by Julia Knight
Two men came hesitantly towards them, guards by the look of them. The first one edged closer and handed her a napkin. She took it gratefully, wiped at the blood that dripped from her chin and the man found his voice.
“My Lord Hunter requests that you join him on the dais.” He stepped back and indicated a large wooden structure behind him, hung with pennants and banners.
Hilde looked round further. They had appeared in the midst of some sort of celebration. The sun sparkled off white spires and arches rising above the valley and the river snaking towards the black cliffs that lurched up behind the city, and on towards the sea. One tower stood taller than the rest, impossibly slender at the top, a needle to pierce any cloud foolish enough to try and cross it. Every tower fluttered with many coloured flags, and the black gates stood open to allow a great flux of people to pass through. They congregated on a wide grassy area between the city wall and the river and their rumble reached Hilde even at this distance.
This side of an open space was alive with a veritable warren of tents, the passages between full of horses and pages and squires and warriors.
The crowd fizzed and bubbled with…with something. She sensed joyful celebration, anticipation of whatever event was at hand, but something else hunted through it like a wolf towards unsuspecting prey. Dark and unspoken it ran through her, made her shoulder blades itch, as though an arrow could thud through them at any moment. Something malignant grew in the crowd and they didn’t even know it.
“Oh, a party,” Ilfayne said in a weak voice. “Excellent.”
The two guards were still looking at them and Hilde got creakily to her feet. A wave of dizziness washed over her for a moment but it passed and she helped Ilfayne up. Sorcery was a great drain on him and he’d need rest, and probably wine. Lots of wine.
The shouts and screams of a thousand voices ripped into her ears from the other side of the crowd. She held onto Ilfayne, let him lean against her as the guards led them to the dais. The space of grass ahead was churned to mud. Two men stood with swords drawn. Their horses milled about behind them, and one man’s mail was spattered with mud and grass. The other man swung and the crowd howled around her.
“A tourney!” Ilfayne laughed softly. “I haven’t seen one since, well, since Regin beat the snot out of everyone.”
There was a flurry of activity as they approached the dais from behind and then she was engulfed in a welter of mail. All she could see was red and black. All she could feel was the cold metal of a breastplate against her face and Hunter’s heart next to hers.
He said nothing for a moment, just held her tightly, awkwardly with one arm. The scent of him reawakened in her. Mail, leather, the oil he used on them, a hint of horse, a musky scent that was all his own. He smelled like home. The first heart she’d ever felt, troubled then by grief and anger. Troubled now by something else.
He held her away from him and laid a gloved hand gently across her cheek. She laughed and placed her hand on his. Still the same Hunter, still that same volatile mix of passion and duty. He looked strange to her. Not just older, but stiffer, more formal than she remembered. Sort of clenched. Whatever dark thread ran through the crowd that surged across the field, it came back to him. To him and to someone else on the platform, but she couldn’t see or feel who yet.
“Why are you here? What am I saying? I don’t care why you’re here. Come with me. Watch the tourney with me.”
Hilde held back. “Hunter, I can’t, you know I can’t. I just wanted to see you. Warn you.”
Five years was not long enough for the Justice Disciples to stop wanting her neck. Besides, someone up there was wishing daggers her way. Which one? She sneaked a look at the platform. Regin’s sword hung against the back wall, smothered in silks and flowers and jewellery. A boy sat in the centre chair, probably young Aran. He’d grown a lot. A girl a little younger, most likely Amma, Aran’s sister. An older man, someone important but he was unworried by her, in fact he seemed quite pleased at her arrival. For now at least. Wait till he saw her eyes.
And a woman, a dark, sultry Reethan whose every movement was calculated grace, with a figure showed off splendidly in a bronze gown that matched her honeyed skin. Everything Hilde wished she was rather than small, awkward and gawky. The very epitome of allure. And not just to her. Ilfayne had spotted her too, and was trying hard not to let Hilde know what he thought of her. Hilde looked back at Hunter and knew the woman was at least part of the trouble that disturbed him so much.
And she hated Hilde on sight.
An unfamiliar feeling burned through Nerinna’s stomach. Hunter held that girl so tenderly, so gratefully, with such joy. It was clear they had feelings for each other, even if the girl was with another man—Ilfayne, she supposed—and the girl’s husband by the way he acted with her. Protective, tender and a little annoyed maybe at the greeting the girl got. Was this the woman who had been “not free to love him in return”?
Nerinna shouldn’t care but she did. She wanted to slap the girl stupid in front of the man who was presumably her husband, wanted to tell her to leave her man alone.
What was she thinking? He would never be her man, no matter what Valguard suspected. She no longer believed the priest and his tale of Oku speaking to him. She was getting married to Aran, there was no choice in that now, and Hunter had made it more than clear that she was not attractive to him.
Aran stared at her oddly, as though he was not sure why she should be acting so, and she stood up straight and cleared her face.
Hunter finally let the girl go. He looked strangely gruff and blinked heavily as he took the girl’s hand and led her towards the platform. Ilfayne followed, looking disgruntled. Maybe because no one had greeted him at all, much less with any enthusiasm. He looked Reethan to her eyes, like a man should look. Dark and intense, though oddly dressed and dripping with all manner of trinkets and jewellery. Dark hair and eyes, slim, tanned, though he appeared pale and haggard as he followed Hunter and the girl up the steps.
How could Hunter welcome a mage here? The word felt filthy in her mind. And if he was Ilfayne the Bastard, then the girl must be the kyrbodan wretch who Valguard had talked of. Nerinna found herself trembling in her seat. A kyrbodan among them? Surely, surely he wouldn’t allow it. Unless he loved her.
The girl came onto the platform and now Nerinna could see her eyes and be sure. Green as fresh grass and not a hint of white, like cat’s eyes. Herjan save me! What did Hunter think he was doing? The kyrbodan sucked out men’s souls, left them witless and wandering—if they didn’t pull them to shreds. Hunter associated with magic, with Ilfayne, maybe the worst crime of all, but to bring a kyrbodan among them…
Valguard lurched to his feet next to her with his hand on his sword. “How did they get so far past the guards?”
“I invited them,” Hunter said.
Ilfayne grinned at Valguard, fell into a chair and grabbed at a handy glass of wine. He drank it down in one swallow and blinked round sleepily for more. Associating with magic! Valguard would have Hunter’s head for sure now that he had his proof.
He seethed next to her, stepped forward with his sword drawn. “You allow this, this…” Words seemed to fail him for a moment. “And him! I don’t know which is worse.”
Hunter looked at him steadily. “You draw your sword. Are you willing to use it, down there?” He inclined his head towards the tourney field.
Aran stood up next to Nerinna. “This isn’t a Championship. This tourney is for my lady Nerinna to pick the captains she would have, her betrothal gift, not for you to settle your old scores, Valguard. Hunter, introduce them to me.”
Good gods, he almost sounded like a real king.
Hunter drew the girl forward and slid the cloak from her golden hair, to leave her eyes, bright and sucking, for all to see. “Your Highness King Aran, may I present Hilde of Erna.” Hunter looked round and with only a slight grimace he continued, “And Ilfayne.”
The mage bowed in his seat and all hi
s ornaments jingled. “I’m not sure you’ll remember me, Your Highness.”
Aran quivered next to Nerinna. “Hunter, is this wise?”
“I will not—” Valguard began.
“You will, like it or no.” Hunter’s voice was calm but firm. “You owe Ganheim’s existence to these two. Sit down.”
“It’s an affront to Oku to have two such as these here! A mage and a murderess. I will not sit by. She’s to come to the Court.”
Ilfayne looked up and raised a tired eyebrow. Little drips of flame fell to the platform and danced at his feet, but they didn’t burn the wood. “That really won’t do, you know. I would be most upset. Most upset.” He smiled in an unpleasant way, and gulped at his wine.
“Hunter, I—” Hilde said, but Hunter smiled down at her, squeezed her hand and led her to his own chair.
“I can only apologise for Valguard’s rudeness.” Hunter turned back to Valguard, but Nerinna stared at the girl and the mage. “I’ve personally absolved Hilde.” The reined-in anger in Hunter’s voice made Nerinna turn.
Valguard’s eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. “You can do no such thing! It isn’t within your remit. Justice is mine to mete out.”
“Then absolve her. Without her, without both of them, this whole country would be nothing but wasteland and you’d have no one to mete your justice on.” Hunter’s hand was on his own sword now.
“No! She comes to the Court to hear her sentence before she goes to the gallows.”
A soft laugh made Nerinna jump. “Oh I really don’t think so. I’d consider that very rude.”
She turned and there was Ilfayne, bouncing a ball of flame up and down on the palm of his hand. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile, more the grin of someone who is about to cause chaos and looking forward to it.
Valguard didn’t back down from Hunter. He gripped the hilt of his sword and took a step closer. “I’m Oku’s Prime Servant, and I’ll not have his laws disobeyed.”
Ilfayne answered with a tired laugh again. “Prime Servant? Oh no, really. I can think of at least two ahead of you. They won’t want Hilde hanging—trust me on this—and neither does Oku.”
Valguard’s sword swung in Ilfayne’s direction. “Who are you to know the mind of Oku?”
“No need for that,” Hunter said. “We’ll settle this on the field. You and me. Now. And not tourney rules either. You’ve wanted my blood long enough. Here’s your chance. Come and take it, if you will.”
“Hunter, you don’t need to—” Hilde reached for his arm but Hunter shook his head and she subsided.
Valguard worked his jaw a moment and gave Nerinna a sidelong glance.
Hunter was taking his chance against Valguard. Which was against Oku. Against the gods. As Valguard had said. Nerinna wanted to say something, tell Valguard he was wrong, even despite the mage and the kyrbodan thing in front of her. Wanted to tell Hunter not to do it. But she could not. Couldn’t speak, could barely even think for fear for Hunter, and admiration that he was prepared to go against Valguard for this little wretch because he loved her.
“As you will, my Lord Regent.” Valguard spun on his heel and sent a guard down to the herald who would announce the match.
Hunter’s scar twitched at his eye and he turned to the girl beside him. “Hilde, it’s ill luck to take the field without a lady’s favour and I’ve none.”
It was on the tip of Nerinna’s tongue to offer her favour, but he wouldn’t take it, would loathe her even more for shaming Aran by such an offer, so she turned away. Not before she noticed Hilde’s smile and how Hunter returned it. Maybe today was the first time she’d seen him smile properly, because he was happy. It pained her that the smile was not because of her.
Nerinna’s heart burned, her breath heavy and her throat tight. He’d turned her down. Her! Yet he loved this inhuman thing.
***
Hilde’s breath caught in her throat as the dream flashed in front of her again. Her glass slipped through her fingers and smashed. This was the start of it; she knew it in her bones and blood. Ilfayne’s warm hand slid along her shoulder, and the shudders eased a little. But everything was strange here today. Not as it should be, not in her homeland. A dark shroud that only she could feel hung like a pall over the crowd. The muffled feel of Valguard’s heart, so she couldn’t gauge what he was about. It made her skin itch.
“Hilde?” Ilfayne’s fingers tightened on her shoulder.
She opened her eyes. Everyone was looking at her as though she was Mithotyn himself. She kept her voice low, so only Ilfayne and Hunter could hear. “Hunter, you mustn’t. Please. Mustn’t go down there. This is how it starts. That’s what I came to warn you.”
Hunter bent down in front of her so their faces were level. “How what starts?”
“They want to kill you, and through you, Regin.”
“Hilde, Regin’s dead.”
She indicated Regin’s sword and all the tokens that hung from it, almost obscuring it. “Does that look dead?”
“Hilde, he’s dead. People just need something to believe in, that’s all. They believe in him and what he stood for.”
She lurched to her feet and grabbed for his hand. “Hunter, please. They want you dead, and this is how they’re going to do it.”
Hunter grimaced bitterly. “Valguard’s wanted my blood long enough, that’s no surprise. Just because I only have one arm doesn’t mean I can’t beat him. I thought you of all people, you wouldn’t discount a man for that.”
Gods, why wouldn’t he understand? She stamped her feet in frustration. “It’s not that! They want you dead!”
“Who does?”
“I…I don’t know. I just know that if you go down there then they’ll have what they want—your death, and then they’ll have Regin. Please.” She bit at her lip but there was no stopping the hated tears. Ilfayne’s hand squeezed her shoulder but it was little comfort.
“Hilde, it doesn’t matter. The challenge has been made and I can’t back out now. I don’t doubt what you see, but—” Hunter hesitated a moment, and a dreadful black hopelessness ran through him, through her. Her heart shuddered at the touch of it. “I’ll not back away. I can’t.”
She’d known it when she first tried to persuade him. He’d said he would prevent Valguard from taking her, and he always meant what he said. His word was too important to him; he’d failed in it too often to go against it when he could fulfil it. She scrubbed the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. “A lady’s favour? Something of mine? I don’t really have much to give. Maybe, maybe this?”
Hilde drew her pendant from underneath her linen shirt. Other ornaments hung from it but she took them off and handed the necklace to Hunter. Bright blue markings writhed across its surface. Hunter took it hesitantly in his gloved hand before he smiled, bowed and tucked it into his armour.
Valguard entered the field and a smattering of cheers greeted him, but when Hunter descended the steps a deep roar of approval went up from every direction. A wave of emotion from all of them hit Hilde and threatened to knock her off her feet. Only Ilfayne’s arm around her waist stopped her falling back into her chair.
“It’s all right,” he said and held her tighter.
But it wasn’t all right. Through the emotions that filled her was another, deeper, darker thing, a black beast that surrounded her. It bit and growled and tried to burrow in. Jealousy, on all sides. The platform, the field where Valguard and Hunter had just squared up to each other, the crowd that roared, all were full of it. It flowed from Aran, from Nerinna, Valguard and Hunter down on the field. Everywhere, everyone was filled with it, a great churning sea of it.
Hunter stood straight in front of them and a ripple of pain ran through his arm, through her arm with it. It grew and burned until she gasped from the pain of it, but Hunter stood tall and still.
The fight began and the feeling surged. Valguard led with a vicious attack at Hunter’s shield arm. With an awkward swing Hunter
managed to get his arm to move up a little and let his shield block the attack. Pain reverberated through him, through Hilde, up his arm and across his chest. Hunter’s fingers lost their feeble grip on the shield for a moment before he clenched at the strap again. The pain didn’t fade, only pulsed and grew.
Hilde moaned in sympathy as it twisted her own muscles. No natural pain, of that she was sure.
Hunter held fast, sweat dripping from his face as he tried to hold it inside himself, and made a swing of his own, fast enough that he almost caught Valguard off guard. That gave Hilde her only hope; while Valguard was as good as many a man of Ganheim, he was nowhere near as good with his sword as Hunter. She wished she could feel Valguard’s heart better, but all she could perceive was a cold muffled glee.
Valguard dodged the blow, smashed at Hunter’s shield again and struck at his throat as Hunter sagged to one knee. Hilde fell to her knees too, vaguely aware that Ilfayne was talking to her, trying to pull her up. No natural pain. No, Valguard was cheating somehow, was making the agony swell in Hunter’s arm till she might faint with it. She tried to say it but could only gasp in shared pain as Hunter dodged Valguard’s blow, dragged himself upright and slid his sword unerringly towards a gap in Valguard’s defence.
Then Hunter’s pain was not the only thing twisting at her. What she’d felt earlier in the crowd entered her, battered at her, as though a wolf had her by the throat and was trying to bring her down. Her vision blurred and she sagged into Ilfayne’s arm. This wasn’t just people, even the whole crowd. This was something bigger, something far more powerful. All the skin on her face and hands began to tingle and she would have sworn she could actually feel the blood draining away from them.