The Knight's Daughter

by S H Cooper

“Yes! The lord would never kill anyone,” Ilyana says quickly.

  “No, long, tortured rests are more his style.” I put my hands on my hips with a roll of my eyes.

  “My lady, please!”

  “Who’s she?” Silvermoon asks before turning to Ilyana. “Who are you?”

  “Just a handmaiden to the lady,” she says.

  “She’s Ilyana,” I offer her name when she doesn’t. “Conan makes her keep an eye on me.”

  “It’s not like that! I’m here to serve you, my —”

  “So what’s wrong with them?” Silvermoon interrupts.

  “I’m not sure.” I glance uncertainly at the shelf of fae. “Ilyana said they’re magicked.”

  “They only respond to the lord,” Ilyana says meekly. “At least they did, until you.”

  “I don’t recall a thing since coming here. Have I been working?” Silvermoon pokes the half horse-man in his stomach.

  “I don’t know about you, specifically, but I’ve seen the silent around the castle. Cleaning, mostly,” Ilyana replies.

  “But I’m awake now,” Silvermoon says.

  “Aye,” I say.

  “Did Conan wake me?”

  “No, it was just me and Ilyana in here and then you just sort of snapped out of it.”

  Silvermoon paces up and down the line of the still sleeping silent. He’s studying them closely, looking for something. Ilyana trembles at my side and clutches my wrist in her small hands as if she’s ready to yank me away at any moment.

  “What changed?” Silvermoon asks. “If Conan didn’t wake me, what did?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I was just looking at you and —”

  Ilyana mumbles something so timidly under her breath that I don’t catch a word of it.

  “What?” I look to her.

  “You touched him,” she barely raises her voice so I have to lean in. “O-on his face. Like this.”

  She lets go of me just long enough to gently tap her fingertips against my cheek and then immediately takes hold again. Silvermoon lifts his brows, turns to the horse-man, and mimics Ilyana’s motion. When the gentle pat doesn’t rouse him, Silvermoon tries a second time, smacking his fingers soundly against the creature’s cheek.

  “It’s not working,” he says.

  “Maybe it was a mistake,” Ilyana whispers.

  “Or maybe,” Silvermoon’s pale green eyes come to rest on me and I pull back slightly, now on guard, “it was you.”

  “I did the same thing you just did,” I say.

  “I mean the touch has to come from you.”

  “But why?” I shake my head. “It must be something Meverick did. Maybe he woke you to take us back upstairs.”

  “I don’t think so, my lady,” Ilyana says. “The silent don’t speak or think. They just do. If he were still under the lord’s control, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Come here, give this jolly centaur a good smack!” Silvermoon waved me forward.

  “Centaur? Is that what he’s called?” I stay where I am. The horse-man is huge, nearly twice my height, and I don’t really like the idea of getting closer to him.

  “His kind, aye,” Silvermoon says. “They’re a forest people, like mine. We trade with them.”

  “And he’s not,” I pause to search for a word that isn’t likely to offend, “dangerous?”

  “Oh, they’re very dangerous.” Silvermoon grins cheekily. “But only if you get on their bad side, same as anyone. I’m sure if you were able to free him from whatever spell he’s under, you’d be right at the top of his friend list.”

  “My lady, no!”

  Ilyana attempts to hold me back, but I take a small step towards the centaur. He’s massive, built of heavy muscle and wild hair. His features are broad and furrowed despite his sleep. I chew my lip and my fingers curl into a fist. If he wakes in a rage, I will be the first thing he sees. How easy would it be to trample me beneath those hooves, I wonder with a small shudder. Ilyana begs me to stop while Silvermoon urges me forward, nodding encouragingly.

  With my heart racing in my chest, I reach out and poke the centaur quickly in his chest before snatching my hand back and scuttling a few steps away.

  The centaur inhales deeply and his barrel chest rises. His nostrils flare in a snort and one of his front hoofs paws the ground. He lifts his head, his black eyes darting back and forth.

  “Welcome back, friend!” Silvermoon greets him brightly as the centaur stares down at him in confusion. “I hope you’ve had a good rest, because I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of running happening very soon. Mary, be a dear and give the rest of this lot a little nudge to get them going. We probably don’t have much time before someone comes to check up on us.”

  It takes a moment before I register what Silvermoon has said. I’m too distracted looking from the centaur, as unsure as I am, down to my hands. Silvermoon whistles sharply and tilts his head toward a dwarf.

  “Come on, then, lass. Everyone knows it’s not a party until the dwarves have arrived.”

  I run around the room, going from silent to silent and touching them all. After some convincing, the centaur, Daiomas, lifts me so I can gently tap each fae upon their heads. The room fills with the groans and angry questions of the recently woken. Silvermoon leaps lightly on to a barrel and spreads his arms wide overheard.

  “I know this is all very confusing,” he says, quieting the group. “But the time for questions will have to come later. Right now, we need to focus on getting out of here and back to our homes! What I can tell you is that we’ve been kept here as slaves, made to work for a man called Meverick Conan.”

  At the mention of his name, the dwarves bristle and swear.

  “Ah, so you’re familiar with him,” Silvermoon continues. “Good. Maybe you can fill the rest of us in on the way out.”

  He falters slightly, which I can tell is unusual for him. He seems the type who is hardly ever at a loss for words.

  “As soon as someone tells us where that way out is. Any takers?”

  There’s a general shuffling of feet and murmured uncertainty. The fae and dwarves are speaking rapidly to their kin in their own tongues and Daiomas stamps his hooves and shifts angrily. The humans have grouped together against the wall opposite the rest of us. They seem to be having the most trouble coming to terms with what’s going on. I feel for them. A fortnight before, I hadn’t known that fae and elves and dwarves were actually real. Only moments before, I hadn’t even had a word for Daiomas or his kind. Now, it seems anything is possible.

  I almost don’t hear Ilyana’s tiny voice over the growing, unhappy clamor.

  “I do.”

  No one else seems to have caught her words. I grab her hand and pull her forward, in front of Silvermoon’s barrel. The elf whistles again and all eyes turn to the three of us.

  “What did you say, Ilyana?” Silvermoon says kindly.

  “I —” She’s shaking so badly I worry she might fall over in faint. She wrings her skirt in both hands and stares at the ground while she steadies herself. “I know the way out. There’s only one. We...we’d have to go through the front gate.”

  “How delightfully direct,” Silvermoon says with sarcastic cheerfulness.

  “What do we do then, lass?” one dwarf rumbles. “Because I’m not staying here!”

  “We aren’t either!” a fae chirps in agreement.

  A human woman steps forwards. She’s older, with streaks of silver in her hair, and despite her shaking hands, she carries herself with an air of defiant dignity. “We’re all in this together. We should get out the same way.”

  A ripple of agreement goes through the group, until everyone’s attention is back on Ilyana. They’re waiting for her to direct them out, but she’s gone pale. I put an arm around her shoulders, half to offer comfort and half to make sure she stays on her feet.

  “We do have an advantage,” I say. “No one knows that you’re awake. We could slip out, one by one
, and go toward the gate. Do you think anyone would notice?”

  “Oh, I think so,” Silvermoon says.

  “I doubt anyone would pay attention to slaves,” the same dwarf growls. “I bet they think we’re all beneath them!”

  “It’s not that,” Silvermoon replies.

  “Then what is it?” Daiomas snorts impatiently.

  “Well, for one thing, we’ve already been discovered.”

  As one, we turn to find a horrified handmaiden standing, frozen, at the foot of the steps. She’s holding a platter of goblets, which slips from her hands and bounces loudly off the stones. The cups scatter across the floor, splashing their contents all over. Her mouth begins to open.

  “Oh, please don’t,” Silvermoon groans.

  She screams in response and darts back up the steps.

  “So much for the element of surprise.” He sighs.

  “Then we charge out of here,” I say.

  I have envisioned a moment like this a hundred, hundred times. But in each one, my father and brothers had been at my side. The banner of Moorsden had waved over our heads. I’d been clad in armor, carrying a sword and shield.

  I have none of those things now; only a group of confused, frightened strangers against a dark army. I’m not thinking of finding a map anymore. Only of escape, for me and everyone else Meverick Conan has been holding captive.

  I yank my skirt up around my knees and ball it between both hands.

  “If we can't surprise them with secrecy, we’ll have to do so with a show of strength. I’m getting out of here. Who’s coming?”

  Daiomas throws his head back and laughs, one fist beating against his chest.

  “For Auldria!” he roars, rearing back.

  “For the Silverroot Caverns!”

  “For Shavoss!”

  I exhale once and raise my voice with theirs.

  “For Moorsden. And for Patrick McThomas!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Out footsteps thunder in the narrow stairwell as we storm up the steps. Daiomas bursts into the hall first with a mighty bellow and the dwarves and humans follow in his wake. The fae flit overhead. Our battle cries swell into one, furious yell that pushes us forward in an angry wave.

  Guards have already gathered in a semi-circle just beyond the doorway. We’re met by the tips of their swords, drawn and just waiting for the order to attack.

  Daiomas throws out his arms to hold us back and we stumble into each other in our effort to stop short. He’s breathing hard and his eyes have narrowed into slits. The others are shuffling, some suddenly nervous, but some still ready for a fight. Ilyana huddles close to my back and whimpers.

  “Go to them,” I tell her in a low voice. “You had no part in this.”

  “But I did,” she whispers tearfully in return. “I didn’t stop you!”

  “You couldn’t have,” I assure her.

  “Quiet, slave!” a guard snaps. “Return to your quarters, all of you, and await the lord’s arrival!”

  “I do not take orders from a human,” Daiomas growls. “I am no slave.”

  “Easy, boy,” Silvermoon says, patting the centaur in his hindquarters. Daiomas swishes his tail in displeasure. Silvermoon steps around him, his arms held wide in a gesture of goodwill. “Good sirs, if you could just give us a chance to explain.”

  The elf finds himself staring down the blades of almost all their swords. He grins weakly and, while he steps back, he doesn’t give up

  “There’s just been a misunderstanding! We were only here to visit; just a group of travelers who stopped in to see your fine kingdom. Well, we’ve seen it, so now we’ll just be on our way, aye?”

  “I remember you,” one of the guards, a younger man with a scraggly orange beard, sneers. “You bumped into me when you was supposed to be doing your duties. Didn’t even apologize. Had to teach you a lesson about bothering your betters.”

  He mimes a punch and chuckles. Silvermoon gingerly touches the bruising around his eye and chuckles along with him, which surprises the guard.

  “So I have you to thank for this little sore spot? I’ll have to return the favor one day.”

  “You threatening me, elf boy?” The guard jabs his sword at him threateningly.

  Daiomas scrapes his hoof across the floor in tense warning, but Silvermoon wags a finger back and forth.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “But I really do have to insist that we get going. It’ll be dark, uh, at some point. Possibly even soon! Sorry, haven’t been outside in a while, not sure what time it is.”

  “It’s time for you to shut up and get back downstairs,” someone shouts and the other guards jeer in agreement.

  “Are you sure? Because —”

  “Enough, elf!”

  “Stick him through! His friends need to see what a big mouth gets you!”

  I anxiously grab Silvermoon’s arm and try to pull him back, but he glances over his shoulder at me and winks. I look pleadingly at Daiomas, silently asking him to stop Silvermoon, but he’s become curious at what the elf is up to and watches him with a slightly cocked head.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to just let us walk out of here?” Silvermoon asks pleasantly.

  “Oh, aye, lad. We’re sure.”

  “Fair enough. But! Before you get all stab happy, can you tell me something? Have you ever heard of a fae jig?”

  Over our heads, I hear a tiny gasp of understanding and the fae whisper amongst themselves. They’ve caught on to something that I still haven’t.

  “It’s when —”

  “Just kill him already!” a guard shouts over Silvermoon.

  The lad with the orange beard starts to lift his sword as the fae begin to hum. The tune starts off slow and deep and all the guards freeze in place with strangled, frightened cries.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve been magicked!”

  The fae’s hum picks up in pace, becoming brighter and quicker, and as it does, the guards begin to bob in time with the melody. Their faces contort in a mix of confusion and anger while they lock arms and swing each other around in a merry jig. For a moment, we all just stand and watch in stunned silence.

  “As much as we’re enjoying the show, my friends, I think it’s past time we do some stepping of our own?” Silvermoon says pointedly.

  The fae are the last to tear down the hall. They flutter in place for a moment after the rest of us have taken off and hold one last, long note. The guards yell after us, dancing the whole time.

  Conan’s people dive, screaming, out of Daiomas’ way as the huge centaur clears a path for us. Despite her fear, Ilyana manages to call out directions toward the gate. I’ve got her hand in mine and she’s digging her nails into my skin, desperate not to be separated. Not that I’d be able leave her behind to suffer whatever punishment Conan might have for her. She’s truly with us now.

  We come stampeding around a corner and crash through the marketplace. I remember this place from when I arrived and how close we are to freedom. Nervous, hopeful excitement swims in my belly and quickens my step. We’re almost there!

  One of the dwarves screams in agony and falls face first against the ground. A large, dark burn, still smoking around the edges, smolders on his back. His kin skid to a halt and try to pull him to his feet, but he hangs limply between them. Ahead, Daiomas nearly loses his footing in his attempt to skid to a stop before running full tilt into the line of guards blocking the gate. I slam into his side and Ilyana follows not a second later. The centaur shields us behind his arm and the others gather close. The air has become thick with the scent of burning flesh and fear.

  In front of us, the guards brandish their weapons.

  Behind us, Meverick Conan stands over the dwarves. Wordlessly, and with a single touch, he puts the two remaining back under his control. They immediately fall back into the same sleeping position in which I’d found them. After a snap of his fingers, the fae fall from the air and land with heavy thuds up
on the ground.

  He lifts his gaze to the rest of us, huddled together like scared sheep before a storm. His face is cold, expressionless.

  “Keep the centaur, he’s proved useful,” he orders. “Kill the rest.”

  “No!” I scream, shoving my way toward him.

  He regards me with a single raised brow and the guards hesitate.

  “You’ve finally left your chamber,” he says. “Now return to it.”

  “Let them go!” I snatch my shoe from my foot and throw it as hard as I can at him.

  He bats it aside, unphased, so I throw the other one, too.

  “If that will be all, Lady McThomas.” Nodding curtly, he turns his back to me.

  “You’re a monster!” I call out after him.

  Finally, I get a response. It’s a small one, a stiffening of his shoulders, but it’s enough to tell me I’ve hit a nerve.

  “You’re not fit to be called a lord! You’re hardly fit to be called a man at all! You’re a beast! A monster who only hurts others! You -”

  My words catch in my throat when Meverick closes the distance between us in two large steps and takes hold of my wrist. Ice shoots through me, until my very bones feel frozen and I can only breathe in short, shivering gasps. He drives me down to my knees and crouches in front of me before leaning in to speak in a harsh, measured hiss.

  “A monster? Do you want to know who the true monster was, Mary? It was your ancestor, Samuel McThomas. Lap dog to a corrupt crown. My father, my people, craved their freedom from a king that had forgotten them and left them to die. And when we tried to take it? It was the McThomas clan that led the charge against us. Samuel who slew my father in front of me and my brother. It was your people that murdered mine.”

  I stare up into his eyes, so bright with barely contained rage and hate. He yanks me closer so I don’t miss a word and continues through clenched teeth.

  “Everything I have done is to rebuild this kingdom and reclaim what is ours. And I will do so, Mary. I will do so with blood and with death, the same way it was stolen. And I will not stop there.”

  He shoves me away and I land hard upon the stone. I gasp for breath and Ilyana and Silvermoon quickly stoop to help me up. Meverick is cold and collected again and nods past us, to the guards.