by Megan Hart
Fearnly, however, gazed at me more soberly. He looked down at his fine garments, then to my rougher ones. "Think you can take me on?"
I loved fighting. I enjoyed the rush of sensation and emotion and the feeling of triumph over my opponents. Though I'd shown a true skill for it, my uncle had not thought it worth the coin to continue my training in the Art beyond the most general classes. He had other sons' education to pay for, and I was just the orphan spawn of his dead brother's folly. I'd taken what street training I could find and spent as many hours attending the structured fight tournaments as I could, but I was a raw fighter, without the grace and choreography considered gentlemanly.
I wasn't sure I could stand against a man of Fearnly's size, but I hitched up my fists at him by way of response, and he looked, for a moment, surprised. Then pleased. He tucked his gloves into his waistband, took off his jacket and made to hand it to Haverford, who had by this time managed to sit up. At the last minute Fearnly changed his mind and hung the jacket instead on the knob of a nearby lamppost.
Beneath the coat he wore a shirt of snowy white linen, tied at the sleeves and throat with bright yellow ribbons. It was testament to his wealth and confidence that he didn't bother to remove the white garment. He didn't expect to get dirty.
I, on the other hand, had no such expectations. I thought of my advantages. Sobriety. Anger. My smaller size, which made me faster but also gave me the disadvantage of less strength.
This was going to hurt. I prepared myself for the inevitable, lifted my fists, and blinked away the blood now slowing in its path down my face.
My lack of fear seemed to take Fearnly aback for a minute. Then he blinked and raised his hands, fists loose, one a bit in front of the other. I recognized the stance but didn't allow it to intimidate me.
"You picked the wrong man to fight, pup," said Fearnly. "I took championship level four times."
I jerked my chin at him. "C'mon, then. What are you waiting for?"
I launched myself at him, fists clenched, feet ready to kick. My sudden movement surprised him, but Fearnly hadn't been lying about being championship level. He moved out of my way and caught the back of my shoulder as I leaped past him. I staggered, but I'd prepared myself enough so I didn't fall. Instead, I kept my feet and whirled to face him. At the hot surge between my legs, my fury level rose higher.
"Not bad," Fearnly began, but I gave him no time to compliment me.
I struck out, one fist and one foot, moving one after the other. My fist struck his jaw, my foot his knee. Then the other side of my body went into motion, and I missed his face with my hand but caught his thigh with my foot.
Fearnly stumbled back, and I stepped forward, following him. He let out a bellow of anger and made a swift crossing movement with his hands, then raised them shoulder height. One foot lifted. He jumped on his solid foot, kicked out with the raised one, and struck at me with his right hand while the left readied for a second blow. It was a difficult but popular move, and I'd seen enough matches to recognize it in advance.
Knowing what he was going to do didn't give me enough time to move out of his way. His foot caught me in the side of the ribs; his hand cracked sideways against my jaw. I saw stars, stumbled, bit my tongue and tasted a squirt of bitter blood. Despite all that, I ducked low to avoid his other hand, then whirled and kicked out with my foot to catch him in the ankles.
Fearnly staggered, unsteadied by my blow and the drink in his belly. My move was not one taught in the fine fight salons. He couldn't have been expecting it, and I saw the rage on his face.
"Unmanly!" He spat. "Where'd you learn to fight?"
I didn't bother replying. My head and tongue ached, and my belly had begun cramping again. My temper was fading in the face of the battle and the knowledge I was apt to be beaten. Instead, I just raised my fists again and prepared to go at him.
"All this for a stupid folly?" Fearnly asked, as though the idea so completely baffled him he could not begin to comprehend.
"Your mother was a folly," I told him, thinking of my own mother. "A woman. If not for a woman, you wouldn't have life. Idiot."
His face went purple with rage. I'd heard of people doing such things, but had never actually witnessed it. I had one moment of true fear, then no time for anything but fighting.
He roared and leaped at me with his fists flailing. Convention flew to the wind as he battered me with fists and feet. I ducked my head but a blow to the cheek sent me reeling. I got to my feet and swung at Fearnly, but it was like fighting a raging bull.
"You'd best mind your manners, pup!" Fearnly panted between each word and punctuated them with blows.
Another cramp to my belly had me gasping and falling to the ground, clutching my arms around me. Another spurt between my legs had me gritting my teeth. The world tilted in front of my eyes, and I had to blink to clear the red haze threatening to consume me. I'd been angry before, but I'd never, until now, been enraged.
With a roar that tore my throat and tasted of blood, I reached for Fearnly. My fists swung, one after the other, without cease. I couldn't be sure at what I swung, only that I did swing, over and over, until my fists were bloodied and battered, and Fearnly had backed away from me.
I hadn't counted on his drunken friend having the wits or energy to join the fight, but maybe vomiting had cleared his stomach enough to start to clear his head. Either way, he came at me with a dual-ended staff. I don't know where he got it. Perhaps from the street. The wood was splintered and rough, and when it struck my cheek it not only bruised but also scraped my flesh.
I staggered but didn't fall. I went low and kicked with my foot as I turned, and caught him in the back of his knees. He grunted and fell to one knee but didn't give up the pike.
"Give it up, boy!" Fearnly's voice had gone nasal from the broken nose I'd given him. "Not only won't we beat you senseless, but we won't press charges!"
Charges? I'd get no fair hearing, not with the testimony of two gentlemen against me. Not when my crime was defending a folly.
So, instead of being wise and giving up the fight, or even running, I fought harder. Not even my anger could prove me a match against two grown men, and I found myself face down in the gravel while they kicked and hit me with the staff.
The beating stopped. The absence of fresh pain was glorious but lasted only a moment, for all too soon the rest of my body began its protests again. I couldn't raise my head, could scarcely open my swollen eyes. I pushed at the ground, but couldn't get up.
Gentle hands lifted me, one beneath my legs, the other under my shoulders. I lay limp in my protector's arms and felt again like a child.
"He's as light as the wind," said a strong voice. The hand beneath my knees shifted a little, and the voice sounded amused. "But not bony. Sinder's Balls, Daelyn, you've picked a choice lad for your chamber."
I struggled without effect. Lir Akean held me in his arms and shushed me like he would a fretting infant. My head fell against his chest. I couldn't move.
As if from far away, I heard Fearnly and Haverford muttering apologies, and then Prince Daelyn's high, clear voice rang through my head.
"You've put your hands upon my fetchencarry. And for what? Because he took the side of a folly and dared tell you that you'd been unfair to her? I expect better of my lords."
More muttering, sounding more frantic. I nestled into Lir's chest, and he took me away from the noises and the smell. We walked for a while. I'm not sure how long. Time had broken for me, a little, in my pain.
At last he set me down on something soft, a bed or couch, and I managed to open my eyes. As I tried to sit, his hand on my chest pushed me back down. Resisting hurt too much, so I lay back.
"Lie back, Aeris, before you break open again and start bleeding on me." Lir gave me a bemused glance. "If I'd not seen the others who'd fought you, I'd say you'd been attacked by wild beasts."
"They are beasts." My voice was thick and hoarse, and it hurt my throat to speak. I needed desperately to spit, but as
I looked around the room, I dared not. He'd brought me to rooms so magnificent they could only be the Prince Regent's own chambers.
Lir snorted and called for a folly to bring a basin of warm water and some clean towels. When he focused his attention back to me, the weight of his gaze rested on me as though it were a physical entity.
"They say you chastised them for berating a woman they told to clean up some filth."
"She wasn't their woman. She was doing the best she could."
He nodded, as though thinking. The servant returned, her follyblanket obscuring all but her hands as she bent to clean my face. The water stung, and I hissed and jerked. She flinched as though expecting a blow.
"Be more careful," was all Lir told her.
He watched as she cleaned my face and bandaged my hands, but when she moved to unlace the front of my shirt, I stopped her. She hesitated, but moved away. I recognized her posture. She was waiting to be commanded.
"You can leave us." Lir waved his hand to dismiss her, and she went. He turned to me. "You might feel better after a bath."
I managed to nod. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. It wasn't my idea to bring you here."
"No, it wasn't," said Prince Daelyn from the doorway. He crossed to Lir and gave him a look even my bruised eyes couldn't miss. "I wanted him. I'll have him."
Lir shrugged and stood, and once again I was struck by his height and the fierceness of his beauty. He bent and reached for Prince Daelyn's hand, then brought it to his lips in the kiss of friendship. His mouth hovered just a moment too long for propriety, and his thumb stroked the soft flesh of the prince's palm.
Daelyn's eyes glittered, and his gaze went hot and sultry. "Anon, Lir. Let me see that my new fetchencarry is not going to expire on my best Elitani rug, and I'll join you."
Lir looked back at me. "What's one more fetchencarry? You've had so many."
Daelyn slapped at him. "Hush your tongue. Else I'll not meet you later, after all."
Lir's laugh made the hair on the back of my neck rise. "I'd hate to miss you. My prince."
What was it about the way he spoke the title? As though he were saying "my lover." I had a sudden flash of the sight of his mouth on the prince's fingers, and my cheeks grew hot even beneath the bruises.
Daelyn swiveled, all traces of flirtation gone. He called for a folly, who glided in as quietly as they all did and waited to be commanded.
"Draw a bath and call for the medicus...."
"No my lord, please!" I forced myself to sit. "I don't need a medicus!"
Daelyn looked at me with assessing eyes, and I thought he might be angry at my outburst. "No? You're sure?"
I nodded, though the movement made my neck and back scream in protest. "Just...just a bath. Please."
He ran his tongue along his lips before nodding. "I think that would be best. I wasn't sure...but yes. A bath only. And some salve. And in the morning, if you're not well, we can have a healer attend you."
"I'll be well," I replied, determined to make that statement true. I couldn't let a medicus see me.
The prince came to sit near me. I'd never seen such an array of fine fabrics all in one outfit. He wore blue from throat to knees, in all shades, yet what might have seemed a crazy quilt on another man seemed like pure loveliness to me.
He leaned so close to me I could smell the mint he'd chewed not too long ago. This close, I could see how fine his skin, how long his lashes. Each eye was symmetrical with the other, each brow a perfectly shaped arch. His mouth, his lips, perfect. Maybe I was becoming delirious from the pain of my injuries, but I wanted with all my soul to have Prince Daelyn kiss me.
His breath caressed my aching cheeks. "Is this the way my new fetchencarry is always going to behave? Fighting on the street like a razor-heeled cockerel? Putting his fists to men of greater wealth, stature and skill than he?"
Censure dripped from his words. The lush mouth curled into a sneer of scorn that stabbed at me.
"No, my lord."
"Good." Daelyn leaned a bit closer, eyes fixed on mine. "Because your place is here now. With me. I paid your uncle a pretty penny to release you from the drudgery of the joba stand, Aeris. I don't want to have wasted my coin."
I shook my head and willed the tears not to fall from my eyes. "No, my lord. I won't disappoint you."
He leaned forward to brush his lips on my temple so briefly and lightly I could not be certain he'd kissed me at all. Then he left me in the care of the able-fingered folly, and I went to take my bath.
Chapter Four
At my uncle's house, we bathed outside in fair weather and went without or used a basin in foul. I knew the Prince Regent lived in grander fashion than that, but I'd expected the folly to take me to a common bathing chamber. Instead, I followed her through an arched doorway to a room containing a deep but narrow metal tub with a banked fire burning in a grate beneath it pressed against the far wall. A small table held a basin and pitcher, and next to that a wastechair squatted.
"This is for me?"
She glided to the tub and twisted a spigot to release a burst of steaming water. No carrying buckets of water heated on an open fire. No long wait to soak. Not for the fetchencarry of a prince.
"Does my lord need anything else from me?"
It took me a befuddled moment to realize she meant me.
"I'm not--" I stopped. For the first time, I was my lord. "No. Wait. I need some clean bandages. Some thick cloths for my...for my wounds."
She left the room and returned a moment later with a stack of thick, soft cloth strips, as well as a bar of fragrant soap, a fluffy towel and a pile of new clothes. I had to grip the side of the tub to keep myself from falling while I waited for her to leave, but I managed to stay upright until she'd gone. Then I closed the door.
The world swam in my vision as my exhaustion, injuries and new situation got the better of me. I slid to my knees on the tiled floor and laid my cheek against its coolness until I felt good enough to sit. By that time, the tub had filled.
I stripped off my soiled clothes. The pad I'd tucked between my legs was soaked through with blood so dark it looked almost black. I looked with longing at the bath, but didn't fancy sitting in bloodied water. I tore a fresh cloth into several narrow strips, then took each one and rolled it tightly to make a tube of cloth about the width of my forefinger and about as long. I pushed the end of the tube inside myself but for the small edge I left hanging out for ease of removal. I rolled the other cloths into the ruins of my clothes and hoped they'd pass as being stained from my nose and split lip. Then, still feeling weak and worn but strangely light-hearted, I scrubbed my body and rinsed with the pitcher, washing the dirty water into the drain set into the floor, and climbed into the steaming water.
I'd have fallen asleep in there if my body didn't hurt so much, and if I hadn't been so concerned with making sure I didn't displease Prince Daelyn. It was the most luxurious but least-enjoyed bath I've ever taken, and I didn't even have time for the steam to curl my hair before I got out again.
I dressed and tied my hair back in a heavy braid with ribbons the folly had left me. The water and soft soap had cleaned me, but the looking glass showed my face as a battered, swollen horror. The rest of me felt not much better. But I could stand, and I could move, though I suspected my aches and pains would be doubled or tripled on the morrow.
I hesitated before putting on the clothes the folly had provided. Thick, soft leggings, a matching tunic that fell to my thighs, and a full-sleeved shirt with laces at the sleeves and throat. All in shades of blue, the Prince's colors. The pile included white hose, heavy and opaque rather than sheer and gartered like one would wear to entertain a lover. The fine linen and cotton made the garments the handsomest I'd ever owned, but there was no way to construe them as anything other than a uniform.
If I'd had any foolish fancies left over from Prince Daelyn's near-kiss, they fled in the face of practical fact. The clothes told me what I was not expected to b
e; all that remained was to determine what, exactly, I was. The prince had follies to clean and serve him. Lords to be his comrades. Pages and squires and jesters to provide him entertainments. What was left for a fetchencarry to do?
I had nobody to ask. Prince Daelyn had disappeared and the follies could only shake their heads when I asked what task I was meant to set myself to. I dismissed them, my aggravation showing in my tone of voice. I looked around Daelyn's chamber and eyed the fine silk wall hangings, the luxurious rugs, the thick bedding.
I sat in one of the cushioned chairs and sighed at relieving the pain in my back and legs. I'd bathed. I'd dressed. And now, I waited. My eyes grew heavy, and I slept.
Chapter Five
I woke stretched out on a cot, thickly padded but narrow, in a small closet. A sliver of space between the cot and the wall had been left for walking. The cot itself rose on its legs to provide storage underneath, and a stepstool gave access to the bed. I recognized the curtain hanging over the door as the one in the small room next to the bathing chamber connected to the prince's chambers.