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Chapter 8 - Samn

1...2...3...4...5…6...7...8…

"So who's this Yllowei Fennen woman?" Fiyr asks in that irritatingly squeaky way he has. He's trailing behind Dune and I on foot as we head back to the castle.

Well, that didn't take long, I snort to myself. Ugh. I push Dune a little quicker, just to force Fiyr to hurry. If he's out of breath, he won't be so interested in chatting, right?

"Shodawa's court healer," I reply curtly. "She trained as a warrior, but switched later… can't imagine why she left."

The sarcasm is obviously lost on Fiyr.

"Where was she planning to go?" he asks, moving even quicker as I push Dune forth.

"The Blacklands if I care," I reply levelly, still fixing my gaze on the horizon. I really, really don't want to talk to this idiot right now…

Looking at his, listening to him, thinking about him just lends itself as a reminder of the day he came. Which also happened to be the day…

And ever since, he's been an irritating presence everywhere. I've done my best to just ignore and continue like he never came to the court, but it's getting increasingly difficult. Especially when I don't want to ignore him… I want… to grind my boot into his stupid freckled face…

"What happens to members of the court when they leave?" he asks, breathing hard as Dune's nearly made it into a canter.

"Hire themselves out as mercs or just go full outlander," I reply, shrugging. If I just answer his questions, he'll shut up, right?

"What's an outlander?" he asks.

I grit my teeth. "Anybody who lives in the wilderness without a kingdom or gods to keep them in one place."

"I'll probably be an outlander when the queen's done with me," Fiyr comments morosely. "I mean, the knights tell us nearly every day to leave the training rations alone."

My nose flares at the suggestion that the queen would be anything less than perfectly fair. "Well, no squire's perfect, and you've well and truly proved that, but the queen's not cruel. I just hope she gives you severe enough punishment."

That particular pronouncement is met with Fiyr muttering, "Yeah, I bet you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?" My head jerks around to stare him down. "Watch your mouth."

"Ever since I got here, you've been a stone-cold bi—" He shrieks suddenly as he goes head-over-heels, tripping on a root, and lands flat on his ass, a smear of mud across the side of his face.

"Smooth move, god-toy," I snort, but a pang of guilt hits me. I must have sped Dune up to the point where he couldn't keep up and tripped on something.

"My ankle," he whines, cradling it in his lap.

"Look I'm sorry, but—c'mon, we have to get back to the castle," I snap impatiently, trying to cover the waver of worry in my voice. What if it's actually broken or something? I haven't the faintest clue of what to do… Just another situation where Spottalia Lief would probably be more helpful.

"I don't think I can walk," he groaned, his voice wobbling like he was on the verge of tears.

This guy, I swear… Son of a thrice-damned—

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," I hiss. "Listen up, we're going to have to do this carefully."

"Do what?" He's looking up at me now with big tearful green eyes.

It's your ankle, not your neck. Blessed Starlaxi…

"Two-person riding," I snap, fiercely holding back the red blush threatening to creep up my neck. "Look, it's more dangerous than you walking, and it's slower too. So if this whole ankle thing is an act to try to not have to walk, then I suggest you give it up right now."

He shakes his head, wiping at the dirt on his face with the back of his hand and only smearing it further across his cheek.

I sigh heavily. Okay, here we go.

"You can stand up, right? It's your ankle, not your whole leg?" Doesn't come out quite as aggressive as I was hoping, but I'll make do.

He nods and raises his hand for help limply. I wrap my thumb around his and grip his wrist, yanking him to his feet. He yelps.

"Alright, listen up," I say sharply to cover any misgivings. "I'm riding in front to make sure you don't drive Dune into a tree. You're going to have to ride bareback, which, the Starlaxi-willing, you're not a complete failure at too. We're going to go slowly. Slowly. I will be in control of Dune at all times. You can't try to slow her down or speed her up."

He nods shakily, his tears drying.

"This takes trust," I'm practically yelling at him, but I don't dare let my voice soften lest things get really awkward really fast. "You say that you need to stop, and I'll stop the horse, okay? I don't want you ending up yanking us both off!"

Fiyr nods, his eyebrows lifting a little at my aggressive tone, and I take a deep breath.

"I'll mount first, you go up behind," I order. "She spooks easy if you graze her legs, so for the love of the Starlaxi just try not to get us both killed."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Once his lip-quivering, injured attitude from his trip earlier is gone, his spark's returning to his voice. And his snark.

I can't think of a good retort, so I just narrow my eyes at him and curl my lip. Intimidating enough to stop him from doing anything stupid, the Starlaxi-willing…

I mount Dune quickly and deftly, and glance back at him, waiting.

He runs a hand through his bright red hair and coughs uncertainly.

"Well? What are you waiting for, an invitation from the Starlaxi themselves? Get on with it," I snap.

"Uh, I can't do it if you're watching!" He seems to have no qualms about letting me see the full force of his red flush. Red hair on a red face on red freckles…

"Well, I'm just trying to make sure you don't pull the horse down on top of you!" I retort.

Grimacing, he hobbles over to the horse and first tries to swing his uninjured leg over, then realized that he'd need to balance on the other and collapsed like a boneless chicken.

"For the Starlaxi's sake," I hiss, unbuckling my straps and swing off Dune to help him. "New plan, I'm helping you up, then I'm getting up there."

He nodded, blushing all the way down to his stupid twisted ankle.

I don't want us to have to break this down to an exact science about how this is gonna go, but I also don't want an awkward handslip… and the result?

"I'm just—okay, well," I stutter, fluttering my hands in a vague motion. "Put your…"

Somehow deciphering my gibberish, he lays his hands across Dune's back, and I kneel, letting his step awkwardly onto my thigh and swing his ankle over the horse.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief and mount quickly in front of Fiyr.

Certainly not thinking about the fact that I can hear his breathing.

I breathe shallowly.

He's very warm. But I guess that's to be expected with fire life-force. I slip into the Trace before I can think about it and consider his life-force's feel, a sharp feel of cinnamon and iron that's finally begun to override the feel of god magic.

"Hold on."

…

We make it back to the castle without actual incidents—other than me being stupid, stupid, stupid—and Willowamina Peilte greets me again.

Neither Fiyr or I look at each other as we enter—well, I don't, so I wouldn't know and I certainly don't care—and we make it into the throne room.

Yllowei Fennen is hobbling out of the healer's wing with a crutch and several bandages hanging off her various limbs.

She staggers, nearly losing balance for a moment and when I see Spottalia Lief rush out behind her to help her, my teeth are set on edge. A bit of a sour smile spreads over my face as Yllowei elbows the seventeen-year-old away.

And Fiyr steps forward, about to go all chivalrous-knight on the Shodawes healer, but I shove a hand of my own out to stop him. "What in Starlaxi's name?! She's going to hurt her!"

"She was pushing her away, not skewering her, relax," I snap. "So you're cool with stealing and risking your court position for Fennen, but the second she lays a hand on someone older and more skilled than you that's perfectly capable of self-defense, you're suddenly flipping tables?!"
He glances from Spottalia back to me, green eyes narrowing, but he backs down.

"That's what I thought," I snip.

He grits his teeth, eyes flashing.

I'm ready for him to jump me, my hand's already on the hilt of my sword. In fact, I hope he does. Maybe I can let out some of tension sizzling under my skin, punch him in the jaw, physical contact on my terms instead of the stupid stunt with the horse.

But he relaxes and falls back.

"I don't know what your problem is, I think we could've been friends," he says, surprisingly candid and sticking out his bottom lip as if daring me to spit in his face.

"God-toy." The sharp words fly out of my mouth like daggers, because I can tear the wall down whenever I want but it's going to take time to rebuild it and I need it right now.

Rather than do one of his characteristic whines, he huffs a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. "Have it your way. Stuck-up jackass."

As far as I know, it's the first time he's sworn. He spits it like he's been doing it his whole life, but there's the satisfied flash in his eyes of a newbie.

I'm still considering how much trouble I'd actually get in if I threw an uppercut at his jaw when he turns on his heel and storm away to stand with some of the rest of the court under the raised dais.

And I'm the stuck-up jackass.

I wait, my hand still clenched on the hilt of Bolt until my breathing slows a little and the adrenaline drains away. For whatever reason, my eyes are still pinned on Fiyr's retreating back. He's headed for the kitchen. Yeah, good luck with that.

No way Queen Bluelianna's gonna let him eat after his stunt with the training rations.

He seems to think better of it too and pauses, glancing at the throne where the queen's seated, in more ceremonial wear, but looking no less worn and irritable as Tigre Cawle seems to explain something very tensely to her.

I edge closer until I turn around and seat myself on the edge of a lower level of the dais, close enough to eavesdrop, but facing away from them so as not to attract suspicion. Don't mind me, just counting my fingers, like you do.

"...won't just slice open our throats in our sleep?" Sir Cawle demands tersely.

"Why would she have left Shodawa? Think for a minute," the queen says, as close to really angry as I've heard her. "With the Wynnd situation, the answer's clear. She may be… rough, but she isn't cruel. If she left, it wasn't to play spy. If you're so scared she'll tell Shodawa all our secrets, the chances seem equally good that she might tell us a thing or two about Shodawa."

"B—" Sir Cawle begins, but the queen pushes on.

"Besides which, she's seen enough now that it would be dangerous to let her go. We've a better chance by keeping her here until we know for certain whether she'll betray us or not. In the meantime, she is a guest, not a prisoner."

I can't help myself, I tilt my head to the side to glimpse Tigre pull back, a deep frown etched on his face.

"I don't like it," he rumbles.

"You don't have to," she says softly, sounding almost amused again, her temper cooling.

The queen rises from her throne, but makes no move to call attention from the court. Instead she moves down the dais, almost floating in the heavy blue ceremonial dress.

"Frostialla Fuor, a word," she calls out, and the tall white-haired woman nods and draws the queen to the side. "Elves have been spotted in the north forests. Keep the children in the castle until they've been dealt with. If they're playing in the gardens, make sure there's always a mother to make sure they're safe. A mother with a sword, mind you."

Frostialla chuckles, a slightly surprisingly unladylike sound and nods. "Don't worry Bluelia, I'll make sure they're safe. You can trust me and Frostfur."

The queen gives her an approving nod and surprisingly informal grin. "I don't doubt it." For whatever reason, the queen rubs her forearm and the white-haired woman shakes her head with another laugh. As Frostialla Fuor curtsies to the queen, Queen Bluelianna turns and heads for the kitchen.

My stomach rumbling, I follow her and find Ravne on duty. He looks much more laid-back now that he's not in a forest filled with danger with an equally dangerous knight shouting abuse at him… Well, I suppose anybody would be.

The queen asks for whatever they've been cooking up today, and I copy her, but request a helping of Graie's strawberry cobbler from yesterday for desert. What can I say? He's annoying as a mosquito, but the guy can bake.

I stand there awkwardly, preferring silence to having to exchange courtesies with the queen. A moment later, Fiyr arrives, and with an awkward glance at Bluelianna Star, asks for the same as both of us.

The three plates arrive at the same time, as does Tigre Cawle, looking even more sour if it was possible.

"Not for you Fiyr, you can bring your share to the elders," the knight growled and the ginger-haired squire sighed heavily and takes his plate of steaming food away. Tigre outlines his meal to Ravne with a peculiarly intense stare at his squire.

Silently, without looking at either the queen or Sir Cawle, I pick up my plate and move to the dining room. It's a wide, open hall, the second largest room after the throne room, expansive floor space covered in banquet tables with benches and aisles between each. It hasn't been properly full in awhile, though.

After the loss to Rivier, morale's been low and every celebration of the season's passing has been lackluster because of it. The solstices have come and gone without comment, just a somber reminder than King Braukkiniaum Star's grip tightens over the Shodawes kingdom.

With that thought, I turn on my heel and take my plate to my nook in the squire's wing and sit on my bed, devouring the generous slice of venison and heap of mashed potatoes. We won't have asparagus for another season so for now it's boiled broccoli, but I don't really care.

I've drawn the curtains around my meager living space, sitting cross-legged on my bed, so I don't see Graie and Fiyr come in, but I hear them. Or more specifically, I hear Fiyr's stomach rumbling.

"Has she given you a punishment yet?" Graie asks, then a springy noise like he's just sat heavily on his bed.

"No, but no dinner's pretty much punishment enough," Fiyr whines.

"Weeeell, that doesn't seem right," Graie says and I can practically hear the frown in his voice. "Are you sure? I mean, eating's pretty important, but just skipping a meal doesn't seem right for actually stealing and... potential treason."

"Sorry, treason?!" Fiyr demands.

"Well, I mean, I don't think you actually committed treason," Graie assures him. "But I mean… a newcomer suddenly feeding a dangerous person from another kingdom… it just looks real bad."

Fiyr sighs.

"I get that. I just… ugh, I wish I could explain," he says, sighing again.

Explain away you stealing and eating when you totally could've waited until dinner…? I think, then my prayers are answered when Graie retorts.

"Explain you eating training rations?" His tone's like a chiding mother hen. "C'mon, Fiyr, I understand feeding Yllowei Fennen 'cuz she was starving and like… falling apart… but you really didn't need to eat it."

"I knooow," Fiyr groans, and there's a muffled sound like he's slapping his hands over his head. "Gah. What a mess, I don't know what I was thinking, but it just really sucks that a tiny lapse in judgement is about to like… get me thrown out of the kingdom."

"I'm sure it won't," Graie says sympathetically. "It was stupid, real stupid, but you have to do something pretty bad to get exiled, and a bit of stealing while you're still a kid doesn't count."

"I hope so," Fiyr moans, not sounding convinced.

Suddenly, Queen Bluelianna Star's voice echoes through the squire's wing, calling us to a court meeting in the throne room.

I freeze, waiting until I hear Graie and Fiyr's retreating steps before I actually hop to my feet and follow behind, far enough that they won't hear.

"Knights and squires of Thundria," the queen declares, her voice resonating through the crowded room. "As I'm sure you've noticed, we have an addition to our court. We have taken the Shodawes court healer, Yllowei Fennen, and she will be staying at the castle until further notice."

With the hand not holding her sceptre, she motions towards Yllowei Fennen, who's seated awkwardly a few levels down the dais cradling her bandaged arm.

A murmur starts in the court, but the queen silences us all with a flash of her hand, before continuing, "Reports from patrolling by the solstice pavilion announce that there is no sign of life anywhere on the Wynnd moors. There is no sign of a war, but traces of Shodawa all across the territory."

Whatever interest in the news about Yllowei Fennen immediately evaporates at the new development.

"Wynnd gone?"

"But no battle…"

"Hundreds of people, just… gone?"

"Shodawes rats, for sure!"

"They drove Wynnd out of house and home!"

"Silence!" The queen's sceptre collides with the stone platform with a resounding crack. Mouths snap shut immediately. "King Braukkiniaum Star—" Jeers break out in the court, but the queen silences them with an icy stare, "—seemed to have no ulterior motive when he took the throne. I cannot fathom why he would be after the Wynnd kingdom like this."

Duss, next to me, tenses. "I can think of a couple. How about that he's a scummy Shodawes low-life and his hunger for power is driving him to new extremes?"

"Until then, all patrols, be they hunting or border-guarding, must contain at least two full-grown knights and no less than four members," the queen announces, her shadowed gaze sweeping across the court. "Hunting patrols will stay close to the castle; border-guarding will increase in frequency, and no child will leave the castle until this is resolved. Do I make myself clear?"

Worried glances are exchanged all across the court, but everyone nods.

Until it's resolved? If the problem's Braukkiniaum Star, I don't think it can be resolved, until he's dead… I think privately, but bob my head in agreement.

"Our squires will be working harder than ever to usher in a new generation of strong knights," the queen declares, her eyes landing on me and Duss, "and to aid in that endeavour, I have decided to change the situation of mentors to try to better optimize each squire's abilities to their teacher. Therefore, until the end of their training or further changes, the squire and mentor match-ups will be as follows.

"Fiyr will be training exclusively with Sir Tigre Cawle. Ravne will be taught by Sir Whit Strommer. Duss will continue his squirehood under Sir Darriek Styrp, as will Graie with Sir Liyon Hartef," the queen announced, then her blue gaze swivelled down to me, a strange warmth that I hadn't seen there before glimmering in her azure depths. "And I will take the responsibilities of training Samn upon myself."

I think I inhale every millimetre of air in the room. Relief at Ravne no longer having to put up with Sir Cawle's… abrasiveness is immediately swept away under the all-consuming thought of Sweet Starlaxi the queen wants to train me… I mean, I suppose it isn't that strange; monarchs often train the children of captains—the ever present needle of pain pushes a little deeper into my heart—but still, I thought that chance was blown for me when I was apprenticed to Sir Strommer. Being squired to the queen's nephew is nothing compared to Queen Bluelianna Star herself!

I resist squealing and instead just let a smug smile spread over my face. Duss's gonna blow a gasket.

I see a glimmer of nervousness on Fiyr's face, but it's replaced with a resolute determination. I wager that he could put up with Sir Cawle better than Ravne.

"And Fiyr's punishment?" the burly knight who is now supposedly going to mentor him questions.

Being made squire to him is plenty punishment, if you ask me, I think with a wry smile.

"I'm getting to that," the queen says quellingly. "As Yllowei Fennen is badly injured and will require constant care, Fiyr will be taking care of her every need."

"Pah! Sucker," Duss bursts out with a mean little laugh. Despite myself, I join in. Fiyr's been irritating and I'll be glad to see him have to deal with that old prickly bag of bones.

"Quiet!" the queen suddenly snaps, and I deflate like a popped balloon, embarrassed, and shrink away. "There's no shame in caring for someone that can't care for themselves."

The throne room is quiet and my face is burning with the heat of all the stares on Duss and I.

"That will be all. Dismissed," the queen says, waving her hand and stepping down the levels of the dais, helping Yllowei up on her way by. I'm still hot with shame from the reprimand I can't help but glaring at Duss, even though it's not his fault that I joined in.

The old woman grunts in pain as she stands, and Fiyr hurries over to help her. The last thing I hear before ducking into the squire's wing is Liang Teyl's scornful voice.

"Try not to pick up too many more stray outlanders," he sneers. "Outsiders always bring trouble."

Despite myself, I feel a stab of defensiveness on Fiyr's part as his face flushes with red anger.

Thanks for reading chapter 8! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!

~Akila