The Princess Knight

by Aiken G. A.

  “Because you have no excuse.”

  “Fine. You want to hear the reason why I left the way I did? We’ll take it to the grand master. Joshua can explain it to you in great detail. Will that satisfy you?”

  It was as if the air had left the passageway. The three cohorts froze, gazing blindly at Gemma.

  “What?” Gemma asked, feeling real fear for the first time since she’d entered the monastery walls. “What’s wrong?”

  Katla’s face turned bright red but her anger was no longer directed at Gemma. Instead, she stormed to the chamber doorway and turned her rage on the master sergeant.

  “You didn’t tell her?” she demanded, her voice low but barely controlled.

  The master sergeant forced himself to look at Katla, but Gemma could tell it was a battle for him. He was terrified of her. “I was not given leave to—”

  “You didn’t tell her?” Katla exploded. Kir appeared next to her, his big hand landing on his twin’s shoulder. He wanted to soothe her, but knew he couldn’t. So, Gemma knew, he was ready to grab her if he had to.

  Gemma’s right finger twitched but she held the rest of her body still as she asked, “Didn’t tell me what, Katla?”

  It was Shona who replied.

  “Joshua is dead, Gemma.” Her tone was flat, unemotional. The same way she always spoke unless she was in the midst of battle. But it didn’t matter how she said it; Gemma didn’t believe it. Not Joshua.

  “That’s not right. He can’t be.”

  “It’s true,” Shona insisted. “He died nearly a year ago.”

  “But I would have heard if he’d died in war. That news would have spread faster than—”

  “He didn’t die in war. He died in Challenge.”

  Gemma’s fingers curled into tight fists and she turned away from her battle-cohorts. She wanted to believe they were lying to her. That this was some fabrication. Or a grand scheme Joshua had concocted, and he was alive somewhere, ready to strike his enemies down. But grand schemes like that were not Joshua’s way. They never had been. He believed in directness and honesty and valor.

  “Before we go on,” the master sergeant said into the silence, “perhaps Brother Gemma and her associates should be shown to private cells so they can get cleaned up before this goes any further.”

  Just hearing the master sergeant’s voice and his attempts at placating her after he’d withheld the truth from the very beginning . . .

  Gemma faced the chamber and slowly walked toward the master sergeant within. He saw her coming and began to back up.

  The Challenge was the old way war monks used to fight for the title of grand master. But in the last five hundred years or so, after the Challenge ended up killing more monks than making them grand master, it became more common for a high-ranking monk to be voted in. But, like most of the Old Ways, it was still invoked every once in a while by some jackass.

  Gemma didn’t have a problem with the Challenge, especially where Joshua was concerned. He’d been her mentor. She knew what a fighter he was. Knew how good he was. Anyone who could truly take him deserved to be grand master. But the fact that no one was telling her the identity of the new grand master . . . that was a problem.

  “Who is it?” she asked the master sergeant as she stalked him across the open space between them. He’d finally stopped moving when he realized how weak it made him look. Backing away from her like that.

  “I have not been given leave—”

  “Don’t make me ask you more than once, Alesandro.”

  “You fail to realize the situation you’re in, traitor. Perhaps I should point out to—”

  Gemma wrapped her hand around his throat, lifted the master sergeant off his feet, and then dropped him to the ground. She squeezed until she knew his bones were about to start cracking.

  “I am quickly running out of the patience I was never born with,” she growled.

  “It’s Sprenger!” one of the lower-ranking monks screamed. “It’s Sprenger!”

  Eyes wide, Gemma released Alesandro and faced Katla, Kir, and Shona.

  Katla stepped forward. “Gem—”

  Gemma raised her fists, not wanting to hear any bullshit.

  Instead, she barked, “With me! With me!”

  She started walking but several of the monks quickly stepped in her way because—she was guessing—their orders had been to keep her in the chamber. So she tossed them out of the way with an angry slash of her hands, utilizing an energy spell she had never managed to master fully before. But she was just so angry at the moment, it worked beautifully. She sent her fellow monks flying and walked out with no one else attempting to stop her, her battle-cohorts right behind her.

  * * *

  Quinn and the others still outside the chamber watched as armed monks went flying. A few seconds later, Gemma stormed out with her friends.

  “I’ve never seen her do that before,” Keran laughed, gawking after her cousin. “That was amazing!”

  “Whatever is going on,” Laila whispered to him, “this is bad.”

  Quinn already knew that. He could see how bad it was just by looking at the stunned monks picking themselves off the ground.

  “Move,” he urged, pushing everyone down the passageway. “Everyone move.”

  “Where are we going?” Keran asked.

  “I don’t know, but I say we head down to the first floor.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they can’t throw us to our deaths from the first floor. That’s why.”

  Keran blinked. “Excellent point.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Gemma kneeled in front of Joshua’s tunic and sword. All his other possessions had been burned on the funeral pyre after his death.

  “I’m so sorry, Gemma,” Katla said, sitting on the floor behind her and stretching out her legs. “I really thought you knew. I sent you a message. At least I thought I had.”

  “Sprenger must have stopped it,” Shona said, her back resting against the wall of the Chamber of the Honored Dead, her knees raised, her arms resting on them.

  “Sprenger knew I would have come back,” Gemma guessed.

  Because she would have. She would have come back for Sprenger. She wouldn’t have let him remain grand master for two minutes much less a year. Not him. Never him. She’d rather have a large rat in the position than that reprehensible bastard.

  “How bad has it been since he—”

  “He’s still on his best behavior,” Katla assured her. “It’s too soon for him to start all that again.”

  “But he will. He will start again. Men like him . . . they don’t stop. Joshua knew that. He should have let me kill him when I had the chance.”

  “He didn’t because you would have burned.”

  Gemma stood and began to pace, stopping briefly to stroke Kir’s hair and kiss the top of his head. It was all she could do while he sobbed—again, she was sure—over the death of Joshua.

  “There’s no way that Challenge could have been fair. Were you here?”

  “We were. Barely made it. Sprenger’s allies did their best to make sure we weren’t here for it. But Kir knew something was wrong.”

  “I just felt it,” he sobbed out. “I just knew something was wrong.”

  Gemma went to kneel behind the big man to comfort him, but when she put her arms around his shoulders, she ended up hanging from him like a monkey from a tree. Her knees never touched the ground.

  “We got back in time to see the beginning of it . . . and the end,” Shona said.

  “I tried to take Joshua’s place,” Katla admitted. As grand master, he was allowed a champion to fight for him.

  “But, of course, he said no.”

  Katla sighed. Loud and long. “Of course he did. But, honestly, Gemma, I didn’t see anything wrong with the Challenge. None of us did. We watched closely. It appeared to be a fair fight.”

  “Joshua was older,” Shona added. “And he didn’t go into battle the way he once did. He was running
a monastery, probably didn’t have time to train as he used to. Sprenger took advantage of that.”

  Gemma didn’t want to hear logic. She wanted to hear the Challenge was all a vast plot to destroy the best thing that had ever happened to this monastery. But no one had loved Joshua the way she did, and she wouldn’t hold that against them.

  Gemma kissed Kir on his sweet face before releasing her hold and landing on the ground.

  “What about those still loyal to Joshua?” she asked, standing up and pacing again.

  “Sprenger plays nice with them. Even Thomassin, Bartholemew, and Brín.”

  The three elders that had been Joshua’s battle-cohorts. The only three who understood exactly how Gemma felt at this very moment.

  “I doubt they trust him,” Shona went on, “but they also know that Sprenger has quite a few allies on his side as well.”

  “When it comes down to it,” Katla ruminated, “it will be the Sprenger allies versus the Joshua allies.”

  “Monk against monk.” Gemma shook her head. “The one thing Joshua never wanted. But he didn’t want Sprenger in charge either.”

  “He didn’t want him in charge? Or you don’t want Sprenger in charge?”

  “You know why he can’t be in charge, Katla. He’s a man who can never have power.”

  Shona watched her for a moment before asking, “But didn’t you come here for another reason, Gemma?”

  “What other reason?” Completely confused, Gemma gazed at her cohorts until she remembered why she had traveled so many miles back to her past. “Oh, gods! Yes! Uh . . . the destruction of monasteries, churches, temples, nunneries.” She shook her head, trying to think like a representative of her sister and not a monk-knight loyal to Grand Master Joshua. “Ummm . . . Keeley is offering protection to any religious sect that wants it. You can stay in her territory. That’s why I’m here. At least until we know who’s doing this and how they can be stopped.”

  “Who’s doing this?” Katla repeated. “We know who’s doing this.”

  “It’s Beatrix, isn’t it?” Gemma immediately accused. “My father’s not so sure, but I think it’s Beatrix.”

  “It’s not Beatrix.”

  Dammit! “It’s not? Are you sure? It seems like something Beatrix would do.”

  “It’s not Beatrix.”

  “Then who? It can’t be those idiot twins. They can barely scratch their balls.”

  “It’s Cyrus the Honored,” Shona told her, stretching her arms over her head.

  “It can’t be,” Gemma argued. “I thought he was the good brother.”

  “In that family, good is relative.”

  “There’s something else you should know,” Katla said, standing up and adjusting her weapons.

  “What?”

  “Sprenger’s already made a deal for protection . . . with Beatrix and King Marius. In fact, she’s made a protection deal under her husband’s banner with religious sects all over this valley. From here to about five hundred leagues farther east.”

  Gemma stared at her battle-cohort until she finally raised her hands, balled them into tight fists, and, through gritted teeth, howled out, “I. Hate. Herrrr!”

  Katla nodded. “I am aware. I believe it was one of the first things you ever told me. That and it was nice not having to share your bed with three other siblings. And a pig.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Gemma said. Calm now that she’d gotten her hatred of Beatrix off her chest. “Tommy the Pig. My da loved that pig.”

  * * *

  It seemed the safest place to wait. The stables. The horses didn’t complain and the squires were too afraid to say anything at all about the Amichais as long as they didn’t bother the horses.

  Eventually, Gemma found them.

  “There you are.”

  “I enjoy the way you make it sound as if we deserted you,” Laila pointed out. Quinn’s sister was more than annoyed.

  “Have you seen Ainsley?” Quinn asked.

  “Who?”

  He frowned. “Your sister?”

  “She’s at home . . . isn’t she?”

  “She came with us.”

  “Oh . . . oh! That’s right. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Or that she’s your sister?”

  Keran stepped in front of Quinn. “I thought you lot were the drinking type of monks.”

  “We are,” Gemma said.

  “Then where’s the ale?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been here for two years,” she added when her cousin’s eyes grew wide. “Maybe they took a vow of celibacy since I’ve been gone.”

  “That’s no sex,” Laila corrected.

  “Is it? Well . . . they wouldn’t do that.”

  “What are the drinking rules here?” Keran pushed.

  “No drinking if we’re about to go to war. And maybe we are; I don’t know.”

  Quinn, not in the mood for any of this, pushed, “Can we get back to your sister?”

  “Which one?” Gemma asked.

  “The missing one?”

  “Which one’s that?”

  “Gemma!”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she finally said. “This . . . isn’t what I expected. I thought we’d be dealing with Grand Master Joshua.”

  “But we’re not because he’s dead,” Laila said.

  “Exactly. But there’s an even worse problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Sprenger’s in charge. And he shouldn’t be. Even worse, he’s already made a deal with Beatrix. She’s offered protection to every religious order in this valley.”

  “Great!” Keran cheered. “Then we can find your sister and go back home.”

  “I can’t go.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “You all can go. I’ve passed on Keeley’s message. And now we know who is behind the attacks. It’s Cyrus the Honored.”

  “I thought he was one of the good ones,” Farlan pointed out.

  “It seems he’s a religious fanatic. Anyway, with that information, Keeley can make her plans.”

  “But you’re staying here,” Quinn said.

  “Just for a little longer.”

  “But they keep calling you traitor.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And you’re staying where they call you traitor?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” Quinn asked politely, nodding toward the back stable doors.

  “Actually, I have to—hey!”

  He’d grabbed the back of her brown fur cape and dragged her toward the doors. When she began to put up a fight and the fur began to tear, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up, taking her out of the stables. Quinn looked around. He saw the monk who liked to hug everyone.

  “Brother Kir!”

  “Hello again, my new best friend!”

  “I’d like to talk to Brother Gemma alone. Can you recommend a place?”

  “Of course!”

  “Kir!” Gemma barked.

  “I’ll show you where the armor room is!”

  “Thanks, mate!”

  Quinn followed Kir, carrying Gemma under his arm. She didn’t say anything but he knew he’d be paying for this. But he needed answers.

  When they arrived at the armory, Kir unlocked it and let them in.

  “You know what?” Kir suggested. “To let you two have some privacy, I’ll be right outside, blocking the way. No one gets past me.”

  “Because you’re as big as a mountain.”

  “I am as big as a mountain!” Kir eagerly agreed.

  “Thank you, my new friend.”

  “I know we haven’t known each other long, Amichai, but I’ve decided I love you.”

  “And I love you!”

  Kir threw his arms open, and Quinn tossed Gemma inside so he could embrace the monk.

  “That’s not funny, Quinn!” Gemma yelled from within the room.

  They hugged and Quinn went inside wh
ile Kir closed the door behind them.

  Confident the monk was blocking the door as he’d promised, Quinn was about to face Gemma but she slapped the back of his head before he could.

  “Owwww! What was that for?”

  “Don’t toy with Kir!” she angrily whispered at him.

  “That’s your problem? I thought I’d get in trouble for carrying you around like a sack of grain.”

  “Kir is very sensitive. And you saying you love him?”

  “I do love that man.”

  “Because he does whatever you say?”

  “Yes. And he adores me, which shows he has excellent taste. Tell me, does he cry after every battle?”

  “Yes, and why am I in this room with you?”

  “So I can find out what the fuck is going on.”

  Quinn took Gemma’s hand and pulled her deep into a large armory that was empty of monks but filled with nice weaponry. Not as nice as the work of Keeley and her mother, but not bad at all.

  When he felt he was far enough away from the door so that even Kir couldn’t overhear them, Quinn asked, “So what the fuck is going on?”

  “You seriously dragged me all the way back here to ask me that again?”

  “Now you can answer me.”

  “I don’t have to answer you.”

  “Your silence confirms that you’re going to do something incredibly stupid.”

  “What?”

  “When you think you’re going to do something smart, you brag. You tell everyone. But when you don’t say anything . . . it’s because you know the rest of us will think it’s stupid. That’s why you didn’t tell us you were returning to the monastery in the first place. Because you knew we would think it was stupid.”

  “Stop saying stupid.”

  “Because what you’re about to do is—”

  “It’s not stupid!” Gemma paced away from him. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me. Or I start stomping around this place in my hooves and take a serious shit right in the middle of your Chamber of Vagary.”

  She faced him. “The chamber of what?” She rolled her eyes. “And you will do no such thing.”

  “Try me.” He stepped close to her, crossed his arms over his chest. “You do understand that I’m the crazy one in my family, don’t you?”

  “Pardon?”