“That will be fine,” he decided. “I’ll go downstairs and have breakfast with them, and tell them that you removed the stitches from my hip. Then I’ll go to an armory today to start practicing.”
“Don’t let me force myself on you,” Lucretia said sourly.
“Lucretia,” he said as he sat up. “You don’t know how many days and nights I thought about you, Lucretia; I missed you so much, after spending just one day knowing you. You are my friend and my dream, and I will protect you. Come back here every night, and let me know if ever you decide you want to return to Center Trunk.” He stood up as well and pulled on his pants, then led the way to the door.
“I remember when we parted that morning in Center Trunk. You said we’d meet again – it was the very last thing you said,” Lucretia looked at him with softer eyes that he had seen in her face since their unexpected reunion. “I thought about that after I was captured, and I wished so hard that we had met again.”
They left together, then went down separate stairways – Kestrel down the public stairs, thumping them with his staff as he went, while Lucretia discretely slipped down the servant’s way.
He stopped at the base of the stairs and collected his thoughts, which had been overwhelmingly focused on Lucretia. Her spirit was nearly broken. Only her decision to stay among the humans and help him spy made him believe that some spark of the lively personality he had known before had remained. The pain and trauma and humiliation she had gone through must have been horrific, and he felt a wish to find revenge for her.
The best revenge he could achieve on behalf of Lucretia would be to do his job well. If he could pass along enough information to allow the elves to successfully defend themselves against the next human attack, he would succeed. If he could determine what the forces of Uniontown were truly seeking to achieve, and learn what would be needed to counteract them, he would be more successful. If he could simply return Lucretia to Center Trunk, and see that she was dosed with water from the healing spring, so that her body– at least – could quickly heal, that would be a success.
With one last deep breath, he turned the corner and entered the dining room. Creata was there, along with Margo. Good morning,” he said briskly, hoping it sounded cheerful. “Where are the others?” he asked.
“Philip has already eaten and left – which is much too ambitious this early in the morning, in my opinion,” Creata said. “Picco is not downstairs yet, and isn’t likely to be for some time.
“And how was your evening?” the host asked, ignoring the presence of Margo in the room. “You don’t look too scratched or bruised.”
“My evening was fine,” Kestrel answered. “The slave girl removed the stitches from my hip, which I appreciated. The elves had such slender, delicate fingers they’re well-suited to those types of activities,” he said. “Now I’d like to learn if there’s an armory nearby where I can go start practicing to get back into shape?” He asked as he picked up a toasted bread roll and began to eat.
“There’s one around the corner, a gentleman’s club. If you tell them you’re my house guest, you’ll be admitted,” Creata replied. “Although it’s too early in the day for that type of thing too. Am I surrounded by ambitious men?” he cried in a mock tragic voice.
“Good morning, Margo,” Kestrel spoke to the girl across the table. “How are you today? What are your plans?”
She looked up at him, startled at having been spoken to, though perhaps pleased by the attention it seemed, or maybe not – he couldn’t tell. “When Picco rises and is ready, we’re going to the promenade to meet friends and see who else is in town,” she replied.
“Ah yes, the promenade,” Creata interjected. “You’ll find out that we were virtually the last ones to return for the season. You’ll find plenty of young ladies gracefully strolling and meeting one another, as well as all of the young men there to look at the young ladies who are strolling and meeting,” he said reassuringly, as Kestrel finished his roll and drank a glass of juice.
Kestrel stood. “Which direction do I go out the door to find the armory, left or right?” he asked, holding onto his staff.
“The gods themselves are hardly awake, and you people are filled with energy and activity!” Creata cried. “If you must go, turn left out the door, and go around the corner to ‘The Participant’; it has a pair of crossed swords above the door.”
Kestrel thanked him and left the room. He went down the hall, keeping his eye open for Lucretia, but caught no sight of her before he was out the door and limping down the street. He rounded the corner in just a few minutes, and saw the swords above the doorway of an elegant-appearing building; inside though, he found that despite the refined exterior, the interior was redolent with the typical, unmistakable atmosphere of a place where men played and sweated profusely. He was quickly admitted as Creata’s guest, and found that a trainer was available to work with him, since so few other clients were in the building in the morning hours.
His trainer was a crusty veteran former member of the Graylee guard, a man who had carried a sword for more than three decades, and who said little, but made his few comments about handling weapons accurate and to the point. “You won’t do yourself much good practicing sword work until that hip is stronger and your stride is fluid again. “Let’s go to the archery range for the next few days; you can work on your mechanics with the bow and not strain your injury.”
“That would be easier,” Kestrel agreed. “But I’m not looking for easy. I want to work on what I need to work on, and that’s the sword, injured or not. So let’s go ahead and strap on the pads and get to work.”
The trainer looked at Kestrel in startled surprise. “You’re not a typical member of the nobility, are you?” he asked with a hint of respect for the self-discipline Kestrel voiced.
“No,” Kestrel shook his head. And so Kestrel and Mills, the Graylee trainer, began training with swords that morning. Mills mercilessly attacked Kestrel in the beginning of their exercise, taking advantage of his immobility, but as Kestrel withstood the punishment without any sign of quitting, the trainer’s respect for him increased, and they settled into sparring that focused on improving Kestrel’s mechanics, which had grown rusty over the course of his winter months without sword work. After the sword work, Kestrel working on throwing knives, regular knives without enchantments upon them, and finally he went to the attic, where the archery range was aligned in a manner that allowed it to extend the full length of the building. He shot his arrows down the long, narrow vistas between the rafters, and was able to hit the targets with ease.
He did not return to Creata’s house until well past lunch time, sweaty and sore. Only Philip was home when he arrived. “You look like you’ve been beaten against the rocks,” Philip assessed. “Creata moaned about the fact that you had shown such a nasty productive streak and gone to practice weapons. Was it a good workout?” he asked with a smile.
“It was,” Kestrel grinned in return. “And how was your ‘early’ business this morning? Creata doesn’t seem to believe that anything should be accomplished before noon.”
“Creata’s little different from most of our friends in the nobility in that regard, but his heart is really good, and he’s coming to see some things differently. The difference between Margo and me and them is that our father raised us to try to be productive, to add to the world, not just idly sit back and consume the bounties of others,” Philip said.
“That’s why I was visiting with my father’s factor to review theaccounts for the crops we sold last fall. Tomorrow I’ll go make arrangements for seed for a new crop to be sent to our estate,” he explained. “I’m going to the promenade; do you want me to wait for you?”
“No thanks,” Kestrel instantly replied. “I’m going to go soak in a hot bath tub.”
“Well, you go relax now, but be ready for this evening’s festivities. We’ll be going to Clarce’s house for dinner,” Philip informed him, then was out the door and on his way.
>
Kestrel stumped slowly up the stairs to his room, where he turned on the water in his tub, and lay back in the warmth to relax, when his bedroom door opened without a knock, and Lucretia limped into the room.
“You could knock,” Kestrel said in a tired voice as he closed his eyes again and lay back.
“That would spoil the story I’m peddling among the help, that you are besotted with me and want me at your beck and call every moment you’re in the house,” she said as she pulled a stool over beside the tub and sat down.
“There’s a lot of talk about you,” Lucretia told him. “A surprising amount for someone who’s been here less than a full day.”
“The maids all repeat what they overhear their owners say. That leaks out from house to house after a while, when the help meets at the market or out strolling or whatever,” she said.
“What do they say about me?” Kestrel asked.
“You killed a yeti; you lived with gnomes – they may think you have gnome children!– especially since you slept with an elf the first chance you got, you’d probably sleep with a gnome; you killed an entire gang of robbers at once, singlehandedly; you’re a barbarian from the north, to be handled with care,” Lucretia repeated random bits. “I can say that most of it comes close to what you told me yourself last night.
“They didn’t repeat anything from Picco about killing the men in red, the ones from Uniontown?” Kestrel asked.
“Not a word of it,” Lucretia replied.
“Well bless her discretion,” he murmured. “How are you today? Any ramifications from our night together?”
“They’ve been gentle with me today; I don’t know if they think I deserve a break after spending time with you, or if they fear me for spending time with you,” she answered. “Where have you been all day, getting beaten up? You look exhausted”
“I went to the armory around the corner and practiced weapons,” he answered. “And now I’m told I have to go out tonight to a dinner at someone’s home.”
“Just wear a scowl and appear threatening, so that you live up to the reputation you’re earning,” Lucretia told him. She rose from her stool. “I wish I could hold a weapon and practice it – I wish I could use one!” she said wistfully.
“I have to get back to work,” she announced.
“Lucretia,” Kestrel reached out and took her hand. “Do you really want to stay here? I can send you back to Center Trunk at any time, you know.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ve only thought about that fifty times today! The very thought that I can leave now gives me the strength to stay. But if you’re here trying to do something important, and if I can help you succeed, I’ll stay here as long as I can.” She let go of his hand and slipped out of the room.
Kestrel remained in the tub, feeling the water slowly grow cool, and thinking about Lucretia. He couldn’t stand to think that his presence was perversely causing her to choose to remain in such horrible circumstances. She was a valuable asset to have in place from his perspective as a spy, offering a useful set of eyes and ears; but more importantly, she was a friend, and she was the literal embodiment of what motivated him to take on this distasteful task of lying and dissembling. He hoped she would stay, and he hoped she would go, and he couldn’t resolve the conflict in his heart.
He realized that he needed to start moving, and had just climbed out of the tub whenthere was a knock on the door. “Who is it? Come in,” he called out, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist, when a maid entered the room.
“Pardon me sir,” she took one look at him, began to blush, then focused her eyes on the floor at her feet, and came no more than one step inside the doorway. “Miss Picco urges you to hurry so you won’t be late for the dinner.”
“Please tell her I’m just getting dressed now,” Kestrel said, realizing that he had left the marks on his chest exposed for the maid to see if she had bothered to glance. “Thank you, you’re dismissed.”
With an internal berating of himself for exposing his marks, Kestrel quickly pulled on clothes, then took up his staff and hurried downstairs. The sky outside the windows was already turning red in the sunset, and only Picco sat in the parlor. “I told the others to go on without us,” she said “I promised that I would hustle you along promptly.”
“I think the last time you and I went out together we both came back injured,” Kestrel smiled. “This might not be a good idea!”
“That’s just what Philip pointed out!” Picco laughed. “I told him that we were much safer in the city than we were in the country, and not to worry.
“Do you have anything better than that to wear?” she asked.
Kestrel looked down at the plain clothes he wore, given to him by Philip’s father. “No,” he said bluntly, as they opened the door and walked outside.
“Tomorrow, Margo and I will take you shopping to get some new outfits; Do gentlemen wear outfits, or do you just wear clothes and suits and robes?” she asked rhetorically.
“Let’s go right after breakfast,” Kestrel suggested, wanting to get such chores out of the way so that he could return to the armory to work out.
“Right after your breakfast or my breakfast?” Picco asked. “There’s a considerable difference, you know.”
“I was thinking of the breakfast Margo and I ate,” he told her with a grin as they turned a corner.
“Oh dear,” she replied. “I’ll have trouble climbing out of bed that early, but I’ll try.
“Speaking of which,” she said in a tentative voice, then paused.
“Yes?” Kestrel asked.
“You slept with the elf girl last night?” Picco stated.
“I did,” Kestrel answered calmly, though surprised by the directness of the question. “And I plan to tonight as well.”
“Are you…I didn’t take you as someone like that,” Picco looked down at the ground as they walked.
“It is part of who I am,” he answered. “Remember, I just came out of the mountains; aside from you and Margo, I haven’t seen a woman in months.”
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Picco said, and Kestrel felt a bolt of shame run through his soul for choosing to adopt such a callous appearance. “Well, here we are,” she stopped them in front of a set of stairs that led to the ornate entrance to an ostentatious house that was well lit, and obviously occupied.
Inside the front door they were met by a servant, and then met by a swarm of young men and women who had been expecting Picco, and Kestrel to a lesser degree– Picco because they knew her, Kestrel because they had heard about him. The night was a long one for Kestrel, who was constantly greeted by the peers of his acquaintances, who remarked upon his reputation for battle skills, and he accepted several offers to practice weapons with young men upon his hip healing fully. No one seemed to consider him capable of any discussion beyond weapons; he was both bored and relieved that he didn’t have to discuss anything further.
Late that night, he whispered in Picco’s ear that he was going to return home, then slipped out after receiving a nod and a buss on the cheek. The party was still in active mode, with virtually all the other guests present, but Kestrel felt tired, his hip felt sore, and he was anxious to see Lucretia again. The journey back to the house was not long, but Kestrel was glad to enter the door and climb the stairs up to his room, where Lucretia already lay in his bed, awaiting him.
They talked that night of their childhoods, and both fell asleep comfortably. Kestrel awoke first, and went down to breakfast, only to discover that he was the only non-servant already out of bed. He ate a hasty, simple breakfast, then left the house and went to the armory, where he worked out with Mills again. He did better, he felt, and his hip was stronger as well, he believed. Few others came in to the building, the majority of the clientele apparently as worn out by the party as Kestrel’s friends were, so he and Mills worked endlessly without interruption until nearly mid-afternoon.
“You’ve about worn me out, boy,” Mi
lls said as they put their weapons back on the racks. “And there’s not many who aren’t in the guard who can do that. I suppose I’ll see you again tomorrow?” he asked.
“As early as I can be here,” Kestrel answered with a handshake, and then he was on his way back to the house, where Picco was not only up, but waiting for him, along with Margo. She scolded him pleasantly for his too-early depart, and his too-late return, which was costing the two girls valuable time at the promenade. After a hasty bath Kestrel was escorted by both girls to a tailor shop where he was sized, and after considerable disagreement between Picco and himself, fabrics were selected.
“You’ll be as boring as my great uncle Remus,” Picco had said of his basic, dark clothes.
“You’ll make me look as ridiculous as a dancing monkey on the street,” he had countered regarding her bright clothes preferences.
With compromises made, the girls went on to the promenade, and Kestrel left their company, despite Picco’s insistence that he must come to the promenade. In the end he made the promise to join them after he had his new clothes and his hip was better.
And after that, he slowly settled into a routine the next several days of working out for most of each day at the armory, then joining the others from his house in going to parties around the town, sometimes walking and sometimes traveling in carriages. His hip grew steadily stronger, and he continued to sleep with Lucretia, without intimacy, but always giving each other comfort with their presence together. And he thought about her a great deal during the day, when they were apart.
She wasn’t truly gathering much information for him; he was hearing more on his own, at the armory and at the parties. None of it was substantial, but he was developing connections among the crowd of youthful nobles he was exposed to. Despite the fact that they kept her hair shaved off, and despite the long, angry scars that disfigured her lovely face, Kestrel only saw her as the beautiful elf maiden he had first met in Center Trunk, the one who had seem so cool and collected at first introduction, and who had then seemed so full of life when they had eaten together and talked after the first day of the tournament.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 11