“I was so worried about you!” she cried. “I thought the storm had taken you!”
“I’m quite alright,” Galvan reassured her. “If only a bit hungry.”
“Welcome, Prince Galvan,” said a guard with a bow. “We have already informed the King of your return and he is immensely relieved to know you are unharmed. He has requested that your Royal Highness accompanied by Amelliea join him for a private lunch in his quarters.”
“I gladly accept the invitation,” said Galvan, looking over at Amelliea.
“As do I,” said Amelliea with a curtsy, understanding Galvan’s silent cue.
“Come this way miss,” said a maid, guiding Amelliea away. “We need to find you some fresh clothes.”
Gabriellen snorted and returned to the training floor. Amelliea was taken to her chamber, which had been tidied while she had been away. Everything was clean and inviting, and Amelliea was grateful in a new way for the comforts of the palace. Relieved to be in her familiar room, Amelliea bathed and put on the new dress that had been sewn for her before she left. The pink gown was short-sleeved, and had a light skirt that twirled wonderfully when Amelliea spun. A silk slip made the dress feel super comfortable against her skin. The sleeve that went over her missing arm had a few extra frills, and Amelliea appreciated that the design had been adjusted to have this feature. A maid brushed out Amelliea’s long hair and pinned it up in a loose bun while Amelliea was encouraged to eat a bit of food. It would not do for her to be utterly ravenous when dining with the King. The girl gratefully ate and sipped her favorite tea. “Why pink?” Amelliea asked the maid, setting down her empty teacup and indicating to her dress.
“You love pink,” answered the woman assuredly.
Amelliea lifted an eyebrow, surprised at this conclusion.
“All your night gowns are pink,” pointed out the woman.
“That’s because I accidently washed my nightgowns in a pot stained with rhombus roots,” explained Amelliea. Rhombus roots were known for their potent scarlet color, and their juice was often used as a rose-colored dye. Bloom loved to cook up a nice pot of boiled rhombus soup after a long days work.
The maid laughed, “I see, so pink is not really your favorite?”
Amelliea looked down at the dress she had on. “It’s growing on me,” she said with a smile.
Amelliea was taken to the King’s quarters and brought up to speed on basic etiquette along the way. She was not to speak unless spoken too, not to look directly at the king, or eat before he did. Amelliea wondered whether she could really keep from doing any of those things. She arrived at a set of golden doors that were promptly opened before her without her needing to knock or announcer her arrival in any way.
“Welcome Amelliea, Leonora Bravenheart,” said the King upon her entry. He smiled warmly, and Amelliea thought that she might actually like the King more than she had thought. Galvan was already sitting beside his father.
Amelliea curtsied deeply and bowed her head as she had been instructed. “Thank you, your Majesty,” she said. A servant directed her to a seat at the banquet table, which was laden with more food that half a dozen people could eat in a week. Galvan sat across from Amelliea. He was neutral and proper as he always was in public. Amelliea felt suddenly very separate from him, and she missed the connection they had shared together only hours before. “Thank you for the invitation,” Amelliea said to the King, politely casting down her eyes.
“You are most welcome,” he replied, his green eyes cheerful but intense. “Please eat, I know you must be hungry after your adventure.” He gestured to the table. Amelliea almost reached for a buttered biscuit before remembering the etiquette coaching, and discreetly retracting her hand. The King proceeded to spoon some olive pate onto his plate, and following Galvan’s lead, Amelliea bravely reached for a bowl of salad near to her. Still ferociously hungry, she resisted the temptation to pile food onto her plate. The King and his son ate with a knife and fork, but this was impossible for Amelliea, and she felt the awkwardness of this difference for a brief moment, before settling into her own tidy manner of eating. Noticing this, Galvan winked at her to let her know it was alright.
“Perhaps I could hire a ghost to wield the knife for me,” joked Amelliea.
Galvan froze, but the King laughed. “I see you have no complex about missing an arm, that is most admirable in a young warrior with such a disadvantage.”
“Since I’ve never had two arms, it does not really feel like a disadvantage,” said Amelliea.
“Again, a praiseworthy statement of a humble and optimistic young woman,” said the King.
“Thank you your grace,” said Amelliea, remembering not to look at him too boldly. She helped herself to a side of bite-sized sandwiches.
“I’m glad that both of you are safe and sound, and that you managed to escape the sandstorm. Those were among the strongest winds in well over a decade,” said the King.
“It was Galvan that saved me,” responded Amelliea. “If not for his brave and timely rescue I may well have been lost in that storm, for I was ill equipped to weather it.”
The King turned to Galvan. “Is this true?” he asked.
“Well, it was Amelliea that saved Gabriellen’s life, and chose to remain behind, ensuring Gabriellen’s survival. The least I could do was bring Amelliea back to safety.”
“It seems you both are heroes on this day,” said the King. He paused and chose his next words carefully. “And in your absence I have come to learn of a growing dissention in the palace.”
“Is that so?” asked the Prince with concern.
The King turned to Galvan. “In deed, I fear that Gabriellen makes many enemies within these walls due to her fiery temperament. I worry for her safety here and urge you to send her home to the Coalsmith region.”
“Father, she is my best friend, and she will always be welcome here,” replied the Prince.
Amelliea did not know how deep Galvan’s friendship ran with the dark-haired girl, and she felt a slight twinge of betrayal at these words.
“It may not be in her best interest to stay, and as her friend and protector you must make this choice for her,” replied the King. He clutched his fork and knife a bit harder than was needed, forgetting for the moment of the meal.
“I will not send her away, for it is not kind to turn out a friend, however fiery she may be,” protested Galvan.
Though visibly displeased, the King did not press the matter. A servant brought out a platter of sweet cakes, each frosted with a different colored cream.
“I see that master Gulling, the pastry chef, has outdone himself once more,” said Amelliea deciding to break the awkward silence and then blushing upon remembering she was not to speak first. She shrugged, suddenly casting propriety aside. The heck with it, she was a warrior! “The pink one,” she said to the servant woman, making Galvan snort from laughter. He tried to keep a straight face, making Amelliea grin.
“You know the pastry chef?” asked the King in amusement.
“In deed,” answered Amelliea as a plump cake was placed before her. “He is a master of his craft and a wise philosopher.”
“Do you have many friends in the palace?” asked the King.
Amelliea looked up at him. “I have been busy with my training, but I have made several Gator friends.”
“Is that so?” smiled Galvan.
“It is,” replied Amelliea truthfully.
“What are their names?” pried the Prince, highly amused that Amelliea claimed to have friends other than himself.
“Well, there is Gregory, who always stands behind me in line, and Garrison, who likes to spar with me when we train in hand to hand combat.”
“Go on,” laughed Galvan, sitting back in his chair.
“There’s Gretchen who sewed this fine gown for me,” said Amelliea looking down at her dress, “and Gwenaven the healing woman, and Gertrude, the maid who’s been so kind to me.”
“The maid?” mocked Galvan
. “Who else?”
“Grodno the guard who helped me find my way once when I was lost in the palace, and Glen the librarian, and many others.” Amelliea took a bite of the cake. It was filled with candied berries and cream.
Galvan shook his head. “Real friends are only those who would fight for you to the death,” he said. He looked at his father, “and they do not always have a pleasing personality,” he added.
“You never know who your real friends are,” said the King. “Only time can tell such things, my son.”
“Better to perceive the world as friendly than to live in the constant fear of betrayal,” said Amelliea.
“To each his own path,” said the King. “It is my job to protect my people and anticipate threats, for none know as well as I how easily friends can become enemies.”
Amelliea decided then that she did not like the King after all. Charismatic though he was, the man’s every movement seemed motive driven, and he filled her with mistrust. Who knew what he was plotting even now, and why he was including Amelliea in his plans?
The following morning, Amelliea was eager to pick up her training where she had left off. Since she was the first student to arrive in the Great hall, Amelliea helped the trainer lay out the mats and set up the various obstacles. Together, they accomplished this task quicker than the man would have by himself, and since they were almost never alone, Amelliea took this opportunity to thank her teacher and to express how much his skillful direction meant to her. With nearly a half an hour remaining until the start of lessons, the trainer asked Amelliea to show him a one-armed cartwheel. Amelliea did as he instructed preforming a perfect tumble.
“Now faster,” said the trainer. Again, Amelliea did as he told her. “Faster still!” said the man. “This time, run into it and press off the ground as hard as you can with your legs.” The girl ran, and then turned the cartwheel without slowing. To her surprise, her fingers barely grazed the mat. She looked wide-eyed at her trainer. He nodded, “That’s it!” Amelliea ran even faster into her next cartwheel and this time her hand did not touch the ground at all. “Practice this way from now on,” said the trainer as the first of the students began showing up to class.
That day the training was more vigorous than ever before. The trainer had the students attack a single, unarmed fighter with any weapons of their choice. “A true Gator fighter goes into battle unarmed,” said the trainer. “A master of deflection, he tries to exhaust his opponent by preventing him from landing a single blow. Let your attacker use up his energy, repeatedly rising from the ground to come at you, while you simply move out of his way time and again.”
Once everyone had taken a turn both attacking and defending, the class moved on to a rigorous series of conditioning exercises aimed at strengthening the body and improving balance. The Prince spent noticeably less time with Gabriellen during this training session, and as the day wore on the girl became increasingly frustrated. During the weapons training, she accidently threw a dagger so close to Amelliea’s head that it grazed Amelliea’s cheek, leaving a shallow scratch. After this event, the boys in the class made sure to stand densely beside Amelliea, guarding her with their own bodies. Gabriellen made several attempts to break through this shield of bodyguards, but each time the boys would stare her down so venomously, that she dared not push past them. Finally, when Galvan, in passing leaned in and whispered something in Amelliea’s ear, Gabriellen snapped. No longer able to mask her fury, her expression hardened, ruining the beauty of her face. She grabbed a sword from the weapons wrack and swiped it at Amelliea’s protectors, forcing the boys to scatter. Amelliea turned to face her. “We don’t have to do this,” she said.
“Get stuffed, you overfed reptile!” screamed Gabriellen.
“Suit yourself,” shrugged Amelliea. One of the boys threw her a spear, and she caught it with ease. Upon catching the weapon, Amelliea instantly adjusted the position of her feet in preparation for the fight.
The trainer saw what was taking place, and rushed to interfere. “This is a classroom, not a slaughterhouse,” he said.
“I challenge her!” said Gabriellen, pointing her sword at Amelliea.
“I accept!” replied Amelliea.
The trainer sighed. “Then you will fight by the rules!” he said firmly. Gabriellen paid him no mind. She was looking only at her opponent. “No fowl play,” continued the trainer. “This is to be a fair fight,” he motioned for Amelliea to watch the other girl carefully, reminding her to expect the worst from Gabriellen. “The outcome of this challenge will determine which of you is the better fighter once and for all,” he said.
“But, this is not—” began Galvan, pushing his way forward through the gathered boys. They parted respectfully before him, as they realized who he was.
“It is a great dishonor for a Gator fighter to turn down a challenge,” said the trainer, preventing Galvan from stepping out between the girls. “Besides, how much longer can this antagonism build? Let them end this now, before they decide to kill each other in private!” The many students made a large ring around the two girls, giving them plenty of space.
Amelliea felt adrenaline surge through her body. She had watched a similar scenario play out in her mind several times, and she had always imagined that she would feel nervous, but in the moment she felt oddly collected.
“And—fight!” commanded the trainer, briskly lowering his hand in a chopping motion.
Wasting no time, Gabriellen came at Amelliea in alternating sweeping cuts from the left and right. Amelliea deflected each strike and moved into the Gallivant attack, nearly disarming the other girl. Gabriellen managed to recover, and grabbing the wooden beam of Amelliea’s spear, she tried to yank it from her opponent’s hand. At the same time, Gabriellen moved in close to Amelliea, attempting to skewer her with her sword. Amelliea swiped her spear up and around, forcing Gabriellen to let go. Gabriellen leapt into a backflip to avoid the strike. Landing on her feet, Gabriellen yelled and came at Amelliea with a series of rapid cuts. Again Amelliea thrust her spear forward in a stabbing motion, and Gabriellen cut downwards with her blade, briefly pinning the spear to the mat. The dark-haired girl used the moment to leap at Amelliea, aiming to behead her. Amelliea shoved the handle of the spear in front of her chest and blocked the attack at the very last moment. Amelliea moved into another learned sequence with her spear, preforming the complex steps with ease.
“You will never win!” hissed Gabriellen, fighting back with fierce energy. “War is not your calling, so run home to your daddy and go back to your knitting!”
“What do you know of my calling?” asked Amelliea, striking at the other girl’s chest and then quickly undercutting her feet. Gabriellen tripped, falling onto her back. Amelliea stood over her and pointed her spear at the girl’s neck. “And what beef have you with knitting?”
Gabriellen roared and shoved the spear away. She leapt to standing. “I would rather die than be defeated by you!”
“Give it up, you’ve already lost!” shouted one of the boys.
“Why do you hate me so?” asked Amelliea, blocking Gabriellen’s now uneven, anger-laden blows.
“Because you are half the woman I am, and half the warrior, and yet…” she glanced at the Prince, and then returned her attention to Amelliea, raging forward in a series of aggressive slashes.
“That’s enough!” said Galvan stepping forward.
Amelliea blocked time and again, as Gabriellen’s sword came down hard on the beam of her spear time and again, the wooden handle began to splinter.
“No! It is not enough!” screamed Gabriellen. “Not until she’s dead—” She hacked at Amelliea’s right side and the blond girl simply stepped aside to let Gabriellen’s blow fall upon empty air.
“That arm is already gone,” smiled Amelliea.
“I’m going to kill you!” yelled Gabriellen, dodging Amelliea’s spear and moving closer to her enemy. Amelliea spun away, removing herself from danger and sweeping the spear around hersel
f in a circle. The wood met with Gabriellen’s shoulder, and the dark-haired girl was knocked to her knees. Amelliea held her spear to Gabriellen’s chest.
“We’re done,” said Amelliea. “I don’t want to fight you anymore.” Gabriellen’s eyes were brimming with tears. Amelliea stepped away. All around her, the boys exploded in cheers for her victory. Gabriellen discretely pulled a knife from inside her boot.
“Amelliea, look out!” cried one of the boys.
Gabriellen lunged forward with the knife in her hand. Amelliea quickly executed a disarming technique she had practiced many times during class. In a rapid series of movements, Amelliea pulled the blade from Gabriellen’s hand and pinned the dark haired-girl to the floor in a tight shoulder lock.
“Ouch!” cried Gabriellen.
“I’m not that easy to kill,” said Amelliea.
The trainer stepped in to take over, and he helped Gabriellen up to standing. Gabriellen tried to break away from him, but he held her hands firmly behind her back. “You must learn to lose with honor,” said the trainer, “for your arrogance will betray you as no enemy ever shall.”
“I should cut off your tongue for your ill-timed preaching!” shrieked Gabriellen.
“If you dare disrespect my Master again, you will be forbidden to train here forever!” warned Galvan, pressing his lips together in anger. Gabriellen wrestled free of the trainer’s grasp and stormed out of the great hall without looking back.
“Well done,” said the trainer, clapping Amelliea on the back. “But I thought I told you not to hold back.”
The boys circled around Amelliea all talking at the same time.
“I knew you could do it!” said one of them. “I was hoping you would kick her butt!” said another. “You had that in you all along?” asked a third.
“Come, let us continue the celebration in the dining hall,” announced the trainer, talking over the noise of the excited boys. “We have worked hard today, and we deserve to eat like men! Er—and women,” he added.
The Curse (The Windore Series Book 2) Page 22