The Knight's Daughter

by S H Cooper

  I barely manage a nod. He’s so close I can see the yellow of his teeth through his wiry beard.

  “We don’t really eat people.”

  “But you said—”

  The women snicker and I frown up at them.

  “Ach, she’s an innocent!” Falasia reaches over Haroheim’s shoulder and pinches my cheek with a coo.

  I jerk my head away, making them laugh all the more, and scowl at the ground.

  “Tell us, wee finch, what are you doing out after dark?” Reena quiets the others to ask.

  “Nothing,” I mutter.

  “Nothing sure got you into some trouble, didn’t it?”

  “Doesn’t seem the murdering sort,” Falasia says thoughtfully. “You a thief, then?”

  “No!” I respond heatedly.

  It was bad enough I had been chased through the streets, but to be accused of stealing on top of it? I consider shouldering past them, but Haroheim alone creates a wide and sturdy barrier. The other two flanking him on either side make getting by seem impossible altogether.

  Reena places her elbow on Haroheim’s head and rests her chin in her upturned hand. “Really, though, what did you do to have half the town out after you?”

  They don’t seem like they’re going to move without an answer.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. It’s a half-truth, which makes it more convincing than a whole lie, I reason. “They thought I was someone else.”

  “They seemed fairly convinced of it to me,” Haroheim muses, twirling the end of his beard.

  “They said you’re worth money,” Falasia agrees. “A pretty penny, by the way they were carrying on.”

  “The way I see it, you have two choices,” Reena says. “You either tell us why they were chasing you, or we bring you back to the public house and let them tell us.”

  I press my mouth shut, both in an attempt to look defiant and to keep myself from crying. Reena tilts her head and drums her fingers against her cheek.

  “What’ll it be, country finch? Talk or walk?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Getting away from three seems to have better odds than trying to outrun a mob again, and so I talk. I tell them my name is Kitty, that I’d come to Gladfife from a small village to meet my brothers, but they had never showed, and the people in the public house mistook me for another lass.

  “I don’t know why they want her,” I say, the part of my story that keeps it a half-truth. “They said something about a reward, but that’s all I know. I swear it!”

  I search their faces, hoping my anxious insistence will be mistaken for earnestness. Haroheim harrumphs and looks up out of the corner of his eyes at Reena.

  “If she’s lying, she’s decent at it,” he admits rather grudgingly.

  I silently thank Joseph for all the stories he’s ever told me.

  Reena taps a finger against her lips. “So it would seem.”

  “Why didn’t your brothers meet you?” Farasia asks, still suspicious.

  “I don’t know. Our father wrote them to tell them I was coming.”

  I let my head hang and twist the end of my braid around my fingers. They already think of me as a little girl. If I can keep the act up, they’re likely to lower their guard, then I’ll be able to run.

  “What do we do with her?” Haroheim asks. “If we leave her, the city folk will come looking again.”

  “That’s really not our problem,” Farasia says. “We came to trade our fish and furs, not pick up strays.”

  “She’s just a girl,” Haroheim counters.

  While they talk, my eyes trail across the ground, looking for the nearest opening.

  “You’re too soft-hearted, Haroheim,” Farasia scolds him.

  “Imagine if it were Imogen or Freyott. Would you want them wandering the streets alone at night?” He brushes Reena, who has stayed quiet so far, off of him and pushes himself back to his feet.

  “I wouldn’t have to worry about them,” Farasia says dismissively. “My children would not be so helpless.”

  I believe I’ve found my way out. With Haroheim facing Farasia, he’s left a gap just wide enough for me to squeeze through behind him. I shift my weight subtly, preparing to push off from the wall and dart away.

  Reena steps into my intended path.

  “If your story is true, it’s not safe for you here,” she says.

  “No, it is, I’m fine,” I stumble over my words, momentarily thrown off. “I just need to find my brothers.”

  “Then we’ll come back tomorrow, in the daylight,” she says. “If they haven’t come by now, they probably aren’t coming at all, and it’s too late to go looking for them. Haroheim, help her into the cart.”

  My protests turn to a startled squeal when Haroheim lifts me easily around my middle and sets me down in the back of the cart. I’m seated on empty sacks with my legs dangling off of the end. Behind me is a pile of small crates. Reena hops up and takes a seat next to me.

  Farasia sighs. “You both are too easily won over.”

  “If she gets funny, you can pull her teeth out,” Haroheim offers cheerfully. “Make Imogen a nice necklace.”

  Farasia laughs. I bunch my cloak up around my mouth and try not to look at the two as they climb into the driver’s seat. Haroheim snaps the reigns across the horse’s back and the cart lurches forward.

  The white buildings of Gladfife pass by as tall shadows in the dark. The horse’s hooves click, slow and steady, against the cobblestone, accompanied by the creaking of the cart and Haroheim whistling under his breath.

  I could jump, I think, but if these three were determined to catch me again, it wouldn’t be very hard. It feels as if the only thing keeping me upright now is my fear. But not even fear would help me move very quickly when the rest of me is exhausted and aching. I stare at the ground, and watch the cobblestones turn to pressed dirt as we leave Gladfife.

  Once we’ve left the city behind, Haroheim’s whistling turns to singing. It’s a lively, fast-paced tune that he bellows, shamelessly off-key.

  “T’was said about old Cariggan, he was quite mad. A scoundrel, a brute, a rightful fearsome lad. He’d steal without reason, kill without remorse. But when he went home to Ma, he behaved himself, o’ course!”

  Farasia joins in, and the two carry on about the many wicked deeds of Carrigan the Mad until he goes home to his mother. It’s hard to enjoy their silly song when I can only watch the walls of Gladfife shrink into the distance, and with them my hopes of being found by Drake, Joseph, and Torren again.

  “Don’t mind Farasia,” Reena says quietly, interrupting the dismay that had been growing in my mind.

  I glance at her, sullen and uncertain of what to say.

  “She’s a good egg, once you get to know her,” she says. “She just doesn’t spend much time with your kind.”

  “My kind?” I finally reply.

  “The walled folk. City dwellers and the like.”

  I look back toward Gladfife, now a small smudge against the horizon. “What does that make you then?”

  “Faunir.”

  “What’s that?”

  She snorts and leans back on her hands. Her feet kick along in time with the others’ singing. “We’re of the wandering people. Nomads is your term for us.”

  “So,” I say carefully, “you don’t have a home?”

  “Of course we do. It’s just wherever we want it to be.”

  “What about your houses? Where do you sleep?”

  “In the ground, mostly.”

  “Really?”

  She bursts into giggles and slaps me on the back hard enough to make me wince. “Of course not, you daft girl. We’re not mole people! We have tents and such.”

  I smile weakly, rubbing my shoulder to try and ease the sting left by Reena’s hand.

  “Goodness, but you’re wound tighter than a rabbit in an open field. Are you still worried that we eat people?” she asks, clearly tickled by the thought. “Because it’s not true. It’s ju
st one of those city folk stories that we let them believe. They leave us alone, mostly, and trading goes quicker when they’re scared of us.”

  She pauses and leans over so our shoulders are pressed together, her expression serious.

  “But if you tell anyone that, we’ll deny it. And then eat your face.”

  I gulp and she kicks her feet with another round of laughter.

  “Oh, you’re going to be fun, aren’t you, Kitty!”

  At least one of us will be enjoying ourselves, I think as Haroheim starts up a second song.

  We ride through open fields and eventually leave the well-worn road for less steady ground. I cling to the side of the cart, my stomach bubbling unhappily as we’re jostled about. My pinched expression has Reena giggling all over again until I turn to her.

  “Don’t you dare get sick on me!” she warns, scooting as far away as she can get.

  It feels like a small victory and I almost smile. A steep bump in the road wipes it away, though, and I slap a hand over my mouth.

  “That way,” Reena says, jabbing her finger away from herself. “Turn that way! No, stop looking at me! I swear, I will kick you off of this thing and leave you here!”

  For the rest of the journey, she lays across the cart with her feet planted against my back to make sure I can’t face her again.

  A single fire in a stone pit is burning in the center of the Faunir settlement when we roll in. It’s encircled by animal-hide tents and racks of hanging meat and furs. Haroheim climbs off the driver’s bench and rounds the cart to help me and Reena down. I sway a bit unsteadily and he puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me upright.

  “You’d think she’d never been on a cart before,” Farasia says with a condescending sniff.

  “I hadn’t,” I reply, gingerly holding my stomach.

  Farasia eyebrows go up in surprise. “Never?”

  I try to shake my head, but even that’s too much movement for my still churning belly.

  Farasia takes a step back, muttering about walled folk. “I’m going home,” she says. “We can unload in the morning.”

  “You going to take the finch, Reena?” Haroheim asks.

  “Aye, she can stay with me and mine. As long as she promises to hold down her supper.”

  We leave Haroheim to tend to the horse and Reena takes my arm and pulls me through the confusing and narrow walkways between tents. How she knows which one is her family’s is a mystery to me, but she is sure-footed and swift. She only slows when I gag and hunch over, bile burning the back of my throat.

  “Just a little further, Kitty,” she whispers encouragingly. “Then you can lie down.”

  Her family tent is a large one, but it’s already filled with sleeping people spread out across the ground and hanging from hammocks strung up between poles. She directs me to the back of the tent in a hushed voice, warning me to be mindful of any little ones who might be in our path. I place my feet carefully, but they never seem far from stepping on an outstretched limb.

  “This is all your family?” I ask as quietly as I can after we’ve reached the small corner Reena has claimed as her own.

  “No,” she says. “This is the women’s tent. My father and brothers are in the one next to it.”

  I’m glad for the dark then. It hides the shock that crosses my face.

  She tugs back a pile of furs and helps me climb into it before lying down next me and pulling them back over us. There’s only a thin layer of straw bedding between us and the ground. It offers little comfort, but Reena sighs contently.

  “Go to sleep, country finch. Once the young ones start waking, you’ll lose your chance,” she murmurs, already half asleep.

  But I can’t bring myself to close my eyes. The sounds of people snoring and shifting so close to me makes it impossible. I’m lost, lying beside this girl I barely know, surrounded by strangers, so far from home. I had been so at ease in the Kilkaraban court, but here I feel as if I’m adrift in an unfamiliar sea with no anchor and no land in sight.

  Without my brothers, I’m forced to face how strange everything has become. The world isn’t like Moorsden. The friendly faces I had come to know and, I realize, take for granted, don’t exist here. I am not the high captain’s daughter. My name does not mean anything except to those looking for me on Meverick Conan’s behalf.

  Here, I am Kitty the country finch.

  My chin quivers and I bite down hard on my lower lip. Reena breathes slowly and deeply, already asleep, and I don’t want to wake her by crying. I know she thinks little enough of me as it is, despite the kindness she’s shown me.

  A bubble of anxious, restless thoughts grows inside my head, threatening to burst into a shower of tears. The tent is too crowded, too stuffy. My chest is tight and I can’t catch my breath. Desperately needing air, I crawl out from under the furs and tiptoe over Reena and all of her family members lying between me and the tent flap.

  Once outside, I rush through the maze of hides until I find myself on the edge of the settlement. I struggle to unclasp my cloak, which weighs heavily against my throat, and fall to my knees to vomit on the ground.

  When my stomach is empty, I grab my cloak and stagger away from the mess. Using my bundled cloak as I pillow, I lie on my back in the grass. It’s damp with dew, but the coolness of it feels good through my dress. Oddly enough, being ill has helped settle my nerves. I shut my eyes and take long, deep breaths. I’m on my own now. I don’t know how long for. If I want to find my brothers and Torren again, I have to get to Gladfife. And if I want to get back to Gladfife, I’ll need Reena to take me.

  That means I’ll have to trust her. At least until she gives me a reason not to.

  And if that happens?

  I’ll just have to figure it out then.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reena finds me sitting in that same spot, my knees hugged against my chest. The sun has already risen over the hills, but it seems a muted thing compared to my thoughts. Would the knights continue to train without Father? Second Captain Loleck would be in command now, wearing my father’s green sash in his stead. In all my life, no one else has adorned the color of Moorsden’s high captain. If there is one good thing about being away from home, it’s that I don’t have to see it. Loleck is a good man, certainly deserving of his rank and the respect that come it, but he is not Patrick McThomas.

  And while my father still lives, no one else is worthy to take his place among the knights.

  And what of Mother, I wonder. I hope someone is taking care of her like my brothers and I should have been. Who’s cooking for her? Cleaning? Is anyone helping her tend to Father? Every new thought about the duties I’ve left behind is like a needle prick in my chest. I let them sink in, so sharp it almost leaves me breathless. But the image of Mother standing at our gate, calm and poised against the storm she knew was coming, pushes back. She is the shield, unyielding and sturdy. She is hurt, I’m sure, and angry. But she is far from the helpless lass my guilt is trying to convince me she is.

  “Thought you’d run off in the night.” Reena plops down beside me, pulling me out of my head.

  “No,” I reply with a rueful smile. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t,” she says. “Lots of unsavory types out in these parts. They’d enjoy getting their hands on a bird like you.”

  I frown at her, unable to tell if she’s teasing me again. She just grins.

  “You seem a proper wee thing,” she continues, leaning back on her hands. “Bet your mam’s a real lady and your da’s some kind of lord.”

  “A knight,” I say softly.

  She shrugs. “Close enough. Why’d they send you to the city, then?”

  “To visit my brothers, like I told you.”

  Keeping up with my story from the night before comes with surprising ease. If she’s trying to catch me off guard so I slip up, she’ll have to do better than that. For the moment, I’m still Kitty, and she’s turning out to be a much better l
iar than Mary is.

  “Reena!” a loud, harsh voice snaps from somewhere within the tents behind us. “Where’d you get off to, girl? If you don’t get to your chores, I’m gonna have your hide!”

  “Who’s that?” I ask nervously when Reena jumps up.

  She tugs me to my feet as well and shoves my bundled up cloak into my arms.

  “My mam,” she says with a cheeky grin. “We best do as she says.”

  “But what about Gladfife?” I scramble to keep up with her as she hurries away. “You said we’d go back today!”

  “Ach, calm yourself,” she says over her shoulder. “We’ll get there. Someone’s bound to go in to trade.”

  Reena slips through the rows of tents effortlessly while I scurry along after her. Although she’s swapped in the leathers she’d been wearing previously, she’s still in trousers and a lightweight linen top that barely has any sleeves. It makes my dress feel all the more cumbersome when I see how freely she moves, especially when my skirt gets snagged on tent stakes and I’m forced to take smaller, more ladylike steps. And Reena is not the only lass wearing men’s clothing. While some of the women wear dresses, many, like her, are clad in leathers or trousers. They stroll freely through the grounds, their gaits large and lazy. More than one has at least one blade strapped to her hip. They speak loudly and when they laugh, they throw their heads back with their mouths open wide.

  They have no desire to make themselves small and demure.

  We pass by a cooking tent and, inside, both men and women prepare food. I stop for a moment and stare, my lips slightly parted in surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” Reena backtracks to join me and peeks into the tent with a confused quirk to her brow.

  “The men,” I say. “They’re cooking?”

  “Aye,” she replies, as if it’s a normal thing. “Must be their turn.”

  “But how?” I watch a man roll out bread dough and knead it between his hands. It seems so out of place!

  “What do you mean how? They go in, they cook.”

  “But it’s a woman’s duty!”

  Reena blinks at me with an expression of bemused scorn. “Preparing food, a woman’s duty? Not here, bird. If they want to eat, they have to get their hands dirty, same as everyone else. You gotta pull your weight or you can’t stay.”