by Aiken G. A.
Gemma was more than ready for anything Sprenger could think of tossing at her.
So she lowered her gaze and she waited. Like a good little monk. For the false grand master to do what he planned to do.
“Brother Gemma, it’s so good to have you back,” he began, and Gemma was glad that she had her gaze lowered because she rolled her eyes so hard. “We have missed having you here among us. But I think all of us can admit things have changed since you last graced our humble monastery. And decisions have been made that affect your relationship to the order directly.”
Under her lashes she glanced at Thomassin, now sitting on the dais behind Sprenger. He gave a very small nod, urging her to remain calm and just remember, “yes, yes, yes.”
“Yes,” she replied.
Sprenger smiled as if that was exactly what he wanted to hear, which annoyed her greatly, but she’d promised.
“And after much thoughtful and painful consideration, a decision has been made. Since you are now a princess of Queen Keeley’s court, while the Order of Righteous Valor will be falling under the banner of King Marius . . . it is impossible for you to continue as one of our order.”
Gemma would admit that it took her a considerable amount of time to understand what Sprenger was actually saying to her.
Lifting her gaze, she first looked at Thomassin, Bartholemew, and Brín. Silently and with as little obvious movement as possible, they all frowned and nodded toward her. Wanting her to agree. But she was still a little confused, which horrified her. She’d always considered herself the “smart one” of her family.
She shifted her gaze to Sprenger and asked, “What?”
“What don’t you understand, dear?”
Dear? Did he just call her dear?
“All of it.”
“Oy,” he muttered under his breath. “I forgot about this part of dealing with you.” He cleared his throat and began again. “As of tonight, you will agree to no longer call yourself a monk of the Order of Righteous Valor. Instead, you will simply be Princess Gemma of Queen Keeley’s court. Or, if you’d like, you could find another war monk order somewhere closer to your sister’s queendom. I’m sure several of the elders will be more than happy to write you a glowing recommendation to help you secure a position. This has already been discussed with the grand elders and Master General Ragna. They all believe it is the best course. Now, if you agree, we can finish this conclave, and move on to a delightful evening of feasting—”
“And ale?” Keran called out, ever hopeful. When she realized that now everyone was gawking at her, she raised her hands, palms out, and said, “Sorry. Sorry. Forgot where I was. Sorry.”
“Do you agree to that . . . Your Highness?”
Again, Gemma looked at the three elders. They were no longer trying to be subtle. Instead, they were mouthing, Say yes! Now!
She looked at her travel companions. Quinn and Laila were loudly whispering, “Just say yes. What are you doing?” while Keran was begging, “Please say yes so I can get to a gods-damn pub, woman!” Poor Cadell and Farlan appeared overwhelmingly bored. Samuel said nothing; he appeared . . . terrified. She had no idea if he was afraid she’d say yes or no. He just seemed scared to death. Not that she blamed him.
Gemma glanced at her battle-cohorts and they shrugged, leaving the choice up to her. A decision this momentous had to come from her heart and soul.
Finally, she scanned the crowd for one more person and found her standing at the far side of the dais, simply watching Gemma.
Gemma stared at Ragna but all Ragna did was exactly what she used to do when Gemma was in training and was confused by a question. She just raised that damn eyebrow. Just the one. Her left one. That simple, single move used to irritate Gemma to her very being. To her very core!
And that’s what it did right now. Because that gesture always seemed to say the same thing to her. “Don’t you already know the answer to this question? Must I actually give you the answer? Are you really that worthless?”
She knew that was a lot for one eyebrow to say, but she knew that’s exactly what that one eyebrow was saying to her. And in that moment, in that second, Gemma had her answer.
She returned her gaze to Sprenger. Lifted her chin and with pride said loudly for everyone to hear . . .
“Fuck you!” she bellowed at the grand master of the Order of Righteous Valor. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”
* * *
“This is your fault!” his sister hissed at him.
“How is this my fault?”
“It just is!”
Quinn didn’t know how that was possible, but he was glad Laila had said something. Because if she hadn’t, he would have started laughing. Especially when he’d locked eyes with the master general across the room. He’d never really seen her shocked up to this point, and her shocked face was hilarious. She looked like a startled bird. Her body straightened, her head snapped up, her eyes widened, and she almost smiled. It was as if she’d expected something from Gemma, but not quite this.
Of course, none of them looked as if they’d expected this from Gemma. Even he hadn’t expected this from Gemma. Then again . . . it was just so Gemma, wasn’t it?
Sprenger sat forward in his big chair, hands gripping the arms, his rage barely contained.
“What did you say to me?” Did he really want her to repeat it? Because . . . that seemed a mistake. Quinn knew Gemma. She would definitely say it all again. Happily.
“I said fuck you!” See? “Want me to say it a few more times?”
By the unholiest of gods, this was going to get nasty. And to be honest, Quinn couldn’t wait.
“I was going to give you a chance—” Sprenger began.
“Give me a chance for what? I did nothing wrong. It was a grand master—a true grand master, by the way—who sent me out. I was following orders as I’ve always been trained to do. So there’s nothing to punish me for. And if you think Beatrix is really an ally, you’re a fool. She will take from you everything she can, and then she will destroy you.”
“You know nothing about her.”
“Very true. She’s just my sister,” Gemma said with great sarcasm, then tilted her head to the side and opened her eyes wide to illustrate how stupid Sprenger was being. A move he didn’t appreciate at all.
“This discussion is over,” Sprenger announced. “I have made my decision.”
“You can’t just remove me from the order without due cause.”
“I can do anything I want.”
“Really? Is that written down somewhere? Brothers?” she called out to a group of well-armed monks clustered around a desk filled with parchments, scrolls, and ancient tomes. “Is it written down somewhere that the grand master can do just anything he wants?”
“That is it!” Sprenger launched himself from his chair and marched down the steps until he was standing in front of Gemma, towering over her. “You are out!”
“You can’t throw me out without justification. Trust me, that was one of the first things I checked when I committed my heart and soul to Morthwyl.”
“Except that’s just what I did! I’ve thrown you out! For gross insubordination.”
“This isn’t the Order of Silent Prayer and Sacrifice, Grand Master. You need more than that to toss me out on my ass.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“You want something, you arrogant fuck—”
Thomassin buried his head in his hands and moaned, “Oh, Gemma.”
“—then . . . Challenge.”
There were shocked gasps around the room and more elders dropped their heads in their hands or rolled their eyes or simply closed their eyes and shook their heads.
Sprenger gawked down at Gemma. “What did you say?”
“Challenge.”
“You can’t challenge me. You’re not of high enough rank.”
“So? You can’t just throw me out. And yet here we are!”
With no answer, the grand master just star
ed at her.
That’s when Gemma asked, “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll finish taking off that jaw?”
The backhand took them all by surprise. Blood from Gemma’s mouth and nose splattered Quinn and Laila, but they still managed to catch Keran before she could get her hands on Sprenger.
Slowly, ignoring the blood pouring down her lips and chin, Gemma looked up at the grand master and spat out, “Challenge.”
“I will not accept a challenge from some low-born, low-rank nobody!”
“Hey!” Gemma was quick to remind him. “I’m a princess now, bitch!”
“Brother Gemma!” Thomassin barked again.
“There’s another option,” Master General Ragna said as she made her slow, methodical way across the room, inserting herself between Gemma and Sprenger to prevent any more unnecessary hitting. “Brother Gemma’s rank doesn’t matter if she’s someone else’s champion.”
The anger that now flashed across Sprenger’s face was white hot and dangerous and, Quinn was guessing, much deeper than what he’d felt toward Gemma. He was so angry that he grabbed Ragna’s upper arm and yanked her close.
He snarled between his teeth, “What do you think you’re doing? We discussed this.”
A few of Ragna’s soldiers were in the chamber with her and the ends of their spears hit the ground. It was a simple gesture but most of the monks backed away. Sprenger didn’t seem to notice; his gaze was locked on Ragna’s face. She, however, was too busy staring at where his fingers gripped her arm.
“I would strongly suggest,” Ragna said, “that you think about where you put your hands . . . Grand Master.”
It was a simple statement, quietly made in her effortless, calm way. But that was where the threat came from. In that calm way that told Sprenger she would destroy him in ways that the rest of them could only dream about. Sprenger wisely released her and turned his back. A risky move, but Quinn sensed that Ragna was too proud to attack such a man from behind.
Without even acknowledging him, she went on. “Elder Thomassin, is Brother Gemma a worthy champion for you?”
Thomassin looked at the two elders on either side of him. First one, then the other. They both nodded and he returned his gaze to Ragna. But before he said anything, he sighed. Loud and long. Not in anger or disgust. Just in frustrated acceptance. Whatever these three monks had planned, Gemma had fucked it up as only Gemma could. It was something about the Smythe family. They tended to fuck things up. Whether it was for their own siblings or for kings. They never meant to, but fuck things up they did.
“Yes,” he finally stated. “She is a worthy champion.”
“Then we have Challenge, Grand Master. One you cannot turn down. As you so wisely pointed out to Grand Master Joshua when you challenged him.”
“Fine.” Sprenger faced them. “Three days hence—”
“Now,” Gemma said.
Ragna shrugged. “As the weaker of the challengers, Grand Master, Brother Gemma chooses the time. She says now. So it’s now. Weapons?”
“Swords,” Gemma announced.
“Swords it is.”
“Do I get any say?” Sprenger demanded.
“Not really.”
“Hold!” one of the monks called, stepping forward.
“Yes, Brother James?” Ragna asked.
“I offer to be the grand master’s champion,” Brother James announced proudly.
Gemma cracked her knuckles before opening her arms wide and demanding, “Let’s go!”
“No,” Ragna quickly interjected. “There will be no champion for the grand master.”
“Why not?” Brother James wanted to know.
“Because Grand Master Sprenger did not allow one for Grand Master Joshua. So it seems only fair, does it not? Good!” she finished when Brother James attempted to argue.
“Now,” Ragna said, looking at both parties, “five minutes and then we begin.”
Ragna briefly stopped next to Gemma and told her, “For once, attempt to remember what I taught you.”
Sprenger, however, looked at Thomassin and threatened, “Once I kill her . . . I kill you.”
“Oh, dearest Brother,” Thomassin replied with a smirk, “we’ve had so many experiences together . . . what’s one more?”
* * *
Gemma removed her fur cape and the chainmail shirt her mother had made for her, leaving only the thick white shirt she wore under it. She moved her arms and shoulders, twisted her head from side to side.
Shona looked over the weapons she had on her sword belt. “Long sword or—”
“Not sure yet.”
“Better think fast.”
“Don’t start with me, Shona.”
“Thomassin and the others had different plans,” Katla needlessly pointed out.
“Yes, I figured that out.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“Just go along? I’m a war monk. We were never trained to just go along. Joshua’s ashes would be swirling around in his . . . wherever they are.”
Shona moved closer. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that Sprenger is not a good fighter, Brother. He’s always been a good fighter. And over the years he’s only gotten better.”
“Do either of you really consider this a pep talk?”
“If you want a pep talk, we’d suggest Kir. But he’s too busy crying.”
“We just got you back,” Kir sobbed when the women looked at him.
“The faith all of you have in me is overwhelming.”
“Which sword?” Shona asked again.
“I’m still thinking.”
“Still?”
Katla put her hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “Just . . . don’t fuck up.”
“Ahhh, how I’ve missed the brotherhood of it all.”
* * *
It was worrisome. First, he saw Farlan whisper to Samuel, “Go down to the stables and get the horses ready. Be ready to move. Understand?”
And off the boy went, to get the horses and supplies they’d need. No one stopped him. None of these monks paid the least bit of attention to Samuel. Of course, Quinn had the feeling they’d paid little attention to the poor kid when he’d been an actual squire wearing the tunic of the monastery.
That wasn’t what was worrisome, though. It was what he saw after that. Ragna spotted Samuel moving through the crowd and with a subtle nod, she sent one of her own warriors to follow. Why? Why was Ragna sending one of her rather fanatical soldiers to follow a kid? What was really going on? And what did Sprenger mean when he said something about their having “talked about this”? What had they talked about? Gemma? Thomassin? This Challenge? What exactly was happening here?
But before Quinn could decide what his next move should be, his sister grabbed his arm. And it was the urgency with which Laila grabbed him that pushed all other thoughts temporarily out of his head.
“You need to irritate Gemma,” she whispered to him.
“You just told me to stop irritating her.”
“That was before,” Laila insisted. “When I thought we might get out of here without a fight. Now that’s obviously not going to happen. So now you need to irritate her.”
“You’re serious?”
“What do you think?”
“You know, this isn’t something I can just make up on the spot.”
“You are kidding right now, aren’t you?”
“No. I don’t just irritate her to irritate her. She’s irritated by me for some unknown reason. So I have no idea what I could possibly say at the moment that would annoy her so much it would distract her from something as serious as what is about to happen here at this very—ohhhh! You know what? I have something.”
Quinn shook off his sister’s grip and made his way over to Gemma’s side. She stood alone with two swords in her hands. A long sword and a broad sword. She swung both, stretching her arms and shoulders.
“Is this to the death?” he asked.
Gemma stopped moving, turned to face hi
m. “What?”
“Is this a fight to the death?”
“Why are you asking?”
“No reason. Just wondering.”
“Stop being an ass and just tell me.”
“It’s nothing. Go fight.”
“Fine. I’m not going to waste my time playing your little games, Amichai.”
She took several test swings with each sword before turning back to him and asking, “Does this have anything to do with my horse?”
“Dagger? Dagger will be fine.”
“Not Dagger. And you know I don’t mean Dagger.”
“You’re calling that abomination your horse?”
“You’re calling her an abomination?”
“It is an abomination and that’s why if you don’t make it, I’m putting it down.”
Her back straightened. “You will do no such thing.”
“I’m not leaving that thing to roam the earth half-dead.”
“Of course you won’t. You will take it back to Keeley—”
“I am not taking that thing back to Keeley! And I am not going to have it around your family!”
“Brother Gemma,” a monk called out, “please join us here—”
“In a minute!” she barked.
“I don’t know why you’re getting hysterical.”
“I am not hysterical.” But she spit that out between her teeth.
Moving over to their traveling companions and gesturing to Laila with both swords, Gemma wanted to know, “And you, Laila . . . ? Would you protect Kriegszorn?”
“Oh!” Laila replied, forcing a smile she clearly did not feel. “That’s right. It has a name.”
“None of you would protect Kriegszorn?” she demanded of the whole group. “Keran?”
“The bloody thing has fangs. And it’s rotting. It’s rotting with fangs.”
“All I have to say . . . is that I am very disappointed in all of you. Very. Disa. Pointed.”
Gemma turned to walk away, but Quinn just had to point out, “Aren’t you being just a bit of a hypocrite?”
She spun back around so quickly, their entire group took a step back.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you coming or not?” Sprenger demanded.
“Shut up!” She stepped closer to Quinn. “What did you say?”