by Jocelyn Fox
Ramel thought he heard a bit of false bravado in Squire Finnead’s voice, but he didn’t dare press the squire farther. It only added to the feeling of guilt gathering in his gut; he hadn’t been fast enough to see Squire Kieran’s punch in the ring, he hadn’t been strong enough to simply persevere through the pain by himself, and now his weakness could potentially cause Squire Finnead trouble with his master. He squared his shoulders.
“Sir, please don’t risk your Knight’s displeasure on my account,” he said, intending to dig in his heels until Squire Finnead agreed to let him walk to the healing ward by himself. He might have to sit down in the passageway a few times, and that certainly wouldn’t be dignified, but it would be better than the alternative.
“What I risk is not yours to choose,” Finnead replied. His voice softened slightly. “Your…loyalty…is noted, but you are wasting energy that would be better used to get yourself to the healing ward.”
Despite the waves of nausea now swelling in his belly, Ramel smiled to himself and stepped into the passageway. At first, he was sure that he wouldn’t need assistance. He made it out of the page’s wing before he started to sweat. Squire Finnead kept pace slightly behind him, close enough to catch him if he stumbled. Ramel stopped and put a hand to the wall just before they entered a main passageway.
“There shouldn’t be many about at this hour,” said Squire Finnead quietly, letting him catch his breath. “We will pass rather close to the Queen’s courtyard, but all the pages and squires will be occupied.”
Ramel almost nodded, but thought better of it. He wondered disjointedly how much time had passed since they’d set out from the page’s barracks. He didn’t want Finnead to miss Knight Arian’s first match in the Queen’s tourney.
“Don’t let my next words go to your head,” cautioned Squire Finnead. “Come, let’s get moving.” He took Ramel’s elbow in a firm grip and steered him down the main passageway. “You’re a promising young page, Ramel. I know that you’re fast friends with Murtagh, but remember that not all pages become Knights.”
Ramel felt vaguely grateful for Finnead’s low, steady voice; it gave him something to focus on other than the revolt in his head. He mustered a reply. “Yes, sir. I’ve spoken to Murtagh about it myself.”
Finnead chuckled. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you? Just be sure you don’t overstep, lad.”
Normally, Ramel felt like he would have been annoyed at anyone calling him ‘lad,’ but he just felt a perverse kind of pride when Squire Finnead said it. He felt a slightly loopy smile emerge on his lips. As they kept trudging toward the healing ward, he concentrated more and more on keeping himself upright and moving, letting Finnead steer him by the elbow. He didn’t let himself stop for any more rest, telling himself that every moment he rested was a moment that brought Finnead closer to the wrath of his Knight-master.
They neared the Queen’s courtyard, close enough that the sound of clashing blades and the roar of the assembled Knights, squires and pages reached them. A half-formed thought of asking Finnead to let him watch just a moment of the tourney floated through Ramel’s mind for an instant, but dissipated as he stumbled over some invisible flaw in the smooth tiled floor of the passageway. Finnead deftly swung Ramel’s arm over his shoulder, the squire’s arm bracing Ramel upright. Ramel tried to catch his breath and shove his stomach back down his throat to its proper position. A terrible fear overtook him that he’d retch right there in the passageway, and the thought of losing control in such an embarrassing fashion kindled panic in his chest.
“Easy, lad,” Finnead said, his voice very close to Ramel’s ear. “Deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your…”
His words trailed into silence. Over the roaring in his ears, Ramel heard footsteps coming down the passageway. The squire stiffened. Ramel knew that meant it was someone important. His hand gripped reflexively at Finnead’s shirt as another layer of panic clamped down on him.
“The…training…master?” Ramel gasped in a whisper.
Finnead didn’t answer him. The voice of a young woman did.
“Not the training master,” said the beautiful voice. The woman’s voice reminded Ramel of a garden at midnight, the light of the moon illuminating the nodding roses. His head reeled; he’d never even seen a garden at midnight, so why did this woman’s voice summon the image in his mind? “Merely a young woman fetching favors for the tourney.”
Ramel felt Finnead shift his weight slightly, and the squire’s voice came out low and respectful. “My lady.”
“Don’t try to bow with the lad’s arm over your shoulders,” said the lady sharply, in the manner of someone used to having their commands followed. “You’ll drop him on the ground.”
Finally, Ramel managed to raise his head and open his eyes. The world spun and colors blurred together, but he doggedly waited until the world resolved itself. A stunning young woman stood before them, something eerily familiar and yet completely foreign about her face. Ramel struggled to place her – he knew he knew her, or he should…and then it clicked into place in his head. Princess Andraste stood before them, her luminous pale eyes appraising the squire and page. Finnead still stood stiffly, as though frozen, and the princess waited expectantly in the silence – for the squire to say something, Ramel realized. He waited a heartbeat more and then mustered what he hoped was a cheeky smile.
“I don’t mind being dropped, my lady,” Ramel said gallantly, “especially so that Squire Finnead could bow to you.”
One of the princess’s eyebrows arched a bit higher and a smile curved her full lips. “My, how self-sacrificing for such a young page.”
Ramel felt his face flush with pleasure at the fact that the princess had apparently found his comment at least a bit amusing…and she had discerned he was a page.
“Squire Finnead, it is customary for squires to attend their Knights during tournaments such as the one my dear sister decided to hold this afternoon, isn’t it?” The princess raised her eyebrow fractionally higher. Ramel gazed at her in dumb rapture, aware in some distant part of his mind that he was being insufferably rude by staring at the Crown Princess, but unable to muster enough command of his faculties to do anything other than gape at her beauty. Even the pounding in his head lessened slightly.
“It is, my lady,” replied Finnead, bowing his head slightly. “Page Ramel was injured a few hours ago during training that I supervised, and so I felt it my duty to take him to the healing wards.”
Princess Andraste’s expression of cool amusement warmed slightly. “Won’t your Knight be displeased if you aren’t there to attend him?”
“A page’s well-being is more important to me than the displeasure of my master,” said Finnead.
“So earnest, Squire Finnead.” Princess Andraste smiled her half-smile again. “Are you so sincere in upholding all the tenets of your training?”
Ramel blinked. Was the princess flirting with Squire Finnead? He resisted the urge to grin goofily at the squire and elbow him in the ribs, as he’d do to Murtagh when one or another of the Court ladies cooed over him. If he did that, Finnead probably would drop him.
“Yes, my lady,” said Squire Finnead in the same steady voice. “I believe the tenets of our training have been placed upon us for a reason.”
“Even if you cannot discern the reason?” Princess Andraste tilted her head slightly to one side.
“Even if I cannot discern the reason,” replied Finnead with quiet assurance.
“Sometimes I think that certain rules were created for no reason at all,” said Princess Andraste, taking a delicate step closer to them. Ramel felt Finnead stiffen and shift his weight slightly back, as though he wanted to take a step backward to maintain the distance between them and the Princess.
“Is that why you train with a wooden blade?” blurted Ramel, blinking wide eyes at the princess. He had time enough to register her startled look, hear Finnead’s sharp intake of air, and wonder how it had suddenly gotten so dark in
the passageway before his knees buckled and swirling blackness enveloped him.
Chapter 6
Finn didn’t know how to reply to the princess’s question. Her brilliant eyes transfixed him. He groped for words and came up with nothing at all.
“Is that why you train with a wooden blade?” the page asked suddenly, his voice too loud for the quiet passageway.
Finnead glanced at Ramel in shock – the page was certainly cheeky, but he hadn’t thought the lad to be disrespectful. Then the boy’s eyes rolled back and he went limp. He wasn’t heavy but the shift in weight caught Finn off guard, and he chose to lay the page down for a moment on the cool tile floor rather than jar him by heaving him upright again. He cupped the back of the lad’s head in his hand as he carefully set him down. Kneeling on the ground, Finn checked the page’s breathing and pressed two fingers to his neck to feel his heartbeat, his training making the motions automatic. The boy was pale save for the nasty bruises beginning to pool under his eyes, and his heart beat faster than Finn liked, but he was still breathing. He’d probably asked too much of the lad, walking to the healing ward. He should have just brought the healer to the page’s barracks despite Ramel’s protests.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Finn started slightly at the princess’s question. As dumbstruck as her presence had rendered him, he’d almost forgotten she was there when Ramel lost consciousness.
“He took a hard hit during training,” said Finn. “Broke his nose and gave him a nasty concussion.”
The princess hiked up her skirt slightly and walked briskly to the other side of the prone page. She knelt on the cold floor with no regard for the delicate silk of her gown. Her eyes flashed as she caught Finn’s look. “Don’t look so surprised, Squire Finnead.” There was a note of bitterness and a note of challenge in her voice. “I may not be a knight in training, but I have learned some useful things in my studies.”
She rubbed her pale hands together, a small crease appearing on her brow. She sat back on her heels, took a breath and then leaned forward, her piercing eyes finding Finn’s gaze. “I want to help him, but you must swear that you won’t tell anyone.”
“How are you going to help him?” Finn asked slowly. He found that he felt protective of Ramel, as though the page were his younger brother.
“Never mind that,” the princess snapped, glancing up and down the passageway. “Give me your word.”
“Not until you tell me what you’re going to do to him,” said Finn steadily, though his heart began to beat faster with the knowledge that he was essentially defying Queen Mab’s sister, the eventual heir to the Unseelie throne.
“You’re infuriating,” commented Princess Andraste, as casually as though she were commenting on the weather. “I’ve studied elemental healing with Healer Alistair.”
“Have you ever used it before?”
Princess Andraste leaned closer to him, pressing her lips together. “Yes, I have.”
He frowned slightly. “Yet it’s a secret?”
“Do you want me to help him or not?” she demanded in exasperation.
“I can carry him to the healers and they can help him too,” Finn pointed out logically.
“Infuriating,” said Andraste again. She rubbed her hands together again, a silvery glow suffusing them. “Make sure no one is coming.”
Finn grudgingly glanced up and down the passageway, and when he turned back to Ramel, the princess had her shimmering hands pressed to his face. Strands of taebramh writhed around her wrists and spiraled down her fingers. He saw with a flash of astonishment that the princess’s eyes, too, glowed silver. She tilted her head to the side and frowned slightly.
“This will hurt, ma saell caethrair,” she murmured.
Finn couldn’t help his wince when tendrils of the princess’s taebramh snaked up Ramel’s nose and straightened it with a sudden crunch of bone. The page jerked and the princess soothed him with nonsense words, half-sung like a lullaby. Her eyes went half-lidded as she stroked his temples with her long fingers. Finn guessed that she was repairing the damage inside Ramel’s head. At one point, she bit her lip and sucked in a sharp breath, but after a moment her face smoothed again. Finn glanced up and down the passageway again. What was he supposed to do if someone did come along? How was he to explain the Crown Princess on her knees by an unconscious page, her taebramh deep in his head?
After what seemed like an hour but really must have been mere moments, Princess Andraste smiled slightly and the taebramh receded from her eyes. She shuddered and blinked, swaying on her knees but catching herself. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at Ramel and said, “I couldn’t do much about the bruises under his eyes – that’s difficult, even though you wouldn’t think it is, and they’re just bruises anyway.” She blinked a few more times. “He’ll sleep for a few hours. You should carry him back to his room, if you can.”
Finn found himself nodding. When the princess spoke about healing, it was in a business-like tone, free of any coy humor. He glimpsed a strange heaviness in her eyes and half-reached for her, stopping before he touched her. “Are you all right?”
She looked at him and gave him that half-smile. “Oh, yes. I’ll be fine. Just a bit tired. It was more…complicated…than I thought.”
“What do you mean complicated?” asked Finn. He looked down at Ramel, icy fingers of dread touching his spine. “Is there something still wrong with him?”
The princess shook her head. “No. He’s fine…now.” She sighed as Finn looked at her expectantly. “You really are infuriating.” But she said it almost…fondly? Then her face became serious again. “He was bleeding inside his head. The healers might have caught it, if they looked for it right away.” She paused. Finn found he couldn’t breathe. “But I fixed it.”
Finn closed his eyes for a moment and suppressed the terrible fear that spiraled up inside him. “He would have died.”
“If no one found it, yes. Like I said, the healers probably would have seen it.”
“They might not have.” Finn opened his eyes and found himself staring into the princess’s magnetic gaze. “But you did, and you saved him. Thank you.” He nodded slightly. “You have my word I’ll never tell anyone.” He wanted to do exactly the opposite: he wanted to tell everyone, he wanted to make sure the entire Court knew how much the crown princess cared for even a page boy.
“We’re pressing our luck. I’m surprised no one has come by,” she said, glancing away from him. He thought he saw the faintest hint of a blush in her cheeks.
“I’ll get him back to the page’s barracks,” Finn said, gathering Ramel into his arms. He was sure that if Ramel had been awake, he’d yowl at the indignity of being carried like a child, but the page slumbered on peacefully, none the wiser.
“You owe me,” said the princess almost playfully as they both stood, she, brushing the wrinkles from her blue silk gown and he, shifting Ramel’s weight in his arms.
“Anything you ask,” replied Finn sincerely.
They stood looking at each other for a long moment. Ramel once again interrupted the taut silence, erupting into an impressively loud snore. Princess Andraste laughed softly and Finn chuckled. The princess stepped close and affectionately brushed a tendril of Ramel’s reddish hair away from his forehead. Finn stiffened, suddenly aware of the closeness of her slender body and her faint scent of jasmine. Her catlike smile surfaced again.
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Finnead,” she said silkily, making the formal words seem somehow indecent. She lingered over his name, and he suppressed a shudder at the verbal caress.
“And you as well, Princess Andraste,” he replied, his voice slightly hoarse.
Ramel snored again; the princess smiled and motioned for Finn to go. He bowed his head slightly and turned, striding quickly toward the page’s barracks and wondering what in the Good Lady’s name had just happened to him.
He deposited Ramel on his narrow bed in the page’s barracks witho
ut incident, feeling a bit like a doting matron as he tucked the blanket around the slumbering page’s body. For a moment, he hesitated: when Ramel awoke alone in his barracks room, would he be distressed and confused? Then he sighed and decided that if the page was half as clever as he thought, he would work it out on his own. At the very least, he’d be grateful that he wasn’t in the healing ward.
Or dead. The thought pressed into Finnead’s mind unbidden as he shut the door carefully behind him. He let himself dwell for a few moments on the terrible thought of that alternate future: a page dead because of squires conducting unauthorized instruction. He let himself feel the keen sorrow that would have pierced his chest if Ramel had died; he let himself sink into the grief and anger that would have whirled together in his heart. Grief at the loss of a bright young man, anger at his role in it. And then, about halfway to the queen’s courtyard, he took a deep breath and swept all of it away. It had almost happened, but it had not, no matter how close it had been. He let the ghostly future and its terrible emotions dissipate like smoke.
Then he turned the corner and saw Knight Arian standing in the passageway, and his stomach clenched. Arian was normally a calm and fair master, but there was nothing calm about his thunderous expression. Dust marred the Knight’s polished greaves and a streak of blood snaked down from his hairline. Finn’s heart dropped. He truly liked Knight Arian, and it always grieved him when the Knight lost his bouts at the tourney, which happened about half the time.
“Tell me, Squire,” said Knight Arian, his voice measured but seething with a simmering anger, “what did you deem more important than seeing to your duty this afternoon?”
Finn knew he was expected to answer promptly and truthfully. Any delay was considered disrespect, and that was the last thing he wanted to convey to Knight Arian. But his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and wouldn’t produce any words, leaving him staring at Knight Arian silently.
“You are testing my patience as you never have before,” warned Knight Arian. “I will give one more chance to answer me.”
