‘Yeah,’ Bleak said to Luka, ‘why not.’
‘We’ll have to work on your enthusiasm,’ Luka replied, handing her a flask of something, and tugging her through the throng of Valians. Soon, the night became a blur. The Valians Luka introduced her to didn’t wear the same enchanted herbs as Henri’s elite kindred, and despite Bleak’s exhaustion, she found their thoughts open to her. The only escape was the drink. It was late when she staggered back into the camp. A number of hammocks had been hung around the dying fire, and when Bleak saw Bren’s tanned arm dangling from one, she felt an odd sense of relief. She’d been too hard on him. He cared about her. He’d come here to protect her, and she’d been … Well, she’d been her usual selfish self.
I can’t help it, she told herself without conviction, as she slipped into an empty hammock nearby. With a full flask of ale under her arm, she felt herself finally drifting into unconsciousness, her fatigue tugging her down into its abyss.
The next morning, the keep was a hive of activity. The kindred were all dressed in their leathers, with their weapons strapped proudly to their bodies. Bleak rolled out of the hammock, her sore muscles still protesting at every movement.
‘Luka,’ she called to the stocky youth across the camp.
Luka dropped her armful of wooden training swords and jogged over. ‘’Bout time,’ she said.
Bren appeared at Bleak’s side, looking refreshed and holding a mug of steaming liquid; its sweet scent drifted towards Bleak.
‘What’s going on?’ Bleak asked Luka.
‘Oh, this?’ Luka gestured to the chaos around them. ‘Henri decided to inspect the training today, so everyone’s trying to cram in some last-minute prac. Look, I gotta run – supposed to be at circuit one.’
‘You’re being inspected today?’
‘Sure am.’
‘Are you —’
‘Nervous? Ha. Don’t get nervous, my friend. Come watch if you want.’
Bleak glanced at Bren, who was holding his mug out to her.
‘It’ll help with the headache,’ he said.
‘Who said I had a headache?’ Bleak grumbled, but she took the mug from him, cupping it in her palms and taking a long swig.
Bren shook his head and called out to Tilly, who was passing.
‘Where’s circuit one?’ he asked, taking the heavy netted bag of water flasks from her and shouldering it.
Tilly grinned. ‘Glad to see you’re getting into the Valian spirit,’ she said. ‘Follow me. I’m heading there myself. I think Luka’s up in the first round.’
Bleak downed the rest of the drink, savouring its smooth, sweet flavour. ‘Round?’
‘You’ll see.’ Tilly motioned for them to follow. She took off before Bleak had time to feel embarrassed – had the incident with her scar only happened the previous morning? She was losing track of time in Valia. Tilly led them through a series of twists and turns amidst the undergrowth, all the while chatting amicably with Bren about building new platforms in the canopy for the growing kindred population.
‘Tilly showed me some plans for new wings of apartments last night,’ he explained to Bleak.
‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘Guess that means training the younger kindred is going well?’
‘It always goes well,’ Tilly said, taking another turn.
‘Well, except for those who fail and —’
Tilly shot her a warning look and Bleak shut up.
‘The keep has a bunch of training circuits surrounding it,’ Tilly told them. ‘There are eight, I think – nine if you count Henri’s private platform. But only the queen’s elite kindred know where that is.’
‘Have you seen it?’
‘Sure have. I am one of her personal guard.’
‘Pretty big honour, I guess.’
‘You guess? There’s no greater honour than to train and fight alongside a Valian queen.’
‘That’s what I meant,’ Bleak added hastily.
Tilly shot her another glare. ‘Careful, Bleak, there are some who are yet to make their minds up about you.’
Bren’s eyes were boring into Bleak’s back, and she did her utmost to ignore his panicked thoughts barrelling into her own mind. They heard the crowd long before they came across the clearing, a steady hum of chatter and laughter.
‘Is this a formal event?’ Bleak asked, scanning over the hundred or so Valian faces looking out eagerly onto the empty open space.
Tilly laughed. ‘No, but when Henri says she’s coming, everyone turns up. Ordinarily it’s a dull affair.’
Bleak was only half listening to the answer. She’d noticed there was sawdust spread generously across the ground.
‘What exactly happens here?’
Tilly followed her stare. ‘Oh, relax,’ she said, ‘they fight. No permanent damage, mostly.’
‘Mostly?’
‘You a parrot now? It’s a big opportunity to train before the queen,’ she explained. ‘The winners receive a private training session with the elite kindred, giving them an advantage over the rest for the next Choosing.’
‘And the losers?’
‘Depends on their performance. But most go to the Sticks.’ Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘Most of the folk in the Sticks lead happy lives, so you can wipe that look off your face.’
‘Except they don’t want to leave the keep?’
‘Well, not at first. But they learn to love the Sticks. It’s no less beautiful, and their responsibilities there are no less important.’
Bleak’s stomach was churning, and she looked around uneasily. For a society that seemed to have so much right, this seemed very, very wrong.
There was a cheer from the crowd surrounding the clearing and Bleak saw Henri emerge from the other side. She looked as stern and fierce as ever, her trademark leathers clinging to her lithe frame, the same cold expression etched on her face. She took a seat on a carved wooden bench by Athene, down the other end of the makeshift arena. The kindred watched their leader, eyes shining with admiration, despite her dispassionate disposition. Allehra was nowhere in sight, but Bleak had learned to expect this. According to the other kindred, the Mother Matriarch had a reclusive tendency. And for this, Bleak was glad. It meant she could breathe easy for the morning, knowing she wouldn’t have to explain the dark passages of Luka’s mind.
Henri drew names from a cup, and two young Valians stepped forward from a group of trainees standing by Marvel and Petra. The girls faced Henri and bowed low. She nodded and told them to commence at their ready. The bloodthirsty thoughts of the crowd around Bleak were overpowering. She silently cursed Allehra – shouldn’t she have learned how to block out thoughts first? Bleak rubbed her temples. She should have demanded that training. Not that she was in any sort of position to demand anything from the Mother Matriarch of Valia. Bleak got the distinct sense that Allehra was shaping the training sessions to suit her own agenda.
Bren nudged Bleak and nodded to the girls at the centre of the circuit. One girl, no older than fourteen, chose a blunted spear as her weapon, while her opponent shook her head at the selection and announced that she would win the challenge with her bare hands. Bleak’s pulse quickened. These girls were friends, right? They wouldn’t hurt each other for real, would they? The question was answered mere seconds later when the unarmed girl dodged the incoming spear and buried her fist in the other girl’s stomach. Neither girl uttered a sound as they fought, their quiet stealth making them all the more impressive. After the first blow, strikes were matched with blocks and attacks, and the spear was snapped in half, now serving as two weapons. Time and time again, though, the fists won out, and the broken pieces of spear were eventually dropped and left forgotten in the sawdust. Blood leaked from one of the girls’ noses, and Bleak could make out the red welts where the spear had struck. An empty space opened up beside Bleak; Bren had left, she realised. The fight continued, until finally, the girl who’d been originally unarmed took her opponent in a headlock, where she thrashed for a time befo
re surrendering. The first victory was won, and to Bleak’s surprise, the two girls embraced and clapped each other on the back. They turned back to Henri and bowed again, before Athene dismissed them. Neither was being sent to the Sticks.
‘Wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Tilly said in Bleak’s ear.
Bleak didn’t respond. She was watching Luka enter the circuit. The redhead was grinning as she tightened her braid and shook her head, laughing at a group of friends, who whooped and clapped her on the back. Bleak turned her attention to Luka’s opponent and her heart sank. The girl had none of Luka’s muscle tone or confidence. She was slight, mousy even. Both girls selected a short sword and shield. Luka twirled her wooden blade effortlessly in preparation. It wasn’t going to be a fair fight, and Bleak didn’t want to see it. She turned away as the girls were bowing to Henri, trying to see a way through the crowd and back to the keep. With her back to the arena, she heard Luka’s first strike find its mark, and a cry from her opponent. Bleak whirled around without thinking. This was wrong.
She shoved her way back to the front, but Tilly threw an arm out in front of her chest.
‘What could you possibly do to help her? Leave it. She’ll be fine. She’s just being dramatic.’
But the pain in the poor girl’s eyes said otherwise, and Luka knocked her attack attempts aside lazily. Bleak took a deep breath. How many times had it been her on the receiving end of an attack? How many times had she been knocked down by someone twice her size for the sake of entertainment?
Without realising what she was doing, she yelled out, ‘Block right!’
Startled, the girl jumped but raised her shield just in time.
Luka shot Bleak an irritated look, but Bleak spoke again.
‘Quick! Strike left!’
Luka swore and rubbed her shoulder as the girl landed her first blow.
Ignoring Tilly’s protests, Bleak edged closer to the sideline as Luka raised her sword to attack.
Right feint, strike left, block, pivot, strike left, strike right.
Bleak called the movements out to the girl as they entered Luka’s head, and with newfound confidence, the girl countered every move.
‘This is horseshit,’ Luka spat, throwing a glare in Bleak’s direction.
Her opponent saw the opportunity and lunged – she had Luka at swordpoint. The girl’s mouth was open, bewildered by her own success. Around her, though, angry calls broke out, and Bleak did her best to shrink back into the crowd. She was given a rough shove, and she stumbled out into the arena, everyone’s eyes suddenly on her.
There was a flurry of movement as Henri stood and walked towards them.
‘Neemah,’ she addressed the smaller girl, ‘an unexpected result.’
Neemah lowered her sword and bowed.
‘And yet,’ Henri said, ‘however quick your reflexes seemed, they did not come naturally to you, despite your years of training.’
Neemah looked up at Henri, her eyes glazed over.
‘What?’ Bleak heard herself say.
Henri’s kohl-lined eyes snapped to hers, narrowing. Bleak almost recoiled.
‘If you have something to say, speak it plainly.’
‘She … She won. She beat Luka. Why isn’t that enough?’
‘Enough?’ Henri’s dark brows shot up and her grey stare turned icy. ‘Are you intending on accompanying Neemah to battle? Where she will not only need to defend herself, but you as well? Considering you have no training or stamina to speak of?’
Bleak bit down on the inside of her cheek, her whole face burning at Henri’s cold remarks.
Nostrils flaring, Henri turned back to Neemah. ‘You are no longer permitted in the keep, unless requested by a high kindred. Alternative living quarters will be arranged for you in the Sticks.’
Neemah nodded, palming away her tears, and moved to return her sword and shield to the weapons table. She approached a severe-looking woman with grey streaks in her braid.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice fracturing.
The woman simply nodded and turned away.
Henri wasn’t done. She turned to Luka.
‘Interference or not, you should have won that fight. Your arrogance blinded you. Remember the difference between confidence and arrogance, Luka. One can shape victory at your feet; the other can get you killed. I don’t want to see another display of the latter on my circuits again.’
A rare blush spread across Luka’s face, and she nodded, bowing deeply. When Bleak returned her gaze to Henri’s face, she found those piercing eyes glaring at her.
‘You,’ Henri said, her voice low, ‘get out of my sight.’
Bleak spent the day shrinking away from angry glares and hostile thoughts. She found herself wandering through the dense forest, where moist, broad-leaved plants hung down before her face, dampening the shoulders of her shirt as she passed. The trunks, the branches, the damp and the greenery wrapped her in a blanket of shadow. She didn’t know where she was going, but she’d settle for anywhere away from that Valian hostility. In just a few days – or had it been a week now? – she’d forgotten what that felt like, the curse of the outsider. She hadn’t realised until now, that she’d actually felt … comfortable here.
‘Lady,’ a soft voice said, ‘can I help you with something?’
Bleak whirled around. A girl, not much younger than herself, smiled timidly at her. She wore a shapeless linen shift that was smudged with dirt, and a pair of sturdy black boots. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and adjusted the basket in her hands.
‘Lady?’
‘Who are you?’ It came out harsher than Bleak had intended.
‘Lyse,’ she said, curtseying.
‘I’m no lady, Lyse. Clearly,’ Bleak said, gesturing to her own grubby shirt and pants.
‘You are a guest of our queen, which makes you a lady.’
Bleak frowned. ‘How do you know who I am?’
‘Word travels fast in Valia, even out here in the Sticks.’
‘This is the Sticks?’
Lyse nodded. She put her basket on the ground and crouched in the dirt. Bleak went to her and knelt beside her.
‘What are you doing?’
Lyse’s fingers combed the earth until she plucked something from the ground, which she held up for Bleak to see. It was less than half the size of a grape, and beneath the dirt was a faded red colour.
‘Maladoms,’ said Lyse. ‘We crush them and put them in poultices. They help soothe the kindred’s aches and pains when they’re not being too stubborn to use them.’ The note of fondness in her voice surprised Bleak. Bleak palmed the dirt, mirroring Lyse’s technique until she found a small bead protruding from the ground. She tugged and it sprang free. She showed Lyse, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. Lyse took it and blew the dirt away.
‘Good,’ she said, ‘now we need about a hundred more.’
Bleak laughed, the sound shocking her. How long had it been since she had genuinely laughed? The question itself was sobering. She continued to scour the earth for maladoms alongside Lyse, revelling in the sense of being grounded, and taking pleasure in company for the sake of company, without the forced small talk. Lyse’s thoughts were quiet and unobtrusive. She didn’t sit there silently analysing Bleak like so many others did. For this, Bleak was extraordinarily grateful. Slowly, the basket began to fill, and Bleak realised how calm she felt, how the hostility of the morning had ebbed away. Smiling, she looked down at her hands. The lines of her palms were caked with dirt and her fingernails looked black. Lyse got to her feet, wiping her own dirty hands on her tunic.
‘You must be hungry,’ she said. ‘Care to join us groundlings for a meal?’
‘Groundlings?’
Lyse laughed. ‘It’s what we non-kindred folk call ourselves, because we like having our feet planted firmly on the ground.’ She offered Bleak an outstretched hand, and Bleak took it, hauling herself up. They walked through the forest. The platforms and living bridges Bleak ha
d become accustomed to weren’t visible from below, but here, at ground level, the forest became something that resembled a woodland village. As they moved further into the Sticks, Bleak noticed little cottages peeking through the trees, clearings with fences and crops climbing supporting stakes. Soon, they came upon other ‘groundlings’, as Lyse had called them. Men and women waved at them as they passed. Lyse led Bleak to an enormous tree. It had a doorway at its base, and a set of stairs leading down below the earth. Bleak raised a brow at her new friend.
‘Come on,’ said Lyse, resting the basket in the crook of her elbow and starting down the stairs. With apprehension written all over her face, Bleak followed. At the bottom of the stairs, the space opened up into a huge cavern – a hall – lined with long tables and benches, and jars filled with the same glowing beetles as in Tilly’s apartments. And the food – a buffet table at the end of the hall was covered in serving dishes of roast vegetables and freshly baked bread.
‘Help yourself,’ Lyse said, ‘I’ll just take these to the apothecary.’
Bleak felt her anxiety surge as Lyse left her to her own devices and she found herself in yet another foreign place. Someone handed her a plate.
‘Nice of you to try to help Neemah,’ said the elderly woman holding the dish. Bleak accepted it with a nod of thanks.
‘Was it?’
‘A little naive, perhaps, but nice.’
‘Right. I’m Bleak.’ She offered her hand and then cringed at the dirt.
‘A little dirt never killed anyone, girl.’ The woman shook her hand firmly. ‘And I know who you are. I’m Lindis, groundling elder.’
‘Maman,’ Lyse said, jumping the queue that had formed behind them, ‘I see you’ve met the queen’s guest.’
Bleak looked between Lyse and Lindis, confused. ‘She’s your daughter?’
Lindis barked a laugh. ‘Gods, no, “Maman” is what all the foolish youngster groundlings call me.’
‘You love it,’ said Lyse, piling her plate high with roast pumpkin.
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