Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  “He… he wasn’t, truth be told,” Shannon said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but he went out for a walk a few days ago, to take the air, and he was caught in a summer shower. Since then…”

  “Oh God.” She broke into a run,

  “Avondale!” Aiden called for her, but his voice was only a tickle in her mind; the little girl who had only her father in all the world was in charge, and she paid no heed to husband, nor child. She burst into his room without decorum, panting, and was hit suddenly by the smell of sickness; dusty and cloying, and rancid sweat all at once.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she said and ran to him, throwing her arms around him though he gasped under the weight of her, and burned like hellfire,

  “Avondale,” he said, voice tinged with a reedy wheeze, “you came?”

  “Of course,” she said, “of course I came, daddy.” He seemed to have shrunk to a shadow of himself. The bones under his eyes were sharp and prominent, his shoulders thin and brittle, his eyes almost milky.

  “And Aiden?”

  “I’m here, Ridgehand.” Aiden was standing at the door, his handsome face inscrutable. He walked to her fathers extended hand,

  “My son, you must take good care of her.” He said, and Aiden flinched, looking away,

  “I will do my best.” He said,

  “I can care for myself, Daddy, don’t worry yourself,” Avondale said, “you will see.” Her father nodded but said nothing. Avondale clutched his hand tighter,

  “You brought the Aledale girl with you, I hear.” Ridgehand said, throat clicking as he swallowed, “Sonja?” Avondale nodded,

  “Yes, she has been a great friend to me.” She said, and he smiled,

  “She will take care of you, I have no doubt.” He said with a laugh, “they call her the Lion of Aledale, the men on the battlefield. She would make a formidable king, but I fear she will never allow herself to be a Queen. Too much of her mother in her, and too little as well. Her father raised her for a son.”

  “She is a good woman.” Aiden said suddenly, “and a fine friend to Avondale, sire, you need not worry.” Ridgehand nodded,

  “Aiden,” he said, “I would speak with you alone soon, but first I wish the same of my daughter.” Aiden nodded, bowed, and left without complaint.

  Ridgehand motioned that she help him to sit; Avondale braced her shoulder under his arm and pushed while he wriggled into a comfortable position.

  “My love.” He said, “I hope you are not angry… Fiona wrote me,” Avondale closed her eyes,

  “Daddy-”

  “Avondale,” he held a hand up to silence her, “my love, my sweet girl, there was nothing you could have done,” He said, and her eyes welled, “but you should tell Aiden.” He raised his hand again when she tried to speak, coughing into the other, “when you see fit, my darling. When you see fit. This… child, do you wish it?”

  “I- I don’t know daddy,” she said, “it has done no wrong.” He nodded, “But…” the tears fell and he wiped them away,

  “If it were to be gone, life would be simpler.” He nodded, “I wish you to speak with Eramys, she was a great friend to Greendale, and no doubt Fiona can tell you where to find her. She may aid you in your choices, whatever they be.”

  Avondale stared into his milky eyes and felt the weight of his meaning,

  “Daddy-” she began, cut off by a low whimper, and he touched her cheek,

  “My love, when I was a young man,” he coughed, “when I was young, like Aiden, I would have said such a thing unforgiveable. I would have told you that you must bear it no matter the pain. But I am old, and I saw how your mother suffered…” his mouth twitched, “I saw her blood for days. Couldn’t escape it,” she wiped the corner of his mouth, foam beginning to form, “the womans lot, Avondale,” he said with clearer eyes, “is not an easy one, I’ve seen from a lifetime beside you all. You hold the right to make it a little easier where you can. Do what you must, and know you have my blessing and love in any case.” Avondale nodded, tears trickling down her neck,

  “And you mine, Daddy,” she said, kissing his burning forehead, “sleep. I will send Aiden to you in the morning.” He nodded and slipped away as if it was the easiest thing in the world. When his chest was rising and falling with a hoarse wheezing sound she slipped from the room. Aiden was leaning against the wall across from the doorway. “He will see you in the morning,” she said, “he is sleeping.” She curtsied and turned to walk away.

  “Avondale.” Aiden said, voice strained,

  “Aiden?” She turned to give him a brittle smile,

  “Avondale, I am sorry… I should have stayed, but it was… so much to take in.” He said, eyes downcast, “Forgive me?”

  “You don’t hate me?” She said, and those eyes she loved so were quick to find her,

  “No!” He said. He stepped forward to hold her, “I am… No, I could never hate you.” She closed her eyes,

  “Aiden.” She murmured, “Nor I you… You did all you could.”

  “I just…” he said, “I admit that I wondered why you did not fight him, but when you are so afraid-”

  “Why-?” Avondale pulled away,

  “Do not worry,” Aiden said, cupping her face as if her eyes were not burning with hurt and rage, “I forgive you.”

  “Forgive me? Why I did not fight him?” She pushed him away, “I fought, I fought until my fingernails bled, I begged for mercy and I found none.”

  “Avondale, I simply meant-”

  “You simply meant that if I had tried hard enough none of this would be so.” She said, body aching as if she had been kicked by a horse. Aiden opened his mouth, and then shut it, shrugging. She buckled, curling around her stomach as if she had been punched, “Oh.” It was meant to be sarcastic, an exclamation of surprise and disgust… but it sounded like the gasp a rabbit makes when its back is broken. “Oh.” She gripped her stomach, and he stepped forward,

  “Avondale-”

  “No!” She screamed, wincing at the volume, covering her mouth, “Do not touch me.” She said once her composure was regained. Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Shannon came into sight, sword drawn with Sonja and two other Kings Guards in tow, “Leave me, Aiden.”

  “Avondale, do not make a scene in front of the servants.” He hissed,

  “Leave me.” She raised her head and shouted, “Or I will show you how I fought. Leave me.” She sobbed, “Or I’ll show you how I was able to carry you home, to finish your work.” The silence that fell was complete; they were hearing the cry of his pride, writhing under the blow struck.

  “As you wish.” He said, jaw tight, and bowed before turning on his heel.

  Sonja stepped forward, and Avondale reached for her like a child reaching for its mother,

  “Oh Sonja… He does not hate me, it is so much worse…” she gasped like a landed fish, “He blames me. He blames me.” She buried her face in Sonja’s neck and sobbed,

  “Hey now,” Sonja said, “I’m sure he doesn’t, love, but hush. Don’t show yourself so.”

  “Why not?” Avondale wriggled away, seeing the servants, the guards, Shannon and the Golden Guard… all staring at her, though they were blurred by her tears. “Why shouldn’t I? It is not fair, Sonja, that monster, that beast… he…. And now I am to blame? For my own pain? Does he think I begged to be abused? Does he think I wanted to be beaten and starved and-”

  “Avondale.” Sonja wrapped her arms tight around her, “you’ll wake your father.” She said, and Avondale covered her mouth,

  “I fought, Sonja,” she said, “I did.”

  “I know, my friend,” she replied, “like a lion.” There were tears on her face when she pulled away, but they made her no less fearsome when she turned on the servants, “What the fuck are you staring at?” she said, “Draw the princess a bath, and bring us some wine. And keep your damn mouth shut or I’ll break it. All of you.”

  She ushered Avondale into her rooms and wiped her hair from her face,

 
; “Did he say so?” She asked,

  “He didn’t have to,” she turned her head away,

  “What did he say?” Sonja said, pressing her arm,

  “He said that he had wondered why I didn’t fight, but that he forgave me.” Avondale said, laughing with a hard, jerking shake of her head, throat tight and burning. Sonja hissed through her teeth,

  “Prick.” She grunted finally, “I’ll sort him.”

  “No. Sonja, please, I cannot… I don’t even wish to think of him.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. Sonja nodded and sighed, pulling her close,

  “Shall we drink wine and read the dirty book after your bath?” Sonja said, and Avondale laughed; the dirty book was a rather racy tome written by an anonymous man or woman, about a lady who has an affair with her groundskeeper. “We can play the game.”

  “The game?” Avondale laughed, “Was I drunk when we last played it?”

  “Yes,” Sonja laughed, “we take turns to read it out, and if you laugh before your page is up you have to drink your wine. If you manage it all you get a marker.”

  “I remember.” Avondale laughed, wiping her eyes, “Yes. But I’d better water the wine down. Fiona is convinced it’s not good for the baby. She thinks it’ll be stupid if I drink wine.”

  “Well, my mothers midwife says a wee lug will give it strong blood.” Sonja says,

  “Maybe if I water it down we’ll get a reasonably smart, strong blooded child?” Avondale said, snorting as if the idea were beyond hilarious. A light knocking came at the door,

  “Enter,” Sonja called, her voice like that of God,

  “The bath, M’ladies.” A serving girl curtsied, and three others carried it in half full. “More hot water to come…” she lingered with the others,

  “What?” Sonja said, brows drawing down,

  “It’s just… Princess?” The girl said, pulling her bonnet off,

  “Yes, Clara?” Avondale said wearily, smiling when the girls looked surprised,

  “My sister… she was… well, it happened to her to,” Clara said, face flushing, “and some of the men said it were her fault because she was walking home with Ma’s sewing by herself… but, the way I see it, it weren’t her fault.” Clara coughed nervously, “Not my fault is someone runs me down with their horse, it’s them that drives the horse. So it’s not your fault, neither, Princess… we don’t think so, none of us.”

  Avondale blinked a few times, clearing tears, and then drew a deep breath,

  “Thank you Clara, that’s… very kind of you to say.” She said, but when she left Avondale began to cry again,

  “Hey, what now?” Sonja said,

  “It was.” She said, sobbing between breaths, “It was nice to hear. I thought they all…”

  “Women know women,” Sonja said simply, and then motioned to the bath, “get in, then.” She helped her unlace, and folded her clothes up just like a handmaiden, Avondale remarked on it, but she only laughed, “I know how to be a woman, Avondale, I just don’t fancy it.” She started to scrub her hair,

  “You don’t have to do this, you’re not a servant.” Avondale protested weakly,

  “I know.” Sonja said, “Way I see it you need someone to take care of you, now. Who better than a friend?” They both knew who, but said nothing, “You would do it for me.” Avondale nodded, gripping her hand.

  “Thank you.” She said, Sonja simply scrubbed harder. Clara returned with buckets of water,

  “This one here by the fire’ll be hot, m’lady, and this one less so.” She said, “Would you have me stay?”

  “No, Clara, leave us.” Avondale said,

  “Yes’m. I shall send up Justine with some bread, cheese, and cakes after sundown. And more wine.” She curtsied and left with the grace of a cat.

  Sonja poured the fireside bucket at her feet, and the other over her head,

  “Feel better?” She asked, and Avondale nodded, “good. Wine?” She said, standing with a grunt and clicks from her knees,

  “Yes.” Avodale touched her stomach and imagined it round, riddled with the red marks she had seen on Fiona’s. Ugly and beautiful all at once. As if she had been broken and poorly stitched back together. She washed and let Sonja braid her hair in the way she did her own, then washed her friend’s hair as she bathed. Her body was scarred, broken in so many places, but so beautiful still.

  “How did you get these?” Avondale asked,

  “Stupidity.” Sonja laughed, “I thought I was invincible, but better swordsmen taught me different.” Avondale nodded and wrung her hair out,

  “Would you teach me?” She asked,

  “To fight?”

  “No. Yes.” She said, “Not with a sword. But with my hands? So that… I want to be capable.” Sonja turned in the bath to look at her,

  “Of course.” Sonja said with a nod, “we can begin tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Avondale said, blanching at the suddenness of it,

  “Why not? Can’t do it when you get ripe.” Sonja said with raised brows. Avondale nodded, chewing her lip,

  “Tomorrow, then.” She said and dragged the hair back into a thick bunch, loosely braiding it with clumsy fingers.

  CHAPTER IV

  “You failed.” Chei said; her face was as smooth as it had ever been, but the few lines it had gained were etched deeply. She had shepherded generations of young women to their final sacrifices, their passings to the hunting grounds, and still she remained as solid, as cold, as lofty as ever. Shaitani blinked,

  “Yes.”

  “He is dead?” Chei said, raising her brows,

  “Yes.”

  “And there is no child?”

  “No.” Shaitani said, looking down. “That…,” she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, “he had obsessions for another. I believe she has the Seed.”

  “Then we must have it,” Chei said, “or you must find another.”

  “Another tribute?” Shaitani said, rubbing her neck, “Is there one suitable?”

  “A few.” Pallas nodded, her hair now a silver halo around her head, dark eyes glittering like obsidian, “We prepared for such mistakes.”

  Shaitani licked her lips,

  “I will gain a suitable Seed,” she said, “and when I do I will destroy hers.” Pallas and Chei nodded approvingly,

  “And if you do not.” Chei said, “We will take hers. It is all the same.” Shaitani nodded, but her eyes narrowed. “Rest,” she stood suddenly, “we will send something to perk you, and have the slaves gather Galerion from the desert.” They left Shaitani to the darkness and whispers. She clenched her bandaged hands and touched the fresh human skin on her body as the door to her chamber swung open once more. A man walked in, tall, handsome, but afraid. When he saw her he froze,

  “Come.” She said and crooked her finger. He did so, almost as if sleepwalking. She spread her legs and pointed, “show me what they teach you here.” He nodded and knelt. She let her head fall back, humming quietly; it was less than spectacular, but he would do. The tension seeped from her body slowly, and suddenly there was the smell of bread,

  -bread fresh from the oven. Golden like sunshine and honey, she reached for it, but a large hand stopped her,

  “You’ll hurt yourself, Avondale.” A voice said in her ear, “Wait.”-

  Shaitani gasped and sat upright, pushing the man away,

  “Get away from me.” She said, standing quickly enough to wrench open a few wounds, and he cowered on the floor. Shaitani gripped a handful of his hair and drew her blade across his throat. When the blood reached her feet she sighed, rubbing her head before taking the last of his blood for herself. When she prowled to the hallway, licking her fingers, a trail of bloody footprints followed. Chei might be the reasonable one, but Pallas would know more of this. She pushed the door open,

  “Pallas.” She said, staring at the back of her head; she would not give up her prayer, “Pallas something strange has happened.” Pallas sighed and stood smoothly,

 
“What?” She said, folding her arms,

  “I saw the girls life. A scene. As if in her eyes.” Shaitani said, “As if I were her.” Pallas frowned and motioned for her to follow. The library was ancient, dusty, and empty but for a few hundred tomes. So much lost to the witch hunts and purges. Pallas grabbed a few books and sat at a table and crossed her legs,

  “Your first man. You marked him?” Pallas asked, opening a large, creaking book,

  “Yes.” Shaitani said, “he was mine. I could feel it. I don’t know how she-”

  “She did nothing.” Pallas said, “he had her in mind from the beginning. She had something he wanted, or access to it anyhow. For him, she was part of the deal, that’s no matter. You mark him, he wants her, and she wounds you.” Pallas made a triangle with her fingers, “That’s a strong connection, and the Seed, it brings you all together, yes? A closer binding.”

  “What?” Shaitani asked, though the implications were dawning,

  “You and she, you’re connected. Combala.” Pallas passed her the book, “Strange kind of connection, that, and powerful, too.” Shaitani shook her head,

  “Will she know? Our plans?”

  “Not unless she has knowing herself?” Shaitani shook her head, and Pallas shrugged, “You leave the connection as it is she’ll get what comes, and it won’t make much sense.” Pallas said, “The past is easier to see than the present. The strong memories come through first. She won’t know how to channel it. Won’t know what it is, likely.” Shaitani nodded,

  “Very well. Say nothing to Chei,” she said,

  “As you wish, Priestess.” Pallas said with a smirk, “As you wish.”

  Shaitani stalked from the library,

  “You,” she said, pointing to a slave, “clean my quarters, and come find me when you’re done. I will be in the ritual room.” The slave nodded and scurried away, long black hair flying loose from its bindings.

  It had not changed, but of course it had never needed to; the trappings required by the dark prince were few, and they were simple. She lit the candles with a wave of her hand and sank to the ground, ever slick with blood, to stare at the effigy which seemed to suck in all the light of the candles. The offerings on the wall groaned, twitched, but when she paid them no heed they fell silent once more.