“Look, this is simple,” the man continued. “You hand over your valuables, no attacking necessary.”
Adelaide snorted before she could stop herself. She didn’t have any driving desire to fight them, but she wasn’t about to hand over their bags like a beat dog abandoning its bone.
The man looked at her. “You think your big, strong knights will protect you, pretty lady?” He gestured to his companions. “They’re outnumbered. Three to twelve.”
The bandit stepped closer to her horse, and Ruddard held out his sword. “Stay back,” Ruddard warned.
The man ignored him. “See, lady, just give us your jewelry, and you don’t have to watch us kill your brave knights.”
“Three to twelve, you say?” Mother mused.
“That’s right.” The leader shifted his attention to Mother. “It’d be a shame if something happened to you lasses while your knights were engaged.”
“A foreigner,” another bandit said. “To come this far, they must have something valuable.”
Adelaide gripped her dagger tighter, ignoring the sweat making the hilt slick.
“I question your math.” Mother urged her horse closer to Adelaide and the bandit. “I count five on our side. I like our chances; don’t you, Sir Ruddard?”
“Aye, my lady,” Sir Ruddard said.
Adelaide’s breathing became faster, shallower. She glanced from bandit to bandit, wondering if she would have to fight them. Would she have to kill one? A chill ran down her arms, followed by a rush of energy. She focused on keeping the thrumming magic inside. The last thing she needed was for bandits to spread word of a brown-skinned female mage to every corner of the kingdom. All her years of hiding would be for nothing.
The large man guffawed. “Oh, are the lovely ladies armed? How adorable.” He sauntered up to Zephyr and held his sword a few inches from Adelaide’s neck. She stiffened. He was within her reach. “We’ll be takin’ our payment for your travel through our pass now. In gold or blood. Your choice.”
Adelaide batted the man’s sword aside with the flat of her dagger’s blade. Just as she had drilled, she stabbed into the base of his neck, driving deep above his clavicle and the neckline of his loose chainmail. The bandit screamed and staggered back as she ripped the blade away. Blood erupted after it and her stomach twisted, but she didn’t have time to be repulsed. Another bandit charged her, brandishing a spear.
She arced her left hand forward and threw a knife. It buried deep in his throat, and he fell. She vaguely noted the whoosh, thump, whoosh, thump of Sir Hayes shooting arrows and the clang of swords, but she focused on the bandit coming toward her from behind. She threw the other knife. He dodged—not fast enough. It struck his right shoulder, burying into his arm to the side of his leather chest-plate. He yelped, and his sword fell from his hand. He yanked the knife free as Adelaide pulled her last throwing knife from her boot. Before she even had finished drawing it, another knife slammed into the bandit’s forehead. His eyes glassed over, and he collapsed forward.
Adelaide looked over at Mother, but she had turned to a bandit on her other side. The man tried to pull Mother off her horse. Mother stabbed without hesitation. The man clutched his neck, stumbling back as Mother withdrew her blade.
It was over. The bandits all lay dead or dying. Adelaide’s heart raced as she scanned the dark trees. Never let your guard down until you are certain the fight is won. Nothing but the gentle creak of trees and the panting of horses reached her ears.
Years. Years of practice. Of training. Of preparing but being told to hope killing was never necessary. Thousands of times stabbing mannequins of straw and dirt. But stabbing a real person felt different.
Killing felt different.
She didn’t care for it.
Not that death was foreign. In her twenty-one years, Adelaide had heard about and seen her share of the violence in Monparth. She had seen Father’s knights return from run-ins with brigands, blood staining their clothes. Years ago, she had traveled through the remains of a village destroyed by a horde of goblins driven from their caves by a mining operation. The blood had dried all over the cracked bricks and collapsed wood walls. She’d witnessed a hanging. Seen a murderer’s head on a pike. But death at your own hand... She looked down at the dagger in her hand. Blood dripped from the tip, staining her skirt. Her hand shook. She took a deep breath and dismounted.
Mother walked up next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Kiah tuhn theack hi?” Are you all right?
“Yes.” Her voice cracked, betraying her.
To her surprise, Mother pulled her into an embrace. “Oh, Adelaide.” Her tone was soothing. “They were murderers, robbers, and villains.” Adelaide nodded into her mother’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of cinnamon.
“I’m sorry, Ad. I was younger than you are when I first took a life. But I remember.” She stroked Adelaide’s hair.
The shaking eased. Adelaide’s breathing leveled out. Mother broke the embrace.
“Come, Tha Shiraa,” Mother said. Little Tigress. For once, the nickname made Adelaide wince. Mother lifted her chin with her forefinger, forcing her to make eye contact. “A lady cares for her blade. Clean your dagger. If you can, collect your knives.”
Adelaide nodded. She couldn’t seem to get her tongue working again. Numbly, she used her already blood-stained dress to clean her dagger then returned it to her right boot. The maids still sat on their horses, the whites of their eyes shining in the starlight. Sir Hayes walked from bandit to bandit, confirming they were all dead.
She walked toward the first man she had thrown a knife at. He lay sprawled on his belly, his neck twisted with his head looking to the side at an odd angle. The flat handle of her throwing knife protruded from just beneath his collarbone in a pool of blood. Her stomach roiling, she retrieved the knife. Etiros, forgive me. She moved to the next bandit. Sir Charing rolled the dead man onto his back while Mother stood by. Mother pulled her knife from his head and walked away. Adelaide bent down, averting her gaze from the wide eyes in his blood-stained face as she pulled her knife from the dead man’s arm. Sir Charing watched her stand back up.
“You did well,” he said, his voice quiet, respectful. “Although I shouldn’t have allowed him to get so close in the first place.”
“What? No.” Adelaide shook her head.
Despite the heaviness in her limbs, the clenching in her stomach, and the headache forming behind her eyes, she had to disagree with Monparthian culture. She may have been born to a Monparthian father and raised in Monparth, but Mother had taught her the same beliefs she had learned from her mother. Men should protect, yes, but women had every right to defend themselves.
“You were waiting for a command. I would have asked for your help if I needed it.”
Sir Charing knit his brow. “I have watched you train, my lady. I am not sorry I did not protect you. I am sorry I did not save you from taking a life.”
Adelaide busied herself cleaning her knives. But as she remembered the scream...the glassy, vacant eyes of the last bandit...her hands shook again. She knew what would happen when she chose to act. Mother had told her often enough. “Blades are for hurting and killing. Using them is a grave responsibility.” Adelaide had thought she understood that before. Now she actually did. She exhaled, trying to get her muscles under control. Her hand slipped, and the blade nicked the fleshy part of her hand beneath her thumb. She winced and turned away.
“The first battle, the first kill...if a knight tells you it was not difficult, that it did not take time for them to...forgive themselves,” Sir Charing said, his tone somber, “they are either lying or monsters.”
She nodded and released a little of the magic pent up inside her into her palm. Warmth radiated across the cut, numbing and healing. A soft blue light shone between her fingers in her clenched fist, but she kept her hand close to her stomach and cupped her other hand over it to hide the glow. Mother would have a fit if she saw Adelaide breaking their no-magic ru
le.
There had once been mages in Monparth. Now, so far as Adelaide knew, she was the only one. A couple years before her birth, every mage in Monparth was massacred. Then the killer vanished, just like shadows. So that’s what people called the unknown murderer, when they spoke of the massacre at all: The Shadow. And Adelaide hid her magic so a decades-old threat wouldn’t re-emerge to ensure her magic-infused blood soaked the ground.
But the cut was small, healing it wouldn’t take long. No one would see. The light faded. She opened her fist. All healed. She returned her knives to the straps sewn into her boot and turned back to Sir Charing. “Does it get better?”
Charing frowned. “This feeling will fade, yes. You will feel better, in the sun of another day, when this is in the past, yes. Does killing get better? No. Easier? Regretfully...yes.”
Adelaide returned to Zephyr as Mother and Sir Charing also remounted. As they continued toward the Drummonds, Adelaide’s thoughts wandered.
She appreciated Sir Charing’s honesty. Of all her father’s knights, only Sir Charing and Sir Ruddard had never disparaged her or Minerva for learning to use knives and daggers. Only Sir Charing had ever helped. The others, Adelaide knew, spoke disapprovingly behind their backs of Mother continuing the Khastallander tradition of mothers teaching their daughters to defend themselves. Father hadn’t minded. He adored Mother and usually agreed with her. Her half-siblings, however, were as disdainful about Adelaide keeping blades in her boots as they were about...pretty much everything else about her and Minerva and their mother. Never in front of Father, of course. At least since four of her five half-siblings had moved away, she no longer had to deal with them. Father’s eldest son was more dismissive than outright antagonistic, but she was still glad to leave him and his snobbish wife behind.
Finally, they arrived at the Drummond estate. Firelight flickered from various windows in the three-story stone mansion. A guard paced the crenellated roof. Adelaide thought the combination of villa and castle looked strange and boxy. The Drummonds had no personal chapel, like the small, plain stone structure within Father’s castle walls. But Minerva had said in her letters they attended the parish chapel a half days’ ride away if they needed the council of a priest or to pay the gratitude tax to Etiros after the harvest. The party dismounted in the courtyard as servants rushed to take care of their horses and trunks.
Minerva and her husband, Sir Gaius Drummond, met them at the entrance. Minerva was shorter than Adelaide, making Min just above average height for a woman in Monparth. She had a slender build Adelaide envied. Her stomach had an almost imperceptible bump, but she was just over four months pregnant. Wisps of her dark hair, piled in braids on her head with silver pins, framed her soft features and round cheeks. Like Adelaide, she had a deep tan complexion and brown eyes, although Minerva’s eyes and skin were lighter. Of the two of them, Minerva had gotten more of their father’s Monparthian looks.
Sir Gaius was barely taller than Adelaide, with an athletic build. Strong, but lean. Neatly combed reddish hair and a short red beard framed his ruddy face. His blue eyes sparkled as he greeted them with a warm yet nervous smile.
Minerva ran up to their mother and hugged her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Mother! I’m so glad you could come!”
“As am I.” Tears glistened in the corners of Mother’s eyes. “Your father regrets he couldn’t join us, but he felt he couldn’t leave in the middle of the renovations.”
Minerva turned to Adelaide, her smile wrinkling around her eyes. “Ad!” Her expression changed from delight to horror. “Is that...blood?”
“I’m fine,” she said in a rush. “It’s not mine.”
“What happened?” Minerva demanded.
“Bandits.” Sir Ruddard spoke up from behind them. “Everyone is safe and unharmed.”
Gaius looked alarmed. “Where? Do we need to send men?”
“No, no. There were only twelve, and they are all dead.”
Gaius ushered Minerva deeper inside. “Perhaps we should finish discussing this alone, sir.” He smiled at Minerva. “You ladies go upstairs.”
Minerva cocked an eyebrow. “If you are concerned about us ladies hearing about fighting, you should take another look at my sister’s dress.”
The muscles on the back of Adelaide’s neck knotted. She chased away the tension with an uncomfortable laugh. “Come, Sir Gaius, you’ve been married to my sister long enough to know we have claws.”
“I only...” Gaius flushed. “You shouldn’t need to fight. It is our duty to protect as far as we are able. And it is my honor to protect you.” He kissed Minerva’s forehead. “But mostly I think your mother and sister look ready to sleep.”
Part of Adelaide wanted to argue, but she couldn’t disagree with him on the ready for sleep part. She wanted nothing more than to lie down on a nice, comfy bed. Two days on the hard ground was not her idea of a good time.
“Of course!” Minerva grabbed Adelaide’s hand and led them into the manor. She linked one arm with Adelaide’s and the other with Mother’s arm. “I’ll take you to your rooms.”
Gaius bowed as they passed, the stiffness in his smile making him look uncomfortable. Adelaide and Mother’s handmaids followed a short distance behind them, while the knights helped the servants with the horses and their belongings. As they walked up the stairs, Adelaide admired the intricate knots carved on the wood paneling lining the walls.
“How are you feeling?” Mother asked.
“Oh, better now,” Minerva said. “I was ill most mornings for a while, but lately I’ve felt much better and less exhausted. Gaius’ mother has been very kind and helpful.” She leaned her head on Mother’s shoulder. Her voice softened, a warm whisper. “But she’s not you.”
Minerva led them to a wooden door carved with peacocks and led them inside. “This is your room, Addie.”
Adelaide half smirked, half scowled. “You know I don’t answer to that.”
Minerva winked. “As your older sister, I can call you whatever I choose.”
“Be nice, Tha Lonri,” Mother said with a smile. Little Fox. Mother always said Minerva was playful like a fox, and Adelaide was bold like a tigress.
Minerva kissed Adelaide’s cheek. “See you in the morning, Adelaide.”
Chapter 4
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE heavenly. Adelaide had missed her sister even more than she’d realized, especially laughing together. The Drummonds were amicable. Minerva convinced Adelaide and Gaius to play checkers, and her victory in the first game sparked a competition. They played a few rounds each night. By the end of the fourth day, she was up by three, and Gaius had relaxed into the friendly, if serious, man she remembered from his visits during Minerva’s courtship.
Lady Drummond recruited Adelaide and her mother into helping with a tapestry depicting Saint Melvius’ taming of jaguars. Adelaide was a fair embroider, but it wasn’t her favorite hobby. She preferred sewing clothes to embroidery. Far more exciting, Lord Drummond granted her unrestricted access to his library.
One cloudy afternoon, Adelaide ran her fingertips over the book spines. The scents of old parchment, worn leather, dusty tapestries, cold stone, and old ash in the fireplace combined into a comforting musty smell. She sank into the large leather chair in front of the fireplace and looked around at the four large bookshelves, all lined with books. So much knowledge. So many stories. She grinned to herself. What would she find? What did she want to read? Where to start?
She turned and surveyed the three floor-to-ceiling walls of books, enjoying the silence as motes drifted in the muted sunlight slanting through the window. Finally, she began perusing the books. Some were stiff and old. Some new. A prayer book sported a gold-overlaid cover. She took a bestiary featuring color paintings. A book of heraldry caught her eye, and she flipped through the colorful illustrations before returning it to the shelf. She found a collection of romance poetry and added it to the bestiary. Only the crinkle of parchment and muted protest of leather and the shuff
le of her bare feet on the carpet broke the silence. She bent down to a bottom shelf and pulled out a book with an iron-bound cover. Something shifted behind it.
Down on her knees, she peered into the empty space on the shelf. She could just see a worn leather cover. She moved some other books out of the way and freed the trapped book. The plain leather back had been facing her. She flipped it over and ran her fingertips over the embossed metal image of a man enwreathed in swirling flames. He held his hands out to his sides, his expression calm.
She opened the book and read the blue ink of the title page. A Compendium of Known Magical Abilities and Tales of Mages of Legend. She gasped. A book on magic? She clutched the book to her chest, looking around furtively. No one watched her. She was as alone as she had been when she first entered. Still, her ears burned, and her spine tingled with anticipation at the discovery of her new treasure.
After all these years...finally. Mother would return home in a week, leaving Adelaide unsupervised. She could read this book and learn how to use her magic. To be a real mage. She did feel a little guilty. Mother and Father just wanted to protect her, and she used to agree with their reasons for keeping her abilities secret and inactive. She didn’t want to be murdered. Even if she often wished she hadn’t spent three years of her childhood alone with Mother in a cottage learning to hide her magic, she never blamed her parents for their protectiveness. But over twenty years had passed since mages were eradicated from Monparth. If The Shadow still hunted mages, wouldn’t it have found her by now?
A few years ago, Adelaide had tried to argue the threat was in the past. She had never seen Mother so angry, ranting in Khast about murder and foolish risks. Even if The Shadow didn’t find her, did she have any idea how many people would want to use the only mage in Monparth for their own ends? Did she want people to view her as a commodity, a weapon? Adelaide had learned several new Khast curse words that day and didn’t use her magic for months. But the energy inside her begged for release. So she practiced in her room, with the curtains drawn and the door locked. And she tried not to think about getting murdered by an unknown threat.
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