Written in Blood

by Span, Ryan A.

  I nodded and thanked him. Instead of moving off, though, he walked me to the door of my rooms and told Halla to fetch some St. Killin's wood. I was surprised he even knew about hangover cures. Splashing my face with water, parts of my mind began to click back into place.

  Halla returned with a little box of dry bark, candied to make it more palatable. I chewed it while I scrubbed myself with a cloth. Thoroughly disgusting, but it did clear a little more of the fog.

  I let the girl fuss over me, wrapping me in a fresh shirt, new doublet, and a dab of perfume. “That will have to do,” she said. “Hurry, Lord. You are expected.”

  Another woman telling me what to do, I thought. Destined to be hen-pecked until the day I die.

  To be fair, I was more than a little complicit in that. Case in point. She called, and I came running.

  A discreet side entrance let late-comers into the hall. A Royal steward, dressed all in black but for a cape of white and gold, opened the door for me. None of the guests looked up, too engaged with their meals and conversations. I waited in the wings until I found the right table. It was distressingly close to the King, just off to his right. I took care not to jostle anyone on the way.

  Maybe I should've appreciated the nice furniture, the posh decorations on the walls, the delicate chandeliers and the ceiling painted in intricate concentric rings, each band telling the story of an important Saint performing whatever task got him or her beatified. I didn't look twice at any of it.

  I found an empty seat waiting for me at the woman's left hand. I was almost touched. Unfortunately, it meant sitting across from Sir Erroll and the brooding black stormcloud over his head. I parked myself in the chair, nodded to everyone, and started on the flagon of wine already set beside my plate.

  To my surprise, the person sitting next to me was Aemedd, still pale and wan. I couldn't tell if he looked better or worse than before. If nothing else, I admired the way he bitterly clung to life.

  “Byren,” he said, “you look like you've seen a ghost.” His voice had an odd, warbling kind of wheeze to it, like wet marbles rattling in an empty box. The teeth in his smile looked drawn and loose.

  Delicacy didn't come naturally to me. Straining, I lied, “I ran into an old Army friend. Someone I thought was dead.”

  At least I couldn't see Nerell from my seat, with the King and the other tables behind me.

  Lazy, half-lidded eyes blinked at me. “How serendipitous. Lost friends found again are a fine thing.” Raising his cup, the professor tried to find enough breath to make a toast, but dissolved into gurgling coughs before he could utter word one.

  Faro picked up where Aemedd had left it. “Absent companions, found again or not.” I saw his lips move for an added prayer before he put the cup to his lips.

  I did him one better. “To Adar.”

  Everyone in our little group drank to that. It was a deserved salute to the creepy, dangerously insane little boy who saved us all, whether he meant to or not.

  So we tucked into the feast, in a restrained, highborn sort of way. This was the King's hall. Everyone stayed on their best behaviour, even those least expected to be.

  I didn't have much of an appetite anyway. I picked at the food without paying attention to what it was or how it tasted. The meeting with Nerell had my stomach turning loops. Every few minutes the thought would hit me like a battering ram, I have a son.

  I didn't speak or listen to anyone for the rest of the meal. I couldn't keep a coherent sentence in my head. Me, in too much of a mess to eavesdrop! I wondered how much time had to pass before I could politely excuse myself. The need to be alone with my thoughts was fierce.

  “Byren.”

  Her voice quieted all my inner chaos in an instant. It was the first thing the woman had said to me all night. I swallowed and waited for a command from those smiling, ruby-red lips. “My brother will retire in a moment, and most everyone else will too. Stay. The rest of you,” she slid her gaze over the others, “I'll speak to each of you later. Don't get too comfortable here. We must be on our way.”

  People knew when she'd dismissed them. As the King rose and bade everyone a good night, they left by ones and twos. Aemedd wanted to argue, to be accepted back into her confidence, but he knew his limitations. He barely had the strength to stand.

  The look Sir Erroll gave me was murderous.

  The doors of the Great Hall were flung open, and guests cleared out in a steady stream, to coaches and carriages and fine horses. They were only a small smattering of the lords, ladies, knights, merchants and other influential people of Kingsport. This had been only a small party to welcome Sir Graeme and his lovely lady wife. Even so, if all the city's nobles ever decided to show up at once, the Hall could seat them with room to spare.

  Staying behind, I tried to guess the woman's plan. I wondered what she could possibly want to confide in me here. She gave no sign of it until, to my horror, she sidled across to the King's table and threw her arms around Sir Graeme's beloved.

  “Nerell,” she said with endless delight, “I'm so glad you came.”

  “I am ever your faithful servant, Milady.”

  The two had to be terribly close. Even when the embrace broke, they only separated far enough to hold hands.

  Nerell glanced over her shoulder to a tall, dark, well-muscled man whom I could only assume was Sir Graeme of Gernholm. Much too dark to be a Gernlander by birth. He kept one hand on the shoulder of the young boy in front of him. Like a father. My emotions were all a whirl, so I tried to choke them down and feel nothing.

  “Dearest,” said Nerell, “would you take Calum up to the room? We have so much catching up to do, Ioanna and I, and I wouldn't wish to bore you with girlish chatter.”

  Sir Graeme would, of course. He took the boy out the side door and vanished. It left us in a relative pool of privacy. The only other people left were a group of young men and women gossiping in the corner. Servants flitted around clearing the tables, but they gave everyone as wide a berth as possible.

  The two women resumed their conversation without missing a beat. Nerell went on, “Saints, it has been an age, hasn't it? A year? Two?”

  “About that.”

  “Somebody told me a while ago that you'd taken to the open road. I almost didn't believe it until I got your letter. I hope you've been keeping yourself safe, Anna.”

  She threw a playful glance at me. “Safe enough. In fact, Ell, I'd like you to meet one of my most dedicated protectors.”

  “Oh?” Nerell covered her mouth with her hand, trying to mask a giggle that was too loud and genuine to be hidden. Amusement danced in her eyes. “I believe I've already made his acquaintance. How do you do, Master Byren.”

  Keeping a grip on myself, I bowed low and took her offered hand. My lips brushed the back of her white silk glove.

  The woman watched our exchange in stunned silence. Surprise showed in the arch of her eyebrows and her wooden lack of expression. A flush crept into her cheeks, and she almost, almost stammered. “That's... good.” She didn't sound entirely sure whether it was. “Suffice it to say, I trust Karl implicitly.”

  “Then we really do have a great deal to talk about. Your chambers?”

  The woman nodded.

  I sat on a plush sofa next to Nerell, patterned in flowers of delicate embroidery, opposite Ioanna in a matching chair. There wasn't a hint of awkwardness between those two. They exchanged casual touches, whispers and giggles, the way women did in private. Only I sat ramrod-straight amid the cushions, with a lump in the pit of my stomach the size of Winter Court, wanting to be sick.

  How did this happen? It went against the most important rule of courtship: Never, ever, ever let past and present lovers meet. No matter how long it's been, no matter whether or not you've gone to bed with your current sweetheart, no matter if she doesn't even know you want her. It's a bad idea in any situation.

  Here and now, there was nothing I could do but watch the metaphorical cart go over the cliff's edge. The
y were old friends and confidantes. The minute they got some time alone without me, the woman would know everything, sure as sunrise. If she didn't already. Nerell might simply have left out the detail of my name.

  Adultery was among the least of my crimes, but all the same, I wanted Ioanna to think well of me.

  “It's been a long time since I used our cipher,” Nerell intimated. “You must tell me if I've read everything correctly.”

  “Do you still have the letter?”

  She arched a shrewd eyebrow. “Of course not, Anna. I burned it.”

  “Good. Caution first, and speak of nothing outside this room. This is one of the few places in Winter Court without a little bird listening in the walls.” She sighed, letting out some tension. “Maybe I'm being overzealous. My brother seems to truly believe he has me cowed. Still, he's surprised me once or twice in his life.”

  So she began to explain her strategy. Since Nerell and Sir Graeme were only in Kingsport for another day, the idea was to stow away in their train of coaches. Once we made it out of the city, we'd mount up and ride like Hell for the Six Rivers, keeping our fingers crossed that they hadn't flooded yet. Ships were out of the question. It was overland or nothing.

  The greatest challenge would be to keep everyone from finding out about our escape until it was too late. Her absence would be noticed immediately. We needed a pretext to get her out of the castle, one that wouldn't arouse a lot of suspicion. The last thing she needed was a platoon of Household troops appointing themselves as a bodyguard.

  The rest of us were either badly watched or not at all. King Lauric clearly didn't intend to keep the others here. Hoping that we'd bugger off on our own, was my guess. It would be hours before anyone realised we weren't coming back.

  “So, to the fulcrum of our plan,” she said and threw me a long, langorous look. “I want you to go somewhere and cause a scene. I'll leave the details to you, we merely want a good pretext for Faro to come fetch me. News will spread, and Sir Erroll will insist on accompanying me. The Professor can slip out on his own. The Harari, too.”

  A frown creased my forehead as I gave it some thought. “It could work, but... Milady, no one from the castle might think much of it, but what if someone local intervenes? The constable, maybe? And there's soldiers everywhere.”

  “Are you saying a constable or my brother's tin-plated fops could subdue you before we arrived, Karl? A brave and battle-hardened soul such as yourself?”

  The way she said it, in that soft, lilting, mocking tone, it was a savage attack on my manhood. I flinched and looked at the floor as my blood began to boil.

  “No,” I said hoarsely. My throat had gone dry. “It would take a regiment.”

  Nerell laughed into the back of her hand. The gesture made all her worry lines and crow's feet practically disappear. “Oh, Anna, you are cruel. Look at him. He'd level mountains for you.”

  “Would he?” the woman cooed, studying my profile. “Perhaps when I need some mountains levelled, I shall call on him again.”

  “And you wonder why you never married! Give the poor man some recognition.”

  “You wound me, Ell. My esteem comes in many forms.”

  “I don't doubt that. I also know you better than you think, dear heart. I can see the spell you've put him under.”

  “Ell! What I give him is not‒”

  Something cut her off. A sharp, flat sound that cleaved through her sentence and the thought behind it. It was my voice. It said, “Enough.”

  “If you wish to discuss me,” I went on, “at least have the courtesy of doing it behind my back.”

  The ensuing silence was deep and deafening. Two pairs of rich, beautiful, unreadable eyes stared at me. Two scarlet-lipped mouths gaped in shock. I made the barest hint of a bow to each of them. “Ladies, I believe our business is concluded. Goodnight.”

  I walked out of the room with a small sliver of dignity still intact.

  After all, what was she going to do ‒ break my contract?

  Stewing in my bed, staring sleepless a the ceiling, I wrestled with the idea of getting back at her somehow. I ought to make her realise how much she needed me. She hinged her entire escape plan on me, for God's sake. Maybe I could use it to make her sweat. A bit less puppetry, a bit more respect, that was all I wanted.

  There was only one problem. She wouldn't break the contract, and neither would I. I'd cut my finger and put down my name. I'd already lost the Army. I didn't want to lose what honour I had left.

  Damn her. Damn the pair of them.

  “Lord,” Halla's voice came out of the darkness, tiny and hesitant, “you are troubled?”

  I realised I'd been grinding my teeth without knowing it. I forced my jaws to relax, letting out a deep, weary sigh. “Women, Halla. Nothing vexes a man quite like them.”

  “Then you love someone?”

  “I suppose I do.” I looked through the black, to the spot where I heard her shallow breathing. “Have you ever loved a man?”

  She swallowed. I could hear her blush. “Once, Lord.”

  “Good.” Turning back to the ceiling, I bit my tongue. I knew that tone of voice. If I invited her, she'd come, without complaint. “Don't be too free with your affections, Halla. It comes back to you in the end.”

  “I... Yes, Lord.”

  I reached blindly for my wine cup. Drank it dry, turned over, and tried to sleep. In a few days I'd either be riding hard through rough country, or swinging on a gibbet. What a lovely thought.

  Silence settled in again for my last night at Winter Court. It was dark and final.

  The morning came and went. I took a bath, let Halla shave me, and ate my fill at breakfast and lunch. Everyone around the table gave me weighty looks, but kept their mouths shut. I wondered how much they knew about the plan. Knowing what I knew of the woman, probably no more than they needed to.

  Thinking, plotting, I made up my mind. The Black Lion was the obvious place. Maybe I could get the proprietor to play along and run interference. A few inexpensive bribes could get a lot done in a hole like Tunson Down.

  Sir Erroll quit the table before he even finished his meal. To get away from me, no doubt. He left a half-full bowl of venison stew at his place. Aemedd departed a few minutes later. I stayed behind with Faro and Yazizi. It was awkward, but I had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.

  “I got your message,” said the squire, trying to be circumspect. “Are we still on for tonight?”

  I nodded and chewed.

  “A-Are you sure it'll be alright?”

  “Worry about yourself, my lad. I've seen you drunk before.”

  There was a knock on the open door. I turned to find Descard standing there, and I almost didn't recognise him out of uniform. Instead of Ranger grey he wore a full court ensemble tailored by a master. Every piece was as green as an emerald, but for a few bits of trim. Gold buttons, buckles and slashes. He looked a proper nobleman, aside from his hands, which were calloused and rough as sandpaper.

  “Byren, Faro, Yazizi.” He'd made a point of learning all our names on the trip from Grimsfield. “I wanted to say goodbye to you.”

  The squire froze solid. His eyes were wide, wondering how we'd been found out, until Yazizi poked him in the ribs. Coughing, he regained his composure.

  “Goodbye?” I asked casually. “What for?”

  Descard managed a sombre smile. “I'm being dispatched back to the front. My Kingdom needs her Rangers now more than ever. She calls, and I must answer.”

  Nothing to worry about, then. I threw a withering glance at Faro. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

  My stew forgotten, I stood up and made a small, awkward bow to Descard. Then the Ranger offered his hand and I clasped it. I told him, “I owe you my life, my Lord. My honour as well. Someday I hope to repay you.”

  “Thanks to you, Lady Ioanna is alive and free.” I almost smirked at his unironic use of the word 'free.' “Thanks to you, His Majesty raised me to full Baron with
hereditary lands and titles. The slate is clean.”

  It was nice of him to say, but nothing could convince me of that until I'd given him a life for a life, and honour for honour. Part of the soldier's unwritten code. Descard probably knew it too, but he had to try.

  Faro bowed stiffly before leaving. Yazizi acknowledged Descard with a nod, and gave me a wide, embarrassed berth. She'd avoided me ever since that night. Guilt twinged in my gut. I had treated her badly, and I knew it.

  “We leave in two days,” said Descard. “It'll be busy, I still have a lot of preparations to finish, so I might not get to see you before I go.”

  “Farewells are in order, then.” I shook his hand again, not sure what to do, how formal to be. I settled on, “Take care of yourself, my Lord. Stay alive.”

  “Please, call me Descard.”

  The moment passed, the handshake dissolved, and Descard d'Ost excused himself with a respectful nod. I watched him go, then sat down to finish my stew. God only knew when I'd have a decent lunch again.

  I wasted the rest of the day, avoiding people, doing nothing. The woman actually knocked on my door while I was staring at the ceiling. I pretended I wasn't in, and she left.

  Eventually I got bored and irritable ‒ it took some willpower to push away the desire for a drink ‒ and went out to the castle's drilling ground. A company of the Court Watch was being marched around the square. Parade-ready, all in lockstep. Toy soldiers, said a voice at the back of my mind, but that was being unkind. They were the designated defenders of the greatest fortress in the Kingdom, perhaps the world. They had to be every bit as good with those tall halberds as a front-line regiment. Not as good as the Angian Guard, obviously, but still.

  It felt right to wear my breastplate again. My hand rested on the pommel of Adar's sword. Despite the overcast sky, I shone like a hero out of story.

  A few men ‒ knights or lancers ‒ worked circles around several wooden pells with their longswords. The pells were dressed up like scarecrows, and each good strike shaved off bits of rag and straw. It wasn't too far from the Guard's drills for fighting on foot.