Chapter 57
The carriage was, mercifully, large and stacked with cushions.
Richard sank into the velvet bench opposite Malgrin and Agnes and let his shoulders drop.
Through the gauzy curtains, sunlight still streamed—for dusk had not yet set—illuminating the varnished wooden panels and lush interior.
Richard had never been so grateful for Malgrin’s expensive taste in upholstery.
Outside, hooves struck the cobbles as Joffrey gave orders.
“Faster than is seemly.” Malgrin sniffed. “One would think we were fleeing.”
Richard allowed his head to fall back. “We are fleeing, Malgrin.”
The Estaran king’s parting roar had made that clear. “I tolerate no disrespect, Sun King, not from those rebel rats nor from kings creeping into my realm and shaming me before my own children. Now, begone, all of you, and thank your heathen gods that I am merciful!”
Malgrin massaged his temples. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you might have refrained from using such crude language?”
“Nothing crude about it,” Agnes muttered, eyes drooping shut. “And I should have liked to add that the good Estaran king could go find some pointy object to insert into his orifice—”
“Lady Agnes!” Malgrin gasped. “That is terribly unbecoming!”
“Yes, my lord.”
Richard smiled and, through the curtains, caught glimpses of the city falling away. The long shadow of the gatehouse passed, and they were finally out of Vexmara and onto the open road.
Yellow Estaran fields. A vineyard sloping towards a stream. Tall, uniform trees flanking the road. Richard watched it all go by, trying not to think of the unease coiling in him.
Estara in league with Gloamvarn. Alaric’s warning had been true.
Richard closed his eyes. What to do? Frostheim was their only fighting ally and needed to cross a sea to reach them.
How could Ardenia hold back two armies? Should he send in assassins and destabilise Estara entirely?
If Marius and Octavia died, the eastern realm’s armies would fight against each other to seize the highest power.
Brother against brother, sister against sister, until the entire realm drowned in blood and ruin.
Hundreds of thousands would die. Innocents would be slaughtered if the factional fighting came to a head.
But at least then, Ardenia would not need to fear Estara’s impending betrayal.
And if Gloamvarn defeats Ardenia and takes her anyway? A tired voice in Richard’s head asked. You would have dealt such wanton chaos for nothing.
Does it matter? An uglier voice within him asked. We must take any measure against our enemies.
Richard sighed and filed the topic aside to discuss with the generals. He tried to nap, but all too soon, there came a rap on the window and Sir Joffrey’s face peered through the glass.
“Your Majesty,” he called from his horse. “The circus is just ahead. We’re about to overtake them.”
Richard straightened. “Pull alongside. I should like a word.”
Joffrey barked a command, and the carriage quickened, then lurched to a stop beside colourful wagons.
The troupe had frozen in a loose, terrified knot along the verge.
Richard opened the door to find Kaelen waiting beyond it, a hand outstretched.
Taking the hand, Richard stepped down and brushed his thumb over Kaelen’s knuckles.
Kaelen squeezed his fingers back, and Richard’s heart skipped a beat.
Master Clemens stood foremost, his bald head shining in the setting sun.
“Y-Y-Your—Your Most—Your Most Royal—”
He wrung his hands and bowed low.
The rest of the troupe hastily followed. Tilda and Wren almost toppled with their enthusiasm, and the acrobat bent until the crown of her head touched the ground. The children, Richard noted with some amusement, did not bow and wormed their way to the crowd’s front.
“Y-Your Majesty—” Clemens stuttered. “Forgive us—by all the gods, we did not know—we had no notion that it was the king himself travelling with us—if there were any rudeness, any want of respect—”
“There was not,” Richard said. “You are owed a reward, Master Clemens, for allowing my knight and I to join your company. It provided us with a passage into Vexmara. Now, make haste to Ardenia, for Estara is no longer safe, and once there, come to my castle with the two bays we have left in your care. You will be suitably compensated for your service.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Clemens squeaked. He grimaced at Kaelen. “Sir Knight. I beg your pardon, I do. For the lifting and the hauling, and the mucking out, and the wagon wheels. I didn’t know you were the Basilisk Slayer, see—”
“Master Clemens,” Kaelen said, “I have had worse tasks assigned by sterner folk.”
Joffrey snorted from horseback on Kaelen’s right. “Aye, and most of ‘em by me.”
As the troupe tittered nervously, Puck brandished a finger at Richard.
“But you don’t look like a king,” he announced.
Jeya caught Puck by the back of his shirt and dragged him into the huddle of children. Wariness etched every inch of her, as if she feared Richard might order the boy’s execution.
“Puck,” Richard said gravely. “Pip. Penn.”
Three small chins lifted in unison.
“I shall be plain with you. I am, in fact, the king. And I am informed by Sir Joffrey that my dungeons are in excellent condition. They include, I am told, a particular cell reserved for small persons who fail to behave themselves and wander off from their masters.”
Joffrey rumbled, “Oh aye, Your Majesty. The cell is just waiting for its new persons.” He winked at the triplets. “Rats in ‘em the size of small dogs. They like to chew on naughty little boys’ toes.”
The triplets blanched, clutching each other and hurriedly reaching for Daisy, too. The girl was eating boiled sweets from a bag and offered Richard one. He accepted and passed it to a bemused Kaelen.
“Jeya,” Richard said. “Show me the Shortman’s Cleave.”
She blinked. “Your Majesty?”
“The sword slice you used against the Baba Yaga.”
Flushing, Jeya drew the wooden blade. She batted the triplets and Daisy aside, then squared her feet and brought the sword down in a short, vicious arc, twisting her hip. Quick, neat, built to compensate for the lack of a right arm.
“Sir Joffrey?” Richard asked.
The old knight leaned forward in his saddle, squinting at the girl. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s a proper Shortman’s Cleave, that is.” He nudged his horse closer to Jeya. “Who taught you, lass?”
“N-no one, sir.” Jeya shrugged and fiddled with the tip of her sword. “I—I’ve been watching some squires, sir. Been practising by myself.”
“That so?” Joffrey nodded to Richard. “Aye, Your Majesty. She’ll do nicely.”
“Very well,” Richard said. “Jeya, you shall squire for Sir Kaelen.”
The girl’s hard mask cracked clean through to reveal teary eyes and a trembling lower lip. “Squire? Me?”
The circus folk cheered, and a couple of nearby men slapped her back. Her sword slid out of her hand, and Joffrey tutted.
“Best pick that up fast, lass! First lesson you learn. Never let go of your sword.”
Jeya scrambled for the blade and neared Kaelen. “You’ll take me on? Will you really?”
Kaelen recoiled, stuck in the middle of sucking the boiled sweet and glaring at Richard. “No. I do not take squires.” He snapped at Richard, “I will not have her.”
Richard raised a brow at the older man by Kaelen’s shoulder. “Is my word not law, Sir Joffrey?”
A grin split Joffrey’s beard. “Aye, Your Majesty. And this boy’d do well to remember it.” He nudged his boot into Kaelen’s ribs.
Kaelen jerked sideways with wounded outrage. “But Sir—”
Joffrey addressed Clemens instead. “Bring the girl to the castle once you’ve reached High Ardenia. She’ll have a three-month trial under Sir Kaelen here. If she’s got the grit, she’ll stay. If not, Kaelen’ll send her back to you better taught than when she arrived. Aye?”
“Y-yes, Sir Knight,” Clemens stammered.
“I won’t be lacking,” Jeya blurted, desperation gleaming in her eyes. “I’ll be good, I will. I’ll be very good, Sir, I swear it—I can rise early and muck out horses and oil blades and polish boots and learn forms, and I don’t mind being shouted at, I don’t—”
“Girl,” Kaelen said through his clenched jaw. “There are many better knights than me in High Ardenia—”
“They ain’t gonna be taking me, I know it!” Jeya lunged to cling to Kaelen’s gauntlet. “Please, sir! There ain’t nothing better in the world than to squire for the great basilisk slayer—”
“I am far from great, girl,” Kaelen snapped, wrenching his arm from her hold. He glowered at Richard. “Your Majesty, the evening is drawing on. If Your Majesty would do me the courtesy of resuming the journey?”
Richard smiled. For all of Kaelen’s protests, this squireship would do both him and Jeya some good.
“With pleasure, Sir Kaelen.”
Kaelen wrenched the carriage door open with a force that made the hinges shriek. He stood beside it, rigid, his hand on the latch.
Richard turned to the children one last time. The triplets and Daisy had gathered again around Jeya.
“Stay out of trouble,” Richard said. “Mind Master Clemens. Mind your minders. Mind the road. And above all, mind you do not forget”—he grinned at the triplets—“my great, dark dungeons.”
* * *
The days went by quickly. Joffrey rushed the horses through the Estaran countryside, keeping to a brisk pace. Richard did not mind, eager to return home, though his insides twisted at the thought of meeting his siblings’ anger. He also found his patience with Malgrin dwindling.
“—and by what madness Your Majesty was persuaded to drink tea given by a filthy bandit, I cannot fathom. Truly, such vermin—”