Valiant (13 page)

“I don’t trust the king or Leymonn.” I folded my arms. “Or the princess.”

“I’m not asking you to trust them.”

Play her well
, the princess had told Lord Verras. Was this what she meant? That he should gain my trust and then use me?

“I’m not sure I trust you.”

He looked at me the way he had in his room—as if he were taking my measure. “I’ve dragged you around the palace and threatened you so that you’d do as I ask. And I would do it all again. But I haven’t lied to you.”

He waited, quiet and still. I’d trust him—at least for the evening.

I rubbed my face and grimaced at the red dust that coated my palm. “I wish you had lied, just a little. Something like, ‘I’m sure he’ll want to give you a medal, Saville. Don’t even think about the dungeon.’ ”

Lord Verras chuckled. So he
could
smile. “Keep them quiet for tonight. Give them hope. When you’re finished, I’ll take you to see Will.”

I nodded.

Guards had already swung open the doors to the balcony. I could hear the crowd, even over the murmurs of the nobles who’d gathered. The roar reminded me of the Kriva around the pillars of the bridge: a restless, rushing sound.

And it grew only louder when I joined Princess Lissa on the balcony. The shouts were a battering ram pounding against me. I felt powerless. I looked down at my feet, as if my courage had spilled out and I could gather it up. All I saw were flowerpots in the corner of the balcony, deep blue flowerpots like the ones I’d hoped to put outside the Tailor’s door so many months before.

It wasn’t courage, but somehow it was enough.

I walked to the edge of the balcony and I rested my hands on the rail, arms straight, the way I’d seen men do.

People filled the courtyard and the road leading to the castle. Had the entire city emptied itself to gather here?

“Champion! Champion! Champion!”

I noticed the children first, little ones sitting on their parents’ shoulders. One girl waved a chubby hand at me and grinned like it was a festival day. Her father wore a workman’s smock and gazed up at me, worried and unsmiling. He needed to see the champion, needed to be sure there was someone to protect his daughter against the giants.

And all he had was me.

I looked over the crowd, the men and women and children, all shouting, all waving at me. I wanted to tell them to think—
think!
—Could a boy really defeat giants?

And yet I waved back at them. Waved as if I really were the champion.

It made me sick.

I couldn’t let them think I could save them. It was wrong. But Leymonn moved into view, folded his arms, and nodded. His message was clear:
Do what you’ve been told
.

Then another word rose up, competing with
champion
. “Kiss! Kiss! Show us … kiss!”

I looked back, uncertain.

Lord Leymonn tapped the back of his hand.

Ah, I could do that
.

The shouts billowed around us like storm winds as I turned to the princess. She must have seen Leymonn. She pursed her lips, steeling herself to the difficult task, and extended her hand.

It was so smooth, not a sign of work. I wondered what it would have been like if I had been born to a different father, if I didn’t have callouses from pushing a needle through fabric I’d never wear.

Then I bowed with a flourish like the lords I’d seen in court and pressed a kiss to her hand.

But the crowd didn’t stop.

“Kiss! Kiss!”

“—s kiss!”

I heard the rest of the chant. “Fate’s kiss! Fate’s kiss!”

Had they made a tale of us already? Had they decided that, somehow, kissing the princess would put the world right?

I rolled my eyes. The princess saw it, and a tiny smile curved her mouth.

“Fate’s kiss!”

I’d have none of it.

I didn’t need to look at Leymonn. I’d already decided what to do. I faced the crowd, legs apart, shoulders back, and I bowed as I had when I was the Tailor’s apprentice: a quick bend at the waist. Then I took the princess’s hand and led her off the balcony. Soldiers closed the doors behind us, muffling the roar of the crowd.

Princess Lissa immediately yanked her hand away from me. “Bring my new errand girl to my maids’ quarters this evening,” she commanded Lord Verras. She rubbed at the smear of red dust I’d left on her hand. “And be sure she’s
bathed
.”

I stared after her, jaw clenched. That dust had come from facing two giants.

Leymonn glanced at the princess, then back to me. “You’re good, Champion. That should keep the city happy for a while, don’t you think, Your Majesty?”

King Eldin didn’t answer. He stared at me and, for a moment, I thought he looked jealous. Then he turned away abruptly. “Come with me, Leymonn.”

The advisor flinched, anger flaring in his eyes before he smiled and followed the king.

And then it was just Lord Verras and me in the dim room. The clamor of the crowd leaked through the closed balcony doors. Had I looked at Will that day in the street the way Lord
Verras looked at me now—as if he needed to
do
something with me, but wasn’t sure what?

My shoulders sagged. I couldn’t play the champion any longer. “Well?” I asked. “What now?”

“Now,” said Lord Verras, “I take you to Will.”

I
followed Lord Verras
through a blur of narrow hallways and staircases. I kept remembering the balcony, hearing the crowd, seeing the hopeful faces of the people below.

“That was horrible,” I murmured.

“You did well,” said Lord Verras.

I slanted a glance at him.

“They think there’s a champion, a real champion! They think I can save them. And I can’t!”

“No,” he said, “you can’t.”

Did the man ever try to soften the truth?

“But you did well,” he added.

“You said you wished I’d never run out to face the giants.” I’d resented the comment a few hours ago, but after looking out at Reggen from the balcony, I understood.

“I don’t know a soul who would blame me for saying that after all the trouble you caused. But—” Lord Verras sighed, and I saw how weary he was. “I won’t be in any mood to repeat a compliment, so listen well, Miss Gramton: you showed more bravery than a soldier when you saved Will, and you noticed more than most scouts during your time with the giants. Then
you stood before the king and returned alive, despite your foolishness. So. As I said, you did well.”

I almost stopped, right in the middle of the corridor.

He cleared his throat, as though he was unused to giving such praise. “It just would be easier if you were a man. Much easier.”

I smiled and gestured to my clothing. “If only you knew how many times I’ve thought that.”

We reached Will’s door before Lord Verras could answer. He rapped softly, then opened it. “The champion wishes to speak to the boy.”

A physician stepped out of the room. I nodded at him, hoping I looked the part.

“How is he?” Bless Lord Verras for asking. I couldn’t find my voice.

“His ankle—and his leg just above the ankle—were broken. We set it when he passed out, though there may be many small breaks that we could not tend to. He’s been given a draught for the pain and is sleeping now.”

“Will he walk again? It looked—” I couldn’t finish.

The physician’s gaze flicked away, then back to me. “I hope so, but I can make no promises.”

The corridor swam and I blinked away tears.

“Thank you, Cannon,” said Lord Verras.

Then he led me into Will’s dim, windowless room. One wall was solid stone, as if it was part of the cliff the castle stood against. That comforted me. I liked the idea of Will being far from the throne room. I hadn’t been in the castle long, but
I’d seen enough to feel that it wasn’t safe. Not with someone like Leymonn advising the king. A fire lapped at the edge of a small hearth, throwing shadows against the bare wall and over Will’s bed.

The bed linens covered him, but not his broken foot. Those smooth blankets startled me more than Will’s pale face. He was more likely to get tangled in his blankets than lie so still beneath them.

I stopped in the center of the room, half expecting him to kick back the linens and leap from bed.

Lord Verras closed the door behind us and pulled a chair beside the bed. “For you,” he whispered. Then he took the other chair and dragged it behind me to the far corner of the small room. “For me. This is all the privacy I can offer you.”

I couldn’t look away from the still form on the bed.

The chair creaked as he sat down. “He’s brave. Strong. He was almost across the bridge before I reached him. I don’t know how he did it.”

Will pulled in a whiffling breath. How many times had I heard that from his nest under the Tailor’s cutting table? I almost smiled, and found I could move again.

I twisted my chair so that I could sit as close to him as possible. He slept on, his freckles stark against his pale skin. Pain still pinched his face, but the trembling that had shaken his body when he lay near the fountain had stopped.

How I wanted to hold him close! Then I realized I didn’t have to pretend here.

There was no one in the room left to fool.

I reached out and rested my palm against Will’s forehead. It was dry and warm, no fever. I pushed his unruly hair back from his forehead. His eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. I wouldn’t try to wake him, not yet. I took one of his hands in mine, and softly combed his hair back with my other.

“Sir?” Will’s whisper was so thin I barely heard it.

He looked at me with sleep-clouded eyes. “I thought you were Ma at first.”

“She used to do this?” I asked, still sweeping his hair back.

He nodded.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

A shrug.

“The doctors think you’ll be just fine. You’ll have to lie still a while, though, or your foot won’t heal. Do you think you can manage that?”

His eyes opened wider. “How will I go to the fountain to look for Pa?”

I kept my voice firm. “You can’t. Not for a while. If you try to walk before you’re well, you might not be able to walk at all. You’ll have to wait, do you hear me? You need to heal.”

He nodded again. “Maybe I can wait a few days.”

“Good.” After a little while, he scowled at me and whispered, “Sir, you shouldn’t do that. What if the doctor comes back and sees you?”

“Sees what?”

“You doing what Ma did with my hair. They’ll know you’re not a boy for sure.”

Lord Verras’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight. Will
heard it and jerked away from my hand, trying to see into the shadows behind me.

“They know now, Will. They already know.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, worry pinching his forehead. “I didn’t tell them, Sir. I swear I didn’t!”

I pressed him back onto the pillows. “They just figured it out. It would have happened sometime.”

He pushed himself back up, trying to see who else was in the room. The chair groaned again, and a moment later, Lord Verras stood beside me.

“Hello, Will.”

Will’s face grew serious, even though his head swayed a bit from the draught. “Are you going to hang Sir?”

Lord Verras blinked. “Who?”

“Sir.” Will pointed at me. “That’s what I call her. So … 
are
you going to hang Sir?”

“No,” said Verras. “We aren’t.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Will. “Is Sir in trouble?”

Lord Verras answered immediately. “Not with me.”

“But maybe with someone else?”

A pause. “Maybe.”

The answer satisfied Will, who accepted it with a grim nod. I sensed Lord Verras weighing how much he should say. “We’re going to hide her for a while. So the giants don’t find out the champion’s a girl. She’s going to dress as a maid and stay in the castle. If you see her—”

“I’ll act like I don’t know her,” Will finished.

“Good,” said Lord Verras. “Very good. And I need you to
tell me about the giants tomorrow. Everything that happened. Can you do that?”

Will’s mouth thinned, and I caught my breath.
What was he remembering?
But he nodded immediately.

Lord Verras held out his hand to Will, who shook it solemnly. I looked at the nobleman. His face was set, as if he’d just made an agreement with another man. No silly smirk that adults sometimes wear to humor children.

“Till tomorrow.” Lord Verras released Will’s hand gently and returned to his chair.

Will flopped back in bed and scowled at the ceiling. “Here I am, stuck in a bed,” he muttered. “Who’ll help you?”

“I’ll be fine,” I told him, pushing away every thought of dungeons and spoiled kings. I didn’t want Will to see even a shadow of fear on my face. “Truly. Don’t worry about me.”

But Will didn’t believe me. He just looked up, dark circles under his eyes. He’d fought against the doctor’s draught for too long.

“I’ll listen,” he said finally, “and then I’ll tell you what I hear. Folks talk around children. They don’t think we pay attention. But I already know the doctor doesn’t think you could stop an army of giants.”

“He’s an intelligent man, then.” I pulled the too-neat blanket up to Will’s shoulders. Then I swept his hair back from his face, wishing he’d give in to his weariness. “Listening is a fine idea, so here’s your first assignment: I’m going to sing you a song, and you’re going to listen to every word. I couldn’t sing
before, but I will now. I have a fine voice, young man. You tell me if I don’t.”

Before he had time to argue, I began to sing the song I had whistled for him that first day we met. The song about the dragon and the brave bowman who killed it.

At first, I was too aware of Lord Verras behind us. But then I thought about how long it might be before I saw Will again. I thought about the giants outside the castle and the villains who walked inside it. I thought perhaps this room still wasn’t a safe enough place for Will.

And I knew, certain as sunlight, that I’d shoot every dragon from the sky for him if I could.

I closed my eyes and sang about fear and fire, scales and wings and curved talons as the dragon attacked the village. I sang about the bowman who saw the destruction, who stood grim and still as he aimed the arrow. Who didn’t flinch as the dragon dove toward him. I sang about the silence afterward, as smoke cleared and the sun rose. I sang every verse, and Will grew quiet.