Just One Knight

by Bridget Essex

  I don't know which is more alarming: the fact that I wept on my best friend’s shoulder (which I have never, to my recollection, done before), or that look Lellie is wearing on her face.

  She's the definition of smug.

  She clears her throat. “I asked Magel to meet me here. In the stables.” She pauses meaningfully. “Now.”

  “Now?” My mouth goes dry. “What?” I stare at her in horror.

  “Well...” Lellie begins to speak faster. “We’ve got to ride out to the edge of town, Magel and I, so I figured this would be the perfect time to ask her about your squirehood.” She flashes a bright grin at me, soldiering ahead before I can protest. “No ifs, ands, or buts, Talis. This is the perfect opportunity. You have to take it.”

  I blanch. “Lellie, you didn’t.”

  A frown crosses her pretty face as she positions her hands on her armor-clad hips. Lellie’s armor was ingeniously crafted by Lellie herself (you can add “magical blacksmithing” to her long, long list of accomplishments). She is wearing a chest plate and back plate, shoulder pieces and bracers, and over her hips, there are leaf-shaped bits of armor that form a short skirt, layering over the longer dress of fabric beneath it. The metal skirt protects her hip area, practically speaking, but the effect of the outfit is striking—and Lellie knows it.

  She looks like a warrior goddess.

  A very stubborn warrior goddess.

  “I did do just what I said, Talis. Magel is coming now. So you have no time to back out.” Lellie’s expression softens to her usual, warmer one, and as she flicks her gaze past me, she smiles brightly.

  Because there, aiming straight for Lellie and me…is Magel.

  Chapter 3

  TALIS

  I’ve only spoken with Magel a handful of times in my life. She is, after all, the leader of the Royal Knights of Arktos—those knights who are even more skilled than the regular Knights of Arktos—and, as such, she’s pretty damn important.

  The few conversations I've shared with her have left a strong impression on me. Magel is a quiet person, thoughtful and careful with her words, and she’s kind—very kind. Every knight subordinate to her seems to like her; that’s tough, winning over so many different types of people. With her bronze skin, her straight black hair, her intense brown eyes, and her dancer’s grace, Magel has a nobility that inspires you to stand straighter, to pay attention.

  I’m...a little in awe of her.

  So I gulp now, lifting my chin as I grip the pitchfork so hard that I worry I might snap the wood in two.

  Magel strides toward us, not watching us but peering very intently at the open scroll in her hands. When she comes alongside Lellie, she glances up, offering a small smile to her fellow knight before glancing back down at the scroll once more, tracing a line with her finger.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asks Lellie, her voice low, quiet, but Lellie reaches out and taps Magel’s shoulder.

  Surprised, Magel raises a brow, and only then does she realize that I’m standing before her, still poised in Rane’s stall, gripping that pitchfork.

  “Before we head out—do you remember my friend?” Lellie asks, her voice a sultry purr.

  Magel nods. “Talis. How are you?”

  I open my mouth and shut it.

  She remembers my name.

  It's impolite not to reply, but I've been rendered speechless.

  Rane doesn’t permit me to remain speechless for long, however. She steps behind me and butts me—hard—until I fall against the stall door.

  The two knights chuckle, tossing glances at Rane. Magel holds her hand out over the stall door, and Rane nickers at her, placing her nose in Magel’s palm.

  “Good beast,” says Magel with a soft smile, nodding toward Rane’s wide girth. “It’ll be any day now for the foal.”

  “Yes,” I blurt out, then blush when Magel regards me again, pinning me in place with those deep brown eyes. “Uh—”

  “Magel.” Lellie grins. “Talis has something she wants to ask you.”

  “Oh?” Magel glances back toward me with a questioning expression, while Lellie makes a face and starts mouthing words that I translate as, “Would you just ask her already?”

  I glance, stricken, at Magel.

  I’ve rehearsed how I might ask her about squirehood a thousand times.

  I finally have my chance. And I know what I want to say.

  Right. No more excuses.

  I draw in a deep breath—and I force myself to speak.

  “Magel.” Already out of air, I take another breath, wincing. “I’ve…I’ve been working very hard. And it’s work I love. I...love what I do. I mean...”

  No, this doesn't sound right. This isn’t how I rehearsed it in my head. I pause for a heartbeat, straightening out my tangled thoughts, then clear my throat. “As much as I love my work, I would…”

  Lellie urges me on with a nod of her head.

  “I would like to become a squire.” There, I've said it. I feel as if a weight has been removed from my chest; I start to breathe easier, eagerness replacing my hesitancy. “What must I do to advance? I will do anything.”

  I square my shoulders and hope I look respectable enough to match my request. When I dare to meet Magel's gaze, however, my heart falls into the deepest pit of my stomach.

  “Oh, Talis…” Magel's voice is low, regretful. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ve seen how hard you work. I know that you take your work very seriously. And it is appreciated, what you do. But—you can’t progress to squire. Not yet.”

  I've gone numb.

  Behind Magel, Lellie stares at me, her mouth gaping.

  “Why?” I murmur.

  Magel strokes Rane’s cheek, not looking at me anymore. Her jaw is tight. “If it were up to me, you would have been made a squire long ago. Your past,” she says gently, “does not define you.”

  My cheeks are so hot, it’s a wonder my face doesn’t catch on fire.

  My past.

  Oh.

  “There are those among the knights who wish to make certain that you have…reformed. Before you take on the mantle of squire and, eventually, that of a knight.” Magel’s gaze flicks back to mine, and she looks genuinely sorry. “It will happen, Talis. But you must be patient. You must give the knights time to consider, and try your best to show them who you really are.” Her expression is soft, sincere. “Squirehood will be yours.” She lowers her eyes. “Someday.”

  Someday.

  I don't trust my voice, certain it will shake, so I say nothing, only nod and stare down at my hands, clutching the pitchfork.

  “Be well, Talis,” murmurs Magel. Then she begins to move past. “Lellie?”

  Lellie lingers, watching me, and—to my surprise—there are tears shining at the corners of her eyes.

  “Yes. I’m coming,” she tells Magel, but she darts forward, and, stretching over the stall door, she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly.

  “I’m sorry, Talis,” she whispers, the words heavy with pain.

  And then she's gone, following after Magel.

  I rest my forehead is against the pitchfork handle and release a sigh.

  I’m sorry, too.

  Your past does not define you.

  But apparently…

  It does.

  “Talis.” Rane calls for me, but her voice sounds distant, muted.

  Blood is rushing in my ears. I take the pitchfork out of the stall, lean it against the wall of the stable, and then I find myself walking, with wooden steps, toward the tack room. I pass fellow stablehands, pass knights and their mounts, but I don’t truly see any of them.

  Unshed tears are blinding me. Still, I refuse to cry.

  How could I have been so stupid? I should have realized why I hadn’t progressed to squirehood yet. I guess I did know it, deep down in my bones, but I simply chose not to acknowledge it. Chose to hope that, through my actions here, I had proven myself worthy.

  This is the truth: the girl I once
was has ruined the chances for the woman I am today. And that knowledge hurts more than I could ever express.

  I wander into the tack room, and I close the door tightly behind me. It's a fragile privacy: a knight or stablehand will probably come in soon. But at least, for a moment, this single moment, I have space.

  I need to breathe.

  I need to mend this broken part of me.

  A little theatrical, Talis. But I do feel crushed, crumpled, like a useless scroll.

  This morning, I held the hope that I would become a knight, perhaps soon.

  And now…

  True, Magel said that it would happen for me in time, but if the knights feel so uncomfortable with my history, how likely is it that their misgivings will change? I fall back against the door and brush my hand angrily over my eyes, dashing away the tears.

  I was a fool. Such a fool.

  Why did I even come here? Did I really believe that I could be forgiven?

  Did I really believe that I deserved—

  A soft knock at the door, and then a quiet voice asks, “Talis?”

  Lellie.

  I open the door without turning around, and I grasp my elbows, hunching my shoulders forward, hoping that my best friend won't notice the tears streaked over my face.

  Lellie comes through the crack in the door and shuts it behind her. Then she stands beside me, shoulder pressing into my shoulder, leaning against me a little.

  And she sighs.

  “Talis… I’m so sorry.”

  Lellie is, of course, sorry, because she knows, knows what becoming a knight meant to me, knows how afraid I have been—in the dark hours of the evening—that my past would return to haunt me. Knows how I hoped that good, hard work might absolve me…

  Knows how I strove to become someone different. And better.

  “Well,” I begin; my voice shakes.

  No.

  I’m stronger than this.

  I lift my chin.

  “Look, Talis, we’ll fix this. We'll figure out a way. If I have to strong-arm every single dissenting knight until she realizes her mistake, that's what I'll—”

  “No.” I laugh harshly. “I mean, maybe they’re right. What right do I have…me…to become a knight of Arktos?

  Lellie's posture sags, and her face is grim. “Don't let yourself sink to that kind of thinking. You have every right to become a knight. People grow and change, and what you did—it shouldn’t even matter. It doesn't matter.”

  I shake my head. “It does.”

  “Look…” She exhales. “We’re going to examine this sensibly, all right? Look at it like...a battle, yeah? Every battle has a plan, needs a plan, and we’re going to come up with an amazing plan. I promise you.” Lellie’s face is set in that expression she gets when she’s up to something—and determined to succeed.

  Suddenly, my heart fills with gratitude. If nothing else, I'm lucky to have such a loyal friend.

  “Thanks.” Ducking my head, I sigh and say, “But you have to leave with Magel now. I’m keeping you from your duty.”

  She chuckles. “When Magel asked me if I wanted to ride with her, I agreed only because I wanted her to talk to you. But now I've asked Kell to sub for me. This is too important. And I knew you’d be…” She trails off, turning her hand in the air. “Upset,” she finishes weakly, searching my face. “And I wanted to fix it.”

  “That's kind. But you can’t fix everything, Lellie.”

  Again, she chuckles. “I’m gonna damn well try.” Her eyes are so sharp that they bore into mine. “So we’re going out for a drink?”

  “Lellie, I’m in no mood for—”

  “You have to trust me, okay?” She darts forward and clasps my hands, searching my face. “I know you. This hurt you, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk to Magel. I caused this. Please let me make it better.”

  “Time will make it better. Only time.”

  “Only time? Huh. I'm not so sure about that...”

  I raise a brow, because Lellie’s smiling—a mischievous smile. “I have an idea,” she murmurs, and the smile grows wider.

  Chapter 4

  CINDA

  “I have an idea!” Jeene declares, bounding down the steps.

  “No, not another one.” I pick up a rolling pin to brandish at her.

  It's late afternoon, and the shop is in its usual lull, with fewer customers coming through the door. Normally, I use this time to make small hand pies for the supper crowd, but Jeene’s come down into the kitchen, disturbing my routine.

  At sight of her, my thoughts return to our plans for the evening. I’ll have to get ready soon. But what does one wear for a casual tumble? After pondering that question over the last few hours, I’ve decided upon something very plunging, indeed.

  Well, if I’m strolling out tonight, my décolletage should get some fresh air, too.

  “This is a good idea, I promise,” says Jeene, airily waving away my protests—and flicking her fingers against my rolling pin. “I’ve been considering the taverns in the city, and I think I know the perfect one for you to find that tumble of yours.”

  I stare at her. “But…I thought we’d just go to the Steel Lily. Like we always do.”

  The firmness in my tone is lost on Jeene, who leans forward over the table and flashes me a grin. The kind of grin that tends to lure me into trouble.

  “Jeene,” I murmur. I’m weary. I’ve been up since the first bird's serenade, and I’ve lost my lover, and I've made so many breads and pies and cakes that I must have gone through a horse’s weight in flour.

  Jeene’s bound and determined about this tavern nonsense, but I’m heavy-hearted and not at my most playful. What I really want to do is to ascend the steps to my apartment over the shop, put my feet up on the threadbare footstool, and lose myself in the pages of my latest book.

  And I've told Jeene as much, but she won't stand for it.

  “The Steel Lily?” she snorts now. “Oh, my pet, when was the last time you wished to bed a woman at the Steel Lily?”

  I scowl and puff out my chest, prepared to be offended on my own behalf—because, truth be told, middle-aged women frequent the Steel Lily, the workhorses and entrepreneurs of the city who take joy in complaining about taxes and the weather. They are, in all honesty, my tribe.

  However, Jeene ignores my offense and winks. “No, no, I have something much, much better planned.” She raises her brows. “What say you to taking a jaunt to the Happy Lioness?”

  My jaw falls open, and moments pass before I’m capable of shutting my mouth. “You're not serious.”

  “And why not?”

  “Jeene, the Happy Lioness is a favorite tavern of the Arktos Knights,” I whisper, stating the obvious. As I wet my lips, I feel my heart flutter inside of me. And, if I’m not mistaken, my cheeks are beginning to flame like a newly stoked fire.

  “Exactly!” Again, Jeene winks. “And who would you like better for a tumble than a knight?”

  “I just had a knight.”

  Jeene tsk-tsks. “You must purge Asla from your mind, pet.” She gestures toward me, up and down, grinning saucily, and I can’t help it—I laugh. “I know how attracted you are to our city’s fine protectors.”

  My blush deepens.

  “And at the Happy Lioness, there will be a knight or two…or ten…ready and willing. At your service. Just bat those pretty eyelashes of yours, and you’ll have your pick!”

  My pick of the knights.

  I swallow, my knees going weak.

  “You’re being silly,” I reprimand her, and I hold onto the edge of the table, because imagining a tavern full of knights has made my blood course a little hotter through my veins.

  I may, in fact, be feeling faint.

  “Look at you, blushing like a ripe apple! I know what you like, and knights are it. So we must go where the knights are.”

  I tilt my head at her, forcing myself to focus on reality—rather than the way that a well-shaped piece of a
rmor clings to a knight's thighs. “That tavern is on the other end of the city. No, no, it would take so long to get there, walking. By the time we—”

  “We’re not going to walk.” Jeene’s grin rivals the sun in its brightness.

  “Oh, no.” I slam my rolling pin down on the table. “Jeene, no. We are not renting horses—”

  “We’re renting horses!” she crows, unfurling her hands with glee.

  Arktos City is large, and people who regularly traverse its length own horses. But, of course, there are those of us who simply can’t afford the cost of horses, or their upkeep and stabling. So we rent horses, when we have need for them, from the local liveries.

  Since I've never traveled, I grew up without much experience at horseback riding. As a result, I'm...not very good at it.

  I might, in fact, hate it.

  And, in perfect honesty...I hate horses.

  Oh, that’s harsh. I don’t truly hate them. They have as much right to exist as any of us do. But they’re large, bossy, and far too smart. They know, as soon as they see me coming, that here's someone they can kick up into the air and toss off of their smelly backs.

  I dislike horses, and horses very much dislike me.

  “Jeene, please. This is just too much. I’m tired,” I groan, picking up my dirty pottery bowls from the table and preparing to clean them in the washtub.

  “My pet, you’re always tired. If you wait to feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you'll put off your happiness forever.” Jeene's eyes are stern, inspiring me to pause. “Life is short. Enjoy it occasionally, would you?”

  I bristle. “Nothing can be enjoyed while on horseback. Nothing,” I repeat, scrubbing at a bowl.

  “You think that only because we always get to the stable late, after all of the good horses are already taken out, and you’re left with some sorry nag who has indigestion and a grudge against humankind.” Jeene smiles. “But don’t worry. I've asked them to save you a gentle beast. Now, hurry and wash up—we’ve got a tavern to visit!”

  “What, now? We aren't closed for the day yet.”

  Jeene gives me one of her damnable shrugs. “I turned the sign to closed before I came down here. And locked the front door.”