Chapter 19 - Cindra

As the trees shed their leaves and the air grows colder, I retreat further inside myself. It's better that way. I shouted at Brakken last week when he tried to ask me how I was feeling. The wounded look he gave me only made things worse. The rest of the court is too preoccupied with Graie's children and the queen's decision relating to them to pay me any mind, anyways.

The only person who seems to understand is Lady Fennen. She doesn't push me, nor does she tiptoe around me. She's just there, waiting for me to be ready to train, or to talk, or to go outside, or whatever. Even though I know she doesn't mean it to be that way, I feel a bit pressured some days. What if I'm never ready? Every morning I wake up and I'm still tired. I don't want to eat. I don't want to move. I can't sleep, I just lie in my bed and think about Silaverre Strime. Sometimes I can hear the babies crying and I wonder whether if she was there, they wouldn't cry.

I only really leave the healer's wing when Lady Flourer comes to have Lady Fennen check her over. When I think about her giving birth, it feels like ice water is flowing through my body, locking my muscles in place and making my mind race to all the ways her birth could go wrong.

The first time I leave the castle is about a week or two after Lady Strime's death. It's a cool autumn morning, a reminder that the autumn equinox is days away. Lady Fennen was going to take me to the Lunar Temple to bring me into the kingdoms' healers' circle as her true novitiate. But there will be no initiation if I can't leave the castle, so I'm forcing myself to go out this morning. I'm going with Fiyr and Clowd to show Clowd some first aid and how to respond during a battle, before a healer can help. I pick up the bag of supplies that Lady Fennen helped me prepare yesterday.

As I pause in the healer's wing's entrance, surveying the throne room, I see Sir Cawle sending out a patrol. They leave, and I realize that the castle is now almost completely empty. I see Sarola and her brothers in the nursery with the ladies of the court, the elders are all in their quarters, and Lady Fennen in with Braukkin back behind me in the healer's wing, but the knights that should be milling around, getting breakfast and chatting, are all gone. Did Sir Cawle really send out that many patrols?

I check the Trace and after a moment of concentration, realize that yes, all of their familiar traces have the slight faintness that indicates they've left the area. And when Fiyr, Cloud, and I leave… is Sir Cawle going to be alone with everyone else? Fear trickles down my spine. Remember what Fiyr said. He's trying to kill someone who can resurrect herself. I think of the queen—her iron posture, her acute skill with her ice elementalism, Winter's Wrath in its sheath at her side, and I exhale. She can take care of herself. Sir Cawle's not going to try anything if he's alone and only has a two hour window. The ladies of the court can all fight, for that matter. The queen isn't defenseless.

Trying to take comfort in that, I cast my eyes over the throne room to find Fiyr and Clowd once more, and spot Fiyr leaving the dining hall. They must have just had breakfast. My own stomach turns a little at the thought of eating. I'll have something later.

I cross the throne room, uncomfortably aware of how my steps and my cane echo in the deserted room. The only movement is the play of the light from the braziers across the Thundrian standards that lie against the cold gray bricks. I shiver, not from the cold, and then enter the kitchen.

Clowd is rinsing his plate and Fiyr stands by the kitchen's exit. When I come in, his gaze flicks to me and he uncrosses his arms as if he's standing at attention. A greeting gets stuck in my throat and I look away. I don't like the way he acts, like I'm about to shatter into a million pieces, or yell at him, or start sobbing.

Even if that's how I feel, sometimes.

"Hey Cindra!" Clowd says, unfazed.

Fiyr jumps a little, but I'm grateful for Clowd's careless attitude. If he's acting normal, then maybe I can too. "Hi Clowd. Ready to learn some first aid?" My voice is crackly, but he at least pretends not to notice.

"Yeah! Let's go!" He dashes out the door that Fiyr's standing next to. Fiyr opens his mouth but no sound comes out, and that's when I spot the over-clothes in his arms. Fiyr's already wearing his, so they must be for Clowd.

"Hang on, put your over-clothes on!" Fiyr exclaims, then shooting me an apologetic look, races out after him. For a moment, I don't even notice, and then I realize I'm smiling. For the first time since Silaverre.

I let out a breath and follow them out. The sky is mostly gray, only a few weak rays of sun filtering through, but it's a welcome change from the torchlight of the castle. I stay with Clowd by the squire's stables as Fiyr goes to fetch Blitz, and listen as Clowd tells me everything that he's done as a squire.

"And I hit the target!" he exclaims.

"Well done."

"And I named my sword Papercut," he continues, pulling out the simple-steel sword to show me the tiny, engraved word. "I've thought of a hundred better names since then and I know I should've waited until I was sure but I'm going to be a knight soon enough anyway and then it'll be Cloudsomething so does it really matter much?"

It makes me think of Murderstick, still tucked under my bed and gathering dust and rust in its sheath. I guess it'll never get another name. I'll have my healer's staff one day and Murderstick will just live under my bed until the end of time. Maybe I'll ask Lady Fennen what she did with her sword when she became a novitiate.

"Where are we going?" Fiyr's reappeared atop Blitz and he rides over to us. Clowd's still dawdling with his horse.

"Anywhere, really. Somewhere with a tree that we can lean against for demonstrations and somewhere a battle could theoretically take place," I suggest, swinging open Ashes's stall as well to lead her out.

She whickers and stamps on the leaves once she's free of her stall and I wonder if she's been feeling cooped up. I run my fingers through her mane absentmindedly, then mount her and tuck my cane into its strap.

"Okay, how about in the field across from the archery range?" Fiyr suggests.

"Sounds good," I answer. I don't look directly at him, knowing that if I see pity or worry I'm just going to get angry, and fix my gaze on the horizon instead. There are dark clouds in the north, but the wind is blowing at our backs, so hopefully it won't rain on us while we're out. "Let's go."

…

As we ride to the spot, I start to notice that Fiyr might not be on edge because of me; I think he's just on edge in general. And I think I know why. I can't imagine he didn't notice how Sir Cawle left the court without a knight to defend it.

More than that, though, I catch him checking the Trace at least a dozen times, far more than anyone needs to normally. As if he's expecting something. What's gotten into him? Clowd fills the silence with conversation that doesn't require much participation from either of us. He seems content to go on about everything he's heard and read and seen since he became a squire. I toss in the occasional mhmm and Fiyr seems completely preoccupied.

We reach the field eventually and dismount. Fiyr takes care of tying the horses' leads to low-hanging branches and I take out my bag, sorting through what I'm going to show Clowd. He's eager to learn, and picks things up quickly as I go through explaining basic terminology, then the core concepts of healing, and as I'm beginning to show him how to make a sling using a length of fabric, I relax a little. I can do this. Tie a sling, check bloodflow, pour water over gauze… It's familiar. I feel steadier.

"Cindra," Fiyr suddenly says. I quickly finish my knot on Clowd's wrist splint and turn to him.

"What?"

"We need to go," he says, then his eyes widen and he grabs us both by the shoulders and hurries us into the bushes, away from the path where we stopped.

"What's—" Clowd begins, but Fiyr hushes him.

I'm frozen, staring at where all my supplies are strewn in the flattened grass and where Ashes, Blitz, and Clowd's horse shuffle around peacefully. Why are we hiding? Adrenaline pumps in my veins, but I'm still motionless, huddling with Fiyr and Clowd in the bushes.

A moment later, I hear it.

The thunder of hooves, which begins as a distant roar, then loudens until I see them. They blow past the gap in the leaves where we entered the field, horsemen, too many to count, in a blur of brown and gray and black. I watch, stunned, as they go, until I finally recover enough sense to check the Trace. Mercenaries. Undeniable.

But more than that, I think… I feel other traces mixed in. Shodawa? Thundria?! And then I see him. He's almost moving too fast, but the dark red of his uniform sticks out against a sea of neutral colours; unmistakable. Sir Cawle.

And then they're gone.

Fiyr takes charge immediately. "Those mercenaries were headed for the castle and there's no one there except the queen, the elders, and the ladies with their children. Clowd, I need you to ride west—that's where Sir Strommer's patrol went."

Clowd's eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the order. "Which way?"

Fiyr points, and then helps Clowd up and gives him a nudge toward his horse. "There should be a map of the territory in your saddlebag from yesterday, right? They're on a supply run to Aurore. Just ask whatever villager you find which way they went, and tell Sir Strommer that the castle's under attack. Go with them to the castle and then hide with the children. You don't know how to fight yet and you have to stay safe, understand?"

And before I can even react, Clowd mounts his horse and takes off westward, his hand still half-covered by the wrist splint, fumbling in his saddlebag to find the map. In an instant, the trees swallow up the white flash of his horse and he's gone. Fiyr turns to me, all trace of his nervous demeanor having evaporated, and been replaced with a singular focus.

"We need to get back to the castle right now. Once we're there, I'll defend the queen and you go get your sword. You and Yllowei can help fight until the patrols get back."

I guess Murderstick will see a bit of action after all, is all I can think as I hurriedly gather up the bag of supplies and swing myself back onto Ashes. Fiyr has already spurred Blitz into a gallop, and I follow suit.

We blaze down the path, the trace of the mercenaries all around us. I worry for a moment that we'll catch them, but even though we're only two, they've got too much of a lead on us for us to be able to close the gap in the frenzied ride back to the castle. I can hardly catch my breath as I swerve along the curves and dips in the path. Ashes jumps a fallen tree, and when we hit the ground again my teeth rattle. My hands feel cold. They felt cold when I was riding to Sun Rocks that night. Who else will we lose?

I can't even guess how long it's been when the base of the enormous trees come into sight. There's still no sign of the mercenaries or Sir Cawle, but Fiyr doesn't waste a moment and rides into the patch of grass. A heartbeat later, he vanishes. I follow him, my heart pounding in my throat.

We reappear on the leaves and gallop across the stone terrace toward the castle doors. Fiyr swings himself off of Blitz before she's even stopped and dashes through the doors, his life-force brimming to the surface and Fireheart unsheathed. I pull Ashes to a halt and clamber off her, pulling my cane free as I go, then hobble after him.

When I enter the throne room, I'm all-too-aware that I'm a walking target. The ladies of the court are all out, fighting, but the queen is nowhere to be found. I spot Briatte, fighting alongside our mother, who has Frostfur out and flashing, and I wonder if at least one patrol came back. I don't have much time to think, though; I have to get to the healer's wing and grab Murderstick so I can defend myself.

I dodge out of the way as a man I've never seen, wielding a club with spikes bursting out of it, runs at Lady Faise. Before he can get there, he's thrown to the ground by an enormous stag who charges in front of the lady of the court. The stag swings his antlers like a falling tree and the man shouts in pain as he's swept across the floor by the blow. I backpedal, trying to keep my balance, then scoot around them to the entrance of the healer's wing.

Where's Lady Fennen? The healer's wing is deserted and I run through the lines of cots, narrowly avoiding collapsing my leg by stepping at the wrong angle. I need my sword! As I dart behind the desk to our private quarters, I see signs of a struggle. Lady Fennen's bed is in disarray and books are flung open, papers littering the floor. A brazier's been knocked over, the still-hot cinders spilling dangerously close to meticulous lists and sketches.

I kneel beside my bed and stretch my hand underneath, fumbling for the steel of my sword. All my fingers feel is dust.

"Looking for this?" a low, gravelly voice asks, followed by a chuckle.

I whip around, scrambling back, but my spine hits my bed. Nowhere to run.

Braukkin stands by Lady Fennen's bed, Murderstick gripped in his hand. His lips are curved into a sickening grin despite the inflamed red skin and crusted blood that covers where his eyes should be. It bulges in an imitation of eyes, like a bug, staring at me.

"What did you do to Lady Fennen?" I demand, but my voice is trembling.

His scarred face doesn't change, his smile fixed in place. "She ran off and left me all alone. Unprotected. And what a shock it was when the mercenaries attacked."

He knew. I'm certain of it. That's what he was talking to Sir Cawle about! They were planning the attack, and Sir Cawle thought I heard, so he tried to get me killed and make it look like an accident… I didn't tell anyone but Fiyr. I didn't tell the queen. What have I done?

"She should have posted a guard, though," he continues. "I don't need to see to feel your blood, your fear, and your little heart. So fragile. She won't be back in time to save you."

She taught me to fight. I hold onto that, even as fear chills me to my bones. Am I going to die?

"She'll just have to find your body."

A memory sweeps over me.

I was looking at an introductory textbook for healers, before I was a novitiate. Flipping through the pages on fighting, looking at the little diagrams of a woman in an apron blocking the sword of a knight. It said to explain that you were a healer, and then to run away.

"That's all bullshit," Lady Fennen informed me from her seat at her desk.

"What?" I asked, snapping the book shut guiltily like I'd been caught doing something I shouldn't have. I just wanted to remember my days of being a squire.

"What the textbook says, about fighting." She gestured to it. "No knight would attack a novitiate or a healer."

"Then why do healers learn to fight?" I demanded.

Lady Fennen shook her head. "Because we don't only fight other knights. A mercenary, an orc, an elf, they do not care whether you are healer or knight or child. They'll slit your throat all the same."

I looked back down at the book. "Then I guess this is all useless. Why would you explain to an elf that you're a healer?"

She stood, then, and gave me a half-smile. "I was a knight once, Cindra, you know this. I get the sense that the virtuous Thundrians, you do not have the same squire lessons, exactly, but I believe you should be taught something I learned at Shodawa's court."

My curiosity made me stand as well and I followed her out to behind the castle. We stood together in the summer sunlight.

"If you are forced into fighting, then it will not be with a knight," she began. "It will be a mercenary or some sort of beast. I can teach you the weaknesses of many different creatures, but a mercenary is a different breed. You might be forced into a battle of life and death."

I was breathless, thinking of the elders' stories of great valour, of sword fights where an inch, or a heartbeat, or a misstep meant death, and of great knights that fought fair when their opponents wouldn't do the same.

"Aim for the balls," Lady Fennen advised.

"What?!"

"Aim for the balls, the solar plexus," she placed her hand beneath her breasts and between her bottom ribs to demonstrate, "the nose, the eyes, the jaw, and the throat."

I was at a loss. Being told to punch a mercenary in the balls wasn't what I expected to hear when she told me she was going to teach me Shodawa's battle secrets. But I guess they fight dirty.

"You must make yourself too much trouble to bother with. One good, strong, true strike to their nose or the middle of their chest will make them think twice. If you break their nose, they will start choking on their own blood and they will not be able to fight. If you hit them hard enough in the chest, you crush their diaphragm and they won't be able to breathe. And then they cannot fight. Grab their face with both hands and stab their eyes with your thumbs."

I was a little surprised at how gorey her tactics were, and I said so. "But… healers aren't supposed to hurt. It's in the code"

"You're not a healer," Lady Fennen said. "And as far as you need to know, the most important rule of the code is to keep yourself alive."

Alive.

I need to keep myself alive.

And as pressure builds in my chest and my head pounds, black spots swimming in my vision, all I can think is Aim for the balls. So when my life-force rises like a storm, its ashy taste burning through my mouth, smoke smothering the air in my lungs, in its final stand before my heart gives out, I reach out with my mind and grab the glittering coals strewn across the floor and shoot them, in one focused stream, directly toward the tyrant king of Shodawa's testicles.

My vision swings from side to side, black at each edge, and I feel myself falling to the ground, but I'm conscious enough to hear him scream. That's what it is. Not a yell or a shout or a grunt—he wails as he burns. A satisfaction I'd forgotten, a satisfaction of landing a strike or blocking a blow, rises in me to combat the swimminess of my vision. But even so, I stay on the ground, breathing hard and waiting for my vision to clear.

When I look up, Braukkin is gone, but Lady Fennen is back. I only see her feet, at first, but then she bends down to help me sit up. I sag with relief at the sight of her weathered face—She'll know what to do. She can help me.

"I broke the code," I gasp, feeling my heart pound as it readjusts to not being squeezed to death. "I—I burned Braukkin."

A half-smile hooks the edge of her mouth. "Good. You kept yourself alive."

I smile faintly, a laugh getting caught in my throat. I did. He was going to kill me and I saved myself with my life-force. "He's got my sword."

"I know," she answers. "I tied him up and went to help the children when I heard the noises of the fight, but one of the mercenaries must have untied him. I don't know how they knew that… it doesn't matter. We'll figure everything out after the battle. You need to go hide in the queen's chambers."

"I can fight!" I insist.

"You almost died." A dark fire flares in her hazel eyes and that's when I know I'm not going to be able to argue. "I will not let it happen a second time. Go, now. I don't want to worry."

I nod, and she helps me to my feet. When I'm upright, I have to agree that Lady Fennen's right. I'm about to topple over; it's only with the help of my cane that I stay on my feet. I'm lightheaded for a moment, then I begin to hobble toward the entrance of the healer's wing. The fight rages on in the throne room, but when I make it to the doorway I see Sir Strommer burst through the doors.

Relief swamps me and I start sliding along the wall, trying to make my way to the queen's chambers, behind the throne, without being seen. As I'm going, I spot Sir Cawle.

Most of the mercenaries have turned to face the reinforcements, but Sir Cawle is fighting one of them by the dais. Fighting is a stretch, though. They cross swords, but there's no power behind their blows, and I don't need to shift to the fifth dimension to know that Sir Cawle isn't using his life-force to dull his opponent's blade. As I watch, still shuffling toward the queen's chambers, Sir Cawle throws off his blade and leaps up on top of the dais, then runs for the door behind the throne.

The queen! No! Forgetting what Lady Fennen told me and my brush with death from only minutes ago, I grab my cane in both hands and start running toward the private chambers. I have to help her!

~Akila