Voices drifted across the plaza and bounced their way into the vaulted ceilings of the church. Jane could not make out distinct words but the sound was comforting in the otherwise silent space.
It was a new building, recently completed, with an impressive glass window that the Merchant had contributed towards.
"He is trying to buy salvation," Jester had suggested at the time. "But I very much doubt he could afford a clean soul."
It had been a scandalous thing, spoken quietly, and Jane had not been entirely able to disagree.
Nevertheless the window was beautiful, allowing moonlight to filter down over the alter, over her sword and shield, and over Jane herself.
She knelt, supposedly in prayer, although her thoughts were rather too nervous and distracted for such solemnity. Instead she focused on the noise outside, the revelry of the Travellers as they celebrated . . . although she knew not what. Was it the ceremony of the following day? Or perhaps that their time in Kippernium was drawing to a close and soon they would be facing the monotony of endless travel again. Maybe they were celebrating the profitable trades they had made over the past weeks.
They had traded extensively with Magnus, as Gunther had promised they would, but also with other townsfolk and even members of the castle.
Jane's mother had a new pair of rabbit skin gloves, her father a hand carved quill. The Prince and Princess had new toys to delight them, and Rake had several new seeds to add to his collection. Smithy had received into his care two milking goats and a long list of instructions from Kezia and Rose, while Pepper had a number of new recipes and ways to use the milk.
Gunther had added a new horse to the castle stables; an impressive black mare with a glossy coat and feathers.
Jane had first seen her when Gunther returned to the castle, riding ahead of the caravans with a small party of young men.
"She is a beauty, is she not?" He had called to Smithy as he rode her into the training yard.
"She is," the smith agreed. "She moves well."
Jane had been making her way from the kitchen garden to the yard, but stopped short and pressed herself against the wall when she saw them. Or rather, him.
It had only been two weeks since she had seen him, but after their journey together his absence had been trying to Jane. The end of a habit she had only realised she had formed after it was disrupted.
Now there he was, strong and whole, looking both larger and smaller than he had when last he stood in that yard. His air of easy confidence had only grown since she had first observed it from across the camp fire, and he spoke with Smithy as he would have with any friend. He was home, right there, mere paces away.
And Jane stood frozen, uncertain and transfixed.
His hair stuck up oddly, a little longer now but lacking any weight to hold it down. His clothes were dusty, and he clearly needed to bathe and shave. A silver circlet jangled on his wrist, a charm swung about his neck, moving away from his loose shirt as he dismounted.
He was Gunther, a boy she had known for a good deal of her life. But he was Gunther, a man with whom she was newly acquainted, who made her pulse quicken and her stomach roil for reasons she did not understand. And he was right there.
Jane's mouth was dry, and she licked her lips, preparing to speak when a voice in her ear made her jump and squeak instead.
"Is that Gunther?" Jester asked beside her. "What happened to his hair? And what is he wearing?"
Jane's hand was on her chest, over her racing heart, and she licked her lips again when she realised that Jester was looking at her oddly.
"You startled me," she said defensively.
"Sorry," Jester gave her an apologetic smile before striding further into the yard.
"Welcome home weary traveller!" He called, and Gunther looked up and saw him, issued his own greeting in return, and then saw Jane.
She stepped out from the shadow of the wall as his eyes met hers and moved into the heat of the sun. She hoped fervently that would account for any sudden colour in her cheeks.
"Welcome home, Gunther," she said, her tone calm and strangely formal. The detached way she sounded made Jane want to cringe, but somehow she felt it was the best she could do just at that moment.
"Jane," he said, smiling warmly at her. "It is good to see you! How have you been?"
"Quite well, thank you," said Jane, noticing the way Gunther's smile faltered at her clipped tone, and feeling entirely unable to do anything about it. "I am sure Sir Theodore will want to hear of your return; I shall go and tell him at once." She turned towards the Knights' quarters, moving briskly and resisting the urge to slap her hand against her forehead.
What was wrong with her?
There was some reprieve for Jane that day, between Gunther reporting to Sir Theodore and the King, leaving out perhaps one or two details but answering all of their questions, and then the arrival of the Travellers.
The excitement had increased ten-fold when Vadoma had seen Jester and called out "There he is, that precious boy!"
Then one of Sabina's sisters had run to embrace him, and the clamour of voices had become deafening. It was a family reunion to remember, and Jane had spied a tear in the corner of her own mother's eye at the scene.
"It is difficult to be parted from one's child," Adeline had said softly when she realised Jane was watching her.
"I missed you too, Mother," replied Jane, pressing a kiss to the Lady-in-Waiting's cheek.
After that there had been considerable celebrating, a feast in the courtyard, and countless distractions for Jane.
It was not until the middle of the next day, when she had been called into Sir Theodore's quarters, that she had come face-to-face with Gunther again.
He was standing in front of the Knight, his hands clasped behind his back, and the smile he gave Jane had a nervous air.
Jane was instantly on edge.
"Come in, Jane," said Sir Theodore, beckoning her in when he saw her linger in the doorway.
"Yes, Sir," she swallowed, and moved to stand beside Gunther. He was taller now, it seemed.
"You may recall that I had an agreement with Gunther regarding his Knighthood," Sir Theodore began, his tone stern.
"Yes, Sir," said Jane, again, licking her lips.
Why was she nervous? Why was Gunther looking at her like that? Why had he stopped wearing his silver trinkets?
"Now Gunther tells me he will not accept this honour," said Sir Theodore.
"What?" Gasped Jane. She turned to stare incredulously at Gunther.
"Unless," Sir Theodore continued, raising his hand for silence. "You receive it also."
"What?! Gunther, that is absurd-!"
"Everything I did to deserve it you did too, and more besides!" Gunther rejoined.
"Do not be such a stubborn Bog Weevil, this is important!" Jane insisted.
"I know it is important, that is why-"
"Silence!" Roared Sir Theodore. He stared at the two squires as they quickly composed themselves.
"I never would have believed I would see the day . . . ." He paused, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "This is not a trifling matter." He continued sternly. "It is not for one of you to decide when the other is worthy."
He raised his hand again to arrest Gunther's protests.
"However," the old Knight continued. "I do believe, based on what each of you has told me and perhaps a few things you have not," he fixed Gunther with a firm stare for a moment. "That you have both earned your knighthood, and so I will speak with the King."
Blood roared in Jane's ears as the realisation of what was to happen sunk in.
"Truly?" She heard a voice -her own voice, she realised- ask.
"Yes, Jane," Sir Theodore smiled.
She turned to Gunther, who was grinning madly back at her, and burst into giggles, as did he.
Sir Theodore watched them for a short moment, an indulgent smile on his face, before interrupting their revelry.
"You are both dismissed."
"Yes Sir," said the two squires in unison.
They had made their way to the battlements, although Jane did not remember how, precisely. She was in a state of disbelief. Sir Theodore was going to talk to the King. She would soon be a knight. Because of Gunther.
"Did you truly tell Sir Theodore you would not become a knight unless I was made one too?" She asked, breaking the silence between them.
"Well . . . Yes." He admitted slowly.
"Are you mad?"
"No more than usual," Gunther shrugged. "Although I did worry that I had given Sir Theodore a fit for a moment."
"Gunther, I am serious!" Jane put her hands on her hips. "What if he had refused?"
"It seemed unlikely." Gunther shrugged. "And even if he did there would be other chances."
"It was a stupid risk," Jane replied hotly, annoyed by his indifference. "And I do not need charity from you to earn my knighthood!"
"Charity?" Scoffed Gunther, finally getting annoyed. "Jane, I would not be here to be knighted were it not for you! Your actions spared me, you made this possible, and you earned it."
"You could have discussed it with me," Jane pointed out, removing her hands from her hips to fold her arms across her chest.
"Discussed it with you? I have not been able to get you to talk with me since I returned!" Gunther pointed out. "So I decided that since you are clearly cross with me anyway I might as well go ahead."
"I am not cross with you!" Jane thought for a moment. "Well, now I am, but I was not."
"Then why avoid me?" He asked miserably. "If I did some terrible thing to you that I do not remember you must tell me so that I can make amends." He implored.
The look on his face was a mixture of worry and guilt that had Jane softening her stance.
"It is nothing like that," she reassured him. "There is nothing you need to reproach yourself for. I promise." She added, when his concerned expression remained.
"Then what, Jane? I thought we had moved past this . . . This." Gunther gestured at the space between them. "Are we not friends?" He asked quietly.
"Of course we are!" Jane took a step towards him to prove the point. "I am just . . . confused."
"What by?" Gunther raised an eyebrow, the motion familiar yet foreign as he waited patiently for her answer.
"By everything," groaned Jane. "I watched you die, Gunther. I lost you. But then you came back, and you had changed, but we were far away. Now we are both home and you are still different, somehow, and I am . . . confused." Jane hid her face in her hands, fearing she was not making any sense.
"I . . . think I understand," said Gunther after a long silence.
"Do you? I do not." Jane mumbled from behind her hands.
She did not know what to expect from him then. How did one continue a conversation like that? But when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, Jane did not resist.
"I am sorry that I worried you. I will give you time to gather your thoughts, and when you are ready to talk I will be here." His voice rumbled through Jane as he spoke, his warmth and scent washing over her. All she could do was nod, her face still hidden by her hands.
When he eventually stepped back he took her hands in his and pulled them down, searching for her face.
"Now perhaps you should go and tell your parents that you are soon to be knighted," he said, forcing lightness into his voice. "And I shall go and find Sir Ivon, and then I must visit my father."
Jane nodded again, giving him a weak smile. She watched as he turned away and descended the wall. Despite the sun shining overhead she suddenly felt cold.
It had been business as usual from that point onwards, after the initial excitement of sharing the news with her family and friends.
Gunther would meet her in the training yard, or when they exchanged shifts at the gate or on patrol. He was pleasant, and polite, never gloating when he defeated her at archery, nor sulking when she bested him at staves, but he always maintained a slight distance. He never stood too close, did not try to draw her into conversation or occupy her time outside of their duties. He simply bid her good day, smiled at her, and walked away.
It was their old routine, albeit it without any of the old animosity, and it was wrong.
Not that Jane did not appreciate Gunther's efforts. He was doing as he had promised, giving her time to adjust to the ways he had changed. It was thoughtful, and kind, and not at all what she wanted. Although what she did want remained a mystery to Jane, so she smiled back, wished him a good day in return, and did not engage him in conversation. What was there to talk about when she did not know what she wanted to say?
The date of their adoubement was set and a great deal of preparation was required. The King had decided that a feast to celebrate would be fitting, then Princess Lavinia had suggested a ball, and after that the celebrations had quickly outgrown the occasion.
Jane knelt on the stone steps, her knees growing painful despite the cushion the princess had gifted her with.
It was a large altar, carved from a giant stone, but Jane could only see half of it. Great sheets of white cloth had been strung up in the chapel, dividing it neatly in half and draping up and over the centre of the altar.
Gunther occupied the other side, praying at his half of the altar.
It was an unorthodox approach, but two squires needed to stand their vigil and so arrangements had been made.
Sir Ivon stood watch outside, but as midnight grew near Sir Theodore would take up the post.
Jane glanced at the fabric beside her, and wondered if Gunther knelt as near to it as she did. He would be close enough for her to reach out and touch if he was.
Her heart beat a little faster at the thought, and Jane mentally scolded herself. That was not what she should be thinking of now, at this time and in this place.
She stood, rubbing her knees and stretching, hoping that a few moments of movement would allow her to focus again.
She stood facing the temporary curtain, shaking out her limbs and trying to think solemn thoughts, when the full moon slipped out from behind the clouds. Its cool light shone through the window above and bounced off carved stone walls, throwing shadows upon the fabric.
Jane's breath hitched as Gunther's silhouette appeared before her. He stood facing the altar, his face upturned to the window, profile cast clearly against the cloth.
He is beautiful, Jane thought, the concept finally forcing its way into her concious mind and eliciting a small gasp.
The noise bounced almost imperceptibly around the stone and Jane prayed in earnest for the first time that night that he had not heard it.
She was not ready to face him with this knowledge, with the realisation that irritation had long ago become something else entirely.
In almost losing him she had finally found an understanding, a resolution of feelings that had troubled her from adolescence.
She knew at last that Gunther Breech was not to be loathed, or pitied, or competed with. Nor to be avoided, pushed away or ignored. Gunther Breech was a man to be trusted, to be admired, to be united with. He was to be loved.
Jane could not silence her gasp at this second revelation, but as Gunther turned towards her she found herself reaching out, fingers pushing against the join between two sheets.
The moon, having shared all it wished, concealed itself once more behind its veil of clouds, but Jane did not need its help to feel Gunther's fingers brush against her own.
She hesitated, as his hand enveloped hers, the embrace hidden by folds of fabric. She could give a squeeze and withdraw, the gesture easily interpreted as one of solidarity between companions enduring this night separately together.
She could pretend that nothing had changed; that her feelings remained as they had when she was twelve.
But Jane could not bring herself to free her hand, could not bear the thought of pulling away from him again.
Instead she raised her other hand and drew the cloth to one side, revealing herself to him in the dim light.
Gunther took a step towards her, her hand still in his, and studied her, saying nothing.
He wore white, as did she, to symbolise their pure hearts, and he ran his free hand through his short hair. It was something he did when he was nervous, Jane had learned.
She had learned a lot about Gunther Breech of late.
"I, uh . . . ." Jane whispered, unsure what she was even going to say.
She chewed her lower lip as she searched for words, Gunther watching her with an unreadable expression.
"Um, I got you a gift!" Jane blurted out suddenly, remembering. She withdrew her hand from his, trying not to read into the way his eyebrows creased at the loss of contact, and reached under her tunic.
"Smithy made it for me," she continued in a whispered rush as she pulled the necklace over her head. "I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but . . . ."
She held it out, a stray moonbeam gleaming over the silver arrowhead as it hung from a braided leather cord, its blunted edges making it safe to wear.
"I thought you might like to have it to . . . to keep you safe, and to remind you that . . . ." Jane licked her lips. "You are a good man, Gunther Breech."
"Jane," said Gunther, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it.
Jane continued, somewhat emboldened. "It is a token," she whispered, almost teasing. "Of my . . . ."
She faltered. Of her what? Appreciation? Affection? What if he did not want that?
Jane looked at him, and realised that he had it all the same.
"Of my affection." She finished, heat flooding to her cheeks as she stood on tiptoe to lower the necklace over his head.
Gunther raised a hand to clasp the arrowhead, holding it tightly as he looked at her.
"I . . . Thank you, Jane," he said at last, before tucking it inside his collar. "Smithy has been busy." He continued, clearing his throat softly. "I also got you a gift."
He gathered the hem of his tunic up and drew a sheathed knife from his belt, handing it to Jane.
The sheath was made of tooled leather in a dragonscale pattern. Jane ran her fingers across the surface.
"It is beautiful," she whispered.
Gunther ran his hand through his hair again. "Harman taught me," he admitted. "It is a little rough."
"You made this?" Jane looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Only the sheath, and with a lot of help," Gunther insisted. "All I really contributed is the mistakes. The knife is the real gift." He assured her.
Jane drew it out slowly, her mouth forming a silent O as moonlight gleamed over silver once more.
A carved timber hilt wrapped in leather housed a beautifully engraved silver blade, displaying the castle heraldry of a dragon flying over the mountain.
"It is to keep you safe from any monster you meet," Gunther was saying nervously. "And to remind you of home no matter how far you may travel."
"It is beautiful, Gunther," Jane breathed. "But all this silver, how . . . ?"
Gunther smiled. "Charms and trinkets, earrings and bangles," he said. "Actually, it is one of a pair."
He lifted the other side of his tunic to reveal a plain leather sheath on his belt, housing a second knife.
Jane sheathed the blade and ran her fingers over the leather again.
"One of a pair," she said softly.
Gunther took it from her hands, slowly lifting the hem of her tunic until he found her belt, and attached the sheath to it.
His fingers were warm when they brushed against her skin beneath the bunched fabric, but Jane shivered.
"Sorry," Gunther whispered as he straightened, allowing her clothing to drop back into place.
Jane shook her head.
"It is quite all right," she mumbled. "Actually, I did not mind . . . ."
She glanced up at him then, fervently hoping her face was not as red as it felt, and found him staring at her. He raised his hand slowly to her cheek, calloused fingers brushing against her skin, and Jane closed her eyes, heart pounding in her chest.
"I want to kiss you, Jane," he said eventually, his thumb moving across her cheekbone. "I have wanted to kiss you a thousand times since you came and found me in the woods and helped me find my way out."
Jane opened her eyes and looked at him, and realised that he was as nervous and vulnerable as she was.
He was Gunther.
She smiled.
"Are you just going to stand there and talk about it, Beef Brain?" She whispered.
Gunther smirked, that damnable expression that Jane was beginning to realise was one of the many things she loved about him, and kissed her.