Handbook for Dragon Slayers (4 page)

A half dozen servants swarmed in from the kitchen a moment later, carrying trenchers and platters of meat. Judith hurried to sweep books and contracts into a box, while I more carefully packed up my writing implements. I snatched the blank handbook from her before she could clear it away.

Sir Kunibert emerged from the throng and sat down opposite me to ask how the accounts were going. “I'm still working through the contracts,” I said.

“Of course, of course.”

“And I found this,” I said, handing him the blank book.

He skimmed through the empty pages, a puzzled expression on his face. “I think someone gave me this as bonus payment for dispatching a particularly nasty nest of drakes.” He looked up at me. “You like books, don't you?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“You want this one? There are no words in it, but maybe it could be a little payment for your help here.”

My mother, had she been home and let me come, would have made it clear that my duties at Boar House today were charitable, and that there would be no reward for them. Nor should I expect any. Nor ask for any. Nor accept any, if offered.

But Mother wasn't at home. Mother—I started guiltily with the realization that this was the first time I'd really thought about her since stepping through the door of Boar House—was lying in Castle Larkspur for the next two months with a bonesetter's cast on her leg.

“Yes,” I said, and took the book back. “Thank you,” I added after my yes hung between us for a long moment.

Fortunately, Sir Kunibert was a stranger to courtly airs and graces and didn't notice my lapse of manners. He just grunted and thrust his wine cup at a passing servant.

I picked up the lovely hand-sized book that was now mine and caressed its cover. I ran my fingertips over the soft, cut edges of its pages. Then I cracked it open and smelled the unique, faint aroma of all that soft, butter-white vellum just waiting for words.

What was I going to write in it?

I closed the book, stroked the cover again, and put it beside me on the bench, finally turning my attention to the meal.

“W
HAT ARE YOU GOING
to do with your book?” Judith asked before we climbed into the pleasantly fumigated and aired bed she'd worked on that afternoon.

“I don't know,” I said, placing the book under my pillow. I hesitated, wanting to tell her all the other things that had happened at Alder Brook before we left, like my mother's attempt to betroth me to my cousin Ivo; wanting to tell her how much time I spent dreaming of freedom from Alder Brook's responsibilities and rumors and of writing alone in a cloister; wanting to ask about the way she had behaved with Parz earlier. But she yawned hugely, and I yawned hugely . . . and I was keenly aware that Sir Kunibert's female servants were lying on pallets just a few feet away.

It could wait until we had some privacy, I decided.

As tired as I was, I found it difficult to slip into sleep. I lay awake, thinking about my mother laid up at Larkspur. I should write my mother a letter. I began composing it in my head, but every time I got past the greeting, I remembered Parz was leaving Boar House. My thoughts drifted instead to how I should say farewell to him. His friendship had meant so much to me, this boy who wanted to know all about books I'd read (as long as they contained dragons) and cared not in the least that I was a princess and a splayfoot.

But how could I know if my friendship meant anything to
him
? He was a year older than me, and certainly he was kind to me. But he was kind to everyone, it seemed, so what did that signify?

I listened to the strange breathing patterns from across the room, staring at the flickering patterns of firelight on the walls, while my thoughts ran in circles.

I knew that if I stayed in the room, I'd awaken my companions. I slid from the bed. I told myself I needed the privy, though I could have used the night pot. I just wanted out of the dark, close room. Judith had laid out my sable dressing gown and rabbit-fur slippers for the morning, and I gratefully donned both. Winter's chill was already settling into Boar House's stones.

I crept from the room, crutch scraping flagstones clumsily in the dark. I winced and waited, but no one seemed to awaken.

I let myself out into the darkness of the hall. But my feet didn't carry me on to the privies. I stood at the threshold, watching the still, sleeping lumps of Sir Kunibert's trainees and the male servants clustered around the hearths.

In summer, retainers like these found more privacy by sleeping goodness knew where, but when the cold came, they made do with their friends' elbows and farts and bad breath all night long. As for me, summer or winter, I always shared a bed with my mother and our handmaidens. I stared at the sleepers with bitter jealousy. Winter was on the doorstep, but in a few short months, they could sleep under the stars if they wanted.

“
Hsst
, Tilda.”

I almost jumped out of my skin. I looked around to find a shadowed figure on the floor, a silhouette against emberlight. It was Parz, leaning on his elbow and watching me.

I waved slightly and was glad for darkness to cover my blush.

He climbed to his feet and came closer. “Can't sleep?” he asked in a voice just below a whisper.

“No.”

He beckoned to me, and together we went outside into the restless autumn night. Dying leaves rattled in trees and skirled on the ground, and the chill air held the tang of woodsmoke and leaf mold. I shivered. I had no love for autumn winds; they made me think of the Wild Hunt, and elves, and all manner of unsavory and fey creatures.

But there was no way I was confessing that to Parz.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the stars and the nearly full moon, and the clouds that dimmed them from time to time. We did not talk, until I blurted out, “I'll miss you, Parz.”

I could see his eyes turn toward me by their gleam in the moonlight. His teeth flashed briefly as he smiled. “I'll miss you, too, princess librarian.”

I suppressed a giggle. “You know I hate being called that,” I said, though that was a lie. I
loved
being called that.

“I know,” Parz said. I hoped that was also a lie.

We watched the moonlit clouds gather for rain. We didn't say anything more, even when we turned and went inside. It wasn't the farewell I might have wished for—but I would remember it always.

T
HE NEXT DAY DAWNED
bright. I copied from
On Horsemanship
for a while, and then I continued working on Sir Kunibert's accounts. It was easy to get through all of it without the constant interruptions of Alder Brook, and when I finished just before the midday meal, I stretched luxuriously, feeling unusually satisfied with the day's work. It had all been so simple—just me and the parchment and the pen.

I didn't see Parz all day, but over morning bread and porridge I had eavesdropped intently on two of Kunibert's other squires speaking in low tones about Parz's disgrace. Unfortunately, I didn't learn anything new—other than that Parz was in no way inflating Sir Kunibert's bad opinion of him, and he was definitely leaving soon.

Everyone flooded into the hall to eat dinner, and I didn't say a word to Judith about having finished the accounts. I was wondering what I could write in the blank book, since I could conceivably spend a glorious, uninterrupted afternoon working on it before having to return to the concerns of Alder Brook.

The only problem was, I didn't know what to write.

I was just about to dig into a dish of boar in sour and sweet sauces when a servant tapped Sir Kunibert on his shoulder, then leaned to whisper in his ear. Sir Kunibert looked up at me, a lump of half-chewed meat bulging in his cheek. “Your cousin is here.”

I frowned in confusion. “My cousin is here,” I repeated, trying to understand.

Sir Kunibert shrugged. “That's what I've been told. He wants to speak with you, in private—I guess he's in the courtyard.”

He
. I had only one male cousin, the son of the lord of Larkspur, where my mother had been injured. Why would anyone come all the way from Larkspur unless there was bad news? Why would he come on to Boar House from Alder Brook, unless the news was
very
bad?

I got to my feet, looking around frantically for Judith. I couldn't spot her—she must have been fetching something from the kitchen.

Heart in my throat, I grabbed my crutch and hurried outside alone.

Cousin Ivo stood in the courtyard, the autumn sunlight turning his pale hair even brighter. He wore his sparse beard combed into five ridiculous points.

He raked me with a glance. “Hello, Mathilda. Still a cripple, I see.”

I
FLINCHED, THEN IMMEDIATELY HATED MYSELF FOR
flinching. That word shouldn't matter to me. No such words should matter to me.

But they did.

“If you traveled all this way to insult me, Ivo, you could have spared yourself the trip.”

“No, I didn't come all this way
just
to insult you,” Ivo said. “I've come to take Alder Brook from you.”

I stared at Ivo, dumbfounded—and then I laughed. I didn't believe him. Take Alder Brook from me? How could he
take
Alder Brook from me? My mother would never allow it.

“I thought you were coming to tell me something bad happened to my mother,” I said, still laughing.

Ivo's eyes narrowed. “Something bad
did
happen to your mother,” he said ominously, and there was suddenly a blade in his hand, a mean little dagger. “Her leg is broken.”

I stopped laughing as I suddenly realized: She wasn't recuperating at Larkspur. She was imprisoned there. For the first time since I'd heard she was following physician's orders to stay in bed for two months, the world made sense again.

“Come quietly, and you won't get hurt too,” Ivo said, grabbing my arm.

“What did you do to my mother?” In shock, I let him propel me away from Boar House and down toward the river. I looked all around for help, but everyone was inside eating or serving dinner.

“She had an
accident
.” The way he said the word told me it had been no accident.

I opened my mouth to yell or scream, but before I could even draw my breath all the way, there was a sharpness digging into my ribs. I exhaled in a small squeak.

“I said to come
quietly
,” Ivo growled.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, trying to move my ribs away from Ivo's knife.

“I have an ideal prison for you downriver.”

Imprisonment, then, not murder. “And my mother?”

“She's also my prisoner. She'll remain with my parents at Larkspur until after Christmas Day.”

“Why Christmas Day?”

Ivo spoke slowly, as to a simpleton. “When Christmas Day comes and you are not at Alder Brook to receive the rents and hear the reswearing of your vassals' oaths, I will simply step in and become Prince of Alder Brook in your place.”

“As simple as that!”

“You don't believe me.” Ivo smiled, and jerked my arm a little, so that I stumbled against him. “You know what they call you, don't you? The Splayfooted Princess. The Pigeon-toed Princess. Mathilda the Gravefoot. And those are just the people
laughing
at you.”

I looked at my twice-twisted foot: one twist pointed my toes inward at my other foot, which they call being pigeon-toed, and the second twist turned my foot over so that I walked on the outside edge, which they call being splayfooted.

I'd heard the names whispered behind my back all my life. I'd often wanted to show the whisperers the horrible ulcers that came from walking too much, and watch them run screaming. But of course, princesses do not do such things.

“Get in the boat,” Ivo said. I shook my head, coming out of my stupor to see that we had reached the riverbank. I cast one last look back at Boar House, but it was shut up tight; everyone was inside, eating and laughing. Upstream, Alder Brook presented an impassive wall to the river. I could see no figures in the distance, no sign of any activity. It was dinnertime there, too.

I crawled into the boat and wondered: How had Ivo known where to find me? He had to have gone to Alder Brook first. They had to have sent him down here to Boar House alone. Why would anyone have done that? Unless . . . unless they understood his mission and wanted him to succeed.

I blinked hard for a moment, trying to keep my vision clear. I'd spent a lot of my life swallowing sobs and hiding tears; so today was like all those other days. Practice made perfect.

“Can you swim?” Ivo asked, and then scoffed: “Like I'd believe what you said, anyway.” He pulled out a small length of rope and tied my hands with it. I stared at my bound wrists, astonished.

“Why not just kill me?” I finally asked.

Ivo clambered into the boat and cast off. “Really? Is that what you think of me, Tilda?”

“You
are
usurping my principality,” I said.

“Murder is a terrible sin.” He shipped the oars and rowed out into the current. “Plus my mother said not to kill you, in case we need you later. And my father says you're the perfect hostage to keep your mother in line.”

“So, your whole family is helping out with stealing Alder Brook. That's nice. And how, exactly, are you going to convince Alder Brook to just let you take over?”

Ivo rested on his oars, and smiled. “My sources assure me it won't be a problem.”

“Your sources?”

“They say your mother walked over a grave when she carried you. They say you bring bad luck and death. They say your father died because of you, or because of some sin in his past, the same sin that caused your gravefoot. They say that if even some desperate knight could be convinced to marry you, he'd die before the first year was out, because there's a devil's mark on you.
Everyone
knows you're cursed, Tilda.”