The Princess Knight

by Aiken G. A.

  Gemma looked at the list on the back of the map. “Wait a minute. These sects you have listed. These are all our enemies.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve actually burned these witches at stakes.”

  “At least six times in the last two hundred years.”

  “And didn’t we annihilate these temple virgins?”

  “Don’t be silly. We just burned their temple to the ground. But now we can say we know how they feel, can’t we?”

  “And these truce vicars—”

  “We cut out their tongues because we accused them of lying about us. Yes, that was an ugly period between our two groups. But all these sects are in as much danger as we are from Cyrus’s men. So I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to overlook our unfortunate history in order to move on to a bright and prosperous future. Together!”

  With a brusque pat to Gemma’s shoulder, Ragna mounted her horse and ordered everyone to move out. And she meant everyone. When Laila attempted to stay behind with the rest of Gemma’s original travel group, Ragna made it very clear that would not be permitted.

  Not wanting any more drama, Gemma told them all to go. Of course, Laila tried to argue, but Gemma wasn’t in the mood for well-reasoned centaur arguments. Nor was she in the mood for Samuel’s loyalty or her battle-cohorts’ willingness to risk Ragna’s wrath so they could stay by Gemma’s side. She wanted them all gone.

  The last thing Ragna did before she rode off with her entire army and all of Gemma’s friends was toss her a second travel bag. It wasn’t until Gemma opened it and found a white tunic with Morthwyl’s rune emblazoned on the front and back in bright red that she burst into tears and allowed herself to cry.

  By the time the two suns came up, her tears were gone and she was finally back in her chainmail, wearing the tunic of a high-ranking monk.

  She mounted Dagger and rode for about two hours until she pulled to a stop at the sight of the idiot sitting under a tree. Eating apples.

  “Took you long enough,” he complained between bites.

  “What are you doing here, Quinn?”

  “Couldn’t let you go alone. Poor sweet thing like you. All alone out here? Men might take advantage. You’re so weak and frail. Just look at you. Can you even walk on those tiny little feet of yours or does that horse have to carry you?”

  Only Quinn of the Scarred Earth Clan could make her crack a smile after the last few hours. Only him. And they both knew it.

  “Only when I ask him nicely.” She held her hand out and he tossed her one of the apples from a small bag. Where he’d found that bag out here, where she knew of no nearby towns, she had no idea.

  “I see you dragged poor Scandal with you,” she pointed out before taking a bite.

  He glanced over at the big warhorse few men dared to ride. Not only was he too big for most but he was also mean. Very mean.

  “We have an agreement. I ride him as little as possible and he takes me where I need to go when I have to pretend to be human.”

  “So . . . did Laila order you to come with me?”

  “No. She just gave me the nod. And I slipped away when Ragna wasn’t looking.”

  “Ragna is always looking. Never forget that.”

  “Besides, I am dying to meet these other sects you mentioned. They sound fascinating.”

  “If any show up. Trust me when I say they are definitely our enemies.”

  Quinn stood. “Enemies today. Friends tomorrow. Especially when a fanatic is trying to kill all of you.”

  “And he’s doing a damn good job of it.”

  “Don’t be so negative. I have faith all will balance out in the end.”

  Tossing the core to the ground, Gemma asked, “Why are you staring at me that way, Amichai?”

  “I have a favor to ask you, but you won’t like it. But after the night we’ve had . . . I have no choice.”

  “After the night we’ve had, I’m too tired to slap you around if the request annoys me. So ask away.”

  “I need a hug and Kir isn’t here.”

  Gemma couldn’t help but frown. “Are you serious?”

  “Honestly? More serious than I’ve ever been.”

  Willing to play along, Gemma swung her leg over her saddle so she was still on it but facing the Amichai. She opened her arms to him and he leaned in, putting his own arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder.

  At first, Gemma felt very little. She simply gazed off behind Quinn, staring into the trees that lined the pathway. But his heavy head resting on her shoulder and his arms around her back . . .

  She thought about all she had lost, but she hadn’t lost everything. She still had her family. She still had her friends. And Thomassin, Bartholemew, Brín, and even Joshua had entrusted her with what was left of the brotherhood.

  Even this hug was better than nothing. It may have been with one of the most annoying beings in the universe but he always had her back, he was a damn good fighter, and he was one of the few who knew how to find humor even at the absolute worst moments.

  Before Gemma knew it, she was off her horse and the only thing holding her up was her grip on Quinn’s neck and his hold on her waist.

  “Can we just stay here like this?” Quinn asked. “At least for a few more years?”

  “Sadly, no.” Gemma turned her head to the side and rested it on Quinn’s shoulder. “But I think we can at least get away with a few more minutes.”

  “I guess that’s something.”

  For now, it would have to be.

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 14

  For four days they waited at the appointed location. For four days, they kept a lookout for any messengers or black crows or white doves with notes tied to their legs. But there was nothing.

  “Think they’re all dead?” Quinn finally had to ask when the fourth day was reaching its end.

  “I don’t know. But I’m ready to leave.” She began to pace. While the Amichai had been quite patient, she had grown restless after the first day. Mostly because Ragna had given her so little information. How long was Gemma supposed to wait? Days? Weeks? Years?

  She’d forgotten how frustrating that woman could be to report to. You never knew exactly what she wanted. Sometimes she wanted you to follow your instincts and make solid, logical decisions. Other times she wanted you to ask follow-up questions and when you didn’t, she assumed you were stupid or trying to “take over.”

  Gemma didn’t have time to play Ragna’s mind games.

  “Come on. We’re leaving.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  They packed up their saddlebags, mounted their horses, and rode off. They’d only traveled a few miles when lightning struck so close to Gemma’s horse that it reared to the side and began to go down.

  Gemma rolled off so Dagger didn’t fall on her legs, possibly crushing one or both. By the time she got back to her feet, she saw more lightning strikes, hitting the ground randomly. But there were no clouds in the sky. No rumbles of thunder. No signs of storms.

  Dagger did fall to his side but was also unharmed. Gemma got the horse back on his feet and slapped his rump to send him off at a run. Then she pulled her sword and caught the shield that Quinn tossed her. They took cover behind a big tree just as massive winds began to blow.

  “What’s going on?” Quinn yelled over the screaming wind.

  “A battle of the idiots!” She pointed at two black-robed men. “War priests against”—she gestured at two young women in flowing white gowns—“temple virgins”—she leaned around Quinn and motioned to men in bright gray satin robes, the lower halves of their faces covered by black cloth—“against divine assassins.”

  “They’re not the ones we’re supposed to be—”

  “Of course they are!”

  “Perfect. Now what?”

  “You go out there.”

  “Me? Why the fuck would I go out there?”

  “You said centaurs can’t be touched by mag
icks, right?”

  “Charms. Curses. Spells. They don’t harm my kind. But bolts of lightning and massive windstorms and . . . ?”

  They silently watched an elk spin by, carried by the insane wind one of the fighting pairs had unleashed.

  “Yeah,” Quinn admitted, still watching that poor elk, “I can’t fight that.”

  * * *

  Ragna couldn’t believe how easy it was to walk into the queen’s castle. No one stopped her. No one questioned her. Her army was still several leagues away, but she wanted to see what she was dealing with before bringing her monk-knights here.

  Of course, she was wrapped in the robes of a healer nun, but still . . . during wartime, questions should be asked. But no. Nothing.

  Disgusted by the lack of castle security, she turned to walk back out but stopped when a metal hammer hit her in the back of the leg.

  “Who dares invade my queendom, foul beast?”

  Ragna looked down at the chubby child attacking her with what appeared to be a baby-sized blacksmith hammer.

  “Speak before I destroy you and all you love!”

  “Sorry! Sorry!” An older child ran into the hall and grabbed at the hammer but the younger one ran around Ragna, using her as a shield. “Give me that hammer, you little cretin!”

  “Come get it, demon!”

  “Mum! Endelyon is threatening the nuns again with her hammer!”

  “Your mum is at the forge!” someone yelled back from deep within the castle. “Want me to get your father?”

  The elder girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother.”

  “Ha! No one will stop me! For I am ruler of—oof!”

  A little boy, near the age of the younger girl, tackled her to the ground with such force that Ragna wondered if he’d possibly broken her bones. He yanked the hammer from the child’s hand, waved it in her face, then ran from her. The girl scrambled to her feet and went after her brother, screaming, “I cannot rule without my hammer! Give me back my hammer!”

  “Sorry, Sister,” the older girl said with a quick curtsey before she followed the smaller children.

  Now Ragna was doubly disgusted. A child taking care of a child? Who was overseeing this place? Who was on guard? And where was this precious Queen Keeley she’d been hearing so much about?

  * * *

  “Can’t you fight them with your own magicks?” Quinn asked as the winds finally died down but the lightning strikes increased.

  “What magicks?”

  “You’re a war monk!”

  “I raise the dead!”

  “Is that all you can do?”

  “Nooo. Of course not!” Gemma shrugged. “But studying magicks never interested me as much as my combat lessons.”

  “So what can you use against them?”

  “Well . . . I can throw enemies around a little bit. I can, uh . . . um . . .”

  The pause went on for so long that Quinn finally snapped, “That’s it?”

  “Not so loud!”

  “Ragna sent you here alone to prove a point, didn’t she?” Quinn guessed. “Because I honestly don’t know how we’re going to handle these people without any magick skills at our fingertips. No wonder she didn’t stop me from riding after you.”

  “Oh, calm down. We just need to distract them. That’s all you ever need to do with magick—distract those wielding it.”

  “And how do you propose we do that, O brilliant one?”

  The fight behind them began to pick up again. Boulders flying, lightning striking, the wind increasing once more. That’s when Gemma spotted the elk again. Quinn saw her smile and he immediately shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “No. We’re not using him.”

  “He’s perfect.”

  “The fact that he survived the first round is enough. We’re not torturing that poor animal again.”

  “Don’t be a big baby.”

  “Stop going out of your way to be the opposite of Keeley. Because we both know your sister would never do this.”

  “Fine,” she said, no longer smiling, but smirking. Smirking at his expense. “You know what that leaves us.”

  “Yes!” he snapped. “I’m aware.”

  * * *

  Ragna decided to search the queen out. She’d heard the new royal had started off as a blacksmith, so she headed first to the forge. There she found a big-shouldered woman who matched the description of Queen Keeley. Long dark hair. Giant shoulders. Large muscles. And a way with steel. When Ragna entered the forge, the woman held up a sword that had the monk pausing for a moment. She’d never seen such a beautiful weapon. It was true. She preferred her weapons plain and deadly. She didn’t need fancy markings on the blade or jewels on the hilt. She was a monk, after all.

  But still . . . that sword was a thing of beauty.

  “Queen Keeley?” Ragna asked.

  The woman laughed. “Sorry, Sister. You’re looking for my daughter. Anyone seen me girl?” she called out to the other blacksmiths and apprentices working with her.

  When the answers were all “No,” the woman tossed that beautiful weapon into a barrel filled with other beautiful swords. “I’m sure she’s around somewhere, though, Sister.”

  “You’re the queen mother?” Ragna had to ask.

  “Guess I am,” she said with another laugh, turning back to her forge and all that heat.

  Ragna was a few feet away from the forge when she heard a bellowed “Oy!”

  She froze, her shoulders locking, left eye twitching. Had the queen mother just “oyed” her?

  Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Try that unfinished building over on the east lawn, yeah? She might be over there. That’s where the pack stays.”

  “The pack?”

  “Of her wolves. That’s where they’ve started keeping their pups the last few days. Since the dwarves don’t seem to mind ’em.”

  “Dwarves?”

  “Yeah. You’ll probably find her there.”

  Ragna forced a polite, saintly smile. “Thank you.”

  “Sure,” the royal said with a hammer wave before disappearing back into her forge.

  * * *

  “This is humiliating,” Quinn complained, arms folded across his massive chainmail-covered chest.

  “I know,” Gemma soothed. “I know.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he accused. “You’re enjoying my humiliation!”

  “Of course not! But I don’t see any other option.”

  As if to push that point home, the elk leaned up against Quinn as he fearlessly grazed on the grass at the centaur’s feet.

  “You’re both in on this together . . . aren’t you?”

  “That’s silly.” Gemma grabbed Quinn’s hand and gazed deeply into his eyes. “Now you just need to trust me.”

  “Except you know I don’t trust you.”

  “That’s what makes this so wonderful.”

  * * *

  Ragna headed east until she found a half-finished building. There was a lot of hammering coming from inside, so she entered.

  Although she could hear continued work, Ragna saw only two people inside the main room. One was another big-shouldered woman with massive muscles exposed by a sleeveless shirt and a long dark braid that reached down her back. She was facing away from Ragna and was deep in conversation with a monk. A pacifist monk based on his bright yellow robes.

  Robes so bright, Ragna felt as if she was gazing directly into one of the suns. She felt an urge to shield her eyes.

  She didn’t want to interrupt the hushed conversation going on between the pair, so she patiently waited.

  Examining the building she was in, she wondered if it was being built or destroyed. She wasn’t sure. There were stone pieces of rubble littering the floor as if someone had already come in and knocked parts of the walls down. Hammering continued in distant parts of the building but Ragna saw no evidence of builders or stonemasons wandering around. Perhaps they
were avoiding the queen.

  Which begged the question . . . could the queen not find a better place to have her conversation with the monk?

  Finally, Ragna spotted the first sign of the “pack” that the queen mother had mentioned. Two wolf pups scrambled through the rubble before climbing into the queen’s lap. She’d thought the queen mother had meant dogs, but Ragna had known some royals who made wild animals their “pets.” Wolves or jungle cats or sometimes the occasional bear. Although that was always risky.

  But these wild wolf pups didn’t interrupt the queen’s flowing conversation with the peace monk, even when one of them climbed up her bare arm onto her shoulder.

  The pup pawed at stray hairs hanging from her braid, rubbed its face into her neck, and licked her ear before finally settling onto her shoulder. Ragna thought it had fallen asleep until it blinked open its lids and looked at Ragna with eyes of flame. Actual flame.

  That’s when it struck her like a lightning bolt. This was no mere wild animal that the queen had managed to tame with treats and a soothing voice. That wasn’t what this thing was at all.

  Ragna had been holding her hands clasped demurely together, but she now separated them, moving them to her sides. She lowered her head, her gaze locking on the thing that rested on the queen’s shoulder.

  The pup, barely a few weeks old, watched Ragna closely and, as she moved, it slowly rose up on its paws and bared its fangs. Blood dripped from its mouth rather than drool and it gave a low warning growl. The other pup jumped from the queen’s lap to the ground and mirrored its sibling’s stance.

  The peace monk leaned past the queen’s massive shoulders. “Ahhh, Sister, let’s be calm, shall we?” the monk urged Ragna.

  She pointed at the unholy beasts with one finger. “You allow those things here, Brother?”

  The queen’s head turned slightly, so she caught sight of Ragna from the corner of her eye.

  “You understood the agreement when you came here,” the monk went on. “We are safe on the queen’s territory, and we may worship as we like, but no human sacrifices, and we must leave the wolves alone.”

  “And all of you agreed to this . . . heresy?”

  “It’s a small price to pay,” the monk argued, “considering the alternative.”