Valiant

by Sarah McGuire

  I bit my lip, though I was grateful for the pain. The room was sharper now, more focused. I looked down at my hands in my lap. My shirt had been completely torn away, but the lower half of one sleeve remained, gathered around my wrist.

  “The cut’s bleeding too much for me to see,” said Galen.

  I pulled the cuff off and handed it to him.

  “That will help.” He pressed it against the side of my head, wincing when I flinched. “The doctors will be here soon.”

  “I can’t stop shaking. Why can’t I stop shaking?”

  “It will pass.”

  “Good.” The word chattered out. My body didn’t seem to belong to me. “I hate this.”

  “So do I.”

  I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands. The face of that one woman swam before me—the one who had been so scared, so disappointed. I felt her gaze on me, even in that room.

  And I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Here.” Galen moved my hand to cover the cloth. “Hold this.”

  I heard him go to the door and speak to someone. He returned and stood over me. Nothing happened.

  Something featherlight and warm touched my shoulder, then the base of my neck: his fingertips. I looked up at him.

  “You have bruises there, too,” he said, his mouth set.

  “I don’t feel them.”

  He nodded, then dropped something warm across my shoulders. “It’s a guard’s coat.”

  “I’m not cold,” I said, but I settled back into it.

  He knelt in front of me again and pulled the coat tight under my chin. “I don’t care.”

  The door swung open. A doctor walked straight to me and lifted the scrap of shirt I held to my head.

  He kept his eyes on me, but spoke to Galen. “Leymonn demands your presence, Lord Verras. The city …” He shook his head. “You can hear the mob from the courtyard.”

  “You’ll see to her?”

  “Of course. I’ll report to you as soon as I’ve examined her.”

  Galen stood by the door, still wet from the Kriva, one cuff red with my blood. But he didn’t leave. He just looked at me, and I was too tired to do anything but look back.

  I didn’t feel the cold until after he’d left.

  Chapter 33

  The physician’s draught made sleep easy, but it couldn’t stop the dreams: the scouts’ heads in the duke’s wagon, blinking their sightless eyes … the shouts of a mob that never appeared … Volar’s low voice threading the chaos … Galen whispering, Silly girl, silly girl.

  I woke, scared of the foreign room’s darkness. I’d been moved. A physician bent over me. “Look at me, Saville. Follow the candle’s light.”

  I tried, but, oh, how my head hurt! The pain had only been biding its time.

  “Your head?”

  “Everything.” I stretched my legs beneath the blankets. “No. My legs don’t hurt.”

  “Good.”

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Barely noon. Go back to sleep.”

  I tried, but the dreams were too close. I smelled blood when I saw the giants’ heads. I felt stones when I heard the mob.

  Another memory surfaced: Galen’s arm around my waist, the barrage of stones stopping when he pulled me against him.

  Tomorrow, I would be embarrassed that he’d held me so close, that I’d worn only my binding, that I’d felt his warmth against my skin. I would be embarrassed tomorrow, but not now. I slipped beneath the memories like a cloak against the cold. I fell asleep remembering the roughness of his cheek against mine.

  “Saville? Saville?”

  I blinked up at the physician.

  “Lord Verras wishes to see you. Do you feel well enough to go to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sit first on the side of the bed.”

  I sat slowly, but the right side of my head throbbed nonetheless. I put a hand to it and felt a bandage.

  “You’ve a nice cut there,” said the physician. “Dizzy?”

  I shook my head. “Just sore.”

  “There are clean clothes on the chair. I’ll step out for a moment.”

  I dressed slowly, moving as if I were underwater. My arms were scratched and bruised. My shoulders ached. But I’d live. I smiled. It was a trite expression, but true. I’d live, and there had been moments when I thought I wouldn’t.

  The dress was similar to the one I’d worn as the princess’s errand girl: simple, but made of good, soft fabric. When I opened the door, a guard waited for me.

  I followed him, but he did not lead me to Galen’s room. Something was wrong. Galen should be in his room, trying to find a solution to this mess.

  Sky above. Mess didn’t begin to describe what must be happening now that Reggen knew it had no champion. Had the duke discovered the truth? I followed the guard up several flights of stairs, through silent halls.

  No servants scurried to or from errands. An entire hallway was dark. Something was dreadfully wrong.

  The guard finally stopped outside the king’s suite. The last time I’d stood outside these doors, I was Avi, meeting the king for a fitting.

  What would King Eldin do now that Reggen knew my secret? Would he be swayed by Leymonn and have me killed? Would he hand me over to the duke?

  Surely, Galen wouldn’t summon me to my death.

  I was still staring at the doors when Lord Cinnan, the king’s old advisor, joined me, holding a sheaf of parchment.

  “Good evening, Miss Gramton.” His lips twitched into a smile. “It is a pleasure to meet the lady behind the tailor’s apprentice.”

  I could only gape at him, wondering why Leymonn had let him back into the castle.

  Lord Cinnan held the door open for me. “After you, Miss Gramton.”

  The room was nearly empty, the only light coming from a lantern on the king’s desk. Galen stood alone, studying the papers spread across its surface.

  “I’ve returned from the archives,” announced Lord Cinnan. “With company.”

  Galen straightened when he saw me. “Saville!”

  A moment later, he was at my side, his gaze moving over my face, shoulders, arms. He knew where the bruises were, even the ones my dress now covered. “How are you?”

  I glanced at Lord Cinnan, who sat at the large table, sorting through the parchment, and tucked my questions away.

  “I’m well. Just sore.” I remembered how I’d stopped feeling the stones when Galen pulled me close. His shoulders must be as bruised as mine. “And you?”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing that needed bandaging.”

  His mouth was tight with worry, and—there was fear in his eyes.

  “What’s happened?” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  He tipped my chin to the side to see the bandage. I felt the touch all the way to my toes.

  “Does it hurt?” He was stalling.

  I brushed his hand away. “What happened?” I asked again.

  He straightened his shoulders. “King Eldin and Lissa left. Leymonn cleared the tunnel to the top of the cliffs while you slept.…”

  I shook my head, unwilling to believe it.

  “Half the guard went with them. Leymonn says they’re going for help, to find allies.”

  King Eldin had deserted Reggen.

  “They took Will with them.”

  I drew in a shaky breath. “I suppose he’ll be safe, then.”

  Galen nodded. “I hope so.”

  I looked around the room, trying to make sense of the king’s decision. “What about Reggen? Did the king leave instructions for the city?”

  There it was, whatever had been troubling Galen. I looked over at Lord Cinnan for some clue, but he resolutely shuffled through the parchment.

  Galen took a moment to collect himself before answering. “He named me regent in his stead. It makes sense that someone from his household sit on the throne.”

  “He’s never listened to you before. What does he expect you to
do? Negotiate with the duke? Fight?”

  Galen just looked at me.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No.”

  The king expected Galen to die.

  The duke would take Reggen, one way or another. After King Eldin’s attack, he would show no mercy. He’d kill whoever sat on Reggen’s throne.

  “I can see only two options,” Galen said. “One is to hold the duke off for as long as possible. But I don’t think Eldin will be able to recruit aid and return to Reggen in time. The duke may be so enraged that he levels the city. Or”—he didn’t even pause—“I can surrender. I can give the throne and the crown to the duke. Perhaps he’ll show mercy.”

  “He’ll kill you.”

  “Saville.” Galen waited until I was looking into his eyes, until I could see that his determination ran deeper than his fear. “He’ll kill me anyway. I have to think about Reggen, and … I don’t know how to keep the city safe.”

  I couldn’t answer.

  “That’s what I do,” he said. “I look, and I watch, and I see the things that others don’t. But I don’t see anything, Saville. Not a thing.”

  I wanted to take him by the hand and drag him someplace safe. We could follow the king. We could hide in the caves. We—

  “Please,” he whispered. “Help me save Reggen. I see more clearly when I’m with you.”

  Galen was asking me for help, when I wasn’t sure I could even stand.

  There was a scrape as Lord Cinnan pushed back his chair. “I’ve found something, though I don’t know how it will help us.”

  Galen pulled in a great breath. I watched him put his fear aside. He had a task to complete.

  And I would help him.

  Chapter 34

  Lord Cinnan pointed at the stained parchment before him.

  “Tales written by one of the first merchants in the north. He cut the trails that our wagons follow, even today. These are the stories he heard on his journeys through the Steeps.”

  “Stories about giants?” asked Galen.

  Lord Cinnan scratched his chin. “I wish we had such fortune. I found no stories of giants, but there is a tale of a knight who could not be killed.”

  I thought of Volar’s story about the king who had hidden his heart away.

  “The language is simple enough,” said Lord Cinnan, “but the parchment is spotted in places:

  “We did not wish to attempt the Belmor Mountains so close to winter. Already, the frosts had crushed what little life still persisted in the Steeps. My men and I stayed one night in a village a good week’s ride from the manor of the Steeps’ lord.”

  Lord Cinnan looked up. “There was no Duke of the Western Steeps then. This was written before the emperor ever conquered Reggen.

  “The villagers were a ragged crew, unwilling to break the ice in the troughs until they saw we were prepared to barter. They would have none of our coin—where would they spend it?—but demanded spices and dried meat in exchange for a place to stay. Once payment was made, they saw to our horses, then led us into the largest hut to pass the night. It was vile food and viler company, save the stories they told around a low-burning fire.

  “Stories such as I’d never heard: A groom pulled from the bridal chamber and cut to pieces by a vengeful wizard, his limbs scattered to the far corners of the Steeps. Yet the faithful bride would seek the many pieces of her husband, and once she had found them all—did I not tell you this was a gruesome tale?—she had only to sprinkle the water of life to find him restored and whole. My men discovered versions of the tale in which she did not gather all of her bridegroom. You can imagine how those stories ended.

  “The villagers saved the tale of the knight who could not be killed till after dark, when the fire fell to embers.

  “The knight feared nothing on earth, save death. One night, as he lay beneath the stars, a wolf came to his side and told the knight what he must do to live forever. When the knight awoke, the wolf was gone, but the solution remained, eating at his mind like disease consumes a limb. The seasons passed as the knight crafted a chest from wood hard as stone and forged great chains to wrap around it. He coated the inside of the chest with pitch so that water could not creep inside. Then he carved another, smaller chest.

  “Finally, he lay under the stars again, and this time he did not need the wolf to know what he must do. He took up a knife sharper than thought, bared his breast, and cut his still-beating heart from his body. The wolf had said this would be the most difficult part, for few possessed the will to commit such an act or had the strength to move once it was done.

  “But as the knight placed his heart in the smaller chest, he felt stronger. And when he placed the small chest into the great, pitch-covered chest, he felt stronger still. He wrapped the outer chest in chains and threw it into one of the fathomless lakes near the Belmor Mountains. And walked away, deathless.

  “He became the scourge of the Steeps. Champion after champion challenged the knight, and champion after champion fell to him. He grew in power, untouched by pity for those he ruled, until a farmer’s son, a worthy lad, discovered the knight’s secret and destroyed his heart.

  “Only a people who scratch out their living in the rock near these mountains would tell such a story, I think.”

  Lord Cinnan set the parchment down. “That’s all. Perhaps the knight was like the duke, and his insanity gave him strength. We must—”

  “What if it’s true?” Galen’s voice was soft, yet certain.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lord Cinnan. “That the duke really is the emperor’s descendant?”

  Galen sat back in his chair, seeing something we couldn’t. He reminded me of a hunting dog that had caught scent of its quarry. “This knight, who cut out his heart. The abomination who Volar spoke of … What if the stories are true?”

  “They’re just tales told from knee to knee,” I answered.

  Galen looked at me, head tilted, just like Volar. He was more certain now. “We would have said the same about giants a year ago.”

  “A month ago,” murmured Lord Cinnan.

  I was certain something awful crouched at the end of this conversation. “Don’t stop there,” I snapped. “Let’s consider the stories of dragons and princesses locked in towers and kings welcoming back the children they banished.…” And sweet-tempered servant girls who marry the prince, despite the betrothed waiting for him …

  I looked away.

  Galen tapped the table with a finger. “These stories—of a human and a giant king who could outwit death—both come from the same place. The Belmor Mountains rise out of the Steeps. What if … what if the duke cut out his heart and hid it?”

  “Ridiculous,” Lord Cinnan answered weakly.

  “Nearly two years passed from the time the duke was ousted from the counsel and when he reclaimed his castle. There is no record of him during that time, but at least one merchant heard rumors that the duke wandered the Steeps. What if he cut his heart out then—in the land where those stories sprang up?”

  “Galen …,” protested Lord Cinnan.

  Galen slapped the table. “You cannot say it was insanity that allowed the duke to pull a crossbow bolt out of his heart! I saw it with my own eyes. Volar said the duke fought a giant warrior and did not die. We’ve all seen how easy it is for a giant to kill a human. Surely, at least one tried to crush the duke when he marched into the Belmor!

  “No. What we witnessed yesterday wasn’t insanity. It was ghoulish immortality.”

  He stopped, giving us time to think, to see how much sense it made. Neither Lord Cinnan nor I wanted to believe this tale of a deathless duke, and yet we couldn’t deny it.

  Galen leaned closer. “If these stories are true, if the duke has cut out his heart, what do we do?”

  Lord Cinnan scowled, then looked at us from under his eyebrows. “We find it. And we kill him.”

  “Saville?”

  I slowly shook my head, the way I had when Mama died and I hadn’t been read
y to believe it. “Of all the stories,” I whispered, “why do these have to be the ones that are true?”

  “You’ve argued all along that there was a reason the giants followed the duke,” said Galen. “You were right: he used his strength to make them think he was their high king. But the duke’s authority will be shattered once the giants see that he’s mortal. We must find his heart if we’re going to stop this war.”

  “It could be anywhere!” I said. “He could have thrown it into a lake in the Steeps.”

  “We’re lost if he hid his heart in the Steeps,” said Lord Cinnan, “but we have no reason to assume he left it there. You tell me he’s given himself the title of Holder of the Eternal Heart. Have you gathered any other clues?”

  “Nothing else from his titles,” said Galen.

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to remember what the duke had said as he stood by the heads of the giant scouts. “When I asked about Oma, the duke told me he’d scold the princess about letting me leave her side. He said she shouldn’t let her treasure get away. He—what was it?—didn’t like treasure kept at a distance.” I looked up. “The duke’s heart is his only treasure. He’ll keep it close.”

  “In his tent?” asked Lord Cinnan.

  “He had guards around the southwest corner of his tent,” said Galen. “I assumed it was to guard the place he slept, but …”

  “He has no need to protect himself,” said Lord Cinnan. “Nothing can kill him. But his heart? That’s another matter. Are you sure we can’t sneak into camp?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “The giants will hear us. But there’s another way. The duke said he’d be willing to meet with the champion.”

  “No, he said the champion could challenge one of the giants,” corrected Galen. “I won’t let you go.”

  I tried to smile. “You’re just jealous that you weren’t invited.”

  Lord Cinnan watched me. “The duke may still agree to a meeting. He might prefer the champion after the king’s attack.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” snapped Galen. “You’d never reach the duke’s heart.”

  “Ridiculous? You think—”

  A guard burst in, unable to hide his fear. “Lord Verras, you’re needed at the city gates.”