Valiant

by Sarah McGuire

  “Be still!” I told him. “I’m going to feed you.”

  He continued to struggle, and the part of me that wasn’t worried about drawing attention to myself liked him the better for it. Up the stairs we went. We hadn’t traveled more than a few steps before he went limp. I all but carried him up the last stairs, and he crumpled onto the floor when I released him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He shook his head.

  “Stay there,” I said, and disappeared behind the curtain that separated the private quarters from the shop. I took up a knife to cut a few slices of bread, then paused. He’d been so light.

  I returned with the entire loaf.

  “Here.” I put it in his lap.

  He stared at the bread for a moment, then looked up. “Is it poisoned?”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Folks put out poisoned food for the dogs.”

  I pointed to the street. “You didn’t ask that when you were tussling for scraps.”

  “The man had just taken a bite.”

  “This is my own bread. It’s not poisoned.”

  Still, he stared up at me.

  I sighed, crouched down, and tore off a piece of the loaf. Then I popped it into my mouth. The boy watched me, eyes narrowed, until I swallowed. Then he pulled in a shuddering breath and devoured the bread—while tears streaked the dust on his cheeks. He was crying: crying and eating.

  “There’s no need for that!” I exclaimed, dumbfounded by the change.

  I grimaced, hating that I sounded like the Tailor. But I didn’t know how to comfort the boy. I didn’t know how to play a man and be anything but distant and angry. The Tailor had taught me many things, but how a man could show kindness was not one of them.

  “You’ll never survive if others see you cry,” I added, in a softer tone.

  “I’m not crying.” The boy gave a great, noisy sniff and swiped at his face with his sleeve. “Sir.”

  It was too ridiculous to argue, so I tried a different tack. “What’s your name?”

  “Will.”

  “Have you heard the old song about dragons, Will? When a dragon attacks a town?”

  I whistled a few bars between my teeth.

  Another swipe at his face. Another bite. A nod.

  “The dragon is killed when it flies overhead. People below can see the soft spot, the one place scales don’t cover. When the archers find that … well, the battle’s over.” I shrugged. “Crying shows your soft spot. It lets others know where to attack.”

  “Anyone could see I was hungry. No surprise, that.” His tears had stopped, but the catch in his voice remained. He looked around the garret, saw the fabrics and clothes scattered about.

  “Is anyone looking out for you?” I asked.

  He winced, and I wanted to kick myself for being so direct.

  “No one.” He looked down at the floor. “Mama’s dead. I don’t know about Papa.”

  I almost asked another question. Instead, I waited. Will took two more bites.

  “Mama died …” He looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times “… almost four weeks ago.”

  “My mother died nine years ago.”

  Will looked at me—quickly, intently—before picking at his bread. “Papa’s a tinker. We lived in Esker, three weeks from here. Papa told Ma and me that we needed to travel to Reggen right away. He’d heard something was attacking villages.” Will looked up at me with wide eyes. “Folks talked about monsters or a black army. Pa was going to travel to Kellan for one last job to pay for our stay here. That was six weeks ago, and he hasn’t come back.”

  Will stared at the bread. “I heard something about Kellan. Someone said it had been destroyed.”

  I’d heard similar talk at the castle, more reports that worried old Lord Cinnan. Something was drawing nearer to Reggen, attacking the villages scattered over the plains as it approached. There were no bodies left behind, only bones—human bones. Fine Coat had been right, after all.

  I hated Reggen, but Will’s father had been wise to send him here, protected by its massive walls and the Kriva, which bent around the ancient foundation. Perhaps I could help keep Will safe, too.

  I hadn’t carved a place for myself yet, but I could manage a corner for Will.

  “Would you like to stay here until you find your father?” I asked.

  Chapter 7

  “You want me to stay with you?”

  “I do.” I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until the the words were spoken. The past months with the Tailor had been like living in a cave, one I’d shut myself into. Mama would offer this boy a place. I’d pattern myself after her.

  The Tailor’s bed creaked and groaned.

  Will froze. “What’s that?”

  “I need help.” I took a deep breath and motioned to the curtain that partitioned off the Tailor’s bed. “The Tailor is sick. It’s hard for me to sew and take care of him.”

  Will made no effort to hide his suspicion. “You don’t know me.”

  “I don’t. But I’m willing to risk it.”

  He had no idea how true those words were.

  He straightened his shoulders under the dirty tunic. “I might be dangerous.”

  All sixty pounds of him. But I didn’t say that. I didn’t even smile. “A man who works with shears and needles all day is dangerous, too. You’re smart enough to know that.”

  Will’s face brightened at the veiled threat, and he nodded approval. Then he looked behind me at the table piled with fabric. His face crumbled. “I can’t sew.”

  “You can fetch water and bread for the Tailor. I’ll make sure you have food to eat and a place to sleep.” I waved at the cutting table. “We could set up blankets for you under there.”

  “I have to go away every morning.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’ll need to earn your keep.”

  Will flushed and looked down. “Pa said he’d meet us at the fountain near the gates at morning bells. I have to be there, or he won’t know where to find me.”

  “You’ll have to draw the water before then, understand?” I spoke as gently as I dared.

  “I can do that.” Will looked around the room once more, then grinned and tore off another huge chunk of bread. “You have a deal, Sir.”

  “My name is Avi,” I told him.

  “I like Sir,” said Will, and held out his hand.

  I shook it. “So do I.”

  The shaking from the Tailor’s bed grew even louder. I glanced at Will. He shouldn’t see what would happen next. I dug a coin out of my pocket.

  “This will be your first test,” I told him. “We need more bread. For some reason, it’s disappeared.”

  Will grinned.

  “Go and get two loaves and some milk from the farmer near the gate. He boils it first.”

  I paused a moment before dropping the coin onto Will’s grubby palm.

  He looked up at me. “I’ll be back, Sir. Don’t worry.”

  As soon as Will had scampered down the stairs, I swept aside the curtain between the shop and the Tailor’s bed. “His name is Will, and he’s going to stay. He should have a home.”

  The Tailor’s eyes widened, and his hand clenched into a weak fist. “No.”

  I clenched my own hands. “I’m not asking you, Tailor.”

  “No … no … no.” He almost chanted it.

  I sat beside him and leaned close. “I have given everything—everything!—to keep us alive. But I will not give this boy back to the street. I will not dishonor Mama by doing something so callous.”

  The Tailor flinched as if I’d struck him.

  I pressed my advantage, felt the edge of cool fury in my voice. “Look at me, Tailor, and remember how much you need me. If you cannot be civil to this boy out of the goodness of your heart, you will do it out of consideration for your stomach. Do you understand me?”

  A week later, Will walked up, a bit of hair in his hand—the hair I’d hidden in the trun
k.

  “You’re a girl,” he said in a canny, calm voice.

  I hid my surprise as I rested my sewing in my lap. “You find some hair and decide I’m a girl?”

  Will blinked to hear his argument put so plainly and looked down. Then he dashed forward, holding the hair up to mine.

  “It matches,” he announced. “You walk funny, sometimes. I noticed that first. And your voice goes high. You’re a girl.”

  There was no point arguing with him. I’d have his loyalty in exchange for the truth.

  “You’re right.” I picked up my sewing again. “Now throw away the cutting scraps.”

  “What?” I heard him step back. “Why?”

  “Because I told you to.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Why am I a girl?” I said, hiding my smile. “It’s the way I was made, I suppose.”

  He faced me, hands on his hips.

  I took the hair from him. “How did you find this?”

  “I like finding things.” He jutted his chin. “I’m good at it, too. Most people hide secrets deep, like you did, so I look under things. And there’s lots of room for ‘under’ in a trunk. If you really wanted to hide that hair, you should’ve left it on top.”

  I held the hair up in a sort of salute. “How does a tinker’s son know so much about finding things?”

  “Tinkers like to know how things are put together. People, too.” He shrugged. “And there was something about you I couldn’t figure out. Now”—Will screwed his face up into as fierce a gaze as he could muster—“why are you dressed like a boy?”

  “Ah. Now that’s a better question.” I twirled the length of my hair around a finger. “I’m the Tailor’s daughter. We came here from Danavir just as winter was breaking.”

  “That’s no reason to wear pants.”

  “Hush!” I scolded. “The Tailor was skilled, so skilled that he began sewing differently from Danavir’s tailors’ guild. The nobles liked it, but the guild did not.”

  Will rolled his eyes. “They fought over clothes?”

  “The old way of sewing put as much brocade and velvet and lace as possible onto a coat—to show off the fabric. The Tailor liked to show off the man wearing the coat. He knew how to make a man’s shoulders look broader, his hips trim.” I shrugged, just like Will had. “He fought the guild and lost. That’s why we came here. Reggen doesn’t have guilds. But then the Tailor fell ill. So I became Avi.”

  “Just like that?” Will asked.

  “I helped the Tailor in Danavir when his apprentices left. It wasn’t hard to dress as his apprentice. We already had lads’ clothing. I just needed to cut my hair.”

  “Wasn’t your hair I wondered about. How do you hide—?”

  “That is none of your affair. Enough to say it doesn’t hurt that I know how to shape clothes.” I leaned forward until I had Will’s full attention. “What do you think will happen if someone discovers I’m a girl?”

  “Oh, you’d be in trouble! Men wouldn’t like finding out a girl measured them. They’d hang you, sure. Folks don’t like being fooled.”

  I didn’t think they’d hang me. It would be a slow sort of death. It’s hard to live if you can’t work.

  I leaned even closer. “And how would you eat if I couldn’t sew?”

  Will looked thoughtful. “I’d find a way.”

  I held his gaze.

  “I won’t tell, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “This is your soft spot, isn’t it?”

  It was only one of my soft spots. “If you tell … so help me …”

  “I won’t. I like finding things, but I like fooling people more.”

  Chapter 8

  Rumors of an approaching army circled Reggen as summer began, like crows around a carcass. I heard stories in the streets as I walked to the palace to consult with the king. I heard whispers in the palace itself.

  There were no witnesses. Not even the rangers, who extended King Eldin’s rule into the lands beyond Reggen’s walls, returned bearing news. The villagers who straggled into the city couldn’t tell us what they were fleeing, for they hadn’t seen anything. One old man sensed a darkness in the north. Someone’s neighbor’s cousin had seen monsters.

  Will listened for news of Kellan and visited the fountain each morning, his face tight with worry every time he returned without finding his father.

  I trusted Reggen’s walls and tended to the Tailor, counting the days until his strength would return. Week after week, I told Will the Tailor would recover.

  Week after week, I believed it.

  Then, one morning, the sunlight streaming harsh and bright through our window, I watched the Tailor try to feed himself. I held the bowl of milk-soaked bread beneath his chin while he gripped a spoon in his fist and brought it, shaking, to his mouth.

  The Tailor’s hands had always been strong, his long fingers nimble. He’d been able to guide a needle through any sort of fabric with stitches so fine you could hardly see them. Now he could hardly move the spoon.

  The Tailor would never hold a needle again—I knew it.

  And I would never be free. I’d have to play his apprentice until he died. He’d dragged me to Reggen, and his illness had trapped me here, pinned to this garret room.

  I’d been a fool to think I could get away.

  I stood slowly, still holding the Tailor’s breakfast, the milk dancing against the lip of the bowl.

  I didn’t turn when the door slammed, and Will thundered up the stairs.

  I heard Will slide to a stop. “Sir?” he whispered.

  I stared at the Tailor as the shaking spread through me.

  “Sir?” said Will, louder this time.

  I dropped the bowl and turned on my heel, dashing toward the stairs.

  “Wait!” Will stepped in front of me. “Where are you going, Sir?”

  I took him by the shoulders and shook him—shook him because I had to leave. If I talked, I’d fall to pieces and never be able to gather them up again. But I released Will just as quickly, horrified at what I’d done.

  “Stay with the Tailor,” I croaked.

  I ran down the stairs and into the street. I’d go to the willows and sit in the shade where I’d buried Mama’s music box. I’d pretend I could hear her voice and her songs.

  I darted through the crowded streets, desperate to be outside Reggen’s walls.

  Yet I slid to a stop when I reached the gate. A single rider, dressed in black with a horse-skull helmet, galloped over the bridge. He held a staff decorated with bones, which made a hollow, clattering sound, like teeth chattering.

  They aren’t human bones, I thought. They can’t be. But the skull on the top of the staff? That was human.

  The black rider’s horse reared as it approached the crowds, but he urged it forward. As he plunged into the midst of the people near the gate, the rider scattered pale leaves over the crowd. I looked down the road, anxious to see if other riders followed. No one.

  He was only one rider, but I couldn’t control the dread rising inside me.

  I’d visit the willows another day. I needed to know what the rider had scattered.

  As I pushed into the crowd, I saw that some people held pieces of parchment. Snatches of conversations boiled up around me.

  “Who’s this duke? Was he the one with the skull helmet?”

  “Says he has a giant army.”

  “Who’s foolish enough to admit he has a small army?”

  “Princess Lissa would never have him—”

  I plucked a sheet out of someone’s hands and read, all thought of the willows gone.

  The Duke of the Western Steeps, Heir to the Ancient Emperor’s Crown, Holder of the Eternal Heart greets the city of Reggen:

  As Heir to the Ancient Emperor, I am the true king of your city, and I have come to claim it. I wish you no harm and would secure my throne through the most peaceable way possible: marriage. I will rule Reggen with Princess Lissa by my side.


  If you deny my rightful place in your city, I will claim it through other means. I march before an army of giants, descendants of the giants that laid Reggen’s foundation stones. At my command, they will be the army that dismantles your walls.

  I will greet you as either your King or your Enemy in three days’ time.

  Choose wisely.

  I reread the parchment, trying to make sense of it. I knew the Western Steeps—we’d skirted them on our long journey to Reggen. They were a stretch of desolate land far to the north, next to the Belmor Mountains: grim, gray peaks that rose straight out of the sea. Few explorers traveled their barren passes to reach the ocean … and the ancient emperor had ruled Reggen and the River Cities centuries ago.

  But I’d never heard of the Eternal Heart in history or legend or song.

  Who was this duke? And giants?

  He couldn’t be sane.

  What had the young man in Fine Coat’s wagon said? That there was a man who couldn’t be stopped and there were monsters. This Duke of the Western Steeps, then, and his warriors—his human warriors.

  I glanced up at Reggen’s walls. I didn’t care who this duke was. His army couldn’t breach our walls. And how dare he even try? We had done nothing to him.

  I realized in a rush that my hatred of Reggen had faded to a dull dislike. The city was mine, somehow, and the badgerlike stubbornness I’d inherited from the Tailor didn’t appreciate anyone, not even a duke, claiming my city.

  I stayed in the street till the sun slanted toward the west, hoping for more news of the duke. And then I remembered Will.

  My heart dropped the moment I stepped into the garret and saw Will’s face. He tried to run past me. I caught him, but he twisted away.

  “Don’t touch me, Sir! I’d have left already if it wasn’t for the Tailor.”

  I held Will by the shoulders and knelt so I could look into his face.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shaken you. I was—” Half-crazy … and scared. It didn’t matter. Didn’t the Tailor always have a reason for his outbursts? “I was wrong.”

  Will folded his arms. “You bet you were.”