I pat Aphelion's nose, but since she already ate the carrot, she's glaring at me, waiting for me to produce another one from my pocket. I gingerly fish another out, holding it up to the giant beast, and again she lips it up, chewing on it thoughtfully as she stares at me, her ears back—not slicked back, like she's going to destroy me any second, but with a thoughtful air to them, as if she's saying, “I'm watching you.”
It's really not comforting, but Virago doesn't seem to notice as she slaps Aphelion's neck a few times affectionately and then rubs her nose with a soft palm. “Aphelion and I have been through some pretty rough times, haven't we, girl?” she asks the horse with an affectionate voice. Aphelion takes her attention off of me and instantly has eyes only for Virago. Her eyes actually get a little droopy, and her bottom lip becomes loose and flapping as she relaxes, placing her head against Virago's chest in a soft, gentle bump.
It's wonderful to see this massive war horse relaxing and being loving with Virago. But then, Virago is very good with animals; it stands to reason that she would have a great connection with her horse. But as Virago takes a step back, staring at her mare with pride, Aphelion gives me a little sideways glance, and her ears go back again, just a little. It's a warning, I think with a sigh. A “really, don't mess with me; I'm just putting up with you for Virago's benefit” sort of look.
I smile and pat her gingerly before tossing the rest of the carrots I brought her as a peace offering into her manger.
Virago peeks into the grain bucket over the edge of the stall door and sighs. “Poor Angela. She’s the stablehand here. She hasn't gotten to grain the horses yet.” She glances about curiously. “Actually...she hasn't come by to sweep up yet, either, or muck out the stalls. That's odd.” She wrinkles her nose, then smiles sidelong at me. “I could do the mucking out quite quickly, if you'll hold Aphelion for me while I clean her stall.”
“You want me to hold Aphelion?” I blink at Virago, my voice about an octave too high, but she's smiling so encouragingly, how in the world can I possibly say no? So I nod miserably, and as Virago rounds the corner to go get a lead tie, I glance up at the mare.
“Be good, okay?” I ask her quietly. She slicks her ears back as flat as they can go and snakes her head at me.
Okay, so we aren’t getting along like two peas in a pod, and I'm not quite sure why Aphelion doesn't like me. When she snakes her head toward me again and sniffs me all over, ears still slicked back, eyes narrowed in suspicion, I begin to think about that… And when Virago comes around the corner, Aphelion perks up her ears and nickers at her, her eyes softening like they're melting butter. And that’s when I know.
Aphelion absolutely, one hundred percent, more than life itself, loves her knight.
And I'm...kind of getting in the way of that relationship.
I can see it right now, the slow-motion montage (set, of course, to an overly sappy love song) of Aphelion and Virago riding into battle, Virago spending a lot of time on Aphelion, brushing and preening her mare, Virago and Aphelion going on adventures and quests together, Aphelion and Virago having a really awesome time together...
And then I come along, and Virago is whisked away to another world, and where does that leave Aphelion?
Without Virago.
I took Virago away form Aphelion. And she knows it.
My suspicions are somewhat confirmed when Virago steps forward, the pitchfork in one hand and the broom in the other, and she places her strong arms around her horse's neck. For a long moment, Aphelion bends her head around Virago's shoulder, giving the knight her version of a horsey hug. But when Aphelion's left eye rotates toward me, again she lays her ears slick back against her head (Virago can't see this, because her face is buried in Aphelion’s mane), and Aphelion bares her teeth at me in a very clear “this woman is mine, not yours, you jerk” sentiment.
Virago takes a step back and threads the lead rope through the rope halter, handing me both ends of the rope as she puts the halter on over Aphelion’s head, smoothing her ears beneath. Virago then opens the door, taking a step back, and gives me an even wider smile as she pats Aphelion's neck. “If you could just take her out into the stable yard, I'll only be a minute. Let her get some sunshine this afternoon,” she says.
“Sure,” I croak, narrowly avoiding Aphelion's very calculated bite at my arm (she gets a little fabric from the sleeve of my dress and nothing more). I turn around, leading this massive war horse down the corridor of the stable and out into the brightness of the stable yard, trying to keep an eye on her but failing. Aphelion gets in two more nips of fabric before we’ve cleared the stable.
“You're brave!” Kell remarks from across the stable yard, grooming her own mare who stands, one back leg cocked, her head down, absorbing the sun. Her mare is a gorgeous palomino color and is just as tall as Aphelion, but she somehow looks less vicious. Maybe because Kell's mare is not currently trying to bite my arm again, pawing at the ground like she wants to dig a grave and bury me in it.
“And why's that?” I ask Kell, sidestepping another vicious bite.
Kell snickers, smoothing the curry comb over her mare's withers. “Because Aphelion hated Virago's last lover, and it looks like she hates you even more!” She says this blithely as she grins at me. “So, yes,” she tells me in a singsong voice, “you're very brave.”
I sigh for a long moment as I avoid another bite, taking off in a brisk walk along the outer edge of the yard with Aphelion, trying to keep ahead of the mare. “Your horse is nice,” I tell Kell as we circle around past her. Aphelion chooses this inopportune moment to try to kick with her right back leg at Kell's mare, but the mare snorts, lifting her head and sidestepping the kick with her own ears slicked back.
“Hey, Ayla, calm yourself,” says Kell, rubbing her mare's neck. “And, yes, she is,” she says affectionately, slapping the mare on the rump before casting me a sidelong glance. “I wouldn't be worried so much about her bites as I would about her kicks,” she tells me helpfully. “Aphelion has a mean kick.”
Aphelion is walking behind me innocently when I turn around, but in another moment, she's not quite so innocent, because she's risen up on her back legs just a little, doing a strange, horsey hop (I'm assuming this is some sort of war horse move, but she looks a little ridiculous, this enormous horse hopping on her back legs), and striking out at me with her front hooves.
My instincts take over, and I step back quickly, but it's not quick enough. Those enormous hooves are totally going to strike me...
And that's when Virago peers around the corner of the stable. And Aphelion drops to earth as quickly as if she were a thousand-pound stone. The horse literally bats her eyes, chewing contentedly on her bit as she gazes at Virago.
“How are my girls getting along?” Virago asks me brightly.
Aphelion and I share a secret glance of mutual dislike.
“Just peachy,” I say, as Aphelion bats her eyes again at Virago.
And that is what we call an enormous white lie. For love.
Chapter 11: The Warning
It's about an hour (give or take) until the opening ceremonies of the Hero's Tournament, and the palace is in an uproar.
I never thought I'd be putting those words together in any sort of real-life scenario, but there it is. Palace. Uproar. My life has gotten infinitely stranger this past day and a half...and more magical than I ever could have thought possible.
But what's not magical is the reason for the uproar.
“I don't think it wise, milady,” says Virago, her jaw tight as she stands at attention in front of Queen Calla, “for you to go through with this.”
But Calla isn't even looking at Virago. She's being snugly tightened into a corset, and she's gripping one of her bed posts with white-knuckled hands, taking tiny, shallow breaths.
“My dear Virago,” she says, gripping the post even tighter as Joy, resident head tailor to the queen, pulls on the laces for all she's worth, gritting her teeth, too, as she leans back, arm mu
scles flexing beneath the tight fabric of her sparkling black top. “I appreciate your concern,” Calla gasps out, taking even shorter breaths as her waist becomes smaller, “but what sort of example would it set if the queen wasn't present in the city procession?”
“My queen—” begins Virago gruffly, as Joy glances sidelong at me, cutting Virago off with a raised hand.
“Can you hold these for me?” she asks, and I step forward with trepidation as she starts to make an elaborate knot in the corset ties. She hands me back some of the ribbons, and I hold onto the loose ends (thankfully, they're already tied off). “You were saying, Virago?” asks Joy wryly.
“My queen,” says Virago, giving Joy a rather withering look, “you will remember that I advised you to cancel the procession entirely.”
“Virago,” says Calla gently, as Joy finishes lacing up the ribbons and tucking the ends away. Her waist is now tiny and looks wholly unnatural, but Calla straightens, settling her right palm against her squished stomach, and she smiles beatifically at Virago. “You are my best knight, and I am so grateful for your service, always,” she says, stepping forward and laying a gentle hand on Virago's arm, “but you must know that if we did not have the procession, it would inform the whole world that we are afraid. That we are afraid that Charix has come to power, that we are afraid of our neighbors to the north. And nothing could be farther from the truth. Arktos is full of strong, capable women, and the men from Furo must see that, must see what we are capable of, and they must see that we never show fear. Surely you know this to be true.”
“Milady, the gesture of being in the procession is worthless if it costs you your life,” Virago beseeches, her voice coming out in a low growl.
Joy takes up the gown that Calla's going to be wearing in the Hero's Tournament procession: it's a big, burgundy number with a million tiers in its wide, Scarlett-O’Hara-reminiscent skirt, and a very plunging neckline with off-the-shoulder puff . She lifts the concoction over Calla's head. “Arms up, milady,” she says, a smile playing on her lips.
But Calla is turning to Virago. I don't know how she's managing to look incredibly serious in a corset and undergarments, but she's pulling it off as she draws herself up to her full height. “Virago,” she says softly, quietly, “thank you for your concern. You are so good to me.” Her face hardens. “But if I do not go out in this procession today, we have already lost. Don't you see?” she asks, placing a hand on Virago's arm again, her eyes narrowed as she holds Virago's gaze. “If we change how we do things because of a threat, then Furo has already won. They have already destroyed our livelihood. And that I cannot allow.”
Virago's jaw tightens, and she nods only once. “I understand, milady.”
“Well, I don't,” scowls Kell, who—up until this moment—has remained perfectly quiet, sprawled in one of the queen's sumptuous, plush chairs. Aside from the overstuffed chairs, the queen's bedroom is actually pretty modest. It looks similar to the room that Virago and I are staying in. When I came in and remarked as such, Calla told me that she's no different from anyone else here in her kingdom, which was pretty damn awesome in my opinion, no matter how romanticized I'd built up the queen's bedchambers in my head ( I'd imagined something on par with Marie Antoinette's rooms).
Virago and Calla turn to look at Kell. Joy simply puts down the gown and takes a pipe out of her pocket, lighting the thing up and puffing away at it as she sighs, leaning against the bedpost, waiting for us to be finished with our “debate.”
“You're going to get yourself killed, my queen,” says Kell then, rising. In this moment, there's nothing casual or sarcastic about her demeanor. She's impassioned as she takes a step forward.
Calla lifts her chin, staring at her knight. “Stand down, Kell,” she says mildly, but there's a dynamic of power that's crackling between them.
Kell obeys. She takes a step backward, and then she places her fist over her heart as she sighs for a long moment. “I'm sorry, milady,” she murmurs then. “But you know it to be true.”
“I know,” says Calla, her voice gentle again, “that I have a duty. As have you. We all do. We are all part of the web of life, and we must pull our own weight, all of us, and do what we were meant to. You know this, Kell.”
Kell and Virago exchange a look, their brows up, but I can read Virago's face in that moment. She's glad that Calla is actively working for her country, but it's obvious to everyone here...there's a great risk to her being in that procession, being seen so openly in the streets of Arktos. Every single person in the city, those who live here and those who are visiting because of the tournament, knows the route that the procession will take. Which means there could be an assassin on every corner.
“We must be watchful,” says Virago to Kell, and Kell snorts, her eyes flashing as she tosses her wild hair over her shoulder.
“You be watchful,” says Kell, raising a brow. “I'll be ready.”
Calla casts me a glance as Joy puts down her pipe and places the dress, at last, on the queen. The sumptuous folds of burgundy satin fall in waves over her cream-colored skin, and as Joy does up the tiny buttons on the back, Calla clasps her hands over her stomach. Kell and Virago have walked away: they're discussing, in soft, sibilant whispers, who else Magel has planned to be on the queen's closest guard for the procession.
“I hope you don't think me foolish, Holly,” says Calla with a small, sad smile. “I have a duty I must perform, and I am determined to see it through.”
“Not foolish,” I tell her, shaking my head quickly, patting the pockets of my enormous dress (it's similar to a medieval gown in construction, but it still has pockets, because Joy is awesome). “They're just worried about you,” I say, pointing my thumb toward the knights. “I mean, everyone's worried about you. It must be so hard,” I hazard then. “Having people who want you dead.” I swallow, shaking my head. “I can't imagine it.”
Calla's eyes unfocus as she gazes out the window. Her hair, long and loose and curly, flows over her milky shoulders, and the silver circlet on her head glistens in the sunshine.
“I loved two things once, you know,” she tells me softly, and my ears perk up as I stare at her, silent. “My country, and my love.” Her gaze flicks to me. “It sounds noble and poetic,” she says, giving a bitter laugh, “but it was true. If my knight were here now, she would persuade me not to go on the procession. I would still have to, but I would know she was there. Watching me. There, if I needed her.” She gazes at me now, and the hurt is so evident in her expression that I actually take a step back. She looks so pained. “But she's gone. And I have to do this alone,” she tells me with a small shrug, gazing down at her hands as she straightens them, then crossing them in front of her over her stomach. She sighs out for a long moment. “I'm sorry, Holly,” she says, lifting her face and gazing at me with genuine remorse, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I didn't mean to become so maudlin.”
“No, you have every right to be sad. What your ex did to you was unforgivable,” I say, shaking my head. “But you don't have to go in this procession if you genuinely think that there's danger to yourself. And Virago really seems to think that there might be,” I say, hooking my thumb over my shoulder to point to my knight. “Couldn't you… I don't know,” I say, my mind grappling as I try to think of something. “Couldn't you just go to the opening ceremonies, not participate in the procession? Wouldn't that be almost the same thing?”
“The ruler of the country in which the Hero's Tournament takes place always participates in the procession,” she tells me firmly. “To not do so would show weakness, and at this time, Arktos cannot afford to show any weakness at all.”
I swallow. “Well, then the knights will just have to keep you safe,” I tell her, giving her a watery smile. “But you’re not alone.”
“I'm sure they will,” says Calla, with a bright smile that I know is fake. I swallow a little, turning to look back at Virago and Kell.
“I've got a bad feeling about this,” mutt
ers Kell loudly from the corner of the room, lifting a single brow and crossing her arms in front of her unhappily.
---
I didn't have a bad feeling, but when we get down to the gates at the entrance to Arktos City, I'm beginning to understand what Kell was talking about. I ride through the city behind Virago on Aphelion's back (getting onto the horse was a begrudging allowance on the war mare's behalf, and an oh-God-this-might-be-the-end-for-me experience on mine), and by the time we get to the front gates, the skin on the back of my neck is crawling. It seems like every hair on my body is standing on end. It's the way you feel when you can sense someone staring at you across a crowded room. I feel watched, and I feel scrutinized, and I don't even know where that sensation is coming from.
But it's very strong, and it's very apparent. And I'm pretty sure everyone else is feeling it, too. The knights, all on their separate mounts, all wearing their best armor, keep giving one another uneasy glances, and even though we didn't go down the main thoroughfare through the city (“We'd ruin the suspense if we rode down and came back the same way,” Calla told me), I can hear the crowds gathered on the main street through Arktos City. Everyone is shouting, and the general murmur and merriment of the crowd can be heard clearly, even this many streets back. I'm assuming that pretty much everyone in the capital city has gathered on the streets, or is pouring out of the windows and on top of the roofs, to see the procession of champions about to enter the Hero's Tournament.
And that means that there really could be an assassin posted at every corner, in every nook.
The knights are out in full force. Even though we're on the side streets only, I can make out their familiar armor and their horses' uniforms (the big saddle, the bridle with the silver headstall, the colors of cobalt blue and gold across the horses’ rumps in the form of the saddle blankets): knights that I've already met, and knights I've never met. There are a lot of royal knights in Arktos City, and they are all flanking the streets today, keeping everyone safe.
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