Chapter OneThe Uncommon FAQ #2
“The generals’ tent is two rows east of here. This time of early morning, listen for the bellowing.” He smirked. God, he was beautiful. “Though I’m sure the moment a beautiful woman arrives, they’ll straighten up.”
Me. I was the beautiful woman. For a moment, my heart sung.
But he wasn’t the man I thought I knew. He wasn’t the hero he appeared to be on the page.
While I was still trying to parcel out my feelings about Lord Draw, decide how exactly I felt about Ironclaw’s cousin pressing against me, the instant I got Sorrel’s letter, all my other objectives had fallen away. I had a new mission, a most urgent question: How do I save Lord Draw?
If I was going to do that, I needed Ironclaw to trust me completely.
He bent only to the will of the queen, his fiancée, but at this moment in the story, their relationship was frayed.
Ironclaw was wont to go off on his own and do what he thought needed to be done.
And I knew both of them treated monogamy more like a nice, abstract idea than a rule.
Ironclaw would never come seeking advice, would hardly tolerate me giving an opinion. He liked to think of himself as his own man. From what I’d read and seen, there was only one way he could be managed.
I smiled brightly. “Thank you, Sir Ironclaw.” I stretched my hands overhead as if I wished I could stay in bed all day, certain the angle made the most of the thin nightgown.
I pulled my hair over one shoulder, weaving my hands through it, and softened my smile.
“You need to leave if I’m going to be dressed in time. ”
At my voice, Ironclaw’s eyes flicked from my chest to my face. He was a stoic one, hard to read—but his eyes gave attention where attention was due.
“The morning has a chill,” he said carefully. “Dress swiftly.” With a last nod, he left.
The tent darkened with the closing of the flaps, and I shivered.
If I was going to save Lord Draw from death by torture, I needed to make Ironclaw as infatuated with me as I had once been with him.
––––––––
I DIDN’T KNOW IF I arrived before the sun cleared the horizon, but I was dressed in my green hunting tunic and trousers, and was outside the generals’ tent as the morning chill burned off. The tent was big enough to fit a dozen people around a long table, but I was reluctant to go in.
Indeed, there was bellowing—someone’s egg yolks were hard when they wanted over easy. At this admission, the tent flaps flipped open. Fortunately, the bellowing voice didn’t match the face of the person who walked out. My age with dark eyes and umber skin, a very short beard, and neat cornrows.
His eyes sparkled. “Apprentice Witch of Mayfair,” he greeted me, low and wry. The perfect voice for an audiobook.
“Jerrald,” I said, surprised. The bellowing continued, and Jerrald rolled his eyes and led me a few paces away from the tent.
“What were you doing in there? Wait.” It was the first time I was seeing Jerrald in a new outfit, one made of thick gray cloth with an edge of brilliant blue—the queen’s blue. “Were you promoted?”
“Promoted?” Jerrald was as surprised as I was. “I’m the queen’s field commander.”
I processed that a moment.
Oh dear.
Jerrald was so jacked, I’d asked if he was a farmer when we first met.
“I didn’t know—”
“You thought just anyone could make introductions to the queen and secure you splint mail from Landsome’s strictest armorer?”
“Well, yeah,” I admitted.
He chuckled, the first time I heard him do so. At Castle Creneda he had been a bit of a sourpuss, but now he seemed in good spirits, and I told him so.
His smile immediately flattened, and he looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t say that so loudly. Field commanders aren’t allowed to have good mornings.”
I was pretty sure he was joking and responded, “Witch’s apprentices aren’t allowed to have bad ones.”
“I believe it. You might not be used to our customs here—” my stomach tightened as I wondered if he had figured out who I really was, but it relaxed when he said “—being from across the Seas of Melancholy, but to everyone else around here, I’m good at what I do and it’s nice to be on the roads again. Still, it’s like—”
“—standing in front of the queen being judged for breathing wrong,” I finished.
He nodded. “Field commander and witch’s apprentice. We’re both under watch constantly, aren’t we?”
“Lady Dottie. Sir Jerry.”
We turned.
It was the man whose image I ran through my head before falling asleep last night—enormous news in my little life as that prime-time placement had been occupied by Ironclaw for years.
Lord Draw.
I straightened my shoulders and chin. Even if we couldn’t be together, even if I had to focus on seducing his cousin to save his life...I could still look good in front of him.
The resemblance to Ironclaw was clear—the height if not the cords of muscle, the dark hair if not as long, the eyes that were green and suspicious rather than black and suspicious.
I’d only seen Draw in his formal dark robes and sash, so I was surprised he wore a light brown tunic with blue thread and a pair of wool pants that morning.
“Sir Jerrald,” Jerrald corrected. He was persnickety about the nickname, but something told me it wasn’t going back in the castle stable.
At Castle Creneda, Draw had been at my every turn—very helpful. Things changed after we kissed in his chambers, I left abruptly and then was seen riding with his cousin the following morning, a cousin I had told Draw that I had a huge crush on.
I knew he thought I had chosen Ironclaw over him and was avoiding me, but it was better that way if I could manage to save his life.
Plus, I shouldn’t get too close. What I had wanted with Ironclaw was basic, sensible for a woman like myself who didn’t belong in Landsome and would be sent home eventually. (Read: physical.)
With Draw, I felt myself sinking in deep.
“Good morrow, Lord Draw.”
Despite his serious expression, I saw a flash of humor in his eyes. My attempts at medieval speech were rubbish.
“Did you sleep well?” I asked.
“Yes. Fine,” he said, stiffly.
Jerrald watched the two of us, one hand on his black beard. “Okay, enough with the sparkling conversation, let’s get moving.”
Though he was guilty of doing it to everyone else, I could tell Draw didn’t like being dissected so quickly by Jerrald, the awkwardness between Draw and me fully apparent. Draw’s defense was always the verbal offense. “I really don’t think this is necessary—”
“What’s necessary?” I asked. Draw seemed to know why we had been called there by Jerrald.
“I should be drafting agreements for the valley tribes,” Draw continued.
Jerrald fixed us with a pointed stare and we both broke off.
“We’re at the Dark Mage’s doorstep. Contracts and a vague ‘knowledge of the future’—” he quoted me “—isn’t going to cut it.
Dottie, as the queen’s sole magical champion, you’re a target for kidnapping or assassination.
Lord Draw, unlike other members of the royal entourage, you haven’t completed any military training.
Hence, you both need to undergo drills.”
“Everyone else has done training? What about Ariana?” I asked, surprised. An image flashed to mind: her vulnerable and tired in the Maidens’ Chamber, worn out from all the queen’s demands.
“Ariana?” Jerrald repeated. “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about her.
You’re the one I’m concerned about—we’ve got to teach you how to use that thing.
” He pointed to the dagger I had belted to my waist. “And Lord Draw, you need to have a passing ability at fighting if you’re going to be on the front lines. ”
Draw didn’t care about any of that. “This is my cousin’s area of expertise. What’s necessary is that I take advantage of our few hours off horseback to prepare some documents.”
Jerrald frowned. I could tell he wasn’t ready to give up. “I don’t have guards to waste protecting you when the battle comes.”
“We’ll complete your training,” I said quickly. “Both of us.”
Draw scowled at me, but Jerrald was right, especially with what I knew was coming. If Draw had basic combat skills, couldn’t that make the difference in keeping him alive at the end of book five?
“Good,” Jerrald said. “Today, you’re starting with these.” He led us over to a wagon and withdrew two wooden planks not much more than a handgrip and long, dulled length.
“Practice swords?” I grumbled.
“I’m not a squire,” Draw claimed.
“No, you’re worse than squires—you’re adults with no training. I’d like the both of you to have all your limbs at the end of this.”
Jerrald led us to a grassy square between tents, showed us how to grip the practice sword, and ran through a set of drill stances.
In his hand, the wooden sword moved swiftly through the air like an extension of his arm.
I hadn’t been collected enough to watch him fight against Lionsgate. He was graceful.
Draw and I tried next, Jerrald demanding we loosen our grip while simultaneously telling us to hold the practice sword more firmly. When we had the drill movements memorized, he left us with orders to keep at it until he was back.
It was silly how basic the drill was compared to Jerrald’s fancy moves just a moment before.
I held the sword at my right hip, swung it aloft over my left shoulder, then spun it to my right and brought it down to repeat.
My shoulders were quickly burning and I stopped to untie my real dagger from my waist and set it on the grass.
“Dottie,” Draw began. He had stopped too but wasn’t doing anything other than looking at me.
“I was hoping we could talk soon. Or rather, I’d like to apologize.
I realize I wasn’t...celestial cats,” he swore under his breath.
He wasn’t at a loss for words often. “I wasn’t so gallant that night at the castle.
I’m sorry. I misunderstood and I pushed you too far. ”