Valiant

by Sarah McGuire

  I realized, all at once, how much I owed him. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and turned back to his writing.

  He wasn’t making this easy, but I wouldn’t be a coward. “No. Thank you for …” Fighting to keep me out of the dungeon yesterday; for not minding that I ask so many questions; for actually answering them. “… everything.”

  Lord Verras peered up at me. He was flustered again, enough that I didn’t know whether to laugh or take pity on him. Finally, he answered, “You’re welcome. For everything.”

  All the way to the Tailor’s room, I wondered: what sort of nobleman is that unused to thanks?

  The Tailor was sleeping when I entered his room, and I sighed in relief. He’d hate what I was about to do. I tiptoed to the trunk and eased open the lid. A little thread would mend the tunic, but Will should have more … and for that, I’d need some of the Tailor’s fabric.

  Whoever had fetched the trunk from our shop had tucked the Tailor’s notion box on top of the canvas-covered bolts. I used the Tailor’s shears to quickly cut what I needed, listening all the while for a change in his breath, a rasping no.

  Nothing.

  I tucked the fabric into my satchel and closed the trunk, then walked to the Tailor’s side. He lay perfectly still—

  His eyes flew open.

  I leapt back, hands gripping the satchel as if the Tailor really could wrench it and the fabric away from me.

  He stared at me, his expression vacant.

  He didn’t recognize me.

  Of course. He’d seen me dressed as a boy for months now—ever since his illness. I smoothed my skirt over my hips and stepped closer.

  “It’s me, Tailor.” Tailor still fit better on my tongue.

  He started a little, and then his eyes narrowed.

  “It’s Saville.”

  He squinted up at me, but didn’t move. What was wrong?

  One of the doctors slipped into the room. “Tell Lord Verras that he had another episode last night.”

  I looked up at him. “What?”

  The doctor shook his head, irritated. “It happened after Lord Verras and the champion visited. We’re not sure how much Gramton can understand.”

  I shook my head. “No. He was—”

  “His moments come and go,” added the doctor. “We’re caring for him as best we can.”

  I looked back at the Tailor. I’d wished he wouldn’t notice me a thousand times since Mama had died. Why, then, did I feel so lost that he didn’t know me now? It was like looking in a mirror and seeing no reflection.

  I put a hand on his arm. “Tailor!”

  He looked at me, eyes blurry with fatigue or illness.

  Both hands on his shoulders now. I even shook him. “Tailor!”

  He saw me then, his old self slipping back as if it were a coat his mind could wear for a moment. His gaze sharpened in recognition. I saw a flash of relief before the anger rolled over his face. He shook his head, left, right, left, right—slow, creaking movements.

  “No …,” he whispered. His favorite word.

  “Tailor,” I said. “You’re going to be fine. You just need to rest.”

  “No …”

  Chapter 18

  It didn’t take long to mend the rip in Will’s sleeve. It was the crest I created on the indigo velvet that took time. I’d never sewn anything like it.

  Perhaps that was why I enjoyed it so much.

  Will’s crest was just like him. It had a tin trumpet for his tinker father, but if someone looked closely—and Will would—he would see that the squire held it to his ear, not his mouth. Perfect for someone who listened. And at the bottom of the crest? A trunk flanked by rampant lions. Will would notice that the top of the chest was partially opened. He’d know I remembered how he discovered my hair and his knack for finding things.

  I used a basket-weave stitch to create texture for the lions’ coats. Scraps of silk formed the body of the squire, and a satin stitch in the Tailor’s precious silver thread gave the ear trumpet sheen.

  I spent the entire morning in the princess’s suite working on the project, then stitching it to Will’s tunic. The princess seemed content to have Kara brush her hair hour after hour while Nespra read to her, but the quiet of the chamber wore at me. If I hadn’t had Will’s sewing, I would have gone mad.

  I heard echoes of Leymonn asking about Will every time I added a stitch. That memory was enough to make me keep my distance for Will’s safety. But this tunic with its new crest would tell Will what I wanted him to know. He was brave. He was a knight.

  He was the only reason I’d pick up a needle.

  I’d finished sewing when we heard shouting from the streets below the castle. Nespra’s voice faltered. Kara’s brush stopped midway through the princess’s hair.

  The shouts grew more distinct. “Make way for the duke! Give way to the Duke of the Western Steeps!”

  Nespra ran to the princess’s side, but Lissa pushed her away.

  “Go, Saville,” she said, eyes bright and sharp with fear. “See who this duke is.”

  I folded Will’s tunic and stuffed it into one of the ridiculously large pockets in my apron. Then I ran to a window in the corridor that looked out over the main courtyard.

  The Duke of the Western Steeps was a man—only a man. And he entered the courtyard on … a wagon. A lone horseman accompanied him.

  Why would the duke drive what looked like any farmer’s wagon, heaped with canvas-draped cargo? Dogs streamed behind him, noses reaching toward the load. A few lingered in the road, snuffling in the dust, even licking it.

  The duke leapt from the driver’s box, ignoring the soldiers waiting to escort him to the hall. He waited for his rider to join him, then grasped an edge of the canvas and flicked it back before striding into the castle.

  After a few heartbeats, I understood what I saw in the bed of the wagon: the heads of two giants, swollen and distorted in the summer heat. The execution had been recent. Even from a distance, I could see that the wagon floor was slick with blood. The dogs had been licking up the drippings. I put a hand over my mouth, nearly sick with the horror of it.

  Then I recognized the heads. Those heads had bent near mine. Those bird-pecked eyes had strained to see whether I could squeeze water from a stone.

  I ran to Lissa, reaching her quarters just as two soldiers summoned her to join her brother in the throne room.

  “What’s happened?” she asked. “You’re as white as your apron.”

  “He killed them,” I said. “The duke killed the two giants I—” I almost said outwitted, almost gave myself away, right there in front of Nespra and the wide-eyed Kara. I swallowed. “The duke killed the two giants I saw the day I came to Reggen.”

  The princess shrugged. “Then there are two fewer giants for us to worry about.”

  I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. But I saw the two giants again, towering against the bright sun, heard their voices roll toward me and through me. They’d put Will down because I’d told them to. They hadn’t killed me, even though the duke had commanded it.

  And now they were dead.

  Minutes later, I stood with Princess Lissa beside the throne, sunlight threading the edges of the closed windows. The door swung open, revealing a man silhouetted against the summer glare.

  The doors closed with an echoing boom and the duke strode into the hall, holding a red-stained canvas bag with two melon-sized lumps in it. I thought of Lord Verras’s gray-clad rangers. Please, let me be wrong.

  A steward began to announce, “His Grace, the Duke—”

  The duke interrupted him. “—of the Western Steeps, Heir to the Ancient Emperor’s Crown, Holder of the Eternal Heart …” He swept the room with a baleful glance. “… and giant slayer.”

  He was tall and powerfully built, like a warhorse and his blue-black hair was tied back from his face. He was frighteningly handsome. Or just frightening.

  King Eldin sat straighter in his seat. “You are welcome here.�
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  Lord Verras’s mouth tightened as if he could not bear to hear so monstrous a lie.

  The duke laughed and began to walk the length of the hall to stand before the king. The soldiers gripped their weapons more tightly, the ministers’ faces grew grim, and Lord Verras … Lord Verras just watched, taking in every detail. Was he trying to see if this was the duke who the dead King Torren had spoken of?

  Though Lord Verras’s eyes never strayed to the canvas bag in the duke’s hand, I saw his clenched hands, the way he grew pale.

  “I have come to claim what is mine, King Eldin,” announced the duke. “The throne and your sister.”

  There was no ring of swords being drawn. No shouts of outrage. No challenge from the court—or the king.

  King Eldin had no answer. I wished it were a grand silence, to show that the duke was beneath his notice, but everyone present knew that the king was too overwhelmed to speak. I heard the hiss of Lissa’s sigh as she realized her brother would not protect her.

  Lord Verras broke the silence. “You may be welcome in this room by King Eldin’s grace, but we do not acknowledge any claim to the princess—or to the throne of Reggen.”

  The duke stared at Lord Verras. “I am heir to the ancient emperor.”

  Lord Verras planted his feet the way he had in the mob, the way he had when we revealed my secret to the king. “As is King Eldin. As was his brother. As was his father and his grandfather before him. They were all heirs of the emperor—and kings of Reggen.”

  The duke gripped the hilt of his sword. “We will continue this conversation later, you and I.”

  “You can’t have anything!” King Eldin finally blurted out. “Lissa is already given to the … champion, as I promised. I will not go back on my word.”

  He could not have looked weaker if he tried, hiding behind the champion of Reggen.

  The duke sneered. His voice filled the hall. “The champion? You cannot mean the little tailor who met my scouts! He was no hero. He merely tricked two who were easily confused. I, however, bring Princess Lissa two giants’ heads as tribute.” He bowed and I felt her stiffen beside me. “I am the champion.”

  He looked around the room, and his eyes flashed. Flashed like the eyes of heroes or villains in battle songs I’d heard as a child. I already hated the man, but it was hard to remember that with him standing so proud and certain, while King Eldin wilted on the throne.

  His eyes flash, I reminded myself, because the madness inside him makes him open his eyes too wide. He wouldn’t look half so heroic if he had a weak chin.

  The duke spoke into the silence. “Did you know that the giants once held one king above all others? Halvor, their high king, could not be deceived. Tales say he could hear the truth in any creature’s voice, even a human’s. They revered him because throughout their long existence, giants have been defeated by trickery. They fear human cunning as wild creatures fear flames.”

  He stepped closer to the throne. “But I am not so easily tricked. When the scouts returned to camp with news of a tailor who squeezed water from stone, I was not amazed. And when I explained what had happened, my giant captains were not merciful.”

  The thought of giant captains seemed to rouse King Eldin. “How could you command giants? I don’t believe it!” The tremor in his voice claimed otherwise.

  The duke laughed. “Oh, you have done me a great service! Some of the giants had grown restless under my rule, but your … champion proved my worth. The scouts might be tricked by the tailor’s words, but I was not. Your champion demonstrated to the giants that I, alone, protect them from the deceitful world of men.”

  That had been our only hope. Lord Verras had told the king that we could outwit the giants. It wouldn’t matter how big they were if we could trick them. But my trickery had only sealed our fate.

  No one in the hall moved, though perhaps that, itself, was a clue for the duke.

  He smiled as if he knew his barb had found a home. “They cling to me even tighter now. They will do anything I say. And do you know what I say?”

  He stepped closer to the throne, so close I was sure he could see King Eldin trembling. Two guards stepped in front of the duke to bar his way, but they gave me no comfort.

  The duke appraised King Eldin as if the guards were not even there. “I say that they shall kill any human they see. It is the only way to protect them from a city filled with such cunning citizens. There will be no more contests of strength, no discussions—only swift death.

  “I say that as ruler of the giants, and as the slayer of the giants who your tailor confused, I am due your throne and your sister’s hand in marriage within five days’ time, the fourteenth day of Temman. I will make camp outside your walls. On that night, you will come to my camp. You will sit with me at midnight and open the city’s doors to me when the sun rises.”

  He stepped back and looked around the room. “If your champion wishes to prove his mettle, he may fight any giant he chooses. It may be easier that way, if your citizens watch him die. Then they will understand why your sister will not have him. But do not mistake me: whether you consent or not, I will have Reggen. I will either sit on this throne as husband to the princess Lissa, or I will build myself a throne out of the rubble and bones of a ravaged city. It will be mine.”

  Another bow to Lissa, another smile to King Eldin. “If your sister makes an extra effort to please me, I may even let you live.”

  He looked down at the bag in his hand, as if noticing it for the first time, and emptied it at the base of the throne. The heads of the two rangers landed with an awful, moist thud, leaving a rusty smear on the marble floor.

  Lord Verras gripped the side of the throne as the duke’s voice rolled on.

  “I leave you a gift. You sent two riders near our camp. They believed they were at a safe distance, I’m sure, but as you can see …” The duke studied the heads the way I’d seen the Tailor look at a project he was particularly proud of. Then he shrugged and smiled up at the king. “I had to kill two of my scouts, King Eldin, because of your champion. It seems only fair you should lose two of yours. I brought you their heads—I leave you to imagine what my army did with their bodies.”

  Boiled bones … Lord Verras had said when he led me through the cave. Bones that looked as though they’d been gnawed …

  Before anyone could answer, before the king could swallow, the duke turned and left.

  Princess Lissa’s face was white and drawn, as if she were already dead.

  Oma, I thought. Who was the Oma the giants listened to? I had to know. The duke had left the hall, but I ran after him. I caught up to him as he stepped out into the courtyard.

  “Your Grace!” I called.

  He spun to face me. I was close enough to look in his eyes. They were bicolored—one blue, one green—and eerily empty. I felt that he was deciding whether he should kill me or not. I glanced away to the wagon behind him. We were so close I could smell the giants’ blood, feel the fear claw at me once more.

  But my fear made me angry, and my anger gave me courage.

  “Why should I speak with you, girl?”

  “I am lady-in-waiting to the princess.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “She lets you stray so far from her? I shall have to talk to her. She shouldn’t let her treasures wander away. I never trust mine to great distances.”

  I swallowed back my revulsion.

  “Please, Your Grace. My lady, the princess, wishes to know: who is Oma?”

  The duke cocked his head. “Oma? Where would she have heard that word? Did her champion tell her that the giants whimpered it as he overpowered them?” The mockery in the duke’s voice flashed like a knife.

  “I never said he was a champion,” I answered quickly, too quickly.

  I thought the duke’s laugh seemed like it would never end. “So you despise him as well! You show more good taste than the rabble that gathers around him.”

  I despised the champion more than he would ever know.
It helped, though, that the duke wasn’t aware of who stood before him. I almost smiled. Almost.

  “I would think you would wish to please my lady, yet you still haven’t given her an answer: who is Oma?”

  He smiled. “Tell your lady that Oma was the last word on the young giant’s lips. He was scared and fought. It took two of my captains to hold him for execution.”

  The duke chuckled to see me flinch.

  I lifted my chin and asked him one last time: “Who is Oma?”

  He made me wait. “It means mother in the old giant tongue. Didn’t the princess’s champion know that?”

  Chapter 19

  “Is there anything else your lady wishes to know?” asked the duke.

  “No.” I had to press my heels into the ground to keep from running.

  The duke must have seen my struggle. He smiled.

  Did he ever stop smiling?

  I smiled back as if I weren’t scared, as if I could stand there before him and the bloodied heads of the two giants all day. Finally, I curtsied and walked away. As soon as I was out of sight, I dashed back to the throne room, desperate to know what King Eldin planned to do.

  The main doors were already closed. Just as well. I didn’t want Leymonn to see me. He’d be far too happy to send the champion to fight one of the duke’s giants.

  I rounded a corner, moving toward the doors at the back of the throne room. A guard was already closing them, muffling the shouts coming from within.

  “Wait!” I called.

  The guard paused.

  “I am maid to Princess Lissa! She would not wish to be left alone.”

  The guard looked over his shoulder, but I slipped inside before he could ask the princess.

  The throne room was in chaos. Only Princess Lissa stood quietly behind the massive throne. Perhaps she was afraid she’d be sent away if anyone saw her. She waved me over, and I joined her, just as anxious to be out of sight.