Chapter 34
Richard woke as dawn’s rays spilled through the wagon’s open flap. He turned to find Flint’s bedroll empty against the far wall. Kaelen, however, was awake in his, cheek squished against a pillow, watching with soft eyes.
“Good morn,” Richard whispered.
“Good morn.” Kaelen’s eyes creased.
Richard tried to return his smile, but his chest felt too heavy. “There is much I must tell you.”
He told Kaelen everything. Of the orphanage, the fire mage, the bluebells, and what Flint, Lyell and Edith had endured. The longer he spoke, the thinner his voice grew, and at the end, it was barely more than a croak when he said, “It was my doing.”
“That’s not true,” Kaelen murmured, shuffling closer.
“Lyell wished to give me a gift, and I made an entertainment of him. I marked him out, and I left.” Richard slipped a hand under his cheek to prop his head up further. “They were only children, Kaelen.”
“So were you, my king.” Kaelen’s hand reached up between them and stopped just short of Richard’s. “A prince only sixteen. Fifteen the day before, even. You weren’t to know what manner of man kept that house, nor what’d follow your kindness.”
Richard exhaled slowly. The words did not lift the weight entirely, but they did make it easier to breathe.
“Even so, I see now I have been sheltered from much. My father slaughtered those who tried to hurt me, and my mother ensured I ate well and lived in comfort. There is a privilege in that which I cannot pretend away.”
Kaelen hummed. “We were both blessed to grow under adults who guarded children. That is no small grace, and we oughtn’t forget it.” He worried at his lower lip. “But Flint concerns me. If he were ever to learn who you truly are—”
“I know.” Richard nodded. “We shall be careful. And once the mission ends, we part ways for good.”
“For good? He has not charmed you, then?”
Richard scoffed. “I am not so easily charmed.”
Kaelen flicked him a dubious look. “Yes, my king.”
His eyes were so close that Richard could see himself reflected within them. A loose lash had fallen against Kaelen’s right cheekbone. Absently, Richard brushed the lash away.
Red bloomed high on Kaelen’s cheeks. Clearing his throat, he pushed himself up onto an elbow.
“I—I had best go and help with the harnessing,” he said, avoiding Richard’s gaze. “Boris will be looking for me.”
“Of course.”
Kaelen scrambled out of his bedroll, tugging his tunic straight and reaching for his boots. At the back of his neck, the flush deepened.
“Kaelen.”
The knight paused with a boot half on. “My king?”
“Richard,” Richard corrected. “A favour.” He sat up. “I have need of chains. Long ones, if such are to be had. The beastmaster may have some stored. See if you might persuade her into parting with three.”
Kaelen blinked at him. “Chains?”
“Quite. Three of them.”
Kaelen’s brows climbed his forehead, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Should I be concerned?”
Richard’s smile sharpened. “Do not ask, Sir Knight. And get me my chains.”
* * *
Catching the triplets was easy. Richard had chased his siblings through every passage of the castle for years, and these three nine-year-olds, however nimble, were no match for him.
He took Pip first, lifting him by the collar mid-sprint.
Penn surrendered with a wail when Richard yanked him out from under a wagon.
Puck made it the furthest, halfway up a cart, before he lost his grip and fell into Richard’s arms.
Kaelen had gently rebuffed him on the chains—‘They’re not prisoners to be manacled, my king’—and instead, provided long, sturdy ropes courtesy of the beastmaster.
Richard tied one end about each boy’s waist, knotted it twice and looped the other ends about his own belt.
The boys immediately tried to untangle themselves, but their small fingers had no chance against the intricate knot.
“Y’can’t do this,” Pip spluttered.
“I find that I can,” Richard said pleasantly.
“I’ll sit on the ground, I will! I’ll never walk!”
“Then, I shall carry you under my arm, and all shall laugh and point.” Richard scooped Daisy up and settled her astride his shoulders. “Jeya. With me, if you please.”
Jeya, ten paces back as ever, grudgingly obeyed. They joined the procession with Richard at the centre, three sullen boys revolving him on their tethers, a six-year-old enthroned upon his shoulders, and a one-armed girl trailing disgruntledly in his wake.
The lyre player nearly dropped her instrument, laughing. Tilda and Wren jeered and pointed. The contortionist and Talia giggled. Even Master Clemens, glancing back from his driver’s bench, did a double-take. Flint, sitting atop the cook’s cart, tipped Richard an amused wink.
Richard flashed him a smile and kept walking.
The road, having wound out of the morning’s farmsteads, opened into a long stretch flanked by grain fields. The barley stood tall here, up to a man’s shoulder, the heads bowed and swaying.
“Keep yer eyes sharp!” Master Clemens bellowed from the front. “Long grass, this. Nobody stray from the road, you hear?”
“Aye, Master!” came the scattered reply.
Richard felt Daisy pat the top of his head. “What is it, little one?”
The girl whispered, “The old lady is coming close.”
Richard frowned. “What old lady?”
Daisy clasped his temples and turned his head right. The field stretched out long and pale, but far back, where the grain thinned at the edge of a copse of trees, a figure stood—tall, hunched, cloaked in a black hood, with a staff in one hand. The figure was frozen, just staring.
Richard’s hand tightened on Daisy’s ankles. “It is only a farmer tending their fields.”
“She calls me,” Daisy said. “Every night. She taps on my wagon window. Mummy says it’s only branches. But it isn’t. I can hear her telling me to come outside.”
A shiver crept up Richard’s spine. A child’s imagination perhaps? Briony had been adamant at six years old that a monster lived in her closet, and Haldric had had to stage a wild fight to assure her the monster was dead.
Could this be more sinister? He was ill-informed of Estaran dangers. Perhaps, he should discuss with Master Clemens.
Richard glanced again into the field, but the figure was gone.
“You did well to tell me, Daisy,” he said. I should like you to tell your parents or me again, if she calls tonight. Will you?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Good girl.”
She tugged a strand of his hair gently and went back to humming.
The disquiet within Richard remained. To distract himself, he shifted to walk backwards and face Jeya. “I hear you wish to be a knight.”
She scowled, tucking her wooden sword into her belt. “What of it?”
“It is a noble dream.”
Her lip curled. “Well, only a dream it’ll ever be now.” She gestured at the stump of a shoulder, cut from where her dungarees’ sleeve stopped. “The king’s knights ain’t gonna want no circus kid. They’d laugh me out the gate.” Her jaw set. “And I’ve only the one arm. So that’s that.”
“One arm matters not,” Richard said, “if you make it twice as good.” He watched her eyes widen. “A knight is not a body, Jeya. A knight is an oath, and a discipline, and a heart that stays kind despite everything. You have a long way to go yet, but do not dismiss the notion so easily.”
Her throat bobbed. Fiddling with her sword’s hilt, she muttered, “But I’ve no teacher.
I’ve watched some of the squires train in the towns we pass through.
And I’ve seen a tourney where the knights fight till there’s one standing.
I try to remember the way they moved, but I don’t know if I’m doing it right or wrong. ”
From the head of the crowd, Kaelen’s bright laugh resounded.
Richard smiled. “Keep practising. A teacher will come upon you. I promise.”
* * *
For lunch, the procession stopped in the middle of a forest. The road here had narrowed to little more than a muddy ribbon between the trees, and on either side the woods rose thick and greenish-yellow, trunks packed close, branches knitting high overhead.
A spring bubbled a little way off the road.
The wagons had been drawn into a crescent, the horses unhitched and left to nose at the ferns, and already a long queue had formed at the cook-pot where soup was being ladled into bowls.
The whole place bustled with chatter and the clank of crockery. Dogs nosed at the slumbering bear, and Tilda was shrieking as Wren chased her around the wagons.
Richard let Daisy slide from his shoulders and scratched at his collar as breadcrumbs slid down the back of his neck.
The little girl plopped down on the fallen tree trunk he’d claimed for their little group, swinging her legs and licking crumbs stuck to her fingers.
She and the others had been fed earliest, handed hunks of bread while the wagons were still getting into formation.
“Well,” Richard said to the three boys pouting by his feet. “Is this not nice? All of us together. The sun. The trees.”
“It ain’t nice.” Pip yanked at the rope about his middle. “It’s the worst. Take it off.”
“Worst ever,” Penn echoed, digging the earth with a stick.
Puck flopped onto his back. “M’gonna die of being tied. I know it.”
“Then, Puck, your brothers shall divide your share of the food.”
Puck squinted at him. “How d’you know I’m Puck?”
Richard shrugged and reached for Daisy’s hand, brushing the crumbs from her fingers.
“You have a scar on your eyebrow, where I wager you fell off something you should not have climbed. You are also, by some margin, the loudest of the three. You”—he turned to Penn—“have more freckles and enjoy insects, so being you spent half the morning watching a yellow butterfly. And you”—he tapped Pip’s nose—“have the rounder cheeks, and do not speak as often as your brothers.”
The triplets gawked as though he’d grown a second head.
Jeya scuffed her boot against a root. “Can we not go play by the spring? Just a bit. I’ll watch ‘em.”
Richard hesitated. But the spring was not far from the camp’s circle, and a dozen labourers and performers stood before it.