by Jocelyn Fox
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Ramel. Andraste began to protest, but Finn imagined that Ramel held up a hand to stop her. “My lady,” he said carefully, “your concern is admirable. I will relay your request to Squire Finnead when he does wake, and if he consents then I will send word. But until then, it is best for him to have quiet and restful time for his body to heal.”
Finn felt strangely grateful to Ramel. While he was flattered that the princess had displayed such concern, it also made him uneasy to have her see him in such a helpless state. When he awoke, he could pretend he never knew she had visited, he decided. He would tell Ramel, when he asked, that he would no doubt see the Princess at the Solstice festival, so there was no need for her to personally visit him, and that would be the end of it.
You are such a spoilsport, grumbled Kieran in the corner of his mind.
Lost in his own thoughts, he missed the conclusion of Ramel and Andraste’s conversation, but he caught the sound of her footsteps retreating from the room. He drifted again into that strange half-sleep. Finally, the pain of his shoulder eclipsed his body’s exhaustion, and he grudgingly accepted that he’d have to take more healing herbs. When he opened his eyes, the firelight seemed impossibly bright, the golden flames sending little shocks through his eyes and into his skull. He swallowed thickly and blinked a few times, waiting for the world to come into focus.
“Ramel, he’s awake.” It sounded as though the apprentice Walker was rousing Ramel. Finn’s vision cleared enough for him to tilt his head and glimpse the page blearily raising his head from where he’d pillowed it on his arms, sitting at the table. To the page’s credit, he gained awareness quickly, sloughing off the muddled cocoon of half-sleep that Finnead knew all too well from his years serving Knight Arian.
While Ramel quickly assembled ingredients from his healing satchel, Finn took stock of his condition. His limbs still felt leaden, his restless sleep doing little to help his body recuperate from the hours of relentless exertion in the gauntlet. He moved one leg experimentally and found that his muscles weren’t even sore yet, just heavy and tight. The soreness would probably take hold after a good meal and a night of actual sleep, he thought. His ribs ached peripherally, a constant buzz of discomfort that peaked when he moved or drew an especially deep breath. The sharp bright pain of a surface wound on his sword-arm confused him for a moment. He didn’t remember when that wound was dealt, but he knew it had to have been in the blur of opponents before the Knight in the red mask. Before Knight Arian. On his face, the cut that had nearly taken one of his eyes stung a little, but all these smaller wounds quieted when his shoulder pulsed with pain. He remembered the feel of the blade grating against bone. Nausea rose in his stomach.
“Are you ready for a meal yet, do you think?” asked Ramel as he walked over to the bed. He placed a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table, looking at Finn earnestly as he waited for the squire to answer.
The idea of food didn’t particularly excite Finn, but it didn’t disgust him either. He swallowed again and nodded, not trusting his voice. Murtagh began efficiently assembling a plate over on the table.
“Do you…would you like help, sitting up?” Ramel asked.
Finn gave a little smile and shook his head. The smile quickly turned into a grimace as he shifted his weight, pushing himself to a sitting position with his good arm. He leaned against the headboard and took deep breaths, feeling sweat stand out on his brow from the throbbing, nauseating pain of his shoulder. The table was on his right side, so theoretically he should have been able to reach over and pick up the mug of tea himself, but he hesitated at the thought of jarring his shoulder again. Ramel seemed to read his mind, picking up the mug and offering its handle to Finn without a word.
“Thanks,” Finn grated out in a hoarse voice.
“No need to thank me,” said Ramel quietly. “I’m just doing my duty.”
Finn smiled tiredly. “Your duty…as my squire-select?” He didn’t miss the grin that flashed across Ramel’s face, though the page quickly schooled his features into a more acceptable expression of satisfaction. Finn took a tentative sip of the tea. He couldn’t identify all the flavors, but it was slightly sweet and had a hint of peppermint, and it soothed his throat wonderfully.
“You were afraid I forgot what I said in my delirium?” Finn said to the copper-haired page.
“I’m sure he would have reminded you, sir,” said Murtagh, walking over with a plate of food.
Finn raised an eyebrow and winced as it pulled at his cut. “I would chuckle, but my ribs would reprimand me, and any other facial expression seems beyond my execution now as well.” He sighed.
“Ramel could perform all your expressions for you,” suggested Murtagh with a smile, which widened into a grin at Ramel’s annoyed glance.
“That is a suggestion I shall take into consideration,” said Finn, taking another sip of tea. Somehow, speaking with these two pages eased the deep, cold ache of loss in his chest. He took a long, considering swallow of tea. “After all, squires must perform any task their master sets before them to the best of their ability.”
“If the task includes returning the lovely expressions of all the ladies who pine after you, sir, then I’ll undertake it with enthusiasm,” replied Ramel with his signature mischievous grin.
“Ah, there’s the cheekiness,” said Finn, leaning his head back against the wall. “I was beginning to think that you’d given your sarcasm to Murtagh for safekeeping.”
“Being an apprentice Walker has freed more of my energy for learning sarcasm, sir,” replied Murtagh seriously.
Finn chuckled and then immediately regretted it.
“I can wrap your ribs if you’d like,” offered Ramel, his merriment immediately erased.
Finn shook his head. It was a few moments until he had enough breath to speak. “We both know that doesn’t actually do anything.”
“True. But sometimes things that don’t really do anything still offer a bit of comfort, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” said Ramel.
Finn narrowed his eyes at the page. That movement, too, pulled at the scab of the cut on his forehead. He groaned. “I really am going to assign you to walk alongside me and make all the expressions I can’t.”
“Or you could just be more stoic and more mysterious,” offered Ramel with an arched eyebrow. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard from the ladies,” he added with a puckish gleam in his eyes.
“One lady in particular, or multiple ladies?” asked Murtagh with mock sincerity.
“Well, now that you mentioned one lady in particular…” Ramel paused and glanced at Finn, who motioned with a piece of bread for him to continue. “Princess Andraste visited while you were asleep. She was…concerned for you.”
Finn swallowed his mouthful of bread. “I would raise my eyebrows in surprise, but we’ve already established I can’t.”
“Your surprise is noted, sir,” said Ramel gravely. “The Princess asked if she could visit again once you awoke, and I said I would ask you.”
Though he’d already rehearsed the answer to this question, Finn felt his mouth go dry. He bought himself time by taking a sip of tea. “You may tell the Princess that I appreciate her concern,” he said finally, “but I will most likely see her during the Solstice celebration, and that is a far more appropriate venue.”
“Aye, sir,” said Ramel. Did Finn imagine it, or did he hear approval in the page’s voice? He wasn’t entirely sure, so he focused on finishing the food on the plate balanced on his lap.
“I’ll make more salve for your shoulder,” said Ramel. He paused as he turned away from the bed. “Sir, I have…there’s white shroud, if that would help. With your sleep.”
Finn pressed his lips together. His instinctive reaction was to refuse it; he’d heard more than one Knight scoff at the idea of using herbs to banish dreams and ensure sleep, saying that it was a mark of weakness if a warrior couldn’t face his own mind. But instead he nodded.
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��I’ll only add a very small amount,” said Ramel quietly.
As the pages retreated to the table to prepare the salve and tea, Finn finished the rest of his meal, his body happily accepting the food in a way that made him realize how badly he’d needed the nourishment. In the silence, broken only by the industrious sounds of the mortar and pestle and the pages’ murmured consultations, Finn remembered anew that Kieran was dead. A pit opened in the bottom of his stomach and cold grief washed away the hot pain of his shoulder. He looked over at Kieran’s bunk, made neatly the morning before the gauntlet. Kieran would never sleep in that bed again. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Kieran would never cross the threshold of their room again, never groan expansively about Lady Elaine’s beauty, never grin and shake his head at Finn’s disinterest in discussing the ladies of the Court.
To his astonishment and chagrin, he felt tears gathering in his eyes. It seemed they were beyond his control, though he fiercely tried to clamp down on his emotions. The pages kept their backs to him, busily measuring herbs and debating the ratio of one ingredient to another in fierce low voices. Finn blinked, felt a few hot tears slide down his cheeks, and raised his good hand with painful effort to wipe his face dry.
“Well, I think we’ve got it,” announced Ramel loudly and unnecessarily before the pages turned around. Finn had to smile a little at the younger man’s conscientious attempts to give him space.
Changing the dressing on his shoulder was just as unpleasant as Finn expected. He forced himself to watch Ramel, evaluating the page’s proficiency with a clinical eye. The copper-haired page had steady hands, and though traces of unease occasionally surfaced on his stoic face, his touch was never rough or unsure. The salve he’d concocted took effect almost immediately. The relief was so intense that Finn felt his eyes close almost unwillingly. The sudden lack of pain almost felt akin to pleasure.
“Well,” he said unsteadily, opening his eyes, “you can certainly make a numbing salve.”
“I’ve practiced the recipe a few times,” Ramel confessed.
“Mostly on me,” added Murtagh. He lowered his voice. “Once, he numbed my arm for an entire day. That was not ideal for staff practice.”
Finn smiled. “At least you wouldn’t have felt it if your training master rapped your knuckles.”
“That was the problem! He flailed about like he was invincible,” said Ramel with a grin. “And you asked me for the salve, don’t forget, because of that bruised shoulder.”
“I did forget,” said Murtagh musingly. “How strange. I suppose the experience of using my own arm as a bludgeon and feeling nothing overran the memory of why I’d asked you for the salve in the first place.”
As Ramel and Murtagh traded their little sarcastic comments, Finn felt a sharp twinge of sorrow. He’d never engage in such repartee with Kieran again. The pages must have noticed the change in his face, because they fell silent. He cleared his throat. “Don’t mind me,” he said thickly. “Just…thinking.”
“I know that I am just a page, and you haven’t spent much time with me,” said Ramel quietly. “But I swear that I hold anything you say to me in the sacred trust between a Knight and his squire, even though it isn’t official yet. If you would like to speak plainly, sir, I will listen.”
The earnestness and devotion in the boy’s voice nearly undid Finn. What had he done to earn such loyalty from the lad? He swallowed thickly. All he could manage in response was a little nod, and then he reached for the second, smaller cup of tea on the bedside table. Behind the sweetness of the peppermint, he detected a faint earthy flavor. He drank the tea quickly. Its warmth began to spread from his stomach into the rest of his body, and he barely had time to wonder how much white shroud Ramel considered “a small amount” before his body felt light and his eyes felt heavy. One of the pages rescued the teacup and retrieved the empty plate from his lap. He felt them work together to ease him back down onto the bed, and he felt a blanket tucked securely around him as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, a sleep such as he’d never known.
Chapter 15
Though he was excused from daily practice to tend to Squire Finnead, Ramel still had to serve at the evening meal. In the transition period after the gauntlet, the senior pages often stepped into the roles of the squires that they’d helped after the gauntlet, and so Ramel found himself learning how to serve as a squire for Knight Arian. Knight Arian’s improbable rise to the high dais had persisted, even with the absence of Squire Finnead. Ramel tried to reassure himself that serving as a squire at the high dais was no different than serving at the high dais as a page, but standing an arm’s length behind Knight Arian’s chair placed him much, much closer to all the luminaries of the Court. He was at once both proud of his promotion and terrified of the possibility that he could commit some grave error that would forever haunt him during his years as a squire. He made it through the first night in a haze of trepidation, his body so tense that his muscles were sore the next morning.
On the second night after the gauntlet, the Northern delegation attended the evening meal once again. The Great Hall was not so stunningly decorated as the feast to welcome them, and Ramel sensed a strange tension in the air as the delegation at the high dais took their seats. Queen Mab swept to her chair in a wash of rippling moonlight. Her velvety black gown this night featured insets in the sleeves and bodice adorned with gems which were enchanted to pulse and glow like stars; her lustrous dark hair was bound up in a net that seemed to be spun from moonlight itself. The Queen looked like a goddess, Ramel decided, a beautiful goddess so far above them that to compare her to any of the other ladies would be to profane her luminous splendor. He amended his thoughts when he glimpsed the Princess Andraste. As always, the Princess’s simple sapphire-hued gown emphasized her slender form and radiant beauty, but its very simplicity served as a counterpoint to her sister’s majesty. Queen Mab’s magnificence was undeniable, but her sister’s understated raiment was alluring in its own way. It was as though the Princess knew that no jewel could make her more beautiful and no enchantment could enhance her youthful glow. Ramel found it difficult to reconcile the disguised pageboy with the composed young woman sitting at her sister’s right hand.
The Unseelie twins who had lived and studied with the ulfdrengr were no longer seated at the high dais. Ramel looked surreptitiously down the tables and didn’t spot them. The Northern delegation did not engage so easily with their Sidhe escorts, and their mage, the one with the scarlet stripe down her throat, wore an expression of stoic forbearance. Her eyes glittered as she watched the Unseelie take their places at the high dais, and Ramel thought that she hid anger beneath her mask. The whole Court remained standing until the Queen decided to take her seat; for now, she showed no inclination to start the meal, speaking to Lady Elaine at her left.
“Page Ramel,” said Knight Arian, making Ramel jump guiltily.
“Yes, sir?” Ramel took half a step forward as the Knight turned slightly to address him.
Knight Arian regarded him with a speculative gaze. “I have been told that Finnead intends to take you as his squire.”
Ramel wondered how Knight Arian knew that – had Finn sent a message to him? But he pushed aside his questions. After all, it wasn’t for him to know the secrets of the Knights. Not yet, at least. “Yes, sir. At least, that is what he has said to me.”
“Finnead rarely says anything that he does not thoroughly think through beforehand,” said Knight Arian with a hint of dryness in his voice. He paused and lowered his voice. “How is he, lad?”
“He is…” Ramel took a breath and considered his answer. “Healing in body, sir, but mourning the loss of Squire Kieran.”
Lines settled into Knight Arian’s face around his mouth and eyes, making him look much older for an instant before he smoothed them away. “That is as it should be. He feels deeply, lad, as stoic as he may seem.” The Knight nodded.
“Yes, sir,” said Ramel dutifully. He took a breath and then pl
unged forward before he could stop himself. “Sir, is there anything I can…tell him? About Squire Kieran?”
Knight Arian looked weary and closed his eyes for a moment. Ramel wondered if he’d be banished from the high dais for his impudence. But the older Knight merely said, “Nothing that he doesn’t already know, lad. Nothing that he doesn’t already know.”
Ramel had no idea what that meant, but he decided – wisely, in his view – not to push his luck any further.
At last, Queen Mab took her seat at the head of the table, and the motion rippled down the high dais as the rest of her Court settled in for the meal. Ramel poured Knight Arian’s wine and offered it to the lady seated at the Knight’s right; she declined with a pretty smile, which made his face heat but he studiously told himself to ignore. Harder to ignore was the growing feeling of tension surrounding the Northern delegation. Their broad-shouldered leader sat unmoving, his face stoic as the conversation flowed around him, though the Unseelie courtiers glanced at him nervously every now and again. Ramel remembered that the leader’s bonded wolf was named Haldvyk. He wondered if the she-wolf with the silver strip down her back, Radya, was bonded to the sorceress with the red stripe down her throat. He liked the symmetry of the idea. It was strange to him that he knew the names of their wolves but not of the ulfdrengr. The other members of the Northern delegation – a few muscular men and the lithe, fierce-looking women – sat in similar stony silence, their eyes finding their leaders every so often as though awaiting further orders. Ramel didn’t miss that Knight Arian shifted his weight several times, the Knight’s gaze flickering between the wolf-warriors.
As Ramel held an empty pitcher behind his back for the page to take to the cellars, the leader of the ulfdrengr spoke. His assured voice carried down the entire table, and conversation died into silence as the courtiers strained to hear his words.
“My lady Mab, we thank you for your hospitality,” the ulfdrengr king said. Or at least king was the word that Ramel’s mind supplied. He was sure they had their own word for it; he wished he’d thought to ask Rye. Queen Mab turned her head slightly, her dark eyes fixed on the ulfdrengr. A small, benevolent smile curved her lips, even as Ramel sensed a shift in the mood. He realized that the wolf-warrior had called her lady Mab, not Queen Mab. His stomach tightened. He realized that the page with the empty pitcher hadn’t disappeared down to the cellars but stood transfixed, observing the exchange. Ramel didn’t care enough to tear his eyes away and reprimand him.