Written in Blood

by Span, Ryan A.

  I began to understand the feelings going around the table. Even delicious prison food was prison food. Comfortable beds and baths couldn't disguise a jail cell.

  Humber's voice sang in my heart, full of bitter, frustrated rage. His Majesty is right, my lad. The floods will start any day now. You won't be able to reach the Edge, not until spring.

  I grimaced. The thought of staying put all winter was intolerable. Maybe we could take a boat and...

  And do what? Get captured by the Duke's navy, or run aground trying to make landfall in the Catsclaws? Don't be a fool.

  I couldn't argue with him. The coastlines of the northern Aranic were as bad or worse than those in the west. We wouldn't have a hope in Hell.

  The meal ended by unspoken agreement. Sir Erroll was the first to get up and walk away. The rest of us dispersed in his wake. No warmth or friendly goodbyes. We all felt the oppressive cloud of failure hanging over us.

  Struggling one-handed with my heavy door, I noticed Yazizi sneaking into the squire's room. A sour smile touched my lips. Good luck to her ‒ the boy I'd seen at table wouldn't return her affections. He'd regressed back to the mewling wreck I once picked up off the street in Farrowhale.

  I found Halla the serving girl in a corner, darning and mending all my clothes. She looked up when I came into the room, blushed, and returned to her work.

  To my amazement, she'd gotten an armour stand and hung my breastplate from it, fitted with a brand new set of straps. Adar's sword hung next to it, cradled by an unfamiliar scabbard on an unfamiliar belt. Everything was freshly-oiled and polished.

  I looked at her and said, “Where?”

  “I took them to the armoury, Lord. I‒ I hoped you would not mind.”

  “No. No, I don't mind.” I ran my fingers down the plate like a long-lost friend. If she hadn't been in the room, I might have put it on for old times' sake. “Thank you, Halla.”

  She kept her eyes on her sewing.

  I tore myself away from my reflection mirrored in bronze, kicked off my boots, and stretched out on the bed. Shadows and candlelight danced together on the ceiling. I was already getting bored. I tried to think of what I used to do in camp to fill the hours between marches. The usual, whoring, gambling, drinking.

  Funny. I remembered there had been wine at dinner, but not with my usual enthusiasm.

  The half-full pitcher from earlier sat on a tray beside my bed, and I resolved to finish it before the night was through. A pleasant buzzing rose in my head. It kept my darker thoughts at bay, especially Humber's incessant lectures. That was starting to get on my nerves. Dead men should know their place.

  A knock at the door distracted me. Halla went to open it, and in came Yazizi without asking. She stood with her hands on her hips, cheeks flushed, her dress dishevelled as if she'd put it back on in a hurry. I'd almost expected this.

  I said, “Halla, give us the room.”

  The girl curtsied and hurried out. Yazizi locked the door behind her. Hesitantly, she began to slip the sleeves from her shoulders.

  I smiled at her from my pillow. “Twice in one night? He must not have satisfied you.”

  She froze as if struck. It felt nice to see my words hit home. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. She watched me like a statue while her dress fell off from its own weight. Naked, angry and humiliated. It was a good look for her.

  “There's something you should understand.” I stood. Her dark eyes widened as I towered over her. “That boy will never marry you, and neither will I. I'm no woman's second best.”

  “Karl...”

  “Don't 'Karl' me, you little harpy,” I snarled. Grabbing her wrists, I turned her around by force and pinioned her arms behind her back. She gasped and let out a whimper of pain. “The pair of you think you can just use me as it suits you! I'm not your toy!”

  Her struggles quickly faded to nothing. She hung in my grip, breathing hard and trembling even more. Gooseflesh covered her skin. Her face was so hot it turned almost purple.

  She enjoyed this.

  “Pick up your dress and get out.”

  She twisted to look at me over her shoulder, eyes clouded, crestfallen. I let go. She hit the floor with a thump, sitting on her hands and knees for a moment, then gathered up the pile of blue linen and fled.

  I sat on the bed and poured myself another cup.

  The morning came late. No one bothered to wake me. No one needed me for anything.

  I picked myself up slowly. My head ached, as did my eyes, and everything else. My groggy eyes travelled all over the room, then down to my own body. I'd fallen asleep in my borrowed clothes. Not before spilling wine all over them, though. The bedsheets sported matching burgundy-coloured stains, and I smelled like alcohol mixed with sickly hints of yesterday's perfume. Maybe a night of heavy drinking right after I recovered from a long fever wasn't such a terrific idea.

  I decided to be sick into the chamber pot.

  Halla's head popped round the corner to check on me. “You are awake. Are you well, Lord?”

  “Wonderful,” I groaned and wiped my chin. “Washbasin.”

  She was there in seconds with a shallow bowl and a jug of water. I poured most of it over my head, and washed my mouth out with the rest. It helped a little. The girl offered soap and brush but I waved her away.

  The tension in Halla's shoulders told me she was building her courage for a question. “Lord... That girl. She is Harari, isn't she?”

  “Correct.”

  “Does‒ Does she belong to you?”

  I grimaced. My memories of last night were coming back, bringing regrets and morning-after guilt. I said, “No. No, she doesn't.”

  “But she is a slave?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am sorry. I just assumed, when she...” The girl swallowed the rest of her sentence, embarrassed and terrified that she'd gone too far. Her chest heaved, drawing my eye before I could even think of stopping it. She was old enough, developed enough that I could teach her a few things right here, right now. Like I taught Yazizi.

  Life and pain are the same, she'd said, and believed it.

  “Do I seem like the kind of man who uses slaves as bed-warmers?” I rasped. A dry throat and the edge of a hangover made it sound more biting than I intended. “Be quiet and get me something to wear.”

  It took a moment to shake herself out of trembling panic. She ran to obey. I thought about apologising, but didn't. I dressed in silence and went out, leaving a pile of soiled velvet for her to clean.

  As the door swung to, I noticed a scrap of parchment tumbling to the floor. It was tiny enough to hide in the jamb. I picked it up and immediately recognised the elegant handwriting.

  It said, See me. I didn't need a signature to know who sent it.

  Her chambers were a long hobble down the hall. In my hurry to get away I'd left my cane behind, but if I'd stayed any longer, I would've made another mistake.

  To my surprise, I found her rooms under heavy guard. A pair of grumpy halberdiers flanked the door. They eyeballed me from a distance, making no effort to hide their contempt.

  “Which one's he?” the man on the left asked the man on the right.

  “The Contractor. Used to be in the King's Own, so I hear, till he got himself kicked out.”

  “Kicked out? Of the King's Own?”

  “Oh yes. Murder, so I hear. If only they could prove it, they would've strung him up by his bollocks. Instead he gets off with a dishonourable discharge.”

  The man on the left made a disgusted noise. “Too good. Should've strung 'im up anyway, proof or no proof.”

  I drew myself up to my full height and worked up a big smile for them. “Hullo, lads. I see you've been listening to Army rumours. Terrible things, are Army rumours. It's a shame you were so desperately misinformed.”

  The man on the right squinted. “Misinformed how?”

  “Just a few details. That fellow I'm supposed to have put down was a nobleman. No less than an Earl. T
hat fellow had bodyguards, and I don't mean parade-ground dandies such as yourselves. I mean big, burly bastards who ‒ if the story is true, and I'm not saying it is ‒ didn't even manage to slow me down. Now, are you going to step aside or do we have to find out what else I can get away with?”

  I let the threat sink in. The man on the left looked about to explode with rage, but the man on the right knocked him in the shins with the butt of his halberd. He seemed the more level-headed one. Behind his anger was a sliver of respect, and fear.

  “Stand down, Hadrien,” he said sternly. “Bastard's not worth the trouble.”

  I waved a laconic salute and pushed my way inside.

  “Saints,” I whispered. I had to stop and stare.

  I'd thought my rooms were big. Not so. The woman had half a palace to herself. Everything was made soft and sumptuous with rugs, draperies and cushions. I saw chairs, sofas, a desk. A separate bedroom hidden behind long curtains. In my chambers, the dominant colours were wood and stone, but here I couldn't get away from the red, gold, blue and bronze.

  I couldn't see her. I coughed once, twice, then heard movement from the bedroom. After a few seconds, the woman slipped through the curtains. She shone like a dream in her dark green gown, shot through with gold thread. Her normally red lips had been painted a shade of pink barely brighter than her skin.

  “I was unsure if you'd come,” she said. “After what happened.”

  I smiled. “Were you really, Milady?”

  “I‒ No.” She returned the smile and invited me to join her by the massive fireplace. We sat across from each other, and I got lost in her eyes once again. “The truth is, I need your faith, Byren. Now more than ever. My brother has botched this war once again, and he's too pig-headed to listen to counsel.”

  “He is the King we swore to follow,” I said gloomily. I surprised myself by adding, “But I'll die before I hand over my armour.”

  “It belongs to you. I don't doubt the others feel the same way. This country doesn't need another bloody bombard, but Lauric won't see it. You noticed he has me under guard now? It's enough to make a lady wonder what he's so afraid of.”

  “Perhaps he's concerned for his sister's safety. You aren't planning to stay put, are you?”

  “Did I imply that?” she murmured. A lazy smile creased her lips. “I am... sounding things out. I don't know how long it'll take, probably a few days, but I think I have a way for us to slip the net.”

  “Defying a Royal command. That'd be treason.”

  “Treason, hah! The harsh reality is, sometimes my brother needs to be protected from himself. The Kingdom won't survive another year of this. Unless we act to preserve her, our King will have nothing left to rule.” She looked into my eyes and read me like an open book. I was putty in her hands, and she knew it. “I thought you loved your country, Karl.”

  Grimacing, I said, “I do.”

  “Then,” she leaned close to place a hand on my knee, “you only have to follow your conscience.”

  “But Milady...” I hesitated. On the tip of my tongue was a question we'd avoided, each of us in our own way, since the very start. The slender fingers exploring my thigh didn't help me keep a clear head either. “There's something strange to them, no question, but six pieces of bronze can't win a war by themselves.”

  “You still think that? You've seen these things in action. If there was ever such a thing as magic in this world, here it is.”

  She paused and drew in a deep breath, as though it were a struggle to put her cards on the table. She'd kept them so close to her chest for such a long time...

  “It's within our power to end this war, Karl. We will get out of Kingsport, take the sixth piece, find the Duke, and end him.”

  “Impossible,” I said. “Milady, you're talking about the most well-protected man in the world. Not even the Rangers could get close, and they've tried.”

  “Please, I know all about the Rangers' failure. That's exactly why we need something more. Let the Professor worry about history and architecture. To me, these pieces are a military asset, and I intend to use them as such.”

  “And going to the Edge of the World struck you as a sensible and realistic way to win the war?”

  That made her laugh. Half of me wanted to chuckle along, and the other half wanted to throw myself on top of her. Instead, I sat paralysed. Somehow she leaned in even closer ‒ slipping down to her knees on the rug between us. Her hands found mine and began to stroke all over them, while her smile beamed up at me.

  “I was prepared to give up on the sixth piece as unreachable,” she explained. In her voice it sounded like the most sinful of propositions. “However, if Aemedd's theories are correct, there is reason to pursue it. We have a map. With a compass and the stars above us, we can find our way.”

  She began to nibble on my fingertips. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I'd already stopped listening to her words, to everything except the arousal pulsing in my veins. Hopelessly caught, I leaned down to kiss her.

  She grinned and pulled away from me, emitting another soft laugh. Left me sitting on the floor as she spun to her feet. “Oh no, Byren, you've not earned that,” she teased. “At least... not yet.”

  It was too much to take. Embarrassment on my face and in my crotch, I rose stiffly, made a tiny bow and turned to leave. She waved at me on the way out, a coy little flick of the fingers.

  “Remember where your loyalties lie, dear Byren,” she sang, “and we'll see what the future has in store for you.”

  I hated her. I loved her. God, I felt like a teenage boy again. I could hear Humber laughing in the back of my head, offering lewd encouragements to keep chasing those silk skirts.

  Damn that woman.

  I skipped lunch to toss off under the sheets. It brought no satisfaction or relief, no matter how many times I tried. Halla stayed very quiet and pretended not to watch. Several times I was tempted to grab her. No. I couldn't; not and keep the last tattered shreds of my conscience intact.

  I'd need those later, when I'd be committing treason for her sake. Saints preserve me.

  Eventually I just sent Halla out for more wine. Where did she sleep, I wondered? Did she come with the room? She might have snuck back in at any point last night without me noticing. My head was full of fluid at the time.

  When she came back, she set the pitcher down on the bedside table and retreated. I stared at it for a moment. A revelation was bubbling in the back of my mind. What exactly was keeping me here? An entire city of potential delights waited outside these walls. I could go and paint it red.

  I straightened my dishevelled clothes and cornered Halla for the answer to one question. “Tell me the name of the dirtiest tavern you know.”

  “The Black Lion, Lord. Yew Street. Tunson Down.”

  “Thank you.”

  I went out into the fresh air of the castle courtyard, trying to remember what little I knew about Kingsport. Tunson Down was a deep crescent-shaped valley that ran along the north side of town, bounded by the hills around Aran's Cross in the south and the Docklands to the east. It was the closest thing they had to a crime-ridden slum inside the city walls. The valley was prone to flooding in the autumn, so they built almost everything on stilts.

  More than a few of the King's Own came from Tunson Down. Once they got going about 'the old neighbourhood', they wouldn't shut up until men from the real hard-knock places of the Kingdom got tired of it and shouted them down.

  I stopped as I reached the drawbridge leading down the Twins. A hunched shape stood outside the immense gatehouse, both hands clutching the stone like a frightened man at the edge of a cliff. He stared through the gates at the city spread out below, and didn't react when the pregnant clouds finally let loose a heavy volley of rain. He left the hood of his cloak hanging limply down his back.

  Splashing through yesterday's puddles, I walked up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Last place in the world you want to be, eh?”

  “Yes,” the squire said.
His voice almost broke.

  “The past can hurt you. I know.”

  “I'd rather be back in that dungeon with you. They couldn't find me there.”

  He was silent for a long time, letting cold water spatter on his head and his hands. His hair became a collection of damp strings that clung to his cheeks. “They used to wake us up in the middle of the night. The older boys would rush in and beat us with sticks until we started to put up a fight. The instructors would watch, shouting advice at them, especially if one of us tried to run away. If we lost, we... They'd...”

  He couldn't get the rest of the words out of his throat. I sighed and squeezed his shoulder a little harder. “Look, why don't you‒”

  “I wrote letters,” he said abruptly, “asking to go home. The rectors never sent them. They read them to each other and laughed as they threw them in the fire. If they caught anybody trying to sneak a message out, they'd only train us harder. All of us.”

  “If your parents had known‒”

  “It wouldn't have changed a thing!” He shook me off and turned away. “I'm the youngest of five. Five! I have a battalion of older brothers, and they're all healthy and strong. That's why my parents sent me away to squire in the first place.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes filled with bitter, impotent rage. “I haven't seen my mother or my father in six years, Byren. Tell me what that means.”

  I shrugged. “Best I can do is buy you a drink.”

  “God, yes.” Some of the tension bled out of him. He blinked against the rain and scrubbed his face with it, pushing his hair back. “Please.”

  My purse offered up a silver lady, and I flipped it into the air. Faro caught it. The heavy coin was big enough to fill his palm. “Enjoy. You owe me another falcon.”

  He chuckled, “I think it's treason to use these in Kingsport.”

  “Save it, then. It might come in handy someday.” I started down the long, winding road from the Twins into town. And stopped, and looked back, knowing I'd probably regret it. “Are you coming?”