, but the reprimand was half-hearted as he focused his attention on the swaying Ramel.
“Sir,” Ramel managed, gritting out the word past his clenched jaw. It was all he could do to keep his feet; his thoughts swam in his pounding head and he realized too late what the squire had said. He winced and tried to scrape together an apology.
“It’s fine,” Finnead said. He stepped closer to Ramel, his expression intent. “Did the herbs help at all?”
“A little,” Ramel said.
“How do you feel? Sick, dizzy?”
Ramel tightened his jaw stubbornly. He wouldn’t admit weakness to Squire Finnead. He wanted to be Finnead’s squire, after all, and it wouldn’t do for him to show that he wasn’t strong enough to bear the rigors of training.
Squire Finnead’s next words were low but firm. “Tell me truthfully, or I shall ask Murtagh again.”
Ramel took a deep breath, pressed his lips together and swallowed down his nausea. “Yes, sir. Sick and dizzy. But nothing I can’t handle,” he added in what he hoped was a fierce voice. To his own ears, it sounded more like a protesting child, but that might have been because his head was spinning and his heart was starting to pound in his chest from the effort of standing up for so long.
“Sit down before you fall down,” Squire Finnead commanded, but Ramel’s legs were already buckling. To Ramel’s mortification, he felt the squire’s strong hands catch him and carry him to the bed like a child.
“Murtagh, go and fetch one of the healers,” the squire said. His voice sounded like thunder to Ramel’s ears as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to make the world stop spinning. But he tried to sit up as he heard Squire Finnead’s command.
“No,” he croaked, even though he knew he was countering a squire’s command. He swallowed and managed to open his eyes, struggling to string the right words together to soften his insolence. “If a healer…comes to the page’s quarters…everyone will know.”
“Lad, you’re going to be away from your training for at least a couple of days,” Squire Finnead said, his voice not ungentle.
“But they won’t have to know why,” insisted Ramel. Talking made sweat break out on his forehead. He wouldn’t have believed that a single hit to the face would have caused this much havoc, but then again that hit had been by one of the biggest squires, and he knew that jarring the head often produced much graver results than initially estimated.
“I can help him to the healing ward, sir,” said Murtagh.
“Will you be able to carry him if his legs give out?” asked Squire Finnead bluntly.
Ramel closed his eyes for a moment. He was bigger than Murtagh, and the other page was strong, but the only way he’d be able to carry him was over his shoulders. Just the thought of it made him feel sick.
“Yes,” said Murtagh after a moment of thought. “But only over my shoulders, and I might have trouble picking him up from the ground if he’s unconscious.”
“You’re honest to a fault,” said Squire Finnead to Murtagh, a note of grudging approval in his voice. He thought for a moment. Outside the door, they could hear all the other pages hastening to heed the summons. Murtagh glanced at the door, wondering when the senior page would send someone to fetch them.
“I’m going to go give instructions to the senior page, and I’ll tell him that Ramel will be with me on a special assignment,” said Squire Finnead to Murtagh. “I’m going to escort him to the healers myself.”
Ramel wondered foggily if that counted as dishonesty; then again, he thought, they were going to be with Squire Finnead, and he supposed that going to the healing ward was a special assignment. He swallowed thickly, opened his eyes and waited for the kaleidoscope to calm enough for him to speak. “Sir. You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do,” replied Finnead. “It was through our training that you were injured, and thus you’re my responsibility for the moment.” His tone brooked no further argument. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He glanced at Murtagh. “I expect you to be at the pages’ muster before I’m done giving the senior page his instructions.”
“Yes, sir,” Murtagh replied automatically, already changing his shirt and slipping into the quilted vest with the crossed staffs on the breast that marked them as pages. Ramel gathered himself and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You really shouldn’t be moving,” admonished Murtagh.
“You really shouldn’t go out the door without letting me inspect you,” retorted Ramel, though the long reply cost him dearly. Murtagh sighed, but stepped closer and turned in a slow circle.
“Tuck in your shirt on the left side, it’s uneven,” said Ramel. He had to pause to take a breath and let it out slowly. “Mud on your boots, left toe and right heel.”
Murtagh swore under his breath and leapt to the wardrobe to seize a brush, quickly cleaning the offending spots on his boots. “Thanks,” he said quickly, and then he slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Ramel rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his aching head in his hands. One moment the pain would expand until he expected his skull to crack with the pressure, and then in the next instant, his head emptied and all the lightning-sharp pain pressed into his nose, radiating into his eyes and down into his jaw.
“This is miserable,” he moaned quietly to himself.
“Based on my own experience, I agree with you,” said Squire Finnead.
Ramel jumped guiltily and then cursed as the sudden movement jarred his head. He shut his eyes and when he opened them, Squire Finnead had taken a knee by the bed, looking at him with perceptive eyes.
“During my first yea
r as a squire, Kieran caught me across the face with the flat of his training blade,” the squire said. He raised one hand toward Ramel’s face and then thought better of it. “I’m not going to poke and prod you, the healers will do enough of that. But don’t be surprised if they say they need to set your nose.”
“Set…my nose?” Ramel repeated dumbly.
“Essentially, they’ll have to break it again and set it straight,” said Finnead. “Just warning you. It’s not a particularly pleasant process.”
“If it needs to be done, it will be done,” Ramel said, but his voice shook a little.
Squire Finnead stood, crossed the small barracks room and opened the door, leaning into the hallway for a moment. “All right, lad. All your fellow pages are gone.”
“What was the summons for?” Ramel asked, trying to distract himself from the prospect of walking all the way to the healer’s ward. Just the thought of crossing the room made his head throb.
“The queen is having a tourney in the courtyard,” Finnead replied. “Come on, then. Up you go.”
Ramel took a breath and pushed himself to his feet. He started toward the door with measured steps, Finnead following a step behind him. “If there’s a tourney…won’t Knight Arian be needing you?”
“Squire Kieran has Knight Arian’s gear,” said Finnead lightly, “and he won’t be sparring for at least another hour.”
