by Jasmine Walt
Tariel blushed. “I did not mean to get you injured,” she said, taking a step forward. She lifted her right arm, and Riann noticed the small pouch she clutched in her delicate hand. “I thought perhaps I could tend to your wound to make up for my oversight.”
Riann clenched his jaw as a wave of desire rippled through him. The thought of Tariel touching his bare skin sent tingles racing through him, and he could already feel his cock begin to harden.
Tariel mistook his reaction and backed up a step. “I did not mean any offense—”
He caught her by the wrist before she could continue her retreat. “No offense taken,” he said gently. “Come, you can tend to me over here.”
Riann led Tariel to a bench in the shadows, where they could not be seen from the castle. As Tariel sat down next to him, the wind played in her hair, bringing him the scent of lilacs and sunshine. He forced himself to hold very still as she rolled up the sleeve of his tunic and exposed the hastily applied bandage.
“Tsk, tsk.” Tariel clucked her tongue as she peeled it off. “They didn’t even apply a poultice. Thankfully, it is not as bad as it looked.”
“I got lucky,” Riann said as she cleaned and dressed the wound using fresh supplies she’d brought in her pouch. The sensation of her soft fingers against his skin did strange and wonderful things to him, and he had to shift in his seat to hide the evidence of his arousal from her. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, but even if he’d rolled in the hay yesterday his reaction would be the same today. Tariel had always had a powerful effect on him.
“No thanks to me,” she said ruefully as she finished applying the bandage. She smoothed the cloth over his arm, her gaze softening as she looked up at him. “I should not have come to see you today, but I have had a horrid morning, and I wanted to look upon something bright and beautiful.”
Her forthright words startled Riann. “I have been called many things,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile, “but beautiful has not been one of them.”
“Handsome, then.” She smiled back, then lifted her hand, as if she were about to touch his face. When she hesitated, Riann grabbed her hand and pressed it against the stubble of his jawline, savoring the sensation of her warm palm against his flesh. His blood raced through his veins as Tariel licked her lips, and his own began to tingle.
“I know it was a mistake to kiss you in the garden that day,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But—”
Tariel suddenly withdrew, jumping to her feet. Riann was about to protest, but then a gardener came around the corner, a pair of pruning shears in his hand.
“Thank you for answering my question, Sir Riann,” Tariel said quickly, inclining her head. “Good day to you.”
Riann cursed under his breath as he watched her go. Every instinct in his body roared at him to race after her…but he could not. With no lands or wealth to his name, he could ill afford to support a woman, never mind one as lovely as Tariel. It was time for him to stop deluding himself that the woman of his dreams would ever be within his reach.
3
There were fewer sounds more soothing to Calrain than the scratch of quill on parchment. The sound filled his endless days and nights as he copied manuscripts and illuminated pages, transcribed letters, and performed the various other duties required of him as a scribe.
But as he sat at his small desk in the castle clerk’s office, the only sound in the room was the snores of his master, Brother Tersen, as he napped on a chair in the corner with a bottle of brandy clutched to his chest.
It was not the snores that kept Calrain from his work. He was used to his master sleeping on the job. Though Tersen was a member of the Brothers of Roisen, who were supposed to live quiet, pious lives, he often spent late nights with a bottle of brew, and was rarely conscious for more than a few hours a day. Ever since Calrain was old enough, Brother Tersen had been more than happy to dump as much work as possible on him while he used his desk as a pillow. His incessant snores had become background noise to Calrain. It was nice to not have his master constantly looking over his shoulder.
No, what had captured Calrain’s attention had nothing to do with his master, and everything to do with the pretty, dark girl who had faced off briefly with the Captain of the Guard. He had viewed the entire exchange from the tiny window in front of his desk, and though he could not hear what had transpired, it was obvious what had happened. Tariel, like so many other girls in Castle Tyrook, had gone to sneak a glimpse of the knights training in the courtyard, and had been unceremoniously chased off.
He couldn’t blame Tariel for being interested in the knights. It was only natural—they were strong and handsome, and their shining armor and powerful bodies drew attention wherever they went. He wished he could get half as much attention, but as he was shut up in this dusty old study day and night, toiling away for little pay and no thanks, it was little wonder that none of the girls knew his name.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he admitted to himself as he finally turned his attention back to his work. Dipping his quill in the ink, he pressed the tip to the creamy page and carefully formed the letters on the page he was copying. Tariel knew who he was. The two of them had been close once, as children, back when he’d first come to the castle. As an orphan who had been taken in by the Brotherhood, he’d been sent to Castle Tyrook to apprentice under Brother Tersen. Back then, Brother Tersen had not been such a drunkard, and Calrain had been allowed more free time as a child. It wasn’t long before he and Tariel had become friends, stealing away to play in one of the dusty, neglected storage rooms.
It was in that storage room he had taught Tariel how to read and write—a skill forbidden to women in Fjordland. A thrill still went through him every time he thought about those fraught days, full of excitement and danger, when he’d snuck books, parchment, and writing implements down to the storage room for their lessons. No, it was not the same as mounting a horse and riding off to battle or adventure, but Calrain had risked his life all the same for the bewitching girl who had so easily wrapped him around her finger.
A knock at the door interrupted his musings. “Come in,” he called, turning his chair to face his visitor.
His mood lifted a little as Riann entered. He towered over Calrain, who instinctively rose to his feet, not wanting to be completely dwarfed. The heavy armor he’d been wearing in the courtyard was gone, and instead he wore a blue-gray doublet, trousers, and knee-high boots. The mark of Roisen—a falcon with three lightning bolts jutting from its body—was emblazoned on his broad chest, and his shaggy blond hair flew freely around his shoulders, no longer encumbered by his helmet.
He could see why Tariel lusted after Riann, but did his best to push aside the flash of jealousy he felt. It wasn’t as if Riann was in any better position than Calrain. If not even the wealthy merchants and lords who had asked for Tariel’s hand had succeeded, what chance did either of them have? The dreams he and Tariel had shared when they had been children had been ground into dust by the hands of time, and the two of them were just as bound by convention as anyone else.
“Sir Riann,” he said, inclining his head in greeting. “Do you wish to send another letter to your sister?”
Riann gave him a lopsided smile. “You know me too well. We got paid today, so I’d like to get the letter out as quickly as possible.”
Calrain nodded. Riann was one of the best fighters in the castle, but also one of the poorest knights, as he sent all his money off to his sister, a single woman with a small child living in Marston. She’d been thrown out of her family’s house after a visiting lord had raped and impregnated her, and without Riann’s money she would have starved to death.
Riann pulled a small coin out of his pocket to pay for the transcription, but Calrain shook his head. “There is no need to pay me,” he said. “I know how little of your salary you keep for yourself.”
Riann frowned. “But you must take it. I cannot accept your charity.”
&n
bsp; Calrain thought for a moment. He was slight of frame, especially compared to Riann, but a large part of that was due to his lack of physical activity. “Your coin is not an acceptable form of payment. I require something else.”
Riann raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a sword for hire—”
“I am not looking for a mercenary,” Calrain interrupted. “Just someone to teach me to protect myself.”
Riann stared at him. “Why does a clerk need to wield a sword?”
“Even a clerk can be waylaid by a highwayman,” Calrain pointed out. “Besides, all Brothers of Roisen are supposed to be trained in basic self-defense. If I weren’t stuck out here with…” He glanced toward his master, but Brother Tersen was dead to the world.
Riann laughed. “Yes, I imagine he couldn’t teach you how to so much as hold a knife, never mind wield it against someone. But still, training you in exchange for a single letter seems a steep price indeed.”
“I’ll write unlimited letters for you,” Calrain said quickly. “And I’ll even teach you how to read and write, if you want.”
“Done.” Riann held out a hand, and the two men shook. Calrain hid a wince at the hard squeeze, but he knew Riann wasn’t purposely trying to hurt him. Maybe the training would harden him a bit and make him stronger. How could he hope to impress a girl with these spindly limbs?
“Say,” Riann said as Calrain sat down to transcribe the letter, “why is it that you’re still apprenticing for Brother Tersen anyway? You are old enough to have taken your vows and become a full Brother of Roisen in your own right. You’ve been apprenticing in this office for as long as I can remember.”
“I should have taken my vows two years ago,” Calrain said, “but Brother Tersen keeps pushing back the date. He’d never admit it, but I think he intends to keep me as his apprentice for as long as he can so he can continue to use me as slave labor. If I were a Brother of Roisen, he would have to pay me, and that would cut into his drinking fund.” His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile.
Riann scowled. “I don’t understand why you put up with this arrangement,” he said. “Why not write to the Brotherhood and explain your situation?”
“Sending a letter to complain about my master is never going to be seen in a positive light, no matter how justified the complaint may be,” Calrain said, shaking his head. “It is better to wait.”
Riann shrugged. “As you wish. But at this rate, you may be waiting until Brother Tersen keels over. With all the drinking he does, that could be tomorrow, but it could also be twenty years from now. Are you certain it’s worth it?”
Calrain nodded. The truth burning at his lips, the truth he did not dare speak aloud, was that he wasn’t ready to join the Brotherhood just yet. All members of the Brotherhood swore to remain chaste throughout their lives as part of their vows, and though Calrain had been conditioned for this his entire life, he couldn’t help the raging need in his blood to claim a woman at least once. Preferably Tariel, if he could just work up the courage.
So, no. He wouldn’t press for his vows just yet. He would train, he would write Riann’s letters, and maybe, just maybe, he would get Tariel to see him as more than just the childhood friend who’d taught her to read.
4
I wonder if it is going to be hard to learn to read and write, Riann thought as he left the clerk’s office nearly an hour after arriving. It had taken a bit of time to get the letter right, and he’d spent more time talking with Calrain than he’d expected.
He quite liked the apprentice, and though he was slight of frame, his eyes gleamed with an intelligence that told Riann he was wasted slaving his days away in that tiny clerk’s office with nary a copper to his name. If he were Calrain, he would take his talents to Kalsing and find a wealthy merchant who could pay him handsomely for his abilities.
Thinking of Fjordland’s capital city reminded Riann that in just a few days, he would be leaving to see it for the first time. The thought made his blood race with excitement—he’d been brought to the castle for training when he was seven years old, and in the fourteen years since, he barely had any opportunity for travel or adventure. This would be the first time in his adult life that he would get to see more of Fjordland and finally go to court. All the recent graduates were to be presented to the king, and while he was there, he would get the chance to introduce himself to other nobles, and perhaps find work with a wealthier lord.
Of course, that would mean leaving Tariel behind. A pang of regret hit his heart at the thought of never seeing her lovely face again, but perhaps it was for the better. He would never be able to have her—their encounter earlier had been a painful reminder of that. As the sixth son of a baron he held no titles or wealth, and with nearly all his coin going to his sister, he had nothing to support a wife. Besides, Tariel would be married off soon enough—it was past time for her to take a husband, and Lady Tyrook could not hold out forever.
“There you are,” he crooned as he approached the third stall, where his beloved horse, Namacca, waited patiently. The dappled gray mare whinnied at the sight of him and eagerly devoured the two sugar cubes in his palm. “How are you feeling today, old girl?”
“She’s been doing better lately, sir,” the stable boy said as he approached, his arms laden with various grooming implements. He set them on a workbench as Riann led Namacca out of her stall to brush her coat and give her a proper inspection. “I walked her yesterday and didn’t see no stiffness.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Riann said as he crouched down by his mare’s legs. He ran a hand down her front left leg and gently squeezed her tendon, and she lifted her hoof automatically so he could pick out any stones or debris. Not that he expected to find any since she hadn’t been ridden in a few days, but he always checked anyway. “I’m going to be taking her to the capital soon, so she’ll need all her strength.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but you might start thinking about purchasing a new steed.” The stable boy was small, maybe nine years old, with a freckled face and sandy hair, but he spoke with the confidence and authority of someone who had been around horses all his life. “Namacca is a good mount, but she’s getting close to retirement.”
“I know,” Riann said sadly. He should have retired Namacca years ago, but since he was sending all his money to his sister, he couldn’t afford to buy a new horse. It was a predicament, as a knight could hardly do his job without a sturdy mount. With any luck, he would find an employer in the capital who could pay him more, and perhaps even give him a horse on credit. If he could make even a few more coppers a month, he could save some money, and perhaps even have enough to support a family of his own someday.
He had just finished picking the last hoof when a shadow fell over him.
“Good evening, Sir Riann,” a familiar gruff voice said.
“Captain.” Riann rose to his feet as quickly as he could without startling his mare. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come bearing ill tidings,” the captain said grimly. “I know how much you wanted to come to the capital, but Lord Tyrook just handed down the list of names of those who are permitted to go, and you are not on it.”
The back of Riann’s neck heated with anger. “What do you mean, I’m not on it? I have just as much of a right to be presented to the king as any of the other graduates!”
The captain cleared his throat, an uncomfortable look on his face. “Lord Tyrook worries about leaving the castle undefended during these times of strife,” he said. “He has commanded quite a few men to stay behind.”
“I’d wager none of them are recent graduates, though, are they?” Riann growled. “No, don’t bother,” he said as the captain opened his mouth to speak again. “What’s done is done.” Lord Tyrook never changed his mind about things like this.
The captain clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, boy. You’ll get your chance to visit Kalsing one day. I’ll make sure of it.”
Riann shook his head as he watched the captain d
epart. He would get no such chance, not unless he left Lord Tyrook’s service, and Riann could not afford to do so unless he knew for sure that employment waited for him elsewhere. He knew damn well Lord Tyrook feared another noble would snatch him up after seeing his fighting prowess—that was the real reason he was being held back. His situation was not entirely dissimilar to Calrain’s, now that he thought about it, and a wave of empathy for the poor clerk’s plight filled him.
There must be more to Calrain’s decision, he decided. Some circumstance that made it impossible for him to write to the Brotherhood, just as it was impossible for Riann to leave Lord Tyrook’s service without another source of income waiting. He resolved to ask the clerk about it the next time he saw him, and see if there was something he could do to help.
“Oi, Riann!” Sarian, one of the other newly minted knights, greeted him as he entered the stables. His own steed, a powerful stallion with a golden coat, followed in behind him, his sides lathered with sweat. “Have you heard the news?”
“If you’re referring to my being left behind while the rest of you get to gallivant off to Kalsing, save your breath.” Riann turned back to his horse. He picked up his curry comb and rubbed Namacca’s coat in circular motions. “The captain just informed me.”
“What?” Sarian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re not coming with us?”
“Evidently not.” But Riann softened his tone, as his friend’s shock seemed genuine. “Lord Tyrook believes I’m too valuable to risk sending me to the capital, where a more generous noble might snatch me up.”
“Stingy bastard,” Sarian grumbled. “If he’s so frightened of losing you, he should offer you more pay. Roisen knows with your skills, you deserve it.”
Riann smirked. “Perhaps I’ll ask him for a raise then,” he said, though he wasn’t quite sure if he would. Lord Tyrook was a temperamental old codger. If he was in a good mood, he might simply refuse, but if Riann caught him on a bad day, he might very well find himself out of a job.