Date Knight

by Bridget Essex

  I'm wearing that paper-thin white chemise—which is now utterly soaked, and my bodice is completely open. I sigh, blushing, as I fold my arms in front of myself and give Kell a weak smile. She chuckles a little, her head tilted the side as she glances at Virago.

  “She's lovely, Virago,” says Kell, then nods to me, bowing low at the waist. “Pleasure, milady,” she says, her voice dropping about an octave to become this growly, sensual thing. I blink, then nod, trying to remember my manners as I realize that Kell was possibly just hitting on me.

  “Ignore her,” says Virago, smiling and leaning close. “She would try to seduce a goddess statue if she thought she could get away with it.”

  “I would!” says Kell blithely. The remaining knights chuckle and make “oh, you,” sounds while they shake their heads. They must be very used to this.

  “This is Magel,” says Virago, continuing, gesturing to the woman who stands even taller than Virago...which is a little shocking. Virago is about six feet tall, and this woman stands about an inch above that. What do they feed the knights on Agrotera?

  Magel has warm brown skin, the kind of gorgeous, dark eyes that people write sonnets about, high cheekbones, and a beautiful, long nose. Her straight black hair is pulled back with a ponytail, and she inclines her head to me gracefully as she steps forward, sinking to one knee before me.

  “Milady Holly,” says Magel, bringing the back of my hand to her lips. She's not doing it in a flirtatious way, though. She gazes up at me through her long black lashes as she kisses the tops of my knuckles, and then she's standing straight again beside us, smiling down at me warmly. “It is so good to meet the woman who Virago loves so very, very much,” she says, reaching out and curling her fingers over my shoulder. She squeezes her fingers gently against me before letting me go. “You have made my friend very happy, Holly,” she says, her voice low as she gazes at me earnestly. “That is a debt I can never repay you.”

  “It's...it's my honor,” I stammer, my cheeks reddening even more as I flush under that high praise. Magel smiles and nods at me, turning to glance at the last of the four knights.

  “And this...” says Virago, regarding the last knight, too. She takes a step forward, her brows raised. “This is...” She pauses, glancing to Magel and Kell and Alinor. “Surely, I am not seeing what I think I see,” says Virago then, her voice soft and hushed, gazing incredulously at the fourth woman.

  This fourth knight is wearing the same type of armor that Magel and Virago wear, armored plates over leather clothes, her entire body covered in armor. But she's also wearing a thick black cape, with a hood pulled down low over her face. She now lifts up her leather-gloved hands and slowly, gently, pushes back the hood.

  The woman staring out at us from beneath that black brim of hood is wide-eyed and pale. She has bright green eyes that almost glow, they're so incandescent, and though she's just as tall as Virago, she looks slighter when standing next to these muscular, battle-trained women. The armor that's tied to her body seems to hang in some places, as if weren't made for her at all but for someone bigger. She looks a little younger than me, maybe in her late twenties, and when I gaze at her, she reminds me of...well, of me. The “me” of a little over a week ago, the me who didn't know if Virago was alive or dead, who wondered if I'd ever see her again. The me who had almost completely given up hope on everything.

  This woman is beautiful in the way that paintings or a sumptuous piece of art is beautiful. She moves with elegance and grace, her face refined, with a classic, Golden Hollywood vibe. Her long, auburn hair falls in graceful waves over her shoulders, under the hood.

  She's stunning.

  But she also looks utterly heartbroken.

  “My...my queen,” says Virago, her voice catching as she sinks down to one knee in front of her. “Please forgive me,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “I did not... I did not expect you.”

  As I gaze at this fourth woman in shock, I realize my mouth is hanging open. I shut it. But...this is the queen? Queen Calla? I stare at this woman, this woman with the face of a ghost, and feel my heart ache for her.

  What must have happened to her to make her look so sad?

  “Please, Virago,” Queen Calla murmurs, her voice soft as she holds out a gloved hand. “Please rise.”

  Virago takes the queen's hand and brings the back of it to her lips, pressing a kiss to it before letting it go and rising smoothly. She's glancing sidelong at her fellow knights, one brow raised.

  I'm guessing it's probably abnormal for the queen of Arktos to go gallivanting off to another world.

  “Why have you come?” asks Virago then, her voice heavy, the earlier mirth gone as Virago takes in Alinor, Magel, Kell and Calla, who stand in a semicircle about us, faces grim.

  For a long moment, the knights and the queen are silent. Each of the knights holds Virago's gaze in turn; Calla is looking out the back sliding glass door, her wide eyes trained on the lightning outside. But I somehow think she's not seeing it at all.

  Her heart is somewhere else.

  “We came,” says Magel with a long sigh, then, glancing at the queen, “because there was an attempt on Her Majesty's life.”

  Virago pales as she sinks down, back onto the couch that, only a few moments ago, we were about to get frisky on. Instead, her fellow knights are now standing in my living room, about to regale her with some very bad news.

  And everything, I realize, has changed.

  “What do you mean?” asks Virago, raking her fingers back through her hair, gazing worriedly at Queen Calla. “Are you hurt, milady?” she asks breathlessly. “What happened?”

  “Don't worry so,” says Kell, flopping herself down into one of my two overstuffed blue armchairs. She puts her muddy, booted feet up on my coffee table, and Virago glances at her mildly, one brow still raised. And, to my absolute shock, Kell takes her feet off of the coffee table almost instantly, instead crossing her legs in front of her and steepling her fingers over her stomach. “Anyway,” she says, huffing out a breath a bit like a disgruntled teenager might, “the queen is obviously safe. That's all that matters.”

  “I need details,” says Virago, glancing at Magel, who nods and sits down beside Virago on the couch, her wet leather clothes creaking dully beneath the plated armor.

  “It was yesterday,” says Magel, shaking her head. “You must know, Virago, that the Hero's Tournament is soon?”

  I can see Virago actually perk up, her shoulders smoothing back, her chin lifting, her back straightening, her eyes flashing. “Yes,” she says, her voice calm and steady, but there's a tremor of excitement beneath it. “I remembered,” she tells Magel.

  “As you also well know, Arktos City was chosen to be the host for the tournament this year,” says Kell lazily, tapping her foot in the air. “And that means that there's a huge influx of people coming into the city from all parts, different countries. The taverns and inns are bursting. We've upped the guards, everyone's on high alert, whatever, but the queen was still making her bread run to Ratter Prison, despite the influx of strangers.”

  Virago's eyes flicker over to me. I don't know much about Arktos City, Virago's beloved home city, but I do remember that Ratter Prison is where Virago told me she grew up. I also know it's the poorest part of the city: the slums.

  “The very first time that I met you was on a bread run,” murmurs Calla then, looking back from the sliding glass door to gaze at Virago instead, as she smiles softly.

  I glance from Calla to Virago with surprise. There's still so much I don't know about Virago that I wish I did. Is this how Virago was picked to start training for the Royal Knights of Arktos City? Because Calla found her while, I'm assuming, she was handing out bread to the poor?

  “So Her Majesty was on her way to Ratter Prison, but we were passing through the market,” says Kell with a sigh, “and an archer tried to pick her off from a third floor window,” she growls, her eyes flashing with a very dangerous light. “He used an arrow wiped with
a natural poison from a fenris mushroom, so that it could get through the magical defenses and shields and have a chance of striking the queen.”

  Virago stares in alarm at Calla. “Were you pierced? Did the arrow touch you?” she asks, about to spring up from the couch, but Magel reaches out a calming hand to rest on Virago's shoulder, shaking her head.

  “What do you think?” Kell practically chirps, lifting her chin triumphantly. “I caught the arrow's shaft with my bare hand. Of course,” she sniffs, as if she's annoyed that Virago would ask such questions. “But that's not even the worse part,” she says, her head tilted to the side. She's sober for a long moment before she says, “It's the colors that archer was wearing—”

  “He was dressed in the robes of a priest of the Goddess Cower,” says Alinor bluntly, her arms folded in front of her. “And he wore an armband with the colors of Furo.”

  “Furo,” Virago breathes, her eyes wide. “Cower?” Now she looks utterly alarmed.

  I feel worried and lost as I sit down beside Virago. She blinks, shaking her head, like she's just woken up from a very bad dream. “I am sorry, my love,” she tells me then, her voice thick with emotion. “You...you, of course, know the Goddess Cower. It was you who vanquished her,” she says, holding my eyes with her bright blue gaze as she reaches across the space between us and takes my hands in her own, squeezing them tightly. “You know that Cower is currently imprisoned. There is no way that she can rise again. But there are people, still, who worship her and her message of the end of the world.”

  I nod, squeezing her hand back.

  “Well, these people, these followers of the Goddess Cower—they are currently looking for her,” says Kell, shaking her head. “They plan to release the goddess from prison, get her back to her old self with—I don't know—blood sacrifices or something. And then they want to loose her on all of Agrotera again, even more powerful than before.”

  “Furo is a country to the north of Arktos,” says Magel to me. “It is a country that we have had a longstanding conflict with, but we have been peaceful together, Furo and Arktos, for many years now.”

  “But a king came to power there—a new king—about two moons ago,” says Kell, a brow raised. “And he's a warmonger. He's utterly reckless.”

  “Are you saying,” says Virago, glancing from Kell to Magel, “that you think the king of Furo may be a worshiper of Cower?”

  “We don't know. The priest may have been wearing the Furo armband because he's from Furo, or for any number of reasons. For all we know, he was trying to confuse us,” says Kell, her piercing blue gaze trained on Virago now. “But we'll never know for sure, because he jumped to his death after trying to shoot the queen, and there have been no accomplices found. And the diplomat sent to the king of Furo returned with nothing but nice things to say. We think he paid her off,” mutters Kell disgustedly.

  Virago steeples her hands and presses her index fingers against her mouth, lost in thought, her brow deeply furrowed. “This is very bad, my friends,” she murmurs. “So very, very bad...” And then she lifts her gaze to Calla. Calla who has stood there, leaning against my living room wall, during this entire discussion, with a faraway look in her sad eyes. Calla who has not spoken a single word since she mentioned first meeting Virago on a bread run.

  “Your Majesty,” says Virago then, rising, taking a step closer to the queen. As if waking from a trance, Calla shakes her head, turning her gaze back into the room.

  “I am sorry,” she says, her voice shaking a little as she lifts her chin and meets Virago's gaze. “I must admit, I was not listening. What is it?”

  Virago exchanges a knowing glance with Magel, and then she takes a step forward, curling her long fingers around Calla's elbow gently. “Your Majesty,” Virago says, her voice soft, “I am so sorry about the assassination attempt. I am so sorry that I was not there to protect you, but I am so very glad that the others were. Are you...are you all right?”

  Calla flicks her gaze, in that moment, to me.

  “Do not apologize, dear knight,” she whispers then, her voice quavering, but she clears her throat and continues. “Your place is here now,” she says, and she inclines her head to me. “With your lover, Holly.”

  Virago opens and shuts her mouth as she glances at me, concern etching her brow with several deep lines. She's about to say something else, but then Kell shakes her head, gets up from the chair she was sprawling in.

  “Calla...tell Virago what you told us?” she asks then. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft, kind, as she speaks to the queen. I glance at Kell, and I'm surprised to see her eyes soften when she looks at her queen. “Please?” she whispers.

  For a long moment, nothing happens. But then Calla nods, and she gazes up at Virago for a heartbeat of silence before she leans forward. And when she leans forward, shaking her head just a little, she whispers something into Virago's ear.

  The whisper doesn't take very long, and within a few seconds, Calla is silent again. But when Calla is done speaking, Virago takes a single step back, searching Calla's face. Virago visibly pales in that moment, her eyes sparking with concern.

  And then Virago turns to me.

  “Beloved,” she says, the word clipped, her tone sharp. I blink, surprised. “Please take the queen to our bedroom? She is quite tired from her journey, and I need to...have a counsel with my knights. Just for a few minutes? Let Her Majesty lie down, get her bearings?” she asks me.

  Virago is looking at me with wide blue eyes. And I can tell, in that moment, that she's trying to communicate something. Something that she doesn't want the rest to know.

  But I'm not that psychic! That's my brother; he's totally psychic. I bite the inside of my lip, but then I'm nodding, coming forward to stand awkwardly beside the tall queen.

  “Um...this way...Your Majesty,” I murmur. I have no idea how you're supposed to address royalty if they aren't your ruler. Virago reaches out across the space between us, and then she's curling her fingers around my elbow.

  She leans down as if to brush a kiss on my cheek, but instead, she whispers, “She needs your kindness.”

  Of course I'm going to be kind to her, but as Queen Calla follows me up the stairs toward our bedroom, I'm worried that, since I didn't quite understand what Virago was trying to telepathically tell me with her eyes, I've missed something crucial.

  But I figure it out in a moment, anyway.

  “Poor Virago,” sighs Calla, climbing the last few steps to the top of the landing wearily. “I must have frightened her badly if she wants to speak to her knights alone.”

  When I glance back at Calla's face, I pause for a long moment. There is so much pain in her expression—so much sadness.

  “Pardon me for...um...wondering,” I say then, biting at my lip again. “But...are you upset about the assassination attempt? I mean, I'd feel pretty rotten if someone wanted me dead. I can't even imagine it. But you look...just...heartbroken. I mean...I'm just sorry is all,” I murmur, stammering. Real smooth, Holly, I think, despairing as I watch several emotions flit across Calla's face, too fast for me to pick up on what she could possibly be thinking.

  Calla, of course, doesn't respond to that jumble of words with anything more than a quiet shake of her head (so she's not sad about the assassination attempt, I guess), and we walk silently down the rest of the hallway until we reach what was, up until a week ago, solely my bedroom. I flick on the light, wincing as we step inside. I glance around like Calla, seeing my bedroom for what it probably is: really weird. There are many unicorn figurines positioned around the room, and my few groaning bookshelves are sagging to the side because they're literally stuffed with books. Once I stopped caring and realized that I would never have enough bookshelves for the amount of books I wanted to read in this lifetime, I just started stacking the books along my wall. If you squint, the differently sized stacks of books look just like the Boston city skyline. At least, I think they do.

  And then there's my other unicorn
lamp on my bedside table. This one is of a mother unicorn and her baby unicorn. The baby unicorn has an extra light bulb in his behind, a little bit like a firefly. In my defense, they made really weird lamps in the eighties.

  Calla, the queen, is taking in all of this. I feel more than a little self-conscious. I'm escorting royalty into my unicorn-infested bedroom.

  There's silence between us for a long moment as Calla crosses the threshold into the room. But then she turns back to me. Her eyes are very soft—very kind. I can see a hint of the ruler she must have been once, before whatever happened broke her heart. She must have been compassionate and wise, a good person to serve as queen.

  “You are very kind to me, Holly,” says Calla quietly, lifting her chin. “So I will abate your curiosity.”

  “I'm not... No, I'm not curious,” I tell her holding up my hands quickly. “I'm sorry. It's your business. You shouldn't have to tell me anything. I'm just sorry you're sad,” I murmur to her then. “I remember... I remember what that was like. I didn't know if Virago was alive or dead,” I tell her, waving my hand in the air, gulping down air as I remember the intensity of that pain, the pain I felt for almost an entire month before Virago came back. “I thought she was dead,” I whisper, “but I didn't know, and I hadn't been quick enough to follow her through the portal...so I felt like I'd left her alone. It was rough. I don't know what you've been through,” I tell her, shaking my head, “but I'm sorry you're hurting.”

  An emotion flickers over Calla's face, and, in that moment, her eyes fill with tears.

  She's standing there, and I can tell that she's trying to be strong. Her hands are curled into fists, her shoulders are tense, her breathing is coming fast, but she's not bending to the many tears that fill her eyes.

  I can't imagine having to be so strong all the time—the ruler of a country, a ruler that everyone depends on. I can't imagine what it must be like, to have people coming after you who want you dead.