Valiant

by Sarah McGuire

  I glanced at Volar. “Then perhaps it will help the city to see the champion in the camp.”

  Lord Cinnan scowled. “I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  “I can,” said Volar. “I will.”

  I leaned over the wall. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Why?” he asked, raising his hands level with the wall.

  I grinned at Lord Cinnan.

  “No. Absolutely not, Miss Gramton!”

  But I was already hoisting myself up. Lord Cinnan had no choice but to lend me a steadying hand. I let the wind tangle itself in my hair as I listened to the giants’ song.

  Then I looked back over my shoulder. Princess Lissa stood straight and tall, the wind pulling at her skirts, her eyes hungry. I remembered how much she’d wanted to join Galen and me on the ramparts. “Come with me.”

  She stood even straighter, as if she couldn’t even consider something so irresponsible. Then she smiled slowly, gathered her skirts, and joined me on the wall’s edge.

  Volar’s hands caught us up, and he carried us across the Kriva.

  I visited the giant camp many times over the next week. They were joyous trips in an otherwise dark time. King Eldin’s fever lingered even after the doctors removed his hand. The castle halls grew quiet, and subdued servants whispered as they went about their duties.

  One afternoon, I sat beside King Eldin and sang the songs I’d learned from the giants. They had a wildness to them. I hoped the melodies reminded the king of sunshine and wind and the sound of water.

  But he remained quiet in his bed.

  “I think it helps him,” said the princess. She’d been busy attending to the affairs of Reggen, yet she still sat with her brother every day.

  “It helps me.”

  The princess slid a slender finger into her book to mark the page. “Galen left his sickroom today.”

  My breath knotted in my throat. “Oh?”

  She made an impatient sound and tossed her book onto a nearby table. “Did you really think I hadn’t noticed? Or that I’d scold you? At least Galen trusts me enough to ask about you.”

  “He does?”

  She smiled, and was kind enough not to make me ask. “I told him you were well. That you play with Will. You read to me. You’re sewing a coat for Eldin.…” Her voice faltered as she looked down at her brother. “That surprised him.”

  I turned back to the work in my hands. “I thought it would be easier, this past week, not seeing him. I thought I’d grow used to it.”

  Lissa waited.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “About the same, I think. He’s spoken with Lord Cinnan every day. There’s a great deal of work waiting for him.” She paused, and I knew the words pained her. “And, Saville, there’s Lady Farriday waiting for him, too. That hasn’t changed.”

  I didn’t even try to hide the hurt. “I didn’t think it would.”

  I saw Galen almost every day the next week, often from a distance. He was recovering well, though he favored his left side and walked a little slower.

  Every time I saw him, I felt again how deeply I missed our time together. I missed his silences, when he was lost to his thoughts. I missed our arguments—I’d never had a better or kinder opponent. I even missed the patchwork chair in his room.

  Speaking with him was even worse. The few conferences in which I reported all that happened in the giant camp, a chance meeting in a corridor, or visiting the king when Galen was there—it was like leaving his room all over again.

  Every time I felt the grief rise, I reminded myself that I hadn’t told him how I felt so that he’d choose me. I couldn’t hate him because he was betrothed.

  I couldn’t hate him anyway.

  Chapter 43

  We were certain of King Eldin’s improving health two weeks after the duke’s death. Volar had announced that the giants would soon be returning to their home, but the king’s recovery meant that we would have a true celebration. For days, humans and giants alike worked to raise a pavilion where the duke’s tent had once stood.

  Uten and humans would not be able to mingle much—Lord Cinnan had wisely pointed out that we couldn’t have people wandering through the giant camp. If a giant didn’t look where he stepped, the results would be disastrous. But there would be opportunities for the city to meet the giants. Though much had changed since the uten first arrived, the people of Reggen still feared the giants, and some giants still flinched when they heard a human voice.

  Already, some of King Eldin’s riders had returned. Many were accompanied by representatives who wished to see the giants for themselves.

  Will told me the night before the celebration that King Eldin had hired troubadours to tell the tale, from my meeting with the giant scouts to the duke’s overthrow. “Do you think they’ll have an actor for me, too?”

  I looked up from the king’s new coat. “Who told you this?”

  “Lord Verras. Just that troubadours would tell the story. He didn’t say who would play me.” Will stopped, and by the set of his mouth I knew he was thinking about the pens. “I don’t think I want to see all of it.”

  I began another buttonhole. “Neither do I.”

  I couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying than seeing my role in the story played out before me. How could they explain why I had dressed as a lad? No one would understand why I ran out to the scouts if they did not know Will.

  And the giants! Sky above, the giants. The citizens of Reggen would cheer when the tailor outwitted the scouts. But what would the uten think, knowing the scouts would return to the duke and their deaths?

  “Lord Verras said not to worry. I like him. Sometimes I sit in his rooms and tell him all the things that Pa could fix.”

  Will picked up a tool he’d collected from somewhere in the castle and turned it over in his hands. “Do you miss him?” he whispered.

  I froze, the needle inches above the fabric. Of course Will would guess the truth.

  He looked up. “Do you miss the Tailor? Because I miss Pa.”

  “Oh, Will … the Tailor wasn’t like your pa. You know that,” I said.

  But Will peered up at me expectantly.

  I set the coat down in my lap. “When I was little, I used to imagine the Tailor acting like your pa.” He’d compliment the seam I sewed. He’d hug me close. He’d just … look at me. “And that’s what I miss: everything I wish he had done.”

  The things the Tailor hadn’t done were an emptiness inside me that oceans couldn’t fill. And what was I supposed to do with that? Grieve it? I had, since childhood. Fight it? There was no one left to fight.

  The Tailor’s ugliest piece of handiwork could not be undone.

  That night, I waited until I heard Will’s whiffling snore through the closed door. I changed into a simple, dark gray dress that would not draw attention when I went for a walk.

  The guards knew me and let me pass, and I took the stairs up to the wall. The East Guardian rose above me, and the Kriva stretched out in the moonlight. I could see part of the giant camp and the fires that burned like red stars in the plain.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on the wind that brushed my hair against my cheek. Galen—Lord Verras—wouldn’t let the king commission inferior storytellers. That wasn’t his way. He saw so much. He wouldn’t let them tell the story in a way that would shame the uten.

  Or me.

  I rubbed my fingertips together, feeling the callouses from the sewing I’d vowed to give up. But it had seemed right to sew the new coat for King Eldin, and I knew, somehow, that I would sew more. The skill was another inheritance from the Tailor that I could not ignore. That’s what he’d left me: a few velvets, the skill to sew a straight seam, and a list of all I wished my father had done.

  I thought of Mama, and how the Tailor had dashed her hopes, too. But it hadn’t stopped her from making a life for me. From loving me.

  I would claim that love as part of my inheritance, too.

  I pul
led in an unsteady breath and began to sing a tune the giants had taught me about sailing a ship in a storm when the waves are as high as mountains and the stars are hidden. I sang it until my breath came easily and the notes did not break.

  The pageant day was clear, with a noon no longer blunted by summer heat. Volar, and the twenty uten he had chosen to attend him, stood at one end of the pavilion. The king, princess, Lord Verras, Will, and I sat opposite them, joined by some of the leaders who had returned with King Eldin’s riders.

  The other two sides were filled with people from Reggen who had chosen seats there at dawn when the gates opened.

  The ceremony began when King Eldin presented the high king with fist-sized portions of Gantaran amber. He hoped it would be new to the mountain-breaker. He also gave the giants a great herd of cattle—food for their long journey home now that the whale meat was gone.

  All the while, I could feel myself pulled tight as a bowstring. Finally, the moment arrived.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, uten!” called the first of the singers, a man dressed in black. “We present the story of the tailor of Reggen and the high king of Belmor.”

  I waited for the actors in bright clothes, the troubadours with their instruments—people who would take the story and twist it into something simple and easy to understand.

  Instead, Hylag stepped forward and sat cross-legged beside the man. He began to sing of the home the uten had left behind. Of mountains and seas and truth in stone. The tempo changed, and he sang of the duke’s arrival, how he challenged their warriors and survived.

  When he stopped, his human companion picked up the tale. He sang about me and of the Tailor’s illness. I didn’t mind hearing my story in his mouth. He didn’t try to make the tale anything that it was not.

  So the story shifted back and forth between the man and Hylag, and as I listened, I saw the wisdom in it. Reggen needed to know that they hadn’t routed an army of monsters, though there had been monsters. And perhaps the uten could better understand why I had done what I had. It was not easy to hear the story, but it would have been far more painful had it been altered.

  When the song was finished, there was a great, slow silence. Many were crying, even some of the uten. Then applause began among the humans and uten alike. The giants cheered and stamped their feet until the ground danced beneath ours, and Volar had to tell them to stop.

  When King Eldin stepped into the center of the pavilion, silence spread once again. The left cuff of his new coat was pinned up, and I felt a rush of pride that he hadn’t tried to hide what had happened. He bowed low to Volar before speaking.

  “I could speak of the past, how our people worked to build this city, and how their own selfishness caused them to part ways. But I want to praise what has happened. There could have been more deaths, more loss. I am grateful that this war was stopped.”

  Volar bowed in return.

  King Eldin continued, “We know you must return home soon. We send you with our best wishes and hopes that our ambassadors may join you in the spring.”

  The crowd cheered.

  The king went on to outline what little provision he and Reggen’s allies could provide for the uten’s trip. Then he said, “When the duke’s messenger arrived, I acted like a frightened boy. I promised my sister to a champion who could defeat the giants. And when I heard shouts from the street that someone had defeated the giants, I didn’t try to confirm the rumors. I wasted no time. I declared that person champion and awarded him my sister’s hand in marriage.”

  The king looked around. “It was the most fortunate mistake of my life. I cannot take any credit for what followed.” He extended a hand toward me. Galen pushed me to my feet and made me stand. The humans applauded. The giants stamped their approval until both the king and I could hardly stand.

  “The champion of Reggen—”

  “—and the uten,” added Volar.

  “—and the uten,” continued the king, “requested a small corner of the castle as a reward. But it does not seem enough.”

  The king looked toward me and smiled. Grinned, actually. Galen was shaking his head, trying to say something, but King Eldin continued. “I could not give Saville my sister’s hand in marriage, but it seemed only fitting that she should marry close.”

  I turned to Princess Lissa, who looked at me, eyes blazing with—I couldn’t place it. And then Galen was waving his hands, telling the king to stop.

  But the king did not. “It is my pleasure to give Saville my cousin Galen Verras.”

  I dropped back to my seat, amid roars of approval, wondering what horrible mistake the king had made. Sky above, Galen had been trying to tell the king to stop, and now—

  Galen bent over me, eyes frantic, trying to tell me something. But I couldn’t hear him over the roar. I buried my face in my hands and waited for the furor to stop.

  “Hylag!” I could barely make out Galen’s bellow, but Hylag’s hearing was far better than mine. The next moment, he’d plucked Galen and me into the air. It took him a while to pick his way through the human crowd, but once he had cleared it, he strode out along the Kriva until all that could be heard was a low hum. Then he set us down and walked a few steps away. He stood with his back to us, arms crossed, as if guarding our privacy.

  We stood there, Galen and I, only a few feet from each other. I forced myself to look at him. He seemed miserable. And I could barely hold all the pieces of me together. Was this how the king had felt with his broken hands? That any touch, no matter how light, would undo him?

  Galen straightened his shoulders. “Saville, I’m sor—”

  “Don’t apologize to me, Galen Verras! Don’t you dare.”

  He shook his head. “Let me—”

  “And I don’t want you to explain. You don’t have to. I already know he’s a genius at bungling wedding announcements. Please.” I stepped away, backing toward the trees. “Have Hylag take you back and tell the king—”

  “You want me to tell Eldin no?”

  I shook my head. “I want you to fix this!”

  Galen closed the distance between us before I could finish. He took me by the shoulders. “Saville, I told Eldin to—”

  “You told him?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I jerked away and slapped him. Slapped him so hard my fingers tingled. “I told you I loved you weeks ago! I cried—cried—every night. Do you know what it’s been like to walk through the castle with a hurt I can’t hide? To know that people are talking about me? Everyone talking except the one person I wanted to speak to most of all? For weeks! And then you finally decide to do something about it? In front of everyone?”

  He just stood there while I shouted at him, my tears making my voice crack. He was angry: mouth thin, eyes hard.

  “Twenty days.”

  I wiped at my wet cheek with the back of my hand. “What?”

  “Twenty days. You told me you loved me twenty days ago, and twenty days ago, I asked the king to release me from my betrothal. Eldin wrote Lord Farriday the next morning.”

  I pointed, like an idiot, toward the distant crowd, toward the princess who had looked at me so strangely. “But Lissa said—”

  “She was right. Lord Farriday replied by his fastest messenger. And refused. He made clear that the other noble families were committed to enforcing the betrothal by force, if necessary.”

  My heart dropped. “Then why did the king … Why did you—?”

  “It was Lissa. She replied on Eldin’s behalf, when he was so sick. Not even Lord Cinnan knew. She wrote that since an army of giants considered me an ally, it would be unwise for Lord Farriday to attack. And she suggested an exchange.”

  I stared at Galen, too bewildered to speak.

  “The princess of Reggen instead of a third son. To any young noble they chose.”

  They never ask me.…

  I tasted salt on my lips, but I didn’t bother to wipe my eyes.

  “She told Eldin and me this morning, when t
he messengers arrived with Farriday’s consent. She said it was her choice. That her mother would have been pleased with the match. And that yours would have been, too. I thought—hoped …”

  His voice trailed off and he grimaced, so embarrassed that I almost smiled.

  He blew out a breath and pushed on. “I told Eldin not to say a word, that I’d hardly talked to you these last weeks. He was supposed to let me tell you. Ask you, I mean.” He waved a hand toward the crowd, still not daring to meet my eyes. “But he didn’t, of course! I could strangle him! I don’t care if he’s been ill. It would make it that … much … easier …”

  He shook his head and looked down. “I didn’t plan for it to be this way.”

  I put my hand gently to Galen’s face, wincing to see how it fit over the red mark I’d left there. He finally met my eyes, wary at first, as if I’d order him away. But I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  Galen held my gaze one moment … and another. Then he smiled at me, the way he’d smiled on the ramparts, the way he’d smiled in the caves. He turned his head, just a little, and kissed my palm.

  “Will you have me?” he whispered.

  I had imagined Galen asking me so many times. But I’d never expected it. Not once. And certainly not here, in the real world, in the sunlight, with Hylag standing behind us, and Galen looking like home and laughter and—

  “I love you,” he said. “Please, say you’ll have me.”

  I swallowed. “But you told the king to stop. You—”

  He laughed and slipped an arm around me, pulling me close.

  He laughed and slipped an arm around me, pulling me close. When I looked up at him, he dropped a kiss on my nose.

  “You silly”—he kissed the corner of my eye, right where I had kissed him—he did remember—“silly”—on my cheek, right by my ear—“girl.”

  He leaned back to see me, as if he couldn’t look enough. “I wanted to ask you first, not ambush you in front of everyone.”

  “Yes.”