Chapter Two #3
A golden acorn on a field of green. That was Sir Harald Oaken.
House Oaken fought alongside . That meant Harald and Gerard were likely evenly matched.
As the horn signaled the charge, Kestrel held her breath.
But Gerard triumphed quickly, shoving his lance between Sir Oaken’s helm and gorget, making the knight intentionally fall off his horse to avoid a neck injury.
That wasn’t an honorable move , a voice said in Kestrel’s head, but she silenced it. After all, it wasn’t against the rules. Then Gerard turned to her and blew her a kiss, chasing all thoughts from her mind.
She didn’t pay attention to the next several matches, as every girl sitting near her wanted to hear about her potential match with Ser Gerard.
Kestrel wished she had a song worthy tale of him noticing her at a tourney or ball, or maybe encountering her in the forest when she was picking wildflowers.
Since all the courting was done with their fathers’ pens, Kestrel instead spoke of her father distinguishing himself in battle and his assets that made his daughter worthy of marrying into House Calla.
When the victors of the first rounds were matched against each other, Kestrel turned her attention back to the jousting.
The two younger Calla brothers won their matches.
But poor Sir Gerard was pitted against The Wolf, who defeated him handily.
Kestrel tried to offer Gerard a supportive smile, but he stomped off the field, not looking at her or anyone.
Sir Mathurin, Master Artavian, and the frightening Wolf stood on the victors’ platform and collected their praise and winnings. Kestrel hated the Wolf then, wishing Gerard was standing there.
She got her unreasonable temper under control during the intermission before the melee. While dining on cheese, fruit, and wine, she chatted with the other women as a minstrel sang and played the lute.
“Terribly unfair to have a singer when Queen Xochitl is here,” Alayne said with real pity in her eyes.
Kestrel agreed. The Queen smiled politely at the performance, but Beau, Master Artavian’s love, watched the man with open scorn. He played a stringed instrument as well, so he was likely judging the bard on two fronts.
Exhales of relief sounded all around as the man took his lute and departed and jugglers and acrobats arrived.
And finally, the knights competing in the melee returned to the field.
Kestrel watched all three Calla brothers enter together and cheered, hoping that Artavian’s shocking public acknowledgment of loving a man hadn’t alienated them further.
When the horn blew and every man attacked the others, she held her breath, shocked at how violent they were, as if this were a real battle.
Artavian was astonishing in his aggression and she wondered if he was trying to prove his manliness to the crowd.
She shifted her attention to Gerard, her heart in her throat as she feared him being hurt.
Though she did allow herself to fantasize about healing his injuries when they were married.
The Wolf fought well, though he appeared to be blocking Gerard and Mathurin from any attackers.
Kestrel didn’t know whether to be grateful that he was protecting her betrothed, or annoyed that he wasn’t allowing Gerard much of a chance to battle opponents and gain glory.
A rumble of thunder broke off her thoughts. Murmurs of confusion filled the air around her as she looked up at the cloudless sunny sky.
A horn blasted from the castle wall. Unlike the tourney trumpet, the sound was sharp and ominous. The combatants halted and looked around.
Then, Lord Aylmer shouted, “We’re under attack!”
Warriors not participating in the melee, ran to the field and shouted for the women, children, infirm, and elderly to line up in preparation to be escorted to safety.
Kestrel expected Father to join her in line, but instead, he embraced her and said, “Go with them, sweet.” headed off in the opposite direction.
Kestrel started to head toward Alayne, who was sobbing in terror, when a rough hand seized her wrist like a manacle.
“Come with me,” the Wolf said in a raspy growl.
At first, she was too frightened to reply and pulled back on instinct only for her wrist and forearm to twinge in pain. His grip was too strong for her to be able to move in any way he didn’t will it to.
“Let me go!” she cried out, her heart hammering in panic.
Instead, he tugged her further from the line. People stared and muttered amongst themselves, but no one stepped forward to challenge him.
“Sir Gerard ordered me to take you to safety,” he grumbled as he crossed the field in long, ground-devouring strides.
Kestrel’s heart warmed for a moment at her betrothed sparing a thought for her wellbeing, but it was quashed with irritation as she nearly stumbled from him dragging her along.
“That’s all you had to say in the first place!” Kestrel shouted, unable to hide her frustration. “Please, Sir, would you slow down? I’ll fall if we keep going at this rate.”
“I’m no Sir!” the Wolf snarled as if she’d called him a bastard. And instead of slowing down, he swept her up in his arms, carrying her like she was a child.
The only time Kestrel had wanted a man to carry her like this was if it was her wedding night when her husband would bring her to bed.
Her face flamed both in fury that the fantasy had been taken from her, and embarrassment at thinking of said fantasy while this fearsome warrior who wasn’t even a knight, held her in his arms.
His scars were even more horrible up close, cris-crossing his face in jagged lines like white lighting.
One scar bisected his upper lip, curving it into a frozen sneer.
Quickly, she averted her gaze and instead focused on the direction they were heading.
Thus far, it seemed they were headed to the walls of the capitol, only toward a different entrance from where the women and children were being herded.
Battle cries and clashes of steel rang in her ears, making the horrific reality of her situation sink in.
“Who is attacking us?”
His reply was a one-word snarl that made her blood run cold. “Mephistopheles.”
Unbidden, Kestrel found herself tucking herself tighter against the wolf’s armored chest. He grunted and tightened his grip on her, whether in reassurance or if he thought she’d tried to get away, she couldn’t tell.
“There will be many wounded,” she realized aloud.
He snorted with derision. “No shit.”
Her irritation at his assumption that she was ignorant chased away her fear of him. “I mean, the healers will be needed. Take me to the hospital.”
“Gerard wanted you taken to the palace where the rest of the noblewomen are gathering.”
“If we lose this battle, the palace will be the first place the enemy takes,” Kestrel grumbled, earning a nod.
“I recently attained the blue robes and will be needed. Lady Calla is high healer and will be at the hospital. Surely you can argue that you fulfilled your orders by taking me to her side.”
He remained silent so long that she feared he was dismissing her request without dignifying her with a reply.
Then, he shrugged, which brought her high enough that his stubble scraped her forehead.
“You have a point, little raptor. The hospital is also closer, which means I can get back to the field and start killing the enemy sooner.”
Little raptor? It took her a moment to realize he was making a gibe on her name. Then she shuddered at the savage glee in his black eyes at the prospect of slaughter.
As a proper Wurrak lady, she knew she was supposed to be proud of him for being eager to fight for their country, but the healer in her was repulsed at the ludicrous waste of life that most violence begot, and the human in her was petrified in terror at the reality that right here, right now, her homeland was being invaded by the greatest evil in the universe.
After an impolite pause, Kestrel remembered her courtesies. “I am sure you will fight bravely and cover yourself with glory on the field. When you return victorious, I would be honored to tend to your wounds.”
The Wolf laughed, a chilling bitter, sound. “Don’t waste your pretty lies on me, girl. You can barely look at me.”
Kestrel flinched at his words, not only because of the breach in propriety of not acknowledging the traditional Wurrakian Ladies’ blessing, but also because part of what he said was true.
While she was certain he would fight bravely, she wouldn’t want to be the one tending his wounds. Because he was so fearsome to look at.
She held her silence for the rest of the journey. When they reached the hospital, the Wolf deposited her so roughly she almost fell and ran off before she could thank him.
Then the healers opened the doors and ushered her inside. Kestrel spent the entirety of the battle treating the wounded who came in a steady stream. By the time victory was announced, she barely had the energy to cheer.
After the battle, there would be many new nights, honors awarded, and announcements from both Lord Aylmer and Queen Xochitl.
“Your engagement announcement will have to be postponed, I’m afraid,” Father had told her before they left the capitol with unseemly haste.
Now, Kestrel was afraid she knew why.