The Devotion of Delflenor

by R. Cooper

  Without answering that question, Prityal grumbled while sweeping dust out the door. “How is it that you know to do all these things?”

  Delf looked up from the bowl she was scrubbing. “Like many of those children with no place to go, I ended up in the Seat. I did my share of the work in Brennus’s household. Brennus liked to garden and I was often found with them among the vegetables for the kitchen. Brennus was the one to suggest I find my way as a priest.” Brennus had teased her for being too much heart, and told her that perhaps she should try to do something with all she felt. “That did not suit me, so the priests said.” She quirked a little smile. “I was a miller’s apprentice for a while, a poor one. But it’s honest work—if you make the miller keep their scales correct.”

  Prityal made a face at that, but nodded encouragingly. “Then what did you do?”

  “Would you believe I used to get into fights?” Delf looked down. “Got dragged before some knights—who were with Brennus at the time, and after Brennus laughed at me and patched me up, they asked if I’d considered putting my heart and brain to use as well as my fists.” Prityal made a sound like a stifled laugh. Delf glanced up, smiling. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I’ve never seen you lose your temper,” Prityal hedged. “Did you lose the fights?”

  Delf went back to the hearth to pull out her small loaves of bread. “No.”

  “That, I believe.” Prityal left the broom by the door and went outside. Delf heard splashing, and assumed Prityal was at the well, cleaning up or getting a drink. She came back a few moments later. “Brennus was a good person, and a great chevetein. I’m glad they found you, and brought you to us.”

  How was Delf supposed to look her in the eye after a statement like that?

  She fumbled the bread onto the table. “I was not a begley for very long. Nor a squire.” And then Brennus had died and the land had been in turmoil.

  She was startled by Prityal putting a hand gently on top of hers, and raised her head. Prityal’s gaze was warm. “If that is why you think you have no place among the rest of us, you have heart, but you are mistaken. You are of the Seat, the same as the others. Perhaps more.”

  Delf would follow her to certain death. She did not think she would hesitate.

  Her voice was a croak. “Sometimes I think you are the Seat.”

  Prityal flinched and stepped back.

  Tili stamped his feet outside the door to remove any dirt, then came inside while sniffing the air appreciatively. “I’m going to wash up, but I could smell the stew from outside. It’s a good night when I don’t have to make my own dinner. I’d thank you for that alone.”

  He gave them the widest smile yet, then slipped back out to clean and perhaps check on his animals.

  Delf cleared her throat and began filling bowls with stew.

  Prityal whispered, “It does smell very good,” and sat on the bench for the table, leaving Delf nowhere to go to hide her blushes.

  SHE AND PRITYAL retired to the barn after dinner. Tili’s house did not have extra room, or extra beds, and they had no intention of crowding him in his own. The barn offered shelter from the wind and was filled with clean straw. It would do well.

  In the purple of twilight, they greeted their nickering icors and then readied for bed. Delf shook out and rearranged some clean straw, then debated laying out her bedroll or sleeping on the straw—either way would involve being stuck with straw in strange places at some point—to avoid wondering about tonight’s sleeping arrangements.

  Then Prityal took the bedroll from Delf’s arms and laid it out next to hers, and Delf lost all her thoughts for several intensely quiet moments.

  “Should be warmer again this way,” Prityal remarked, lining the rolls up but leaving a tiny space between them. She looked up. “Unless you are uncomfortable.”

  Delf blankly shook her head.

  She got a quick smile for it. Then a frown. “We should check that scratch in the morning. Make sure it’s clean.”

  This time, Delf blankly nodded, and only realized what she had agreed to after Prityal took her eyes off her to lie down. Prityal curled onto her side, putting her back to Delf, although her glance over her shoulder made Delf drop to her knees without thought. She had to shuffle awkwardly to her bedroll after that, but Prityal likely did not notice.

  She arranged herself on her side behind Prityal and felt like a character in a bawdy tale about two knights in a dark barn about to roll in the hay. Since that was clearly not Prityal’s intention, Delf kept her distance. Her skin was aflame. She longed for some wine and listened to Prityal’s breathing. It had not evened out into sleep any more than hers had.

  “Perhaps one of us should tell a tale?” she suggested after the world around them had gone dark but neither of them had succumbed to sleep. “It’s a child’s pastime, but it’s soothing. At least to children.”

  “Were you a child, Delf?” Prityal surprised her with the soft question, especially since Prityal was never one to take time for herself to have fun or to be useless. “Were you truly?”

  Delf answered her, as she always would. “They encouraged me to be—Brennus, I mean. So, now, to honor them, I am never serious.”

  “I think you are always serious,” Prityal whispered back, stopping Delf’s heart. “The priests lied to you, or did not want to know the truth... or you did not want them to know it.”

  Delf swallowed. She finally scraped the words from her throat. “Prityal the Merciless.”

  A jolt went through Prityal. “Who calls me that?”

  “I do,” Delf replied smartly, if hoarsely, “now.” She ducked her head when Prityal tried to turn to look at her even though there probably wasn’t much Prityal could see. She cleared her throat. “Also, Prityal the Useless in the Kitchen and Prityal the Moderately Good at the Sweeping of Floors.”

  “I do my assigned duties!” Prityal objected. “And there is no better way to sweep a floor than any other way.”

  “Mmm,” Delf agreed politely. Of course, if there was a best way to sweep a floor, Prityal would want to learn and master it. “And you are useless in the kitchen, but you do try.” She made it sweet, and maybe for that reason, Prityal stayed quiet this time. “You even do more than what you are assigned to do, both in mundane chores and in quests you should not be on.” For that, Prityal did object, but Delf kept going over her small huff. “You come here at the request of a knight you don’t know, because of his people, and because of what being a knight means to you. You don’t need to ask my story. It’s not nearly so noble.”

  “But more interesting, I think,” Prityal countered. “As I said, I am only a dagger.”

  “You are more than a dagger,” Delf returned immediately. “You are loved.” The tremor in her voice made the words softer, made her seem breathless as she finished. “So loved.”

  “Delflenor—” Prityal went abruptly silent, while Delf stared at her silhouette and called herself a fool. But then Prityal said her name again, measured and thoughtful. “Delflenor… the Soft-voiced.”

  Delf choked on her own breath.

  Prityal seemed to take it for a laugh. “You are refusing to be serious again, or you find me amusing. But I have often… I have often seen you with others and been envious of your ease with them. As well as their ease with you.”

  “There’s nothing about me to make anyone nervous.” Delf frowned when this was received with a heavy sigh. “What?”

  “Delflenor the Confusing,” Prityal whispered. It did not seem teasing, though it was hard to say for sure without seeing Prityal’s expression.

  “If you mean that, then know I’ve often been envious of your friends’ ease with you as well.” Delf thought of Ran grinning at her—and Jareth frowning. “They do love you, you know. To them, you are not a weapon.”

  At first, there was silence. Then she nearly jumped when a hand brushed against her. Prityal’s wandering hand found hers and pulled it over her waist.

  “
If you don’t mind,” Prityal explained herself in a small, hushed voice. “It was warmer with you near.”

  “I don’t mind,” Delf answered, faint, and inched that much closer to get more comfortable. Prityal had forgotten to let go of her hand or enjoyed the comforting feel of their laced fingers.

  Prityal wasn’t wearing her cloak. Without a hood in the way, Delf’s breath landed directly on Prityal’s nape. Prityal stirred; a tiny, suppressed shiver beneath Delf’s arm.

  “Delflenor?” Prityal prodded, though Delf might have eventually fallen asleep that way once she got over her wonder. Prityal’s words seemed to spill out of her. “Do you believe people can try again? I mean, should they be able to? So many things seem to come easily to Ran or Ange. In training to learn a new skill, I try and try again. I make mistakes. I get injured. Until I am better, and that can take years. But that is for physical skills, and this is something else, and I might not have years. There might only be one more try.” She inhaled and grasped their joined hands tighter. “I know I am still not good at this, but, do you think what was learned in the time between mistakes can make a difference?”

  “Hmm?” Delf tried to make sense of the jumble of words, so unlike Prityal’s usual directness. “When it’s not a matter of fighting skills?” If it occupied Prityal’s mind, it must be something very serious, and if it was not fighting or the barracks, then it was the lack of a chevetein. “Then I would ask what has changed in this meantime, what is different now. It’s a good question.” She didn’t know if anyone had ever offered themselves as chevetein more than once. “Will the Three accept someone They did not accept before? Perhaps if the first offer was not made in good faith, or the person had doubts? But I don’t know. From what I can tell, even the priests don’t know how or why the Three choose. The ritual itself is only because of the story of the original chevetein, who beheld them and knelt. That is one theory. Although, naturally, the priests don’t like to admit what they don’t know.”

  Prityal was still, her breathing shallow. “The chevetein?”

  “Yes.” Delf tried to be warm and reassuring, although if Prityal were chevetein, she would no longer be in the barracks she loved, and Delf would rarely see her. “Maybe all the others offered themselves many times. Maybe what matters is that you have to be ready for the task, and those whose first offers were rejected were not. Not then. Maybe the time has to be right, and there are people you must meet, events that must happen, to make you who you were meant to be when you need to be. There is a sort of comfort in that idea, when so much else about it is terrifying.”

  Prityal was quiet.

  “Did I bore you to sleep with my musings?” Delf joked, though it felt like a misstep with Prityal so worried. “It is a great thing to offer yourself. It is greater now, with so many troubles building. We will need someone special.” She gently nudged Prityal’s shoulder with her chin. “A war leader, perhaps, with enough ruthlessness to do what must be done. But, I think more, someone who is loved. Who is strong, but has loyal friends and the backing of the knights, who respects the farmers and merchants and the artisans. It is… so much. A job for sturdy shoulders and a vast heart. I do not think anyone who offered themselves was capable of that, then.”

  She went cold as Prityal released her hand, then pulled away until Delf felt foolish with one arm still wrapped around her. She tucked it against her chest, along Prityal’s back.

  “It sounds as if only a legend would do,” Prityal commented in the stiff voice she had not used once in the past day.

  “A legend is still a person.” Delf clenched her hands into fists. “They would be scared. Anyone would be.” It was meant to be comforting. But Prityal did not reach for her again. Delf waited in the dark, unreasonably chilled though they were still lying close. “Should I move?” she asked at last.

  “No.” Prityal was as awake as she was. “It’s warmer with you near,” she said again, tension in her voice.

  Delf stared at the curving outline of her while trying to determine what she had done wrong.

  Only exhaustion could have gotten her to sleep, which it eventually did.

  SHE ASSUMED Prityal slept, if only because nothing woke her in the night. But Prityal was already up when Delf walked outside. In the frozen blue light just before dawn, Delf stumbled to the well for water, and then to the farmhouse for porridge and to grab hold of Tili.

  Tili had a way with icors, or at least with Kee, and sparkling tears in his eyes when Kee pranced under his attentions. It was good to see someone who had been shouldering too many burdens smile with unexpected joy at getting to ride an icor raised by the Knights of the Seat. Frire looked envious, but watched without coming closer.

  Delf would have chided him, but all of her early morning energy was split between keeping an eye on Tili and Kee and trying not to stare at the blessed sight of Prityal of Ters in only her undershirt and breeches, chopping wood in the light of the rising sun.

  Sweat glistened on Prityal’s skin, and she was breathing heavily. Her thighs and arms would crush Delf and Delf would not mind. Perhaps she deserved it, and it would be a sweet way to die.

  Tili noticed Delf’s straying gaze and chuckled to himself, but was kinder than the other knights would have been. He might have merely been grateful for more time on Kee’s back, but Delf was convinced of Tili’s sensitivity and tact when he mentioned, in a sly whisper, that Frire was indeed the icor of a legend, but if legends wished to be unknown in his home, then he saw no problems with it.

  Delf had nearly kissed him, which she had told him, and Tili had responded with another sly comment about where Delf’s kisses were better spent. Delf did not inform him that Prityal would not have welcomed anything from her at the moment, and certainly not a kiss.

  Prityal split every block like it was her sworn enemy, which was why Delf waited until Prityal grew tired and stopped before she attempted to speak to her. By then, the sun was up, Tili had said his goodbyes to the icors, and to the knights, and was back out in the fields, and Delf had already packed their supplies again.

  “Tili tells me there’s a lovely little pond only a bit out of our way.” Delf spoke the moment Prityal looked over to watch her approach. “The younger ones—the ones left, that is—like to use it for frolics in the summer. It will be very cold this time of year, but is still suitable for bathing, if we wanted.” She stopped a safe distance away, her throat tight to think that Prityal would be wary with her. Nonetheless, she pressed on with her peace offering. “Tili has loaned us some squares of old linen for drying, since the weather is chilly, though we must return them on our way back.” Prityal blinked at all the information, and huffed, but her manner seemed warmer than before. Delf tried a grin. “I told him we would send the linen back with someone to help him with his work. He hugged me for it.”

  The small, slowly growing smile on Prityal’s face outshone the morning sun.

  Seven

  practice

  PRITYAL’S SMILE dimmed as they rode back into the woods, though they stayed near the edge, along a path that spoke of countless feet over countless years. Trees surrounded them, but did not grow thick. The sky stayed gray in the canopy above them. Prityal kept a slow pace, ahead of Delf, but not leaving her far behind.

  Delf did not want to ruin the fragile peace. But she was the one who had created the strain, so it was her wrong to right.

  “Last night,” she began, giving Prityal the warning. When Prityal did not object or direct the conversation elsewhere, Delf exhaled, then continued. “I have never asked if you offered yourself at the Shrine of the Seat. I assumed you did, because you are brave, and good, and you would want to help. But I didn’t ask. If you did… it’s not a mark against you if you were not accepted. No one was, even many I thought would be worthy.”

  Prityal twisted to consider her, her gaze heavy but soft. Delf did not allow herself to look away. Prityal finally turned to face forward again.

  “I offered myself,” she said,
unhappiness clear in the way she reached out to Frire. “Falsely,” she continued, before Delf could manage a reply. “Falsely, because I didn’t want to be the chevetein. I do not even wish to be a war leader. I am a knight. That is all I am. That is all I would be, if the land were different. I was tired and I desperate, so I asked Them. But I didn’t want it, and I didn’t think I would be a good one.”

  For several moments, Delf was beset by too many thoughts, most of them incredulous and not at all helpful.

  “Prityal,” she said, because the silence had gone on too long and Prityal would think the worst. “You think that you,” she gestured wildly at Prityal though Prityal wouldn’t see it, “were not good enough?”

  “I wasn’t.” Conviction made Prityal’s voice clear. “I was a near-child under the eyes of an entire country.”

  “You might be what they want now,” Delf suggested. “You have learned, changed. And now you have all of us to help you.”

  Prityal turned around again, then slowed Frire so that Delf and Kee came up alongside her.

  Her mouth was tight, the corners tipped down. “You think this is Their plan for me?” Prityal’s gaze was still heavy, but the soft quality felt more like sadness. Delf put a hand to Prityal’s leg in apology, in comfort, and Prityal dropped her head to stare at it. “As you do in many things, you have… an easiness in accepting what the Three want for you. I admire that. But I could not… I cannot… bare my breast to Them—I want my armor on. They may have a plan, and it may include me, but I…” She raised her head, frowning. “I would do it if… if that were not all for me. If I were not only meant to be the Hope. To always be the Hope.” Her exhale was shaky. “Please don’t tell anyone that.”

  “I won’t,” Delf promised immediately. “But you called yourself a dagger. Only a dagger. Is the Hope so different?”