by Raye Wagner
With a smile of gratitude, she turned her attention to Sir Tredak and said, “Thank you, sir. I would appreciate your assistance.”
Tredak took the reins to Thunder and tilted his head to the left. “It’s this way.”
Adaline followed him out of the center ring. They weaved in and out of several rows of tents, arriving a quarter of an hour later to a fenced-off area filled with horses. To the far right stood the big stallions of the knight’s cavalry, and in a larger pen, hundreds of the smaller breeds. Tredak led Adaline’s gelding into the larger pen and then gestured to the other warhorses.
“How long have you been Evzan’s squire?” he asked.
Adaline’s shoulders dropped as the weight of her responsibility settled. Forcing a smile she didn't feel, she replied, “It seems a few hours and an eternity all mixed in one.”
The young knight chuckled and clasped Adaline on the shoulder. “It’ll get better. We all start somewhere, and I’ve heard Sir Evzan is tough but fair.”
He opened the gates, and Adaline led Warbringer into the pen. The other horses snuffed and whinnied as if paying homage. Adaline pulled off Evzan’s pack and threw it over her shoulder, grimacing with the weight. Only then did she notice that Evzan hadn’t brought any armor with him. If he decided to go into battle, he’d be unprotected. The thought made her stomach clench.
She set the pack outside the pen, followed by the monstrous saddle, and then grabbed a brush. “Where do I get food for his horse?”
Sir Tredak frowned. “Did he not have you pack any?”
Adaline closed her eyes, scowling in frustration at her own ignorance. “If I was meant to bring some, he forgot to tell me.” She sighed with frustration. “It’ll be all right. I’ll just brush Warbringer down and then take him out to graze in the meadow we passed through on our way in.”
The knight shook his head. “Best not to go out that way unless Sir Evzan accompanies you. The men and women at the northwestern edge of camp are Malas mercenaries. And while they serve Cervene now, they follow their own leaders and laws. If you can, avoid the area altogether.” He was silent for a moment before adding, “And be very wary of Sir Vodnik. His page is recovering in the Celestial Sisters’ infirmary after denting the knight’s armor.”
Adaline gritted her teeth as she dragged the brush over Warbringer’s coat; she hated bullies, and Vodnik had all the markings of one. She nodded her acknowledgement of Sir Tredak’s caution and said, “Thank you, sir, for the warning.”
She waited for him to go, but the young knight climbed up on the top rail of the fence and perched, silently watching her.
Adaline ignored him. She brushed Warbringer down and then climbed over the rail to retrieve Evzan’s pack. Without saying anything to her strange companion, she returned to care for Thunder. Only when she had finished with their animals did she return her attention to the hovering knight.
“Where is the eastern front?” she asked, wiping away a strand of her blond hair now wet with sweat. “Point me in the direction. I’m sure I can find it.” She was ready to be out from under the sharp scrutiny of the young man.
His gaze narrowed, and he said, “It’s this way. But . . .” His gaze went back to the warhorses’ pen. “Do you want me to grab his saddle so you can manage the rest?”
Adaline groaned, giving up on the pretense that she knew what she was doing. “Yes, please. We rode out so early I think I’ve forgotten all my training.”
He helped her with the tent and insisted on waiting with her until Evzan’s return. Only then did Sir Tredak leave her side, stopping for a whispered conversation with Evzan before leaving.
“What did he say?” Adaline asked once she was certain the young knight was out of earshot.
Her guard’s gaze darkened, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her into their tent. “What did you say to him?”
Adaline was hungry, tired, and filthy. She was also beyond frustrated that while Evzan received a report on the war, she’d attended their horses under the scrutiny of Sir Tredak, and she still didn’t know what was going on. The coiled tension inside snapped, and with heavy sarcasm, Adaline said, “I told him you were a brutal taskmaster, and if I didn't do a good job, you would beat me within an inch of my life.”
Evzan clenched his jaw and balled his hand. “You what?”
Adaline drew back from the unexpected hurt playing over his features and held her arms out as if to ward the pain away. She rushed through the truth. “I’m kidding. I didn’t tell him anything. He sat and watched me take care of the horses and then helped me with the tent. He told me to stay away from Sir Vodnik. Why are you so upset?”
He ran his hand through his disheveled hair. With a shake of his head, he murmured, “He knows who you are. He told me to be careful. Not everyone in camp is a fan of the princess.”
Adaline’s heart fluttered with trepidation. Her mind raced back over the last couple hours to discern where she’d given away their disguise. Shaking her head, she said, “I don't know what I did.”
Evzan leaned over and rifled through his bag. He pulled out several hard biscuits and a strip of dried beef. Handing her a biscuit, he said, “I was an idiot to think we’d fool anyone. As soon as you open your mouth, it’s obvious you’re not a squire. Besides that, anyone who looks at you for longer than a minute will know you’re not a boy. Best thing we can do is keep you hidden and out of the way.”
Impersonating a squire was rubbish. Adaline had never worked so hard or been so bored in her life, and she was certain Evzan was making her wash his tunic in retaliation. In truth, it did stink of stables, but Adaline hadn’t made him sleep with the horses. Not really. Standing at the wash basins, she wrestled with the massive garment, dunking it over and over in the gray water. She sniffed the clothing and decided she was done.
Multiple other squires had washed, wrung, and hung their master’s piles of tunics before she’d managed to work through the single one she had to clean. She pulled the soaking shirt from the water, her fingers now wrinkled to the consistency of prunes, and tried to hang the tunic on a communal line, fumbling with the awkward and unfamiliar activity.
“Good afternoon, squire,” a man said.
Adaline froze and then peered over her shoulder with surprise. Even more startling than the voice was the language he spoke. Temavian. She hadn’t heard the language spoken aloud except by her tutor more than a year ago.
Sir Tredak approached, his dark hair pulled back in a warrior braid, displaying his handsome face. A tentative but seemingly genuine smile played on his lips. He stopped beside her and, still in Temavian, asked, “How does this day find you?”
Adaline frowned. Evzan said Tredak knew who she was, but she didn’t want anyone else to know. She had no idea what game he was playing at or whether or not she could trust him beyond what was necessary.
“I’m sorry, sir, I only speak common Cervenish,” she said and turned back to the dratted tunic. She attempted to roll the bottom of the cloth over the line, and water ran down her raised arms as she wrestled with the clips meant to hold the garment in place. “Is that Temavian you’re speaking or Belochian? Or something else?”
Their gazes met, and he quirked a brow and said, “Temavian. My mother was from Temavy.” He spoke this time in the common tongue, but after a moment of silence, he fell back into his mother’s maiden tongue. “How does it feel to feign being subservient to a man so much lesser in rank? Why are you wearing this disguise? What secret purpose does it serve?”
She narrowed her eyes before she remembered to rein in her reaction. She forced her expression to smooth, her features contorting as she tried to appear nonchalant.
He laughed, deep and throaty, his eyes brightening with mirth. “I suppose that answers my question. Sir Evzan must have his hands full. And yet, here you are, trying to launder his tunic, or is this part of your revenge?”
He pinched the corner of Evzan’s garment, wringing the soggy material, and water dripped down into the mud.
&n
bsp; “I have no idea what you’re saying,” she said, grimacing. “But if you’re only going to make fun of my laundry skills, perhaps you could show me a different way.” She gathered the material into a ball and tossed it at the knight.
He caught the sopping ball, and water splattered his chest. He laughed again. “You really do sound like a princess. Deepen your voice when you speak, and huff less.” Then in Cervenish, he said, “Where did you learn to wash, squire? This will take five days to dry in its current state, and the army can’t wait for Sir Evzan’s clothing to dry.”
Sir Tredak spun the tunic quickly until the length of it was a tight coil. Water gushed down in thick drops. Speaking in Temavian, he said, “As your friend disappeared from the palace with you, how long do you think it will take for the queen regent to send riders out for him? How long do you think it will be before they take you back to Burdad?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. She’d already considered this. If they were lucky, they would have a week before she had to make her true identity known and either insist on staying or be dragged home. But she wanted to make a difference, and to do that, she needed to get enough information to make wise decisions.
Sir Tredak uncoiled the fabric, smoothing it over the line. He hooked two clips over the tunic, securing it in place. “Perhaps you did not come to try out new occupations. If I can ever be of assistance, please allow me the honor to serve you.”
“Thank you very much,” she replied in Cervenish common. “For helping hang Sir Evzan’s shirt. We’re both much obliged.”
“You still sound like a princess,” the knight scoffed in the common tongue. “Come on, lad,” he said, clasping Adaline on the back. “Let’s get you back to your master.”
8
After a few steps, Adaline realized they weren’t headed toward the eastern front. After another few steps, Sir Tredak whispered in Temavian, “I suspect you want to assess your army, and it’s not safe for you to walk about on your own. We’ll walk thru camp and pretend I’m trying to teach you Temavian.”
Adaline wasn’t certain if there was an ulterior motive behind the chivalry of Sir Tredak, but his perception, language skills, and intuitiveness would make for an excellent advisor. She’d need to ask Evzan more about the young man. She responded to his offer. “I would very much appreciate your assistance. I’ve heard other languages can be tricky. Temavian is supposed to be easy to learn, yes?”
He grinned. “We’ll have to assess your strengths and weaknesses to make sure we fill in any gaps. We want you to have full command.”
His double-layered meaning buoyed her heart.
They walked through camp, and Tredak pointed out a cluster of green and blue tents in the north-western corner. “The Mala tribe is there. Do you speak Mal-mal?”
Adaline shrugged noncommittally.
The Mala tribe immigrated to Cervene several decades ago, perhaps less emigrated and more invaded. Adaline’s great-grandfather had settled peacefully with the Malas, but the people of the far northern islands were clannish and kept to themselves, rarely coming into Cervene proper even now. Adaline had heard her father speak of the Mala people, though. They were fierce warriors with a harsh code of honor although in more recent years, for the right price, some would swear fealty to anyone.
“How did they come to join the army?”
Tredak shook his head. “They just came. Their general is an excellent strategist I’ve heard, but they don’t leave anything behind, nor do they believe in taking prisoners.”
“They are the reason those fiefdoms were burned to the ground?”
Tredak’s dark gaze met hers, and there was no humor in his features or his voice when he answered, “They are, in large part.”
Problem number one: unite the Malas with the Cerveneans. Because that wasn’t impossible.
Tredak led her away from the pale, tattooed Malas in their strange pelts.
The knight and princess spoke alternately in Cervenish and Temavian, Adaline occasionally pretending to stumble over a word or ask for clarification. They crossed back through camp and headed toward the rear of the army’s base. As they walked and talked, Adaline’s focus became less on the conversation with the knight than the surrounding army. The tents here appeared more worn, older, patched, and then there were no tents at all.
“Is this the supply train?” she asked in Temavian. That would certainly explain why these soldiers were so much more transient in their camp. There were lean-tos made with coarse fabric and branches. The men’s tunics were shabby and the men themselves leaner than those deeper in camp.
“These are your peasants, Highness. The ones who rallied to defend the honor of their beloved princess, king, and queen.”
Adaline had believed, perhaps naively, her country treated their peasants better than the Belochians did, but the evidence of inequality within her own country sat before her. A deep ache welled in her chest. “Did my father know?”
“You cannot have a caste system without there being a lowest class,” Tredak replied. “Even in Cervene.”
Adaline met his solemn gaze. “Are they paid fairly for the work they do? Are they receiving training so they can better themselves, if . . . if they want it?”
“Your naiveté will not fix the problems in your own country even when you successfully conquer this one.” Tredak pursed his lips in a tight look of disapproval. He glanced around the camp, his features hardening. “I’m glad to see the crown’s mistreatment of its subjects was unintentional . . . at least for the last couple of months. I suggest you garner some wisdom before you ascend the throne.”
Hot indignation burned through Adaline. She clenched her fists and glared at the man she’d thought kind only an hour ago. “That was rude,” she said, seething. “Why would you say that?”
He shook his head, his features softened, and his gaze turned to pity. “I grew up in Temavy. There is not only a different way of doing things; there is a better way.”
His words were a sucker punch to Adaline’s stomach, and the air rushed from her lungs. She gulped a breath and straightened, fixing the knight with her best glare. “Thank you for enlightening me. I’ll take all your . . . lessons under advisement.”
Just as she set her foot to pivot away, she remembered the role she was playing. Tredak’s station required she pay him homage. Gritting her teeth, she bowed shallowly. “Sir Tredak.”
Without waiting for his dismissal, Adaline fled.
Sir Tredak’s words chased her, and Adaline saw evidence of the inequality of their classes everywhere she went. She thought of what she’d learned about Temavy, about their kingdom and caste system. It wasn’t that much different than what they had in Cervene, was it?
Adaline roamed through the camp, cautiously staying in the area Evzan had deemed safe, lost in her thoughts. Someone shouted her name, startling her from her reverie, and she glanced around to see a man running to her.
She blinked, and several things registered at once. He hadn’t been calling her name, but d’Line. The knight wasn’t running to her but at her, and he was most certainly looking for a fight. Her instincts kicked in, and she arc stepped to the right, the man’s fist glancing off her shoulder instead of catching her in the throat. She stumbled back a step, bringing her hands up to guard as the knight rounded on her.
“By the name of Surm, I’m going to kill you,” he growled, stalking toward her.
Adaline grimaced, recognizing Sir Vodnik. She opened her mouth to say something, but he growled and lunged, swinging wide.
Adaline deflected the strike with her forearm as she stepped forward and to the left of his punch. She tapped him in the ribs, not hard enough to hurt him but enough to let him know she could have if she’d hit harder. Bewilderment held her back, and she doubted the wisdom of retaliation. If this was for honor, she would best him with points and be done.
Instead of acknowledging the strike like a gentleman, he roared in frustration. “You mock me!”
Adaline shook her head, denying the charge. But before she could respond further, the large bearded man charged again. Just as before, Sir Vodnik led with his left side. He jabbed at her face, and she hooked his wrist with her hand, scooted in, and delivered a hook punch to his right side before darting away.
He bellowed again.
In her periphery, Adaline could see a crowd gathering, but she forced her attention to the only person intent on causing her harm.
He turned, his feet remaining flat as he thundered after her.
Adaline continued to dance away from the knight, her heart pounding with adrenaline. Sudden realization dawned, and her stomach flipped. This man wasn’t going to stop just because she showed him she could beat him.
As he charged, yet again, Adaline switched stances.
Sir Vodnik poisoned the air with his profanities as he came after her. He rushed, swinging hard and wide with his right arm, and Adaline again deflected. But instead of countering with a jab to his ribs, Adaline grabbed the shoulder of his tunic and swept her right leg back as hard as she could, taking the knight’s legs out from under him.
He fell to the dirt, and before he could counter, she brought her fist down.
“Stop it,” Evzan hissed, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip. He’d stopped her only a breath away from the knight’s nose. “You cannot hit him.”
Adaline froze and then swallowed hard. The fight still raged in her, but clarity returned too. She was supposed to be a squire. Breathing heavily, she bowed her head and said, “I’m sorry, sir.”
Evzan pushed her to the side and faced the knight in the dirt. He extended his hand and said, “The next time you want to spar with my squire, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I’m there to supervise.”
Adaline’s anger turned from her attacker to her guard. He had known? She opened her mouth to yell at him, but Evzan’s warning glare stopped her. Her icy fury demanded release, but she bit her tongue and reined in her anger.
The knight ignored Evzan’s hand and scrambled to his feet. “I don’t owe you anything, Evzan.” Sir Vodnik fixed her guard with a glare then turned to Adaline, the knight’s anger becoming hatred. “And you better watch your back, little boy. Next time, I won’t take it so easy on you.”