Ohoho. This is a good one. Buckle up, folks.
Chapter 20 - Samn
As I make my way back down from the north tower, my blood suddenly freezes.
A hair-raising scream, and a familiar scream at that, rings through the stairway. Brindellia. No!
I bolt down the last steps and dash towards the nursery. I don't even see Sir Cawle in my path until I crash straight into him, almost knocking him to the floor, but he catches himself and grabs my shoulder.
"Get a hold of yourself!" he spits. "She's just giving birth."
Despite the relief so strong it almost makes me sag, I yank myself out of his grasp and try to duck around him. "She's my mother!"
"And you can give her some peace because of it," he retorts, his eyes flashing in a dangerous way that I don't like at all.
My fists squeeze so tight my nails feel like they'll draw blood from my palms, but I know I can't get into it right now. And she probably does need peace. But… surely I can help her, somehow?!
Seeing Tigre Cawle's intractable expression and realizing that this is one area where I can't do much to help, I whirl around and stomp off. I need to eat something. Right now. Preferably paired with something caffeinated.
But when I get to the kitchen, I see Fiyr and Graie tucking into meals of what looks like little more than crackers, peanut butter, and carrots.
Either they're both lazy as the Blacklands or our stores are running low. I check for myself anyway. Yeah, the pantry has more mice than food. I make a face as a tiny creature scurries past me. I can't very well eat a mouse…
I growl, making coffee with the last scoop of the beans. Even the water in the tap looks like it's less fresh than usual, though I'm certain that's my imagination.
When my drink's ready, I stomp into the dining hall. Graie and Fiyr have seated themselves right in the middle, so I'll have a hard time sitting far from them no matter what table I choose. Sighing, I place my mug on the table a few feet away from where Graie is noisily devouring his 'meal'.
"Who let the pantry get so low?" I grunt, sipping the bitter drink.
"Everyone's been rebuilding; it's hungry work, and no one's gone out on a supply run for a while," Fiyr answers.
I wasn't asking you. Then again, I wasn't asking Graie, which would mean I was just talking out loud like an idiot. And I'm not an idiot. At least, I don't act like an idiot in front of Fiyr. Or Graie for that matter. And I never ramble, I think sardonically.
"I'll go out later," I say, sighing. Fiyr's mouth quirks up in a half-smile, but he hides it with his water glass. I think about snapping at him, but what would that solve, really?
My teeth grind together and I take a longer drink. Stop overthinking everything, damn it, Samn.
"Where's Ravne?" I demand instead.
For some reason, Fiyr's face flickers into a bit of a frown, then back again. "He's still on a task for Sir Cawle."
My teeth grind more. "He's Sir Strommer's squire."
"Sir Strommer's kids are in the process of being born," Graie cuts in. "He took a day off."
The ache of Brindellia moving on from my father is old by now, but not entirely gone. She just wants a fresh start, I repeat. She's not replacing me or Redde Tayle or anything like that. She told me that. I'm too old for that kind of petty jealousy.
"Where did he send him then?" I press. There's something going on with Ravne and it has something to do with Sir Cawle. Dammit, I need to know!
Fiyr crosses his arms. "I don't know."
Is he lying? I can't tell. But what reason would he have to conceal it? Unless he's concealing something because he's Sir Cawle's squire. Is he in on it? What did they do to Ravne?! I close my eyes tightly before my paranoia gets away from me. No. He probably just wasn't there when Sir Cawle gave him his task. But that doesn't help my anxious thoughts. Ravne's missing. Sir Cawle had something to do with this. Ravne's missing.
"Pissed-fucking-dragonnuts—" Graie swears suddenly, wincing.
I can't help a bemused giggle at his strange choice of cuss, then curse my own laugh for being so damn feminine. Low chuckles! You practiced this! Blessed Starlaxi.
"Go to Spottalia Lief, you crazy orc!" Fiyr retorts. "Your leg is going to get infected!"
"I'm fine!" he replies with a scowl.
Unable to help myself, I interject, "You just said 'dragonnuts' so no, you're not fine."
"Listen to him, at least!" Fiyr begs, only seeming to be half-joking. "I don't want you to lose the whole damn leg! Just swallow your pride and get to the healer's wing."
"Agh, fine, but let me finish my peanut crackers," Graie barters.
"You're both disgusting," I comment, downing the last of my coffee.
…
Brindellia Faise's labour continues through the last couple of hours in the day and keeps going straight into the night. I'm no woman expert, but even I know that it probably shouldn't be taking this long. I can't help the anxiety that twists my stomach but Spottalia threatened me with shoe the last time I was hovering in there with her, so I spend my time alternating between studying manoeuvres out of the aforementioned Lieting Teil's Ancient Thundrian Texts on Fighting. I can't focus for long before I'm back on my feet and tracing the perimeter of the room with my boots.
The moon is probably out. I leave the squire's wing quickly, cross the carpeted stone of the deserted throne room and hurry onto the pavilion, both to check to see if I'm right and to escape Brindellia's grunts of pain and effort.
I'm right, the moon is up.
But more importantly, I spot a figure silhouetted in moonlight crossing the pavilion toward me.
"Ravne!" I yell, relief soaking through my voice. Thank the Starlaxi. I won't admit it aloud, but I was starting to think he might be dead.
He's almost buckling from the weight of the giant boar slung over his back.
"Blessed Starlaxi, that's massive!" I exclaim, running up to him, but he seems far from interested in compliments. His cheeks are white and his eyes have heavy, dark bags beneath them. I'm shocked; he seemed fine no less than a week ago, and now he looks positively gaunt. "What happened? Where were you? What took you so long?!"
As I pepper him with questions, he just shakes his head. He looks like he's been to the Blacklands and back. I hoist the boar off his shoulders and he almost crumples in response.
"You look like shit."
Still nothing.
"Are you gonna be able to walk, or should I find someone to help you?" I ask, a little more gently.
He looks up at me hollowly. "I can walk." But his voice is so muddled and gritty that I can't help my disbelieving stare.
We stagger back to the castle, him leaning heavily on my shoulder as we go, and make it through the doors without much trouble. "I was worried," I say in a low tone, watching him. "There's something going on, and I promise I only want to help you."
He sighs like he's been carrying the whole world on his shoulders. "I'll tell you. But first, I need to sleep. I'm going to pass out."
I nod and help him to the entrance of the squire's wing.
He half-walks, half-collapses through his curtain and onto his bed and doesn't move.
Ignoring the curdling of worry in my stomach, I haul the boar back to the kitchens. Frostialla gives me a hand as we go to work skinning it and preparing it for a meal.
"We can store the leftovers," she says, her cheerful demeanour a far cry from the swirling terror of my mind. "Stratus has supplied us with some really nice cured, spiced ham in the past and I was thinking about trying to make it myself."
"Cool," I mutter.
Frostialla's eyes flash. "I know it doesn't seem interesting to you, but you and— and the rest don't take it seriously enough; stored meats are the things that last us through the winter and keep you lot fed while you're out on patrol."
Oh, she thought… I… "Not—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," I mutter.
She purses her lips.
She couldn't know the truth, I think, sighing. "Thank you. I'm going to get something ready for Ravne when he gets up."
An approving look lights in her eyes. "That's the way. So silly to think only women should be taking care of the court."
Ironic, I comment privately, but start a sizzling pan and get a slice of ham to cook. But everyone's more open when they're full and maybe he'll be grateful enough to confide in me. He said he would, anyway.
I drop the piece of ham onto the plate. Better than usual, at least. Part of the reason I'm so committed to not revealing my secret before I'm a knight is that if it means I have to pick up extra kitchen shifts, the whole court is going to be eating burnt venison and dandelion leaves for the next decade. I almost burned down the kitchen trying to make a piece of toast at one point.
I leave the plate on the counter and head to the squire's wing to check on Ravne. I enter just in time to hear a spluttered gasp and then a yelp from his nook.
My heart jumping into my throat, I hurry forward and rip open the curtain to reveal him balled up, curled around his sheets and himself. His hair is ragged and plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face pale and glistening.
"Nightmare?" I ask.
He shudders. "Something like that." He sighs heavily then pulls himself out of the cot. "Alright, I'm not going to be sleeping any more tonight. Did I smell ham?"
"Yeah, I figured if you were going to tell me your deepest darkest secrets, you should at least get a meal out of it," I deadpan, heading to the kitchen and returning to hand him the plate.
"Thanks!" He brightens a little at least, then his face falls. "I said I would do that, didn't I…"
I fold my arms and wait.
"Let's go to the pavilion," he says. "Nobody's going to be there at this time of night."
I trail behind him as he marches out of the kitchen. Finally. There's something going on, and I'm going to find out. It's gone beyond curiosity at this point; I'm almost terrified to find out what the truth behind the gauntness of his face, the fear that sparks in his eyes, Sir Cawle's strangely threatening tones…
"You can't tell anyone, though," he mumbles.
If it's as bad as I'm starting to think it is, then I'll be the judge of that. "Alright," I reply instead.
"I know he was your father, but you have to hold yourself back," he pleads as we reach the doors.
My father? What does Redde Tayle have to do with any of this?
"What? Should I be worried?" I say.
In reply, Ravne hurries out onto the pavilion and takes a seat on one of the non-cracked benches. "Alright. You wanted to know? Here it is."
I sit beside him, staring at him.
"Well, today, Sir Cawle ordered me to hunt in Shodawa's territory," he confesses.
"He what?!" I yell, then clap my hands of my mouth. "Shit, sorry. But—wait—you—he—"
"That's why it took so long," he mutters, glancing down at the ham on his plate.
"But—that's against the knight's code!" I hiss as quietly as I can with my current level of outrage (which is quickly mounting). "That's fucking illegal! You have to tell the queen! Why in the Blacklands would he do that?!"
Ravne swallows hard, the pale outline of his throat bobbing in the moonlight.
"Because four years ago, I saw him murder Redde Tayle."
My throat goes dry. I try to swallow, but I can't. I try to make sense of what he just said, but I can't. I try to say something, anything, but I can't.
He… killed… my father? Why… would he do that?
"Samn, I'm so sorry," he says.
I swallow harder. "It doesn't matter. He's dead either way." The ice in my tone takes even me by surprise. "But—but why would he do that?"
But Ravne's blue eyes are hollow; he's checked out. "Sir Tayle ordered us back to camp, but I hesitated and I saw him… I saw Sir Tayle kill the Rivien captain of the guard, and then… and then Sir Cawle told me to go back, and then he threw Redde Tayle to the ground and Sir Tayle used his rust magic to screw up Sir Cawle's sword, but he just… he sharpened his nails into claws—like a tiger—and tore his throat open."
I double over and vomit.
Ravne seems to snap back to reality and hear what he just said. "Shit! Shit—I'm sorry! I shouldn't—"
I dry heave again, then wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve. A bitter laugh escapes me. "Not your fault, that shit's been happening to me since I got my period. Yeah, big whoop, I'm a fucking girl. Now we're even."
"Excuse me?"
I stare him down, but Ravne just seems confused more than anything else.
"You're a what?"
"I'm a giiiiiirl," I say slowly. "I believe you're familiar? Female? Woman? Chick? Gal? Lass? Lady? Bird?"
"Yeah, got it," he stammers. "I've heard of them. But—you—oh, fuck."
I laugh again. "Exactly."
"Oh—shit."
"More importantly, what in the Blacklands are we going to do about Sir Cawle? He's killing knights of our own court and breaking the code left, right, and centre," I remind him.
"I know, I just… I can't tell the queen," he mumbles.
"Why in the Blacklands not?!" I demand.
Ravne stares at me searchingly. "You've seen what Sir Hartef's death did to her. She trusts Sir Cawle to help Thundria recover. If she knew that he was planning a coup—"
"He's what?!" I yelp.
"I mean, I'm almost certain that's his end goal," Ravne says quickly, forehead scrunching in anxiety. "He killed Sir Tayle hoping to be appointed captain in his stead, and then when Sir Hartef died, he finally got his wish, but he's got his eyes aimed higher than just captain. He wants the crown."
I feel like I'm going to be sick again, but there's nothing to throw up anymore. It's all my worst fears. It's worse than my worst fears. He killed my father and I'm going to fucking suffocate him.
"We have to do something!" I say.
"I've thought of everything," he says, shaking his head. "The only thing to do is run and hope he doesn't catch me."
"He's punishing you for knowing…" I say slowly. "In fact, I wager he's probably going to try to kill you if he hasn't already." Ravne's expression reveals that he knows that very well. "But he doesn't know that I know. So if we can get you away from him, then maybe I and whoever else we can convince can stop him before he tries to hurt the queen or anyone else…"
"But who else are you going to convince?" he asked, his face crumpling.
I open my mouth, but then think it over. Duss practically worships Sir Cawle, and Fiyr is his squire, and I don't know if there's any knight in the court that has anything against Sir Cawle. I know Queen Bluelianna was at odds with Thissel Cawle, but she obviously hopes that Tigre is different…
"I—I don't know."
Ravne nods, sighing. "There's nobody. There's nothing that can be done."
That can't be true! "But we still have to get you away from Sir Cawle; your life might be at stake here!" I point out. "That's the first thing we have to do; we have to find somewhere for you to go… to leave the kingdom."
He purses his lips but seems strangely resigned. "I know. I've made my peace with it, more or less. But I don't think there's anywhere I can go. Do you think I could flee to one of the villages? No… Sir Cawle would find me… I need somewhere far, somewhere safe, that I can live…"
Somewhere far away but somewhere he could somehow also live…
"The moor!" I burst out.
Ravne squints at me. "Wynnd's moor?"
I shake my head vehemently, pointing out in a random direction. "Knave's Moor, with Barrleigh!"
"Oh!" He blushes. "Wait, you think I should leave Thundria to live on the farm with Barrleigh?"
Despite the sombre deliberation, I can't help jumping to my feet. "It's the perfect solution! He's a friend of the court, but the court rarely interacts with him, he's obviously able to live there with relative safety and comfort, and he seemed to like you!"
"Really?" He runs a hand through his hair. "He did? I mean—that is—er, it's a really good idea. But how are we going to get there?"
I raise my eyebrows. "A horse, you dolt."
"Can you make the return journey alone?" he presses.
It makes me falter, but I have to brush it off; if he doesn't agree, I'm worried that I won't be able to think of anything else. "'Course; it's just a ride."
"There's one more thing," he says, glancing out across the trees. "Sir Cawle is trying to make the court think I'm a traitor."
"He is?!"
At first, I'm confused—how exactly does one go about trying to make him look like a traitor? Framing him? Then certain memories begin to come together to form a cohesive image. Sir Cawle staring at Ravne when he told the court to come to him with any suspicions, Sir Cawle making him hunt in Shodawa's territory so when he returns, anyone that slips into the Trace around him will sense Shodawes trace on him, Sir Cawle's meaningful glances and hard eyes…
I swallow hard.
"And I think he's already convinced Fiyr."
"He what?" I feel like an idiot just echoing what he says with growing incredulity, so I cough quickly and add, "What makes you think that?"
Ravne shrugs uncomfortably. "He… he keeps giving me weird looks and I've seen Sir Cawle pulling him aside to talk to him alone… I think he put the idea in Fiyr's mind, and then Fiyr started to notice everything else that Tigre Cawle was doing to point the blame in my direction, and now he's convinced himself that I'm a traitor or something."
"Pardon me, but that's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard," I spit, unable to take any more of it. "Sir Cawle implied something so now Fiyr thinks you're a traitor?"
"People flock to strength. Tigre isn't popular for his sunny attitude. The court feels safe knowing that whatever tries to hurt him will also be attacking two hundred pounds of muscle and short temper," Ravne points out quietly. "And that's why they'll rebel against the idea that he's somehow not on their side. It's too scary to imagine."
"So they're too fucking scared," I growl, feeling angrier by the second. "They just need a bigger, scarier knight to follow around. Well, what about Sir Strommer? What about Sir Har—er, I guess not…"
"Sir Strommer is noble and loyal," Ravne agrees. "But you don't see him and have the same visceral reaction. It's perception, nothing more, but it's powerful enough to determine whether or not anybody will believe the truth about Sir Cawle."
Damned Starlaxi.
But he's right. There's virtually nothing I can do except try to help Ravne escape before Sir Cawle kills him.
"Aha!"
It's like a fire starting in my mind as the idea comes to me, ironically enough. "What if… okay—tell me if you don't understand—but if Fiyr really thinks you're a traitor, then I have to assume that he'd want you out of the kingdom, since he doesn't strike me as bloodthirsty enough to try to kill you, so wouldn't he really be the perfect accomplice to take you to the farm?"
Ravne's eyes narrow in thought, then his face brightens. "That's brilliant! You know, call it wishful thinking, but I'm pretty sure that he thinks I'm being blackmailed or threatened or something; every time he side-eyes me, it's a mixture of pity and suspicion. It makes sense, though, doesn't it? I don't have the motivation to betray Thundria, so it must be self-preservation. I don't know how he thinks I'm being threatened since Shodawa is far away and I could obviously just not go near them, but he's probably deep enough in his own paranoia that he's figured out some way for it to make sense."
I nod. "Well, that would only help, then; if you're being threatened, if you left the kingdom, no one would be able to threaten you and you'd no longer be 'a threat to Thundria'." I coat the words in a heavy layer of sarcasm so he knows I'm not serious.
For the first time in weeks, Ravne looks carefree. He sighs in relief. "I think I might actually be able to sleep now."
I laugh, the same giddy relief beginning to overwhelm me, though with the threat of Tigre Cawle still very much present, I can't help having reservations. "That's good."
"And I won't tell anyone about you," he swears solemnly, covering his heart with one hand.
"About—oh fuck, right…" I'd almost forgotten I'd told him in a moment of insanity, probably. "Just more reason to get you out of the kingdom," I tease.
He grins. "Night."
"Goodnight."
I wait out on the pavilion, alone with my thoughts as he heads back into the castle. What am I supposed to do about Sir Cawle? Surely Queen Bluelianna would believe me. She would, but would the repercussions be too great? What it would it do to her, if her last hope was turned traitor before her very eyes…?
I shudder.
…
The next morning, the very first thing I do is rush to the nursery.
"Mom!" I call, not caring if I wake up half the castle or sound like a needy baby.
"Hush!" Spottalia appears in the doorway of the nursery as I rush towards her, holding a finger to her lips. "The babies are sleeping."
I have half-brothers and sisters! I feel a little light-headed. What are they like? I wonder when they'll demonstrate! What kind of life-force will they have?
To my surprise, Queen Bluelianna appears behind Spottalia, who quickly steps aside to let the monarch pass. "See me in my private room once you've visited them," she tells me raspily before crossing the throne room towards that room.
Spottalia beckons me forwards and I follow her into the quiet, clean nursery. It's quite similar to the healer's wing, though smaller than I remember. I suppose that's because the last time I was here was when I was a little kid. Most of the beds sit unused and perfectly pristine, but my mother lies in one, propped up on a few pillows, and two cribs lie next to her.
"Mom?" I whisper, glancing furtively at the cribs. I'm no child expert, but I know that babies wake up if someone even burps too close to them and I don't want to deal with screaming this early in the morning.
"Come, sit by me, Samn," she says, looking exhausted but proud. "Meet your brother and sisters."
I peek into the cribs and see all the babies nestled there, slumbering peacefully. Cute. I don't feel any kind of spark immediately, but I can't deny that they're adorably tiny.
"Aww," I say for Brindellia's sake.
"Aren't they beautiful?" she whispers reverently, leaning over and peeking at them alongside me. "I can tell she's going to be a fighter."
My sister… The other two babies are much stiller; in fact, they're hardly moving at all.
"The others are weaker," Brindellia says, her face falling. "I… I think there might be a problem with them."
I swallow. "Really? But… but babies don't move too much ordinarily, right?"
Brindellia says nothing, simply staring at me with limpid green eyes.
Feeling a little sick, I back up. "They're probably fine. I should go, the queen wanted to see me."
My mother is silent as I leave the nursery hurriedly. They'll be fine. They have to be. I want to meet them properly.
Trying to put it out of my mind—I really don't need more things to worry about right now—I walk quickly toward the private room behind the throne.
"Your Majesty? You wanted to see me?"
"Samn, come in." The queen's voice sounds from within.
I bypass Liang Teyl, who is trying to look menacing with his hand on the pommel of Longtail but failing and push open the door.
The queen is seated at her desk, her normally tame gray hair in a frizz around her head. She looked a little dishevelled when I saw her in the nursery wing, but in the flickering torchlight of her private chambers, she looks positively unhinged. I falter in the doorway, but berate myself for being put off by such a silly thing as an appearance.
"Have you practiced your breathing since we meditated?" she asks without looking up.
I run my hand through my hair. "Was I supposed to?" I ask guiltily.
She purses her lips, still staring down at the papers on her desk. "I just thought you might pursue it outside of your lessons. You seemed to take to it rather quickly."
"I've been practicing fighting manoeuvres!" I volunteer quickly.
"Fancy strikes will only get you so far, Samn," she tells me distractedly. "You must harness the true living power within your own being if you are to prevail."
Sounds like a prophecy, I think, a little weirded out by her sudden intensity.
She sighs, pushing the papers to one side of her desk. "No matter. Your strength will come in time, and in the meanwhile, we will succeed against Shodawa's tyranny with the power of Sir Cawle and the other knights of Thundria."
I wince at the mention of her faith in Sir Cawle. Ravne was right. She relies on him to keep her faith in the court alive. What would happen to her if she knew the truth? Is she cold enough to withstand it or will she shatter so much like one of those brittle icicles she told me about?
"Uhuh," I mutter.
"The strength of the court cannot come from the monarch alone, Samn," the queen tells me sagely, vastly misinterpreting my response. "You will learn to understand and respect the power of a united kingdom."
That's exactly the problem. Your captain of the guard is a traitor! But the words are stuck in my throat. It would destroy her. What do I do? I'm a squire, how am I supposed to protect the queen?!
"And Thundria will have to prevail after I am gone," she says, leaning back in her chair. "I know you see me as invincible, but Samn, of my Nine Blessings, I have only two left."
I gasp, then choke. "But—but when we went to the Lunar Temple, you told Sir Cawle that you still had four!" I exclaim. "Did you miscount?!" How could someone miscount something so essential that if they lost it they would die?
"I did not. I simply must appear strong to my court; yet I fear that I appear too strong to you," she confesses, leaning forwards, her blue eyes blazing with intensity. "I am not a god. I am not of the maiorum. I am merely a queen."
"Merely?" I echo, stomach twisting. "Don't say that! You're the life-blood of Thundria!"
"And the blood will one day run dry," she pushes, and I shake my head, unable to accept it. "I will pass on, and a new queen or king will rise from my ashes. All fires burn out, Samn."
My throat's dry. "But Thundria needs you!" I protest.
She chuckles at that. "I'm not abdicating. I'm just telling you that—the Starlaxi willing—within your lifetime, I will die and the crown will be passed on to another knight. Perhaps Sir Cawle. Is he ready? It is for the Starlaxi to decide, as Fiythar would say." She laughs again. "I suppose I'll just have to wait until I'm among them."
It's too much.
I stand, needing to run or fight or something, I can't just sit here and listen to her predict her own death. I can't.
"I expect you to keep this conversation quiet," she says, suddenly serious again. "Your attention is appreciated Samn, but I am no hero."
You are to me. But I just nod and run out of her room, trying to blink back tears that I don't even understand.
A horrible thought suddenly hits me.
So this is what it feels like to have your faith shaken. And all she said was that she was mortal. What if she'd told me she was a traitor? Who wouldn't be destroyed? I was shaken by what Ravne said, no question, but the queen has so much faith in him! It would destroy her.
"They're gone!"
I hear the scream first, then realize it was Frostialla Fuor. What now? Things couldn't go much more wrong, could they?
Then three things happen at the same time.
Sir Cawle reels back from where he was heading towards with healer's wing with a shout.
Frostialla Fuor dashes into the throne room, still screaming.
And I drop into the fifth dimension in a protective response to the yells, only to feel the trace of Shodawa and Yllowei's terror all around me.
"My children are gone!" Frostialla howls.
"Where is Yllowei Fennen?!" Sir Cawle shouts. "Spottalia Lief is dead!"
The court erupts into utter chaos.
Thanks for reading chapter 20! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!
~Akila
