Damsel Knight (30 page)

“I fear this is all too much for the princess,” Neven says, turning his head toward the King with the druid’s withered hand still on top of it. “Perhaps I and Boone could escort her to her chambers.”

“Well?” The King asks, sitting bolt upright in the chair next to the druid’s. His green eyes are sharp, fixed on the pair on the ground. “Can he?”

Boone’s stomach twists. Her fingers itch to grip the hilt of her sword. She’s close enough. She could kill the King before he noticed. But that would leave the druid still able to cast magic, and if she were to strike the druid, the King would cast her down. Not to mention Angus and Julius. Julius could kill her before she finished drawing her sword.

Mattis jerks his hand away from Neven’s head. His sharp brown eyes glance between Alice and Neven nervously.

King Robin clears his throat. “Mattis my old friend you’re drifting again. Is the boy clean or not.”

The druid clumsily nods his head. “Yes. He’s clean. The boy is clean.”

Ness lets out a breath beside her. The pressure on her arm disappears.

Boone walks along the cobbled stones. Even huddled on the ground as she is, Alice looks taller than she had before. Stronger. She offers the girl a hand. “My princess.”

Alice takes the hand with all the timidity required of her gender. She keeps her green eyes on the ground, her body a polite distance away from Boone’s, her voice low and obedient. Yet her grip is firm. “My Knight.”

***

They burn six that night.

The mother looking for her child. A boy soldier who claimed he’d been playing. A man looking for his son. And three other men who accepted the punishment with a curt nod, and refused to plead for their defence.

Boone watches from a balcony attached to the feasting hall. She’d considered spending the evening in her room, but knows it would do no good. Real or imagined, she’d hear the screams anywhere in the circle. There’s no point trying to escape them.

“You aren’t with your friends.” The voice makes her jump. Julius drops down beside her, seeming to appear from nowhere.

Boone wraps her arms around the smooth marble rails of the balcony, watches her smart leather boots dangle in mid-air. “They don’t want to be friends with me. We had a falling out.”

Julius nods, looking as if he knows exactly what she’s feeling. He shuffles forward on the marble balcony, letting his longer legs dangle next to hers. “I consider Angus one of my friends. We constantly have fallings out. Things soon return to normal - whatever that entails.”

“No - this is.” She stops, realising what she’s doing. Talking about childish problems such as friends in a time like this. Sighing, she gestures down to the figures being strapped to their fires. The woman has already begun weeping. “It hardly matters against all this.”

He looks at her, dark olive eyes wide in astonishment. “This is exactly why it matters. Friendship. That’s life. One of the best parts. If there is ever a time when life matters more, it’s in the face of death.”

It makes a weird kind of sense. “I keep doing things wrong, even when I think I’m doing them right. I don’t understand them. Sometimes I think the closest thing I have left to a friend is a bloodthirsty dragon, and him I’ve ignored all day.” She can see a glimpse of Gelert from here. Red scales pacing back and forth over the wall. She thinks of him burning those scouts and shivers.

Julius swings his legs slowly. “Sometimes I think the worst thing we do is put people in categories. Stick labels on things. Witches are evil. Women are weak. Those with clear slave blood are worth less than those without. Men should show no fear or mercy. Don’t get me wrong. I thought the same thing when I was a pompous squire. Then a dragon showed more loyalty than I ever could, and a girl more bravery.”

Boone sucks in a breath. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his arms, looking at her. “You’re probably wondering how I knew Alice was the princess. How I knew a lot of things.”

“You lied to the King about me. You said I knew about dragons because you’d told me tales. You hadn’t.” Thinking back, a lot of the things he’d done didn’t make sense. Right from why he’d saved their lives when they’d first met. Why he’d recruited her as his squire, a small boy with one working arm and poor ancestry. Somehow she keeps her voice steady. “How long have you known who I am?”

“I guessed when I saw your sword. It was confirmed seeing you fight. Cadeyrn trained me for many years. I’d know another pupil of his anywhere. Hard to believe, since he’d only had a daughter. He spoke of you often, but he never mentioned training you.”

“That wouldn’t have gone well. It was kept between us. I think my mother knew, but that’s all.” Her hands tense into fists. Sitting on the floor forces the sword to dig into her shoulder at an awkward angle. Watching how he stretches out like a giant lazy cat, she’s aware of every inch of the scabbard against her back. “Am I going to end up down there with them?”

“If there’s one of us who deserves to be down there, it’s me.” He looks up at the darkening sky. “I didn’t recognise Alice. I recognised your dragon. I’d seen him before once when he was small. He’d changed a lot, but with those dark eyes and red scales. Well, there’s only supposed to be one dragon in the circle. And since I knew what he’d looked like, it was hardly going to be a different dragon. I think he recognises me too.”

Boone thinks back to the day she doesn’t like to think about. Opening that door. Gelert getting out. Running after and being greeted by all that blood. A man leaning over Gelert, tying his legs together as the dragon watched through half lidded eyes.

“You were there.”

“I was. That’s what I need to talk to you about.” His olive eyes flicker to her, then back to the sky. He seems nervous suddenly. He takes a deep breath, fixes his eyes on her again. “Boone. Gelert didn’t kill your father. I did.”

Chapter 31

“And that’s a good thing really. You see, I don’t think there is a spell making Gelert docile. I don’t think there ever has been. I think it’s you. I think he remembers his friendship with you, and it’s shaping how he interacts with the world.”

Boone’s head finally stops spinning. “Wait. Wait. What did you say?”

Julius pulls his legs back from the edge, sits facing her with his legs crossed like a child. The scabbard at his hip lies awkwardly across the ground. It’s empty. “Someone informed the King he was hiding a dragon on his property. Some egg from a dragon he killed they think. Though how he got it past the barrier is anyone’s guess. The King ordered him to hand it over. He refused, and his cloak bled. A bleeding cloak means death.

“I was a squire at the time. It wasn’t like today. There were many knights, and not enough time for a King to pay much attention to a squire. Then he came to me. The King knew Cadeyrn had broken his oath. He wanted to give him a chance to admit his mistakes, and take his death like a man. Cadeyrn was the best dragon knight he’d had. The King was fond of him. If he asked the King for forgiveness and spilled his own life blood, then his life would go to protect the circle, and his name would not be dishonoured.”

Boone blinks down at the living funeral pyres and doesn’t see them. “If he killed himself you mean.”

“Yes.” Something like a wince ruins his usually calm expression. “I was flattered the King would come to me. My loyalty was to him first, and I was convinced the offer would save Cadeyrn’s soul. I thought I was doing him a favour. Then he said no. I’m not calling your father a coward. He was the bravest man I’d met. But he didn’t want to die. Who will teach my daughter there’s a whole world out there if not me, Julius? That’s what he asked me. I was irate of course. I’d been told what to do if I couldn’t bring him in alive, and I didn’t want to do that. So we fought. He was a better swordsman than me, but I had more men. I wounded him, but not badly enough that he wouldn’t live to see the King.

Then your dragon came in. He was no more than the size of a large dog, but when he saw what I’d done that seemed more than large enough. He was so angry. I remember being surprised because it seemed impossible to me that a dragon could care for a person enough to feel such anger. He killed my men with a fury I’ve never seen before or since. Then he tried to kill me.”

He seems to curl in on himself, looking pained. “And your father stopped him. He flung himself between me and your dragon, and tried to stop the beast with his bare hands. And the dragon stopped. But not before slashing the wound on your father’s chest so deep he couldn’t survive.”

The picture the words bring up jars with the one in her head. The Gelert in her head had been angry when he’d killed her father, yes, but it had been a mindless bloodthirsty anger borne from the need to kill. Not the need to take revenge. Relief floods through her, but also pain. Gelert may not have meant to kill her father, but he’d still done so. And Julius, her friend and mentor, had been part of it.

“As soon as he realised what he’d done, the anger was gone. He licked Cadeyrn’s face and nudged him, as if trying to wake him. When that didn’t work, he curled up next to your father’s body like a cat. He didn’t even move when I tied him up and dragged him away, except to look back at you one last time.” Julius shakes his head, the long dark braids of hair swaying. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Boone opens her mouth. To do what? To scream before she draws her sword? Her fingers move automatically to the hilt, then stop. She closes her mouth.

His sword belt is empty. So is the space on his belt where he’d kept a number of knives. He’s expecting her to fight back. He’s hoping for it. To get her fill of revenge? Does he want her to kill him?

Scrambling to her feet, she runs back into the empty feasting hall, and out of the room.

She’s in her chambers before she notices she’s made the decision to run instead of fight. Alone in her room with her breath heaving, she draws her sword. She screams, bringing down the dragon steel to bite through the cabinet. Splinters go flying.

Julius betrayed her father. His own squire. Her mentor. Her friend.

The sword claws through the thick wood of the cabinet again and again. A shelf disconnects from the rest of it, and clatters to the floor. A door to the bottom half swings open, hanging sideways off a hinge. It’s thick tough wood, but within a few minutes it’s firewood.

Dropping the sword to the marble floor, she leans forward, drained. Her breath comes in rapid pants, and her head feels thick and heavy.

Gelert didn’t kill her father. Not in the way she’d thought. If there’s anything positive in this whole situation, it’s that. Only, she’d spent so many years hating him. Assuming she must hate him as a good daughter. To avenge her parents. Had Julius’s men killed her mother before they’d found her father? Did he leave that out? Or had she been caught up in the fight, and she hadn’t noticed.

She frowns to herself, her breath evening out. It’s curious he didn’t mention her. Maybe because she was a woman? Woman are rarely more than afterthoughts.

As the fog over her head lifts, she registers something different about the room. A dollhouse. The dollhouse from Alice’s room sitting in the middle of her bed.

Brushing her clothes free of splinters, she steps over the mess to take a look. All the little figures appear to be in the same places as the night before. Only, there’s one change. A small blue flower sits in the lowest level. The cellars.

She slides the level free of the others, careful not to disturb the upper floors. The flower sits in a room in what looks like the very centre of the palace. The cellar level isn’t furnished, so it’s hard to tell what’s there. She looks at the rooms around it, all the winding passageways carefully placed. She finds the infirmary, and the connection to the kitchens.

There’s one way to tell what’s there. Go and look.

***

She gets turned around twice before she finds her way.

Luckily, while she's not as good at navigating as Neven, the map she copied from the dollhouse is detailed. It's not long before she's in an out of the way corridor she's sure is right by the room.

An uneasy feeling settles deep into her bones. The corridor is ill-kept, but wide. It's dusty, but not covered in cobwebs. The torches while far apart work fine. It's familiar.

The torches decrease in number and brightness until she's left in darkness. She curses to herself at neglecting to bring a torch. She'd entered the cellars through way of the infirmary, and the wide brightly lit paths made her forget it wasn't like that everywhere.

A torch shines in the distance, lighting the far end of the corridor. She takes a step toward it, and stops. She's been here before. This was the corridor where she and Neven found the body of the page boy with his throat slit.

And the room. She runs through the map in her head. The room is right around here. Which means it must be the room behind the doorway the body had lain in.

Silently, she moves to the left wall, traces it with her good hand. The door is around here somewhere. This way she won't miss it.

Voices.

She freezes listening, but can't make out the words. Her fingers carry on along the rough wall, wincing when they brush along the few cobwebs. There. Her fingertips find a doorway.

It's dark, but leaning around it she sees that's not quite right. The room behind is large, and over to the far right a few torches are lit. A badly chipped doorway stands beside them, and a bright light emanates from it.

The room is filled with rubble. Here and there remains of walls suggest it had once had several rooms attached. In the middle a large stone column has broken off from the ceiling, and underneath its slumped form is...

She can't tell. Not enough light reaches it.

Eyeing the lit doorway, she scurries across the darkened room. Her eyes adjust to the low light, and they along with her fingers piece together the form. A large stone stage, and on top of it a chair carved from stone, bigger than she's ever seen.

Curiosity leads her to take in as much of the room as the low light allows. It's hard to say under all the rubble, but looking down from the stage she sees a wide space for people to gather. A throne room of some kind. Before King Robin, back when dragons roaming the kingdom meant these cellars were lived in for months at a time.

It's so different to now with King Robin and all his circles. He would never dream of sitting above everyone else, in such a grandiose throne. He respects his people too much to pretend to be so different from them.

What is she doing here? Expecting to find an answer to why Alice betrayed her father. Expecting to find proof of a cruel King. King Robin isn't cruel. He may have betrayed her father, but perhaps he truly thought was the right thing, the same way Julius had.

Who is she to question someone who kept peace in the circle for a thousand years?

Brushing dust from her knees, she turns to leave. Then stops. The voices are here again, clearer this time. Coming from the chipped doorway.

Curiosity battles with reason. What if it's someone important? What if it's the King?

Resolve settles heavy in her stomach, feeling an awful lot like anxiety. If it is the King, then what is he doing all the way down here? She owes it to her father, and her friends to find out.

Careful not to disturb rubble, she approaches the doorway, crouching behind what was once a wall. Not good enough. She can only make out a few words. 'power' 'fire.' She needs more.

Gritting her teeth, she ducks out from her cover, picking her way to the doorway. The rubble here is little more than dust. Nothing she can use to hide behind. If they come out of the room, she'll be standing here to greet them.

Staying low, she cranes her ears to listen.

Two voices. One, the reassuring calm of the King's voice. The other is older. The head druid, Mattis.

"How could we be so low on energy?"

"The destruction of the guardian stone shocked the whole system. Then there are the barbarians. I fear they're attacking the other stones. For what reason I don't know. They could have heard that some of their people got through, and don't know exactly where. Usually it would be a small matter, but not after the dragon destroyed your men in the north. Of course, we could disconnect the circle's barrier. Then we could funnel more energy into the palace walls."

"And let every barbarian in? Not to mention witches, more dragons? No. Keep the guardian stones connected. When we've dealt with the invaders, I'll send men to fix the breach."

"And then there's the cost of scanning all those people for magic."

"Which couldn't be helped. You, my friend, have more faith in human nature than I do. Magic is a weapon that in the wrong hands causes disaster. And those wrong hands could belong to a friendly face. We had to search them all. We had to know how many enemies we are surrounded by."

"I see a child. Desperate parents. No enemies."

A pause. "You are upset by this I see. Because of her?"

"I have done everything you've asked my King. My loyalty to you doesn't waver. But I am old. I tire of death. I tire of this loss. I'm tired of losing everything."

"Still we need more." A scuffling sound. Someone pacing. "A few more to complete this spell."

"Less if we used their full worth. We haven't been getting all the energy we can out of the ritual. If someone who valued them did it..."

"I had thousands of loyal men. I could always find someone in there eager enough for status, or a blessing for their children, to give up one of their own. Now I have farmers with broken families. Doubtless I will find eager men there too, but the costs of asking the wrong man is too high. This must never get out."

"Yes my King."

"You have one of yours left, don't you?"

When Mattis speaks again, his voice is cold. "I'm still too numbed from the last one I lost."

"Of course. Well a few from the cellars then. Or perhaps the infirmary. Whatever speaks to your heart."

"Yes my King."

Footsteps. Panic rushes through her as she realises they're coming in her direction. She thinks of the wall not far from her, but knows it's too late.

The King walks out of the room, followed by Mattis. She slinks as low to the ground as she can, pressing close to the wall.

The head druid with his newly stooped posture seems to see her, his sharp brown eyes going wide. Then the expression is gone, leaving her to wonder if she'd imagined it. The druid makes his way across the room, a torch in his withered hand.

The King doesn't seem in such a hurry, pausing in the doorway. If he stays here long he's bound to see her. Her heart hammers in her chest like a frightened rabbit.

"My King?"

The King looks up expectantly, then steps toward Mattis, away from Boone. Boone doesn't hesitate, slipping into the room the King had just left. Their conversation carries on outside, fading as they move further away.

"I've had a thought. There are plenty of the women who have men in the infirmaries. Such a thing would make them desperate. They may be willing to cooperate if offered a blessing for a future child, or knighthood for a husband or son."