Damsel Knight (33 page)

She nods her head, proud.

“Barbarians have a curious relationship with dragons. My father could never tolerate the beasts. They raided his villages, even his city, and no matter his attempts, he could not get them to obey him. The barbarians live in an area dense with dragons. Sometimes a dragon kills a barbarian. Sometimes a barbarian kills a dragon. But for the most part they live in peace and share the land’s resources. I’ve even heard tales of barbarians riding dragons, much like you do with your beast. This could all be fanciful tales. There were no barbarians seen riding the golden dragon, but I do not like to take risks with something that means so much. So I offer you a life, as a man.”

A man. For the moment, surprise pushes anger out of her head. “How is that possible?”

“Most things are possible if you pay the price.” He leans forward in his chair, once again the friendly King. “You love that boy Neven, do you not? I’ve seen the way you look at him. Kill him, and that will be enough payment to become a man. You won’t have the kingdom, or my daughter’s hand, but I will make you a knight and pay you handsomely. We’ll find someone to burn in your stead, and give them your face. Then I’ll introduce you as a dragon master from outside the circle, set on stopping the terrible acts of your countrymen. I have had a few acquaintances with barbarian leaders in the north, so it’s not unlikely. Most important for you, you’ll get to live.”

Boone shrinks from the bars. “I’ll never kill Neven.”

“Men need to make sacrifices for the greater good. It is all well and good to have friendships, but that should never stop you doing your duty. You wish to be a man, don’t you? So you need to do what a man would do. Or do I have you wrong? Have these past days pretending been nothing more than an act that doesn’t show your true nature?”

Boone shakes her head sharply. No, this isn’t an act. These days have been everything. It’s like she’s spent her life bundled in some awkward costume that is just wrong - too tight, too stifling, too alien. Being a boy is breathing after so long trapped under water…but. She’s not sure she wants to be a man. She wants to be herself.

“People are complex. They’re brave, fearful, smart, dumb, serious, funny, and everything in-between. I am me. I don’t know whether that’s male or female. Maybe gender doesn’t matter as much as we think.” She’s heard Neven say those words, but hearing herself speak them is something different, because she realises with a jolt that she believes them. Neven can be a coward, but that doesn’t stop him from being brave and brilliant. Alice can take more pain than a man and never say a word. Gelert can be the most powerful beast she’s seen, and afraid of something as simple as heights. “When you try and squash people into categories, you don’t let them find out who they are. What they like, how they want to dress, what they want to do, who they want to fall in love with, what they stand for. These traits are more important than arbitrary rules designed by people I don’t know, and I will not destroy my values for the sake of a King who wears jewels made from dead children on his head.”

“See sense,” the King says, jaw tense beneath his black beard. “I’m trying to save your life.”

She grips the bars tight. “If you meant that, you would free me now. But you won’t because you’re a liar and a hypocrite. Tell me. If you think men are so much more than women, why haven’t you changed Alice into a boy?”

He looks taken aback. “What has-”

“Is it because you fear the competition? My guess is it’s because you love her as her. She has inherent value to you. Not because she’s female, but because she’s Alice.” She sees from the shocked look in his eyes that her words hit their mark. “You aren’t protecting her. You’re imprisoning her to a life where she’s so busy thinking about what she’s supposed to do, that she forgets who she is. You’re destroying her.”

He gets up from the stool. His eyes are cold. “I tried to reason with you.”

She should stop. She knows she should stop, but as he turns to walk away, anger doesn’t let up its tight grip of her heart. She hits a metal bar hard with her good hand. “You’re right you know. Gelert won’t listen to anyone but me, though not for the reasons you think. It’s because he has honour and loyalty. More than you’ll ever have.”

“I hope that gives you comfort in the next world,” he says without turning around, and then he leaves.

Chapter 34

The metal scrape of a key turning in its lock wakes her. She hasn’t been sleeping so much as alternating between dozing and staring into the torch-lit cell. Angus stands in the open doorway.

“It’s time.” He holds out a rope. No metal cuffs this time.

Two armed soldiers stand behind him, one only a foot short of Angus’s eight feet, with less of him muscle, the other much shorter and slighter. Their eyes look familiar. She’d drank and suppered with the soldiers a few times. It’s strange to think that these two men might’ve been among those she’d laughed and played games with.

Boone hesitates, then turns around, offering her wrists. Her dead hand might take down one, but here in the cells that won’t help her. There are too many people between her and freedom. Even if she does escape, the King’s locating spell had found her easily enough last time.

Angus ties her hands tight, but not cruelly so. She hopes he doesn’t notice them shaking.

“Go make sure the path is clear. I’ll lead the prisoner from here.” The words are curt and underlain with more than his usual anger, but when the men leave he turns to her with an almost hesitant manner.

“I don’t supposed you’d let me escape?” She asks, laughter that tastes like screaming covering the words.

With a half shake of his head, he turns away. Then he spins around abruptly, eyes bright. "How did you do it? Was it magic? Did you cast a spell to make you so-" his words break apart, so he gestures at her jerkily.

She guesses he means competent. She knows there's not many like her. She's never met a woman with any real skill at fighting. At least, until the barbarians. "There's nothing magic about being good with a sword. Only years of practice."

Angus grunts and steers her out of the cell by her shoulder. They walk together through the long passages of the cellars. The cells are out of the way and lower than the rest, so it's a while before the fresher air near the infirmary hits her face.

All the while, he doesn't remove his hand from her shoulder.

"I don't understand how you could act like that," Angus says finally. "You fought. I tried to burn you, and you still stopped the witch destroying the barrier. What woman would've done that without magic?"

"Plenty I think." Boone tries to keep her limbs loose and casual, her voice normal. She's not sure how well it works. "Surely you met at least one woman you admired in your life?"

He's quiet as they pass the infirmary and its several peering occupants. They go up the stairs, and through the palace, to the kitchens where they meet up with the other two soldiers. He guides her not ungently through the kitchens, and out the side door.

She freezes.

Her fellow soldiers are waiting in the courtyard. She glimpses enough of the crowd from behind the stables to be sure of their vast number. And they're all here to see her die.

Angus's hand nudges at her back. "Don't let them see you scared."

Taking a breath, she measures her odds. They aren't good. While most of the soldiers are already in the courtyard, others walk from the barracks, and even through the kitchens to join the gathering.

This time, there's nowhere to run to.

Step after measured step, she walks to the courtyard.

A bonfire much like the others greets her. She turns her hands to fists to stop them trembling. Her head feels dizzy, and her mouth is dry. She doesn't want to die.

She turns at the last minute at the base of the bonfire, to run maybe, she's not sure. But Angus is there, and so are the other two soldiers. Angus and the large soldier lift her onto the pile of wood, while the lithe one secures her wrists behind her back.

It's over too quickly for her mind to decide if trying to run in front of this crowd is worth it. They'd think her a coward. A brave man would face death. Catching the thoughts, she mentally shakes her head. That's not what's important now.

"My mother." The words take her by surprise. She looks up to see Angus, inches away from her. He doesn't look in her eyes as he speaks. "My father claimed it was him, but I always knew it was my mother who listened to the palace gossip and found out who my father would have to speak to in order for me to get a blessing. It was her who dressed my sister up and took her to the palace when my father couldn't bring himself to. I don't know what happened to my sister, but I know my father was presented with a blessing for one of his children. He chose me, and requested I grow big and strong. He said it was to better help him on the farm, but my mother had greater ambitions. She said I was to become a knight, and have an opportunity my ancestors did not. And so I did."

Boone isn't sure what to say. It's more than she'd ever thought she'd know about Angus. He can afford to open up, she guesses. The dead don't tell secrets. "She sounds like a brave woman."

It's one way of putting it, since she can guess the fate of his sister, and who held the knife.

He looks at her sharply, as if looking for deceit. "She wasn't a witch," he says finally, and makes his way to the bottom of the woodpile.

She looks out to the crowd. Familiar faces look up at her. Neven stands on the far right of the crowd. He looks up at her with a strained expression.

The soldiers grow restless, throwing questions at the men around the bonfire. They seem angry.

"This woman is accused of treason!" Angus shouts over the noise. He faces the crowd squarely. Nothing about his stance suggests the conversation moments before. "She lied to our King about her identity. She pretended to be a man. She treated us like fools, and for that the King has sentenced her to burn."

Not once does he use the word ‘witch.' She's absurdly grateful.

Noise pours out of the crowd. This is the part of a burning where jeers would be heard. Instead most of what she hears are startled questions.

Angus repeats his words.

Below her, Drust lights a torch. The old medic stands near him, seeming to lean into the warmth with a slight smile on his face.

The crowd explodes again. A few jeers about what kind of unsavoury heritage they hope she has in the next life. A few more questions. A few protesting voices. The word ‘dragon' appears on some of their lips.

Drust brings the torch closer to the bonfire.

The jeers increase in volume, but so do the protests. They're angry, she realises with shock, but not all of them are angry at her. Some are angry for her.

"This is the order of the King!" Angus shouts, gesturing at her and the bonfire.

The protests die away, but some in the crowd shuffle their feet and shoot dark glances at the fire. She's under no illusions. They want Gelert, not her. But the idea that they don't want her to die is enough to make her stand a little taller against the post.

That's when she notices it. The ropes are loose.

Very slowly as not to attract attention, she shifts her wrists. There's give in the rope tying her arms behind the post. A lot of give. One sharp tug and the whole thing would fall apart.

Drawing in her breath, her eyes flicker to Neven's. He holds her gaze with his, brown eyes reassuringly calm despite his too pale face.

Wait, those eyes tell her. Wait for the right time.

Her heart jumps as the flames start licking their way up the woodpile. They soon make their way close enough to feel the overwhelming heat of them. Her skin tingles, imagining itself scorching until all that's left are blackened bones like the ones at Gelert's tower. Taking a deep breath, she gags on the stench of smoke.

Tensing her muscles, she waits. Neven knows what he's doing. He blurs in and out of focus as the smoke thickens. A taller figure appears at his side, bends his head toward him. Ness.

Neven nods his head, messy brown hair bouncing. Looking at her, he removes something from his wrists. It drops, lost among the feet of the crowd. His lips move.

The smoke's too thick. It stings her eyes, billowing from the woodpile in noxious smelling clouds. Choking, she squeezes her eyes shut.

It's wrong. The fire is still small. It shouldn't be producing this much smoke. And the fumes shouldn't smell so odd, like mulched grass. Acrid and overpowering.

Unless someone meant it to happen. The right plants hidden under the wood would make this affect, and she knows someone very good with plants.

Tugging her hands loose, she grabs the post. She can feel the smoke buffeting over her like a physical force. Panic and lack of fresh air makes her legs weak. The fire may not kill her, but the smoke still could.

She attempts to open her eyes, and immediately squeezes them shut again. Pain shoots through her eyes and throat. Her head seems to get lighter, and her body more heavy.

She has to get off the woodpile. But which way? One would lead her straight into the crowd. The other, back toward the stables where her path might be clearer.

A hand circles her wrist. The skin is cool against her own, and somehow refreshing. Like a cold bath after a hot day. It spreads over her, from head to toe.

She blinks open her eyes. They don't hurt.

Ness looks back at her, then gently tugs her arm. She follows, picking her way carefully down the woodpile. It's a curious feeling, like being submerged in cool water, only she's walking on fire. Flames hiss into nothing as she stands on them, and the smoke, so thick and dark around her, stays inches away from her skin.

They find themselves on flat ground, but the cobblestone is only visible through snatches. The smoke is as thick here as it was on the pile. Out of danger, her mind stops panicking enough to let her ears take in the sounds around her. Muffled curses and yelled questions. The smoke is spread further than she'd thought.

Stumbling around in the choking black, they won't even know she'd escaped until too late. It's a perfect plan.

A withered hand jolts out of the smoke, grasping her around her neck. It squeezes, making the muscles in the back of her neck spasm in response. The old medic's face appears out of the black.

"Escaping!" He screeches. "The witch is escaping! You won't get away witch! I'll do my duty, and then-"

He stops, looks down at his chest where a long, dark piece of metal pokes through his shirt. The knife he'd been about to use falls from his bandaged hand.

"No." Dropping his grip from her neck, he raises both destroyed hands to the metal. Terror spasms across his face. A line of blood drips from his mouth to his chin. "No, no, no, no. Please. Please, no."

The metal disappears from his chest. He collapses bonelessly to the ground. Smoke seeps over him.

The lithe soldier stands behind him, a larger form she guesses is the other soldier at the man's side.

On the ground, the old medic screams. It's the loudest sound she's ever heard. On impulse she crouches down, places a hand over his mouth. It's her dead hand.

Energy rushes up from her fingertips. Less than a second and it stops. He lies unmoving beneath her hand. Dead. She snatches her arm away, horrified.

Somewhere in the smoke behind them comes shouting.

Ness tugs her to her feet. The lithe soldier presses the hilt of a sword into her good hand. Her fingers recognise the carved dragons. Her father's sword. Her sword.

The lithe soldier glances behind them. "Now we run." The soldier turns and runs into the smoke.

Only, it's a woman's voice that comes out of the lithe soldier's mouth. The voice of the barbarian woman.

The yelling behind them gets louder, closer.

Hoping she's doing the right thing, Boone runs after Ness and the barbarian.

***

The smoke thins by the time they reach the stable. Past it, she gets her first gulp of fresh air in what feels like hours.

The group keep running, heading in the direction of the barracks. Ness and the lithe soldier lead the charge, with Neven and the larger soldier behind. She follows, heart hammering in her chest, not just from the exercise.

They're not planning on doing what she thinks they're doing, are they?

Near the barracks, the sound of hooves makes it difficult not to turn around. They slip behind the building. On foot, they'd have a head-start, but if some of the ones after them are mounted, that head-start is going to be shredded to nearly nothing.

The lithe soldier gets out a glass tube from a pocket her illusion doesn't have. It's filled with a thick dark liquid. Dragon blood.

"We can't," Boone tries. The thought of the palace defenceless turns her blood to ice, no matter what the King had been about to do to her. Many more people will suffer than the King. "There has to be another way."

"There isn't," the lithe soldier says in that woman's voice. They raise the glass tube to the hole Neven drilled in the wall two days ago.

The disguised woman lets out a sharp cry, and the container shoots from her grip, smashing against the ground further down the wall. She grips her hand, an arrow sticking through its illusion.

Boone looks up to see Julius on the roof of the armoury. There's no way he could get here that fast. He must have been here already.