Fast and Loose
Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me.Written for Seanfhocal Circle Challenge 17.
"Looming danger, sir," muttered Sergeant Flyndan to his commander. Responding to the quiet warning, Raoul of Goldenlake casually scanned the horizon. His methodical sweep caught on a pale figure in one of the balcony corridors overlooking the garden.
"Thanks," he murmured to Flyndan. The danger was descending a flight of stairs to the garden, and could be approaching him shortly. Discarding the staff that he was about to start training with, Raoul raised his legs and loped in the direction of the stables, refusing to look back.
The stables were usually safe. Nobility tended to avoid their dark and smelly interiors, and his stallion was fast enough that he could gallop out the doors and right past whoever was waiting for him outside. He did just that, now, or tried to. With a sharp yank on the reins, Raoul ordered his horse to quicken his pace, yet the horse did not obey.
Instead of bolting left the steed turned right to follow a small, yellow mare he'd scented. His rider came with, against his will. Swearing under his breath, the rider attempted a hazardous dismount. Being half-bucked by his huge stallion, and falling flat on his bottom was his only reward.
Worse by far was the tinkling giggle he heard, followed by the words, "May I help you up?"
"You couldn't if I wanted you to," grumbled the man inaudibly, and pushed himself off the dusty ground, avoiding the eyes of the girl who stood beside him.
She was holding the reins of the little mare who'd tempted his horse to insubordination, wearing a simple white gown, her hair draped in a thick flaxen braid over her shoulder.
"Won't you even say hello, Sir Raoul?" she asked.
"Hullo, Lady Cythera," he replied reluctantly.
Her smile lit up her pale, peaky face. "That's better," she said cheerfully.
Raoul did not answer, but instead made a clearly futile grab for his reins, still refusing to meet Cythera's eyes. Although he would not look at her, he could better than guess how her smile would dim, her stature dip, the simple joy that defined her wilt into disappointment. He fooled himself that he did not mind, yet he refused to lie.
"Their majesties' anniversary ball is next month," she started again, hopefully.
"I know," he replied.
"Will you be going?"
He kicked dirt with one dusty boot, examining the spray of earth with care. "I'm taking the Own away for recruitment," he said. "We've suffered heavy casualties."
"Surely not far, though," insisted Cythera stubbornly, one milky white hand flicking her heavy bangs from her forehead. "If you're to recruit noblemen and merchants, you must be staying near Corus. Where?" There was a well-bred insistence in her tone that could not be refused.
"The desert," Raoul answered quickly.
Her fingers now snatched at the curves of her braid. "Who do you intend to recruit in the desert?" she asked. "The Bazhir?"
"Yes," said Raoul firmly.
Cythera let go of her hair.
"You know His Majesty accepted an offer of spiritual leadership from the Bazhir," he invented, "and that he spent time with them in the years before his coronation. He wishes them to become more involved in the realm's affairs, and thinks the Own to be an excellent device for promoting this, because it provides such successful grounds for the social merging of nobility and high merchants. He has ordered me to recruit among the Bazhir in the interest of furthering this cause."
The girl's eyes, unrelenting and unavoidable, were on his. The shallow wound in them told him the best of his fibs could not fly past them uncaught. When she released the reins of her mare and walked away without a word, he told himself, again, that he could not lie.
"Your best friend is in love with her, he reminded himself. Would you betray him, when you're not even interested? You promised. He said if you'd just leave her alone she'd come around to him eventually. He said he was patient. He said he trusted you. You couldn't promise him and then turn around and break that promise. You couldn't lie to yourself that you didn't mind that he liked her better. The only one you can lie to is her."
