Lionhearts

by Nathan Makaryk

  “Oh my.” Magdalena put a hand to her breast. “I didn’t mean … that is, of course I, too, hoped you would fully recover.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” Marion realized her rudeness. “I didn’t mean to … thank you.”

  The countess smirked. “You didn’t mean to thank me?”

  “No—not … I meant—”

  “I’m teasing you. I shouldn’t, I know. You must be exhausted.” Lady Magdalena reached out and fussed at Marion’s clothing, the firelight making a haggard skull of her features. She had a sharp nose and bright eyes, the muscles in her cheeks well defined. “Would you prefer to return to bed? There is an hour still, I think, before dawn. We have preparations well underway.”

  “I am quite fine, you are too kind.”

  “Some of your companions arrived a few hours after you. We realized your situation is more dire than you described. So we … set to work.” The countess brushed her hands off, presenting the courtyard proudly.

  While Marion had slept. It was practically freezing outside, and yet so many people had labored regardless. She searched for familiar faces—within the central tent were a few shapes that might have been the Delaney brothers, and a smaller frame with a mess of curly locks …

  Arable.

  Marion sighed in frustration. “I should help with the preparations.”

  “Walk with me.” The countess slipped a gloved hand through Marion’s arm and gently drew her away. Marion could hardly deny her, in the face of her formidable generosity. “I find the cold air a relief on weary mornings such as this. Here.” She swooped her hand down to pull a pair of cloaks from a nearby bundle, and offered one to Marion.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes lingered on the bundle. Piles of blankets, boots, shawls. They must have collected every last available item within the castle and beyond. The sheer goodness of it was overwhelming. “I feel terrible.”

  “Still?” Magdalena stopped. “Perhaps you ought to return to bed.”

  “No, I meant…” Marion shook her head, frustrated with her own lack of clarity.

  “Oh, forget your apologies.” Magdalena pulled the fur’s hood on, and pushed them through an open archway of the first square keep by the Heart Tower’s bridge. Inside was a staircase that took them up to the long battlement that wrapped all the way around the great bailey, one continuous stone path that eventually terminated at the second square tower adjacent to them. “You were in such a state when you arrived, Lady Marion. I’ll have some of the men begin heating water for a bath for you.”

  “No, please.” Marion fidgeted, uncomfortable with the attention. She would happily be rid of the title of Lady, if that was the reason the countess seemed so insistent on entertaining her. “That’s not necessary.”

  The countess shrugged and drew them onto the open walkway. With so much commotion below, it was largely unmanned—save for a few sentinels in the arrowhouses that divided the walkway into regular segments.

  “We saved a plate for you from dinner,” she continued. There was an edge to her syllables now. “I could have my cook prepare something hot instead.”

  Marion hesitated, unsure how to react. She felt rude to continually deny the countess’s offers. “No,” she answered, quietly. “Thank you.”

  “It would be his pleasure, he adores the art of it, you know? Cooking, that is.”

  But Lady Magdalena continued along, forcing Marion to follow. It was not the clearest of skies, but the moon had found a healthy opening between swollen clouds to bathe them in a soft glow. Below, the inky shape of the Great Ouse snaked its way beside them, around the circumference of the castle. A jagged curtain wall of sheared timber nestled its base, and Marion considered with horror the damage it would do to a body, were one unfortunate enough to tumble from the walkway.

  “This is beautiful,” Marion said, “but I am eager to get to work.”

  “Are you? I should warn you that it is exhausting.” At this the countess stopped, and bore her eyes into Marion’s. “Are you certain you don’t wish to lie down a while longer while we figure out how to accommodate your people?”

  Marion’s throat tightened. “As I said, I feel terrible.”

  “That must be so taxing on you, to feel so terrible. Perhaps you ought to lie down.”

  That was clear enough. The countess was making a point, and Marion very much deserved it. “Countess Magdalena, I cannot apologize enough. I’m afraid I have given you a most wretched impression—”

  “No, stop it.” She waved away the moment as if it were a joke. “Consider it forgotten, it was my rudeness to mention it. I apologize to you.” She thrust her head into the wind as if impervious to its chill, while Marion had to pull her own cloak tighter. Not that any shawl could ease her sense of discomfort now.

  The countess kept a painfully slow pace, as if there were not a thousand concerns to be addressed, on display for them in the bowl of the courtyard within the curtain wall. Marion followed in a wide-eyed stupor, full of a child’s dread of impending punishment.

  “Hm. Your sworn man must be well paid.”

  Marion turned to notice Sir Amon, keeping step with them below by walking the perimeter of the courtyard.

  “He seems intent on catching you, should you stumble from the battlement.”

  “Sir Amon Swift is a godsend,” Marion answered. “And very dutiful.”

  “Dutiful,” Lady Magdalena repeated, with an affected taste of idle gossip. “I believe you misspoke, the man is beautiful. Surely you cannot complain about having such a pretty thing waiting upon you every day? Anxious to fulfill your … every command?”

  Marion might have laughed at the implication, if the question did not feel like an interrogation. “I assure you he has sworn his sword to my father in my defense, and no more.”

  The countess’s entire body perked up. “I knew it.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Don’t be coy.” Magdalena flashed a vibrant smile over her shoulder. “Your knight’s secret is safe here. I see where his eyes land. You are an attractive young woman, but you don’t seem to have … exactly what he’s looking for.”

  Marion stiffened. That answer was not Marion’s secret to share. She had long felt rotten that her own infamy carved a path for Amon’s rumors to follow him. “I’m sure it’s not my concern.”

  A few moments passed in which the countess seemed to expect more, but she let the subject drop. “As you wish. I should also compliment your companion, who arrived after you. The girl with the scars. Arable … Arable de Ravelle? Was that her name?”

  Marion made a noise that was not an affirmation, but neither was it denial.

  “Arable doesn’t seem to have a single stitch of her body that is worried about herself so long as there is work to do. She has proven herself more than competent in a very short amount of time.”

  Marion wasn’t proud of the bitter little ball of jealousy that suddenly formed in her gut, but she could not pretend it was not hers to own. “Yes, she is a remarkable young woman.”

  “She is. I just remarked upon her.”

  If the countess was trying to agitate her, that struck her core. Marion had said something similar to Robin once, when he called her remarkable. It was a cold knife in her chest now, which she could not hide.

  The countess noticed her pause. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” Marion lied.

  Magdalena stopped. They had come halfway around the circumference of the great bailey, and at last she dropped her pretense of civility. “Why didn’t you accept my offer of a bath and a hot meal?”

  “I don’t know what you want to hear from me.” Marion practically collapsed. “Your hospitality is enormous, and I am ashamed of myself for having wasted the last few hours.”

  “You didn’t accept them,” Lady Magdalena ignored Marion’s response, “because you knew you did not deserve them.”

  “Yes. As you say.”

  “You were weak, and my husband took pity upon you, and we to
ok care of you. While others, who had equal reason to be as weak as you, toiled on. Those who are the strongest have received the least reward, whilst we have pampered those that could not carry their own.”

  Marion struggled to contain her reaction. “With all respect, I think you have worded that unkindly.”

  “The rest of your people that arrive tomorrow, they have had a difficult time in the last few months, on account of the taxes and the ransom, no? Not more difficult than anyone else, though, is it? Chancellor Longchamp did not make them pay double, did he? For a generation, Huntingdon has carefully picked partnerships and business ventures that prevent any single catastrophe from sinking us. We’ve endured difficulties here as well, by no small feat, mind you. We chose sacrifice and parsimony—while you made other choices, reckless choices. And now we take on the weak, because my husband feels charitable. While you sleep and recuperate, we work doubly hard to take care of you … well, there is no doubt that you are the better for it. But what exactly is the benefit for us?”

  Every word of it was true, and Marion had no more ways to apologize. “We will earn our keep, I promise, and repay this kindness.”

  Magdalena scoffed. “My husband tells me you are ever pragmatic, so perhaps you can answer for me. Remove yourself from the situation. Not everyone can succeed in life, regrettably. Is it wiser to help those who have failed, or to help those who can thrive? When your own survival is dependent on the outcome, where do you place your wager?”

  Marion bowed her head. She knew the answer. She knew they offered Huntingdon nothing, she knew that any sensible person would have turned them away for the dead weight they were. “I’m sorry you find our presence so displeasing,” her voice creaked out. “Lord Robert assured me we would be most welcome. If that is not so…”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Marion.” The countess calmed her. “No one would be so cruel as to turn a group such as yours away, especially with them practically upon us. Unless they carry disease, of course. I was speaking extemporaneously. I’m sure my husband will uphold any promises you two have made each other.”

  “What?” Marion stumbled slightly and whipped around. “No, Countess…”

  Such a thought had never occurred to her, but it suddenly explained the Lady Magdalena’s tempered hostility. Marion laughed now, relieved to realize this animosity was nothing more than a misunderstanding.

  “I am so sorry, I never thought about how this might look to you. Little wonder that you have been so sharp with me! I swear, I have no intention whatsoever of … abusing a relationship with your husband. That was never a thought—you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  Lady Magdalena froze, her jaw literally dropped.

  Marion twitched. “Countess?”

  She bristled, unhinged. “I have legitimate alarm for the welfare of my people, of our limited resources, of the dangerous precedent of opening our gates to a host of unknown strangers—criminals, actually—who bring a very real threat to our household for harboring your acts of terror,” she breathed in deep, that she might spit out the rest, “and you assume that my issue with you is over a man?”

  Spiders crawled all over Marion’s skin. “I didn’t—” she gasped uselessly, but Magdalena bore down into her again.

  “I am the Countess of Huntingdon and I bear every responsibility of that title. I have educated many men who thought a woman too weak for command, but you are no better than any of them.” Marion shrank. “I am neither my father’s daughter nor my husband’s wife. I am myself, and that is reason enough to respect me.”

  Marion stammered to respond. She had borne the sieges of misogyny her entire life, starting from an age so young she believed they were true. For every accomplishment she ever won, it was always sidled with the dubious caveat of being impressive for a woman.

  “You are right!” Marion blurted out, desperate to be understood. “You are absolutely right, I did not mean to imply any of that. As you say, we both of us are women who have worked hard to be respected. We should be working together, rather than squabbling.”

  “Ha!” Lady Magdalena took another step back. “And how is that any less insulting? Do all men agree with each other based on the fact they all have cocks? My issue with you, Lady Outlaw, is that you bring danger and carelessness and bad politics into my home. It is no more complicated than that. I told you this plainly and to your face, but somehow you thought I was talking to the slit between your legs.”

  Marion closed up and turned away. “I think it would be best if I left now.”

  “No.”

  The words stopped her.

  “You had every opportunity to come tonight and be impressive, to work hard and intelligently. But instead you seem intent on making the very worst impression you can. Do you think I’m being unfair?”

  “I…” Marion’s mouth opened and closed again, futilely. “I am at your mercy. If you don’t want us here, then I don’t know that we will survive. You have every right to be unfair to us, and we’ll accept it.”

  The countess tipped her head back. “Would you prefer that I trust you?”

  “I was hoping we could earn that trust.”

  “Then you should not have lied to me.”

  Marion’s heart hammered in her chest, another wave of guilt washed through her body. “When did I lie to you?”

  “Arable de Burel,” Magdalena enunciated quite clearly, “is working very hard to make your arrangement work, and for her sake I welcome your people tonight. You should thank her. Why lie to me about her name, if you want me to trust you?”

  Marion closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Her secrets are her own. I hope you can respect that.”

  The chill of the wind cut in deep now, slicing in from the west, whipping the bannerettes over the wall into a frenzy. The Great Ouse lounged away to the south, and the pitiful little spring they called the Cook’s Backwater branched off and below them, under the castle’s only entrance.

  One great river, strong and permanent, and the other an insolent distraction to it.

  “I can tell you exactly how you will contribute.” The countess’s voice was indistinguishable from a far-off rolling thunder. “You’ll do as I demand, when I demand, without question.”

  Marion, for the first time since leaving, missed Will Scarlet very much.

  “Do you have anything specific in mind?” she asked.

  “I’m certain, with enough time, you’ll be able to decipher the meaning of the phrase without question?”

  Like any good maid, Marion shut her mouth.

  The lady of Huntingdon leveled her eyes on her. “You were leaving.”

  “Countess.” Marion curtsied.

  “Outlaw.”

  She rushed to the stairs that descended back down to the courtyard, glancing at Sir Amon below as he worked to keep time with her. From behind, Lady Magdalena spoke just loudly enough that they both might hear her. “And don’t bring your pervert inside the castle grounds again. He is to stay outside our walls.”

  Marion was shocked. “What?”

  “You heard me. I don’t like the way he eyes my men.”

  Marion was defenseless. She couldn’t fight back, she owed everything to Huntingdon. She swallowed the last remnants of her pride and bowed her head. “I’ll see to it.”

  SIXTEEN

  ARTHUR A BLAND

  NOTTINGHAM

  IN THE MIDDLE OF the night, Arthur startled violently awake to a strange weight on his chest. It was Zinn’s crooked little head, tapping him with her chin.

  “Wake up, Grumbles.” She flicked the long half of her hair against his face. “Come get what you came for.”

  Arthur briefly wondered whether he could punch her face all the way through to the back of her skull, or if it were made out of some gargoyle stone that would just break his knuckles.

  Scarlet and David were instantly ready, but it took some amount of work to pull Stutely from a groggy slumber. Eventually Zinn touched a finger to her lips a
nd they left the room, descending the narrow wooden stairs that vomited them back into Nottingham’s streets.

  The city was unusually still this night, quieter than Arthur would’ve expected. And darker. With buildings on either side to smother the barely-light of the night sky, he found himself navigating by looking up at the ghostly shapes of the rooftops around them. Zinn didn’t backtrack or try to confuse them this time. She made a direct path, keeping to the sides of the streets and through the cracks between buildings whenever possible.

  “This is good,” David’s voice squeaked.

  “Stop saying ‘this is good,’” Arthur whispered. “Every time you say, ‘this is good,’ you start to worry me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s called a liar’s nail,” Will Scarlet answered, keeping pace beside them.

  “What’s a liar’s nail?” David asked.

  “It’s you, saying ‘this is good, this is good,’” Arthur said.

  Will chuckled and followed. “When you’re trying too hard to convince someone of a lie, you keep repeating it. Someone who tells you the same thing over and over, they’re probably lying about it. Someone who tells the truth tends to only say it once.”

  David humphed absently.

  “So it is a lie?” Arthur asked.

  “No.” Will breathed in long, slowly. “This is good.”

  Arthur exhaled a sigh of relief. It was still absolutely fucking beyond him how anyone who’d followed Marion thought traveling to Huntingdon was the better idea. An unfamiliar county where they had no allies, knew nothing, had no backup plans—all on the rumor of a promise from some fool lord none of them had ever met. It had taken longer than expected, but Will’s plan was the one bearing fruit. And if these Lions indeed had someone planted within the Guard, that was worth its weight in gold. Huntingdonshire was a fantasy, while Nottinghamshire was home. They knew the lands, they knew where they were wanted and where they weren’t, they knew how the Nottingham Guard operated, they had history. That was the difference between Arthur and—somehow—everyone else in the entire fucking world. Arthur believed in things he could touch, things that he knew, things that were certain.