Why was it so hard to suppress jealousy?
Catarina caught Gerdy’s gaze from time to time, but Gerdy didn’t waver. She was allowed to look at Mye—half the rest of the crowd was doing it, anyway. The other half had their eyes on Epik. He was interesting, now that they’d seen him do magic.
Gerdy checked on him frequently, afraid the other knights might give him a hard time. But they didn’t.
After all nine courses had run their course, so to speak and everyone in the room was quite brimming with drink, it was time to dance the calories away.
“Well, miss,” Todder said as regally as Todder could. “May I have this dance?”
There were no musicians. The harmonies came from little boxes on the dais where the high table was.
Gerdy rose. “Why not,” she replied courteously.
They danced two songs before the old captain found a plump lady to take her place. Then Gerdy edged her way from the dance floor, watching with jealously as the knights took turns dancing with their new princess—her princess.
Myra was as graceful as a swan and as lithe as a nymph, swaying enticingly with partner after partner.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” An older woman in a red satin kimono smiled at Gerdy. White doves flew across her dress—literally. It had to be magic. Gerdy recognized her from the high table.
“She is,” Gerdy said, distracted.
“You are part of her party, are you not?”
“Yes. I’m her handmaiden.”
“Then, of course, you know all too well. It must be difficult to see that much beauty all of the time when you…” The woman trailed off.
“No, not really. I don’t mind it.” Gerdy regarded the woman, searching for understanding. She had two moles, one on her forehead and another beside her lip, as large as coins and an off-putting burnt yellow, marring an otherwise pretty face. They reminded her of someone.
“Oh,” the woman said perceptively, “I think I understand now.”
“No,” Gerdy sighed, “it’s not like that. I mean—” Gerdy had no reason to lie, did she?
“Just because it isn’t doesn’t mean you don’t want it to be.”
Gerdy’s insides squirmed. Maybe she was disobeying Epiman’s note without meaning to do it.
“My name is Ashah,” the woman said. “What do you think of our kingdom so far?”
“Honestly?” Gerdy asked. The woman nodded. “I’m not sure what to think.”
Myra passed within feet of them, and Gerdy’s heart thundered in her chest. She needed to move her eyes elsewhere. She found Todder with the plump maiden, ooh and aahed with every step6 they danced. She found Epik dancing awkwardly with a slender woman more than twice his age... and height. Gerdy smiled at this.
“You think our kingdom is funny?”
“No,” Gerdy tried to explain, “I think…” She struggled to find the right words. “I think the priorities are different here than they are at home.”
“And is that a bad thing?”
“I’m not sure.” Gerdy noticed that the men in the green jackets were all locked in movement with maidens or waiting their turn to take Myra for a spin around the dance floor. “Is it a lucrative business, jousting?”
“Very,” the woman said.
“I mean,” Gerdy faltered, “they make their money because—because people come and watch them get knocked off a horse?”
“It’s a bit more theatrical than that. But, yes.”
“I guess I just don’t get it. Seems like a waste of several hours.”
“Well, if you think jousting is bad it’s far worse at the theater. I’ll go see almost anything Sir Liam Kneeson has a role in.” Ashah leaned in and whispered in confidence, “including the ones where he plays the girl.”
“It just seems wrong,” Gerdy said. She thought back to that slum of hovels. “Shouldn’t the commoners be working?”
“Perhaps,” Ashah said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Miss Ashah,” Gerdy said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Oh no, it’s fine dear. I understand.”
“Can I ask you something?” Gerdy asked.
The woman cocked her head, dubious, but nodded.
“Yesterday, a woman ran up to us in the street. Her son was missing. And there are notices down past the market about missing children.”
Ashah said, “You’re on the right track?” looking cautiously around the room. She took Gerdy’s wrist in with both hands. Gerdy felt a familiar tingle.
“But do you know anything? What’s happened to them?”
“I can’t help you anymore.”
In the blink of an eye, the woman was gone, and Gerdy was alone by the dance floor, the music loud in her ears.
“But you haven’t helped me at all…”
Todder’s heart thundered like the hooves of a thousand horses. Not since the battle with the orcs could he remember it hammering so loud and hard. Dancing was a sport like none other; the aim wasn’t just to get through it but to look good doing it.
His dance with Gertrude had been cordial and sweet, the music slow, and it had suited them both well. It had served to remind Todder of the movements he had learned under the tutelage of Sir Wallack.
The man was as spiny as sea urchin, but he could teach etiquette. Dancing, feasting, commanding, they were all facets of Todder’s new job, and all facets he had never known existed until they were thrust upon him. Well, maybe not the commanding part, he at least knew that existed, but doing it was certainly new to him—as fresh as these loafers that were boring trenches into his large feet.
The music had picked up, and with it, a maiden swept Todder across the dance floor, unspeaking, save a few howls when Todder had stepped on her feet.
Next, he escaped back to the table for a drink of water but only found wine. It went down easy enough. Was this really how it would be for the entire month? Was this his duty in the delegation? To drink and be merry? Todder didn’t think so. There had to be more to it than that. And he vaguely recalled some instruction. Something Epiman had said or given to him.
But as his heartbeat slowed, so, too, did his mind, and that notion was gone.
“You look an excellent dancer.”
A woman appeared the table. Dressed in a red kimono that made her deep brown eyes almost black. Her hair was the same rich color, save a a lock in the front where it grayed, silvery and white, like Todder’s hair.
“Looks can be deceiving, madam,” Todder said, standing and bowing.
“Oh, didn’t need to get up on my behalf. But now that you are, would you care to dance?”
Todder couldn’t say no. He felt himself nod without having decided to do it. This woman was stunning and her voice was like velvet to his ears.
Soon they were circling the dance floor. And Todder’s hands were failing to find a hold on the slippery satin of her dress. They kept slipping down and down and down.
She didn’t seem to mind. She smiled up at Todder, her lips the same red as the dress.
“If we’re going to be that intimate, you should know my name is Ashah.”
“Ashah,” Todder repeated. “I’m Sarge—I mean Captain Albert Todder.”
“Albert,” she said. “I like that. What do you think of our kingdom, Albert?” The way she asked seemed to say she sought a specific answer. One Todder wasn’t sure he could give.
“It’s fine, I guess. But I’m a country boy at heart. My gran lived deep in the woods. We called it a farm, but I never heard of no one farming trees, and she didn’t have anything else.”
“The country,” Ashah sighed, “I think I would like the country.” She looked him up and down. “Trees aren’t the only things that grew big on that farm.”
Todder’s cheeks flushed pink. He searched for the right words reply. He found the wrong ones.
“My gran had beautiful moles like yours,” he said. “But I don’t seem to find many fine ladies like yourself in the city.”
“They’re beauty marks,” Ashah said, pushing Todder’s high shoulders away.
“That’s what I said,” Todder said. Dancers swirled between them, and in their passing Ashah was gone. “I said they was beautiful,” Todder grumbled under.
He made his way to where Epik was asking his brown-eyed servant girl to dance. She refused, saying they weren’t allowed.
“That’s what I said,” Todder whispered.
When the servants had seen them back to their rooms, Gerdy paced angrily, still dressed in Myra’s gown. Again, Myra hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t spoken a word to Gerdy the entire evening.
They were prisoners in the castle. They hadn’t come close to discussing the treaty that day, and Gerdy was ready to go home. She was ready for things to get back to normal, even if they hadn’t felt so normal lately.
She slumped onto the bed, lost in thought. What could Epik do for these missing children? What could anyone do? Gerdy felt the obligation to tell someone. She waited for Epik to pick the lock.
The night waned. Gerdy lay back on her bed, waiting, thinking every noise was footsteps on the stair. Then she most definitely heard the lock click open. She jumped out of bed, opening the door before it could even be opened from the outside.
But it wasn’t Epik at her door.
Sinister yellow eyes met Gerdy’s shocked face.
26
Kindred Spirits
Breakfast was usually Epik’s favorite meal of the day. This was because his belly was never so empty as it was in the morning. The rest of the day was fortified with a second breakfast and snacks timed around a plentiful lunch, then a spot of tea with toast and jam, many pats of butter, all leading up to an indulgent supper.
This hadn’t changed much since becoming a knight, except that Sir Wallack enforced etiquette at each meal—even elevenses which should hardly count as a meal at all.
It was different in King’s Way. Breakfast was a scarce commodity, as most everyone saved room for the evening’s feast.
So, Epik, after finding the door to his room unlocked, wandered down to the dining hall in search of something to nibble on at least before the day’s tournament.
The unlocked door stirred something in Epik’s mind.
“Shoot,” he cursed under his breath. He had forgotten to seek Gerdy out. She’d asked him to speak to her last night. Instead, Epik returned to his room flustered. He had wanted to dance with Kavya. And it was hard for him to force that rejection away—maybe because it wasn’t a rejection. Kavya just wasn’t allowed to dance.
Epik trudged down the stairs, angry with himself. He would have to find Gerdy after breakfast, plead his case, tell her he was sorry. The only solace was that he wasn’t riding today.
Unfortunately, he would ride tomorrow in the first match of the loser’s bracket. So, he had a whole day to fret over his lack of magical jousting techniques.
The castle kitchen was bustling with commotion, preparing for the feast that night. Hardly anything was cooked, but Epik found some leftover bread in a basket. He helped himself, taking a loaf to a table to sit alone. The Grand Hall was bare. The tables were stripped of cloths. Some had chairs hung on them for the servants to clean the floor beneath, but most were in disarray.
Lost in thought, Epik was jerked back to the present by a tremendous clap on his shoulder.
“Is that what you eat?” Sir Dom asked. “No wonder you’re half our size. You’re a rider—a knight, aren’t you? Riders need more sustenance than that.”
Dom strode into the kitchen. His booming voice reached Epik’s ears. “I need six eggs, scrambled, toast, bacon, and butter. Do you like honey and jam, Sir Epik?”
Epik nodded, perplexed.
“Honey and jam, too,” Dom said. “For myself, I’ll have nine eggs. Half scrambled, half over easy, bacon, ham, and toast as dry as your mother.” The chef got to work without complaint, not even about the need to halve nine eggs.
Both halfling and man scarfed down the food when it arrived. Sir Dom kept grinning Epik as if he was harboring some joke.
“I know you said you weren’t interested, but how about I train with you this morning?” Sir Dom chewed between spadesful of egg. “You were planning on training, right?”
Epik shrugged. He hadn’t planned anything. He’d expected to be locked in his room until the tourney that afternoon. Only when he found the door unlocked did he have the choice to do anything with his spare time.
“No matter. We’re training. Neither of us rides today. Maybe you can show me that vanishing spell.”
“All right.”
An annex on the other side of the Coliseum housed the stables and horses. Its high walls made a square around several practice pitches, hidden from the view of any curious spectators—there had been several of those with picture boxes around their necks lurking just outside the annex. One, still clinging to old times with a paintbrush and canvas, did a quick study of Epik and Sir Dom before Dom shoved him away.
“They’re used to being treated like this,” Dom reassured Epik. He gave the man a swift kick for good measure.
“Thank you sir, may I have another?” the man cowered.
“No, you may not,” Dom said.
They stopped at the first pitch. Inside the annex proper, the ground was little more than clay with sparse patches of sandspur and other weeds. A rickety fence served as the tilt. On the other side of that, a canvas straw man was mounted on a wooden horse, holding a battered shield.
“Your horse seems to favor my Lucille, here.” Dom’s black mare arched her neck, prancing regally in place, paying no mind to the attentions of Buster who stayed close to her side.
“Lucille?”
“Yes,” Dom smiled broadly, “she’s my second horse with the name Lucille. The first was a real nag. Here we are,” he said.
They stopped at the edge of the tilt.
“All right,” Dom boomed. “You have a go. No magic this time. We’ll work on form first.”
The knight didn’t wait for a response but instead hoisted Epik onto Buster without warning, Epik so surprised he couldn’t help but squirm in the air. Once astride, Dom handed Epik a training lance fashioned in such a way that it broke easily on contact, yet it would go back together for reuse.
Epik urged Buster to break. As stubborn as usual, the pony didn’t move. Lucille whinnied—only then did Buster stir, then he was off, galloping down the tilt until… crack. The lance made contact with the straw man’s shield.
“Pretty good. Pretty good. Now, tell me, why did you the shield and not the chest, the breastplate?”
“The shield’s an easy target.” Epik shrugged. He was used to answering questions, but Sir Wallack’s pointed questions were mostly concerning food, not real training.
“And so it is. But a shield can be enchanted. The blows will glance off it. Aim for the chest next time.”
Epik did so, though it was far easier to hit the chest of a training dummy. A real knight on a real horse would be moving.
Epik felt like neither. Not a real knight. And he was definitely not on a real horse. Buster, a pony, had always known he was different from the horses, and whether it was through magic or just gut feeling, Epik could sense Buster’s misgivings.
“Very good. Square on the chest. Now, let’s see some magic.”
“I… I don’t think I know how,” Epik said.
“Come now,” Dom shook his head. “I saw you vanish. You’re adept in the magical arts.”
“Not adept,” Epik said. “I only know a little.”
Sir Dom was unfazed. “How did you learn this magic that you’re not adept at?”
“A wizard,” Epik said nervously. “How did you learn?”
“Really?” Dom seemed surprised. “A wizard? A real wizard? I learned the was all knights learn, as a squire. When I was a boy, tournaments weren’t what they are now. There was real killing. Real battles...” Sir Dom trailed off then peered around the mock-arena. He whispered, “The
n knights began to develop magic. No one knows how. The Grand Sovereign, well, he wasn’t pleased. Knights are only allowed to know a small branch of magic. He forbids us from learning more—all wizarding texts are burned on sight. He doesn’t even keep any at the castle. We have to learn from each other.”
So that’s why Dom wanted to train with me, Epik thought. He wanted to learn my magic. A knot formed in Epik’s stomach. He had magical books stowed beneath his bed. Now he worried for their safety.
“So you know the basics,” the knight said more normally. “Binding emotion with the magic you have inside. You think of what you want to do. You think of what you know about it. How you know it. Then the magic happens.”
“Right,” Epik said decisively.
“Wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Wrong. It’s not as simple as knowing things. You have to become what you see. Picture yourself as a storm, channel the lightning through you. Be the fire, give it a voice.”
“I’m not sure I—”
“It’s okay to not understand it. This is just how I visualize magic. It’s my take on the subject. Yours may be totally different. What I’m really trying to say is you have to know yourself more than you know anything else. And you have to change—or be willing to. Become what you need to be.
“Try lightning,” he said. “I have a good feeling about lightning.” He slapped Buster on the rump, sending him barreling toward the straw man without so much as a by-your-leave.
There was no time to lament. Epik thought of a storm. He pictured a dark cloud, drizzling rain. A clap of thunder.
BOOM!
The straw man rocked.
“Thunder,” Epik and Sir Dom agreed as Buster circled back to Lucille.
“Pretty good.” Dom picked up another lance. He closed his eyes, and the skin around them went blueish-black. Red lightning crackled from the tip of the lance, arcing to the ground. “Lightning requires anger. The gods are angry with the people. They strike without mercy. I see mercy in your gaze, Sir Epik. You didn’t become the storm.”
Knowing is Halfling the Battle: An Arthurian Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 2) Page 12
