Just One Knight

by Bridget Essex

  “Help!” I call out, digging my fingers deeper into his mane, holding tightly to the donkey’s thick neck. There’s terror in my voice as I yell, “Help me! Please! He won’t stop!”

  My life flashes before my eyes (this involves, unsurprisingly, quite a lot of bread), and even as I cling tightly to the beast…I have a thought.

  A thought that’s sharp and clear, and one that I can’t dismiss.

  If this is the way that I’m going to die, bucked into the air and kicked from this life by a feisty donkey, that’s just...tragic. To die before I see any other parts of this world…

  Well, that seems, all of the sudden, to be vastly unfair.

  No.

  I want to see the world.

  I want that with my whole heart.

  Newly determined, I try my best to maintain my balance, shouting out an occasional help, though nobody seems to have the inclination or the wherewithal to assist me. And every time Cossie and I pass by someone mounted on a horse, the rider is too shocked (or amused) to take any useful action.

  I’m saying my final prayers, preparing my speech for the Goddess (“I didn’t want to go to that faraway tavern, but my best friend is stubborn, and I love her, and please don’t laugh, but I got bucked off of the donkey. Please. Stop laughing. Can you please stop laughing?”) when I hear something that draws my attention.

  The donkey’s hooves make a tremendous clatter. He’s braying, as well, and if you’ve never heard a donkey’s bray, just imagine the worst person you’ve ever known laughing in glee after winning a hand of cards against you while said person steals the last pastry from your plate. A donkey’s bray is quite similar in tone.

  But somehow, over all of that racket, I manage to hear other hooves pounding hard on the cobblestones behind us.

  Someone is riding up—and fast.

  Oh, Goddess preserve me, I might actually survive this.

  And then, alongside Cossie, comes a horse.

  This is not just any horse.

  She is the tallest horse I’ve ever seen, a gray behemoth who towers over the donkey as if he’s a windup child’s toy. And this horse isn’t merely tall; she has enormous muscles, a long, flowing mane, and nostrils as big as saucers.

  And there’s someone riding on her back.

  I risk a sidelong glance, because if I’m going to die, I want to have glimpsed this person nice enough to try and rescue me.

  And then...

  Then...

  Everything within me seems to slow down.

  Because on the back of that massive mare sits a knight.

  A knight of Arktos.

  For half of a heartbeat, I look at the woman, and my mind assumes that the knight is—must be—Asla.

  She is, of course, not Asla. It's just that the sight of armor causes me to think of Asla. This association will, hopefully, fade with time.

  Regardless, the knight riding beside me, sitting expertly in the saddle, leaning forward over the mare’s neck and shoulders, urging her to run faster…is a perfect stranger to me.

  There are some moments in life that seem to progress at a slower pace than others. It’s as if everything in the world goes about at its normal speed, but for a moment—a split second, really—you’re placed outside of that hustle and bustle. You’re situated in your own little world, apart from space and time.

  That delicious, slowed-down sensation is happening to me right now. I stare up at this knight, taking in the short, shockingly red hair; the mouth drawn in a thin line of determination (or, perhaps, stubbornness); the blue eyes narrowed, unwavering. I notice things one shouldn’t notice—or care about—while clinging to the back of a runaway donkey. Like how the knight’s gaze glitters with intensity. I notice the strength of her jaw, the fluted curve of her nose, and how nimbly she hugs her horse’s sides with her thighs…

  This is a perfectly imperfect moment for my heart to choose to skip a beat, but then again, my heart has never been the sort to time things appropriately.

  The woman, brow furrowed with concentration, reaches out with a gloved hand, and then she’s seizing my reins and pulling her horse up, along with the donkey. Cossie brays one last time—explosively, as if he can’t hold the sound in—and then he’s sitting back on his hindquarters.

  Just like that.

  The mishap is over.

  Cossie wrangles his head in anger as the knight slides easily off of her horse—her massive horse—her booted feet touching the ground as softly as if she were walking down a flight of stairs.

  And then she begins to talk to the donkey.

  “Softly, softly, friend,” she murmurs to Cossie, leaning down to press her forehead against his. “There’s no true cause to race through the city streets like that, is there? I think you know that. Yes, you know.”

  I’m disheveled, breathing hard, my skirts a tangle around my legs, my hair falling loose from its braids. I ought to tidy myself up, ought to attempt to make myself presentable. But I can't; all I can do is stare, my cheeks flushed, my lips gently parted, because...

  Her voice.

  If velvet were a sound, it would be her voice.

  If the richest cake in the world could make music, that would be her voice.

  It’s warm and liquid, as inviting as a freshly baked pie.

  I want her to sing to me; I want her to say my name.

  I want…

  Oh, no.

  I…want.

  Startled by myself, and more than a little appalled, I avert my gaze. It is, after all, rude to stare.

  But just as quickly, that appalled feeling fades to…something else. I ask you: what does it matter that I was nearly tossed from this donkey to my doom? I’m as safe and sound as a babe now, and the reason that Jeene and I came out tonight was, in fact, for me to have a tumble. By that logic, it would be quite silly of me to ignore the feelings that have begun to rise in my womanly parts.

  At this very moment, I’m staring at a woman I’d like to tumble with very much, thanks ever so kindly.

  The knight pauses, cupping her leather-clad palms on either side of the donkey's fuzzy head. She’s staring down at him, her lips pursed, her head cocked, as if she’s...listening.

  And then she nods.

  “I understand,” she says, voice low. “But to run away with someone on your back… She didn’t deserve the fright you gave her.” Again, after she speaks, she stills, as if listening once more. I think she must be…talking to the donkey? I stare at her—I can't help but stare—though the woman isn’t looking at me; she’s watching Cossie's face intently.

  Until, suddenly, she isn't.

  Those blue eyes shift from his flaring nostrils and rise, slowly, to search out my gaze.

  Minutes ago, I was breathless from near-death excitement. Now, well, I'm breathless for a different reason.

  Those eyes? Yes, they’re blue, but that’s just a color. The sky is blue; that one descriptor doesn’t truly tell you what it looks like. If I said that the sky looked as blue as the first bluebells of spring, you’d have a better image of the sight. If I told you that the sky was as blue as milk in the dark, you’d know the sun had set, that the world below was hushed and quiet.

  So I must expound about the blue of her eyes, because it is a blue that I want to remember.

  Imagine the ocean. And imagine a storm, lingering along the edges of the sea, lightning dazzling, a constant shock; there's a powerful crackling in the air. And right where the ocean meets the sky, right at the heart of the electric storm…

  That's where you'll find the blue of this knight's gaze.

  I rest a hand on my heart. Where are these thoughts coming from?

  I must be bewitched.

  A spell must have been laid upon me...

  “Milady…”

  My eyelashes flutter in surprise.

  “The donkey says you whipped him. Did you?”

  I blink.

  Oh.

  Well...

  That was not what I expected
from her mouth.

  Or, rather, it's not what I wanted from it.

  “I...didn’t whip him, no.” I push the hair from my eyes, keenly aware of my untidy state. I push my skirts down, pull the top of the dress up, and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but…are you speaking to that donkey?”

  She nods, though it’s a slow, distracted nod. “He says he took off because someone whipped him. He’s a little incoherent at the moment, granted. You should probably get off of him before he tries something silly again.”

  I glance at the ground uncertainly.

  And then, after a moment, the knight comes around to the donkey’s left side, holding out her arms to me.

  “May I?” she asks.

  Her short red hair, brilliant beneath the torchlight, was tousled by the run on her steed, and a shock of it falls in front of one of her eyes. She’s tilting her chin up, peering at me with a raised bow…

  Oh.

  Oh, my.

  I swallow a lump in my throat, even as my traitorous heart skips another beat.

  She’s young.

  I’ve never been attracted to younger women before, never had a lover who was younger than me by more than a year, but if I were to guess, I’d think that this woman is in her early twenties.

  That’s…odd for me, to ache for someone younger. But age is only a number, isn’t it? Or so the poets say. Still, I’m nervous as I glance down at her, at her arms outstretched toward me, waiting.

  What should I do?

  Once I turn on my charms, I know what I’m capable of...

  Is this what I want?

  Yes.

  Oh, yes, most definitely.

  This is what I want.

  But is it right?

  Hmm. What a fine conundrum to have ridden a donkey into…

  “Milady?” the knight murmurs, and she cocks her head, her gaze as constant as a star, her smile nearly as bright. “Are you injured? May I…help you to your feet? Cossie told me that you weren’t much for riding.”

  “Cossie…told you…” I glance at the donkey’s ears, still pressed flat against his head. “Well, yes. He’s right. I’m not much for riding.” My mouth smiles slowly and of its own accord. “Are you really talking to the donkey?”

  “Yes.” A slight smile crosses her lips, too, and when she meets my gaze, there’s a bit of mischief to her expression.

  “May I help you down?” she repeats, but the inquiry is softer now. Warmer.

  “Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

  She puts her hands upon the curves of my waist, and I lean forward, start to fall toward her.

  The knight is strong; she catches my weight effortlessly, easing my leg over the back of the donkey and lowering me to the ground with a heartbreaking gentleness.

  After the wild ride, I’m out of sorts—in both mind and body, I suspect. I reach up, tucking strands of hair back into the braids wound around my head. “Thank you,” I say, and then I stand a little straighter, gazing up at the knight who is still holding my waist and watching me with an expression that I can’t quite read. I realize, then, that I've pressed my hands against her metal chest plate.

  “Thank you,” I repeat, smiling up at her, “for saving me.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes. Of course.” She takes a step back, releasing me—and how cold the air feels after the heat of those hands.

  I close my eyes and draw a deep breath into my lungs, cherishing this sensation of not moving. It is nice to be on solid, stationary ground. I thought I might never again feel the earth beneath my feet—not to mention this hot warmth curling in my center...

  I gaze up at my rescuer.

  There's no time like the present, after all.

  If this is going to happen, it must begin now.

  So, without delay, I offer the knight my coyest smile.

  It's the one that involves me glancing up through my lashes—which are fluttering like moth’s wings—while I bite my lower lip just a little, breathing out through my nose. It's sweet...but unmistakably “come hither.”

  And the knight before me?

  Well, the most adorable thing happens—so adorable, in fact, that my heart skips three full beats in a row.

  For the young knight’s face has turned a very unexpected shade of red.

  Chapter 7

  TALIS

  I stare at the woman in the red dress and find myself at a loss for words.

  The last several moments were ones I would never have been able to predict.

  Lellie and I had nearly reached the Happy Lioness. We were chatting about—oh, I don’t even remember what it was now. Silly, simple things.

  Rane had been quite good during the ride. She was, in fact, well behaved (which is something I didn’t think she was capable of on any outing), and our presence hadn't drawn any attention. To the rest of the city, Lellie and I appeared as two knights taking their warrior mares about town, and there was such a lightness in me. A lightness that I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  I had expected that I would feel like a child playing dress-up in the stolen armor. It had been exciting, though, so exciting, to don the metal pieces, to feel the metal warming with my own heat.

  But there was more to it than that.

  For the first time in my whole life, I felt like a knight. Or, at least, what I think a knight must feel like. I rode on Rane’s back, my chin held high, and a calmness and surety suffused me.

  I felt as if...I had a purpose.

  In the armor, I felt right.

  As Lellie and I trotted through the familiar streets, letting our horses set the pace, we laughed at one another's jokes and relaxed in the saddles. For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to forget that Magel had told me, just a few hours before, that I couldn’t become a squire, let alone a knight. Not yet, anyway. I let myself forget that the other knights didn’t want me to be among them. That I must, somehow, prove myself, atone for who I once was…

  In Asla's armor, I found that I could forget.

  And so forget I did.

  By the time we neared the tavern, I was in a good mood. Not the best mood, mind you: I was still wary about riding Rane, a horse who was not mine, and I was anxious about wearing stolen armor, so I was on alert—for knights, for curious passersby, for anything out of the ordinary.

  And then, all of the sudden, something quite out of the ordinary occurred.

  Lellie had lagged a bit behind, talking with a lost pedestrian. I, on the other hand, was about to make a turn when, on the crossing street, a donkey bearing a woman on its back raced by at the fastest speed its short legs could summon, bucking and braying in obvious distress.

  At first, I thought the woman must be late for an important meeting, or, perhaps less likely, in the middle of a race of some sort. But those assumptions were quickly disproved, because the woman on the donkey’s back was yelling something…

  And as I pulled up my mare, Rane’s heavy hooves coming to an obedient standstill, I clearly heard the word help.

  After that, it took only a heartbeat to figure out that the frightened donkey was running away with the frightened woman, and the ordeal could end very badly for both of them. I didn’t think: my body acted on pure instinct. No sooner had I leaned forward in the saddle than Rane, the battle-hardened (and stir-crazy) warrior mare, was off, her powerful legs surging over the ground, devouring the distance between us and the corner of the street.

  We whirled out onto the larger thoroughfare, and I bent fully over Rane’s neck, standing lightly on the balls of my feet in the stirrups, rising in the saddle until I was balanced atop Rane so that she could use her all of her energy to race ahead.

  Though Rane is very pregnant, there’s little that can alter the deepest nature of a warrior mare. They have been trained from birth to help those who are in peril, and she was ready for this, her body beneath me vibrating with excitement. If, by some magic, the donkey had flung himself into the sky and sprouted wings, Rane would have figured out a way to pull the be
ast back down to the ground (likely making use of her wicked teeth).

  Rane’s mane whipped me in the face, but I ignored it as I sized up the situation. We had quickly gained ground within only a few of Rane’s powerful strides. The woman on the donkey's back was, obviously, in a panic. From the way that she rolled about in the saddle, it was clear that she did not, in fact, know how to ride. This isn't uncommon in Arktos City. Many people don’t own horses because of how infrequently they have use for them.

  My mind was, of course, trying to figure out the safest way to calm the situation.

  But here’s something strange I must tell you...

  The woman—dressed in a long red dress with a very full skirt—wasn’t sitting the donkey properly, and perhaps, since she wasn’t sitting the donkey properly, her rear was in the air much more than normally happens when one rides an animal…

  And though I was racing down the street, working out how to save this woman's life…I have to admit, for a sliver of a second, I admired that woman’s fine rump.

  I was mortified by myself. A knight attempting to rescue someone should never focus on anything aside from helping that person. But, in my defense, I didn’t think it so much as, well, feel it. Besides, anyone would agree: the lady was in possession of an absurdly fine rump. It was a very, very pretty ass.

  I mean, the rear of the lady, not the donkey, of course. Though he was a fine-looking donkey, as far as donkeys go—no offense intended. I was simply paying much more attention to the lady than to her runaway beast. Though I needed to pay attention to the beast if I was going to save the lady, so I shoved all thoughts of derrieres from my mind and concentrated on my one searing purpose: I had to help her.

  Rane pulled alongside the donkey, and I reached down and—shockingly—in a single motion, managed to scoop up the animal's reins. The donkey was reticent to cease his joyride, but after I pulled on the reins, the creature halted so suddenly that he fell back onto his hind legs. Rane, of course, matched his stride without my instruction, because she can be a good beast, when she so chooses.