The Devotion of Delflenor

by R. Cooper

  She left Rosset without another word for him, and went to the stables to prepare Kee, and then, slowly, Frire. The goat would remain there, until those at the barracks sent someone back for it, and to speak to anyone here who still might want to visit the Seat. Delf promised that distractedly while coaxing a furious, anxious Frire into accepting her as the one to saddle him.

  Bors and the others had followed her orders. The packs had been emptied of anything nonessential and filled with food, herbs, and bandages. Everything else would be retrieved later, or never. Delf planned to ride back through Oryl Wood without stopping. Hopefully, Knights of the Seat would meet her somewhere on the journey.

  When that work was done, she tied her hair back, armored herself in Prityal’s mail and then her own torn and stained doublet, wiped away the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes, and walked out of the ruin.

  PRITYAL WOKE more solidly as Delf and Bors helped her outside. She was trembling with exhaustion or the cold, but Delf had wrapped her cloak around her, and one of the others had given her the long, thick scarf of a farmer, which looped around her neck and covered her hair. Delf had dressed Prityal in her doublet to give her both warmth and some protection, but had not thought Prityal could bear the weight of anything else, a thought that made her stomach churn.

  Rosset’s knife seemed to have taken her strength. Sleep had done little to help her recover.

  Prityal opened her mouth, but whatever her arguments, they vanished when Delf explained, “We ride straight to the Seat, my lady. We leave now.”

  “Straight to the Seat,” Prityal echoed, blinking, then lowered her head in determination, a warning, for someone. “Then I will see it to the end, as promised.”

  She pushed away the hands on her to stand tall and unbent once again, like the figure of hope she had spent years becoming. She frowned at the sight of the mounting block Delf had arranged for her, but said nothing, only used it to slowly climb onto Frire’s back.

  Her silence made Delf bite her lip, and Delf did not breathe again until Prityal was safely in the saddle and whispering to her anxious war beast.

  Since her throat was too tight to allow her to speak, Delf nodded her farewell to Bors and the rest, and then got onto Kee’s back.

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Then Delf clicked her tongue and Kee stepped forward into the lead position.

  As conscious of Prityal’s image as Prityal undoubtedly was, Delf did not look back or call out to make sure Prityal was well enough for this—Prityal would insist that she was, and would not be pleased at another public display of weakness. Delf forced herself to be quiet, and to sit straight, and to wait until the ruin was long out of sight before she turned.

  Prityal’s shoulders had begun to slump but her eyes were open and fixed on Delf as if she had been waiting.

  “Do I have much time?” she asked, and though she sounded calm, Delf shuddered and Frire’s ears went back.

  “I don’t know.” Delf had no other answer.

  Prityal nodded in a deliberate fashion, as if she had already guessed that. “So we return to the Seat.”

  “Yes.” Delf swallowed. “And we should ride faster, as fast as you can stand. Now that no one else will witness, I will… I will carry you there myself, if I have to.”

  Prityal heaved a weary sigh, but inclined her head once more. “Then we ride.”

  Sixteen

  for her

  THEY RODE FAST.

  Delf held on tightly and imagined Prityal did the same. Following advice from Rosset’s terrified would-be begleys, they skirted the Wood directly, and so did not pass the pond. Without the goat to keep their pace measured, they passed acres of fields and rows of neatly planted trees. At times, they would slow to give the icors moments of rest, to give Delf a chance to covertly study Prityal and offer water from one of the skins the others had packed.

  Prityal swayed in the saddle and often had her eyes closed, but Delf did not think she truly slept—the ride was too quick for that—but she didn’t think Prityal had much attention on their surroundings, either.

  Delf stopped them again on a stretch of land half-covered in nut trees not yet harvested. The sun had not emerged from the clouds, but the evening air was warmer than she would have liked and faintly sticky. Or, she assumed it was, and hoped she did not have a fever brewing. She slid from Kee’s back and did not comment when Prityal stayed where she was, though it worried her.

  She handed up a skin of water and stared at Prityal, sharp-eyed, until Prityal drank some. She wanted the sound of humming, a snore, but settled for a few swallows before Prityal tried to give the skin back.

  “Delflenor.” Prityal touched Delf’s fingers when Delf reached for the skin, drawing Delf’s gaze back up. “You’re in pain. There’s blood soaking through your bandages.”

  Delf had pulled the stitches several times already throughout the day, but gave Prityal an innocent smile. “I can handle it.”

  “That is known,” Prityal whispered, quite serious, and stared at Delf for several more moments before exhaling. Delf expected to be called out on her lie, to be scolded, not for Prityal to stroke the back of her hand and gaze at her softly. “It does not hurt, not more than any other wound. You don’t need to worry.”

  “It is not any other wound.” Delf’s voice cracked. They watched one another without speaking while Delf tried to banish her fears and be someone more like the champion who should be here. But she was not Ran, and she was not Jareth or Ange. “We don’t know what spell you are under or what it will do.” Delf was blunt and rougher than she wanted to be. “I am going to worry. You said I’m—you said I am always serious beneath my jokes. But I don’t have any jokes right now. Prityal, I… I am entirely worry. Don’t you understand? Until you are safe, and well again, that is all I am. You can’t expect more from me.”

  Prityal startled her by looking away, but she did not move her hand from where she had it pressed over Delf’s. “I can expect many things from you,” Prityal argued at last, her voice weighted down and slow. “Yet I don’t want you to worry. If I….”

  “No.” Delf cut her off, and lowered her head in determination the way Prityal did. “No if.”

  Prityal turned toward her, her gaze surprised and warm, and stroked the back of Delf’s hand once again. “The Most Stubborn.”

  The name was said too tenderly. Tears pricked Delf’s eyes.

  Prityal gasped, but Delf was already stepping back. Her feelings had been obvious to everyone for years, and she had all but stated them directly in Prityal’s bed, but this was not the time, nor the place. Prityal should focus on her recovery, and they had a long distance to cover before nightfall.

  “Frire.” Delf addressed the magnificent creature keeping Prityal safe and was rewarded with his attention. She cleared her throat. “We’re doing this.”

  As if he knew a command when he heard one, even from someone other than his beloved Prityal, Frire stamped his foot.

  Delf nodded and wiped her face before she returned to Kee.

  “Delflenor,” Prityal sighed her name.

  “Ready?” Delf asked, voice reasonably steady, and took the lead once more.

  THEY STOPPED again at dusk.

  Prityal had leaned forward sometime earlier, as though she would have laid against Frire’s back if her saddle had allowed it. Delf again came over to ensure water passed her lips, and to ascertain Prityal’s state of mind.

  “We will enter the woods soon.” Delf hoped to ride all night, if the moonlight allowed, though they would naturally slow their pace. She glanced up. “Do you want to stop here, or keep going?”

  Prityal had closed her eyes and did not appear to have had more than a few sips of water. She cracked one eye to peer down at Delf. “It’s not my place to give orders here.”

  She handed back the skin of water, or tried to. Delf refused to take it.

  “I am asking.” Delf frowned when Prityal left the skin in her lap. “And
what does that mean?”

  Prityal opened both eyes, then shook her head lightly. “We are two knights, and one of us has been knocked from the field. That leaves you to get us home, though you will insist on calling yourself lower-tier even now.” She paused to take a breath, as if she had to pause to take a breath, and Delf’s heart tripped into a faster, frightened rhythm. “And you would defy me anyway, if I said we will stop.”

  Delf didn’t deny that, although she had to make an aspect clear. “For your life, I would defy you.”

  Prityal took another deep breath. “For my life, we return to the Seat.” Her lips quirked with what might have been a fleeting smile. “I did not like Rosset, but he was clever.”

  “Is... I think.” Delf did not care about Rosset. “He was alive when we left. But no, he is not clever. This is no worthwhile path. This is desperation. How will you be able find anyone like this?”

  “Delflenor.” The exhaustion in Prityal’s voice as much as the familiar roll of the name off her tongue brought Delf even closer to her. She put her hand on the saddle. Prityal picked it up and held it between hers. “Tell me. Do you think They have a plan?”

  Delf did her best not to stare in confusion and to only show her pleasure at the handholding. “We have had this conversation, my lady.”

  Prityal huffed, which was nearly as welcome to hear as a snore would have been. “You said I was a gift. Their gift.” She said this insistently, so Delf nodded. Prityal was not appeased. “Do you truly believe They have a plan for us—the two of us?”

  Delf raised her eyebrows at the idea of her fate being entwined with Prityal’s in any more significant way than what Delf would give and do for her. But Prityal wouldn’t inquire about her personal fate without a reason, so Delf took the question seriously.

  I will trail after you like the streak of light that follows a star, no matter where your path leads. Delf rejected that answer for obvious reasons and cleared her throat. “They have a plan for you. And They know me well. But whether or not I am included in Their plans hardly matters. I am not you. Would I charge forward, even knowing my fate?”

  “You are trying to joke again,” Prityal whispered reproachfully. “But I think you would, if you felt the cause just.”

  For you, I would. Delf swallowed this, too. She was selfish, for she thought that first before she thought anything else. “This cause is just.” She glanced at their joined hands. “It is personal,” she allowed, “though it also matters to all of Ainle.”

  “Personal,” Prityal echoed on a little sigh. “We had this conversation, too, didn’t we? You know so much.”

  “A bit of everything is hardly…”

  Prityal huffed again. “Can you not also be a gift? Here, now, with me?”

  Delf looked up. Prityal regarded her evenly, her head high.

  Delf was not going to argue with that, not under any circumstances.

  She gave a huff of her own. “If returning you to the Seat is my role, then so be it. And when we get there, and you are better, we will figure out a way to get marks for clarity of vision on you without causing you any pain, so no old knights can ever fool you again.”

  She received a worn and weary pout. “That’s not what… Why are you unyielding in this one way? You do not spar because I would knock sense into you. Delflenor the Willful. That is your na—Oh.” Prityal frowned and dropped her head. She held Delf’s hand gently. “Are you scared?” She had to feel Delf jolt, but she kept her eyes down. “You cannot accept these things because you feel you are not ready for them? You will never be ready. Did you feel ready when you entered houses in Roselin?” Delf shut her eyes. “Oh,” Prityal said again, and then released Delf’s hand to cup her cheek. “Were you ready when the first charge came on that hillside?” Her eyes were bright when Delf looked at her, almost feverish, although her skin was cool to the touch. “When I kissed you, I was not ready. I was impatient. I could not wait anymore. And it was… I don’t know the words for it.” She brushed her thumb across Delf’s mouth. “Only that I am glad I didn’t wait longer. Before then, I thought that it mattered, that I needed to be more to make you want me. Do you understand?”

  Delf held Prityal’s hand to her cheek and replied in a whisper. “I was very happy when you kissed me.” It was not much of a secret to confess, but it made Prityal smile.

  “You admire me as I am. You desire me though you’ve seen me cry and you know I don’t possess your experience.”

  Delf scoffed at Prityal for finding that worth marveling over, all while nuzzling into her hand. “You say that as though it’s odd. You are admired everywhere and that is only right. You’re skilled and you are beautiful, and yes, watching you unseat an opponent excites me, and I am far from the only one. You’re also fearsome and loyal and braver than most. I know your bravery because I have seen you scared. You act despite your fear, because you trust in yourself to do what is right. You are wondrous to behold, Prityal. You’ve earned your reputation, though it often troubles you.” Delf could not bear the surprised gleam in Prityal’s eyes, as if no one had ever told her these truths. “I will admit that some of those admirers do not see you as you are. Or don’t want to see. Or are not permitted to see it.”

  “You did.” Prityal touched Delf’s lips again, then offered her wrist. She sighed when Delf gave it a kiss. “That’s why you came with me on what you called a fool’s errand.”

  Delf regarded her warily, though she could not have said why. “I came because no knight should do this alone.”

  Prityal sighed again. Each one had a different sound, delighted or weary or pointed. “I could have come with begleys.”

  “Bullshit.” Delf frowned. “No, you couldn’t. You were afraid of going alone to an unknown place, and still worn from your last mission—too worn to monitor a flock of little more than students. I would have gone with another, though this errand was indeed for fools. You are right to say that.” Delf found herself speaking faster but softer, almost as if she was angry and yet she was not. “But I offered myself the way I did because you would not ask for the help you should.”

  “No, I think.” Prityal hummed and slid her hand to Delf’s jaw, and then to the back of Delf’s neck to tip Delf’s head up. She had no strength. Delf obeyed the press of her fingers regardless. “That may be the truth, but it is not the only truth. Should I tell you what Ange said it was?”

  Delf shook her head.

  Prityal exhaled again and leaned down. “Will you be a hero, Delflenor?” she murmured. “Would you be my hero?”

  “Ange thinks she is funny.” Delf pulled back, though not so far that she was out of Prityal’s reach. “All I have to offer are jokes and my mouth. I don’t even have a room of my own. I am not even sure I can… I will get you back to the Seat. That much I promise you. It doesn’t make me your hero.”

  “It would to me.” Prityal looked her in the eye. “Or do you doubt me, Delflenor of the Seat?”

  Delf had been right to be wary. But she did not argue this time. “You are the one thing I am sure of.”

  “Because I am the Hope, and because you care about me.” Prityal straightened, Prityal the Just once again, and slid her hand from Delf’s neck. “I could have set this quest without him.” She glanced up, to the sky, then tossed her head. “I would have, in time.”

  “Time is what we do not have.” Delf put a hand to her nape as if that would preserve the memory of Prityal’s touch, then glanced up to the same sky Prityal now studied earnestly. “We’ll ride hard until the light is gone,” she decided aloud. “Then we rest and ride as much as we can with what light we will have.”

  That she had already decided on that plan of action was likely obvious, but Prityal did not react except to take up the reins again.

  THEY ENTERED the woods after dark, and it was not long until the canopy overheard was too thick to allow them to see the path and they were forced to stop; an injury to the icors would not help them. Delf considered and reconsidered the d
istance they had covered today without the goat to slow them as she gathered wood and started a small fire.

  For their meal, the only one of the day, they had candied fruit—a present from guilty begleys—and bread from Rosset’s kitchen. Prityal ate only the bread, and that was done so slowly that Delf had to sit on her hands to keep from interfering. She offered to make a tisane, and did so, but Prityal did not have more than a few swallows.

  Delf laid out one bedroll, which might have felt daring or bold at another time, and said, “If you like, my lady, I will help keep you warm while you sleep.”

  That Delf would not sleep was unspoken, and Prityal’s waning strength meant Prityal did not comment. She consented to lie down and found Delf’s leg a suitable pillow, and Delf arranged Prityal’s cloak to better cover Prityal’s body as Prityal settled in.

  From her breathing, Delf assumed Prityal had immediately gone to sleep. She had just tentatively tried to feel her arm through her armor when Prityal’s voice drifted up to her.

  “You didn’t eat enough.”

  Delf snorted despite herself. “You noticed that, hmm? You must be feeling better.” She put her hand on Prityal’s back over her cloak and began to rub light circles. “Rest anyway.”

  Prityal curled one hand beneath her chin and released a long breath. “You’re very warm.” Delf was, which was likely a fever as her body tried to heal itself. Not necessarily a problem, yet. “Will you speak? I spent years with silence, and now I’m so tired.”

  The words did not make sense, at least, not to Delf, but she nodded. “I talk bullshit most of the time. Absolute nonsense, which is perhaps why the bones only ever show me nonsense.”

  “You talk useful nonsense,” Prityal corrected in a voice heavy with fatigue.

  “If you say so, my lady,” Delf agreed to be polite.