Splinter & Ash, page 6
Ash glanced curiously at Splinter, but her squire stared at the queen in awe.
Queen Aveline buttered a piece of bread. “Now, to more important things. Despite what the empire may want, we can and will have a family meal without worrying about treason or assassination. You’re home again with us, Adelisa. I’m certain you have many more stories to tell us about Byrne, and I want to hear the latest from Lucen’s lessons. The cooks have outdone themselves on this meal. Let us eat and enjoy each other’s company.”
Queen Aveline tasted her soup as if the conversation had simply been the first course of the meal and she was ready to move on to the next.
But when Ash observed her mother at the head of the table, she knew better than to believe her nonchalance. She could see the shadows in her eyes. She brought her hands up to her head and massaged her temples. Lord Lambelin hid his concern better, but Ash recognized the many lines on his face and the tension in his bearing. He’d always been part of the family. He’d been the queen’s best friend growing up, and he was still her closest confidant. He was worried. And next to Ash, Lucen was simply angry. Or hurt. Or perhaps he felt overlooked. Or maybe it was all of the above.
Ash pushed her food around on her plate.
On the other side of the table, Splinter locked eyes with her, and she silently brought her hand up to the crest on her tunic.
A small bubble of fear inside Ash’s chest popped and dissipated. At least, whatever happened next, Splinter would be by her side. She’d promised.
Chapter Seven
Splinter
For squires in the palace, the day started before dawn. Splinter rubbed her hands to warm them. She’d studied her schedule and the palace map together with Ash, and she thought she knew where to go, but the buildings sprawled across Palace Hill and she was starting to wonder if she’d made a wrong turn somewhere when she heard voices ahead of her.
She straightened her tunic and rounded the corner to find the other squires gathered at the gate to the outdoor practice courts. They were huddled together, chatting and laughing and clinging to their coats, because outside the sky had turned a pale purple and icy mists rose up from the ground.
Like the day before, the squires quieted when they saw Splinter. The sandy-haired twins, Meren and Corwen, smirked, and Splinter’s former guide, Ilsar, raised his eyebrows. Lucen pushed a few of them aside so he could better glare at her.
Splinter plastered on a smile like none of their actions bothered her. “Good morning.”
Her friendly greeting was echoed by a few of the squires, while others hushed them. “She doesn’t belong here.”
“Impostor.”
“Freak.”
“My brother says being a squire used to mean something, but her presence is destroying it all, for all of us. And the broken princess too.”
Lucen swirled around to face the speaker. “Shut your mouth, Tobias,” he snarled.
The other boy flinched. “Yes, highness.”
“And you . . .” Lucen turned back to Splinter. He pulled himself up. He had dark circles under his eyes. Splinter couldn’t help but feel bad for him and how worried he must be for his mother and for his sister. She wondered if any of the other squires knew to look out for him. Perhaps now that they both knew about the dangers in the palace, things would be—
“Don’t expect us to accept you,” he said, loud enough for all to hear. “You’re only here because people can’t say no to my sister.”
“And you only have friends because people see your crown and not your character,” Splinter immediately shot back, against her better judgment. It had been this way last night and in the marketplace too. Lucen brought out the worst in her.
Her words were met with murmurs. Some of the squires instinctively took a step back. “She didn’t.”
“He’s going to murder her.”
Lucen dashed forward, his fists balled, but Ilsar grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back.
“Not here. She’s not worth it,” he hissed.
Lucen snarled, and Ilsar tightened his grip. “Come on. Lord Brenet would be furious.”
Splinter winced at the reminder that hadn’t been meant for her. If Lord Brenet thought Splinter’s presence dishonored or threatened the royal family, he’d send her away. She didn’t know if getting into a fight with the crown prince to defend Ash’s good name counted as dishonoring anyone, but she couldn’t risk it.
The squires waited to see who would make the next move.
Splinter tugged at the collar of her tunic and forced herself to play nice. “I apologize, your highness. That was inconsiderate of me.”
Lucen shook out of Ilsar’s grip. “It’s a disgrace to pretend that you’re one of us. You’ll never earn your place here.”
Splinter bit her tongue. The only skill the other squires needed was to be a boy in a noble family. That was the disgrace.
The silence stretched out between them, until the gates swung open and Lord Brenet entered the hallway. He didn’t look like the cold bothered him, though the ice that outlined his tunic indicated he’d been outside for the better part of an hour at least.
The squires stilled at his approach, and turned to face him. Splinter and Lucen kept their focus on each other.
Lord Brenet took the situation in, and his face clouded over. “I see how it is. Some time outside will cool you all down. File out. We are going to do two rounds of the practice courts, and I want no complaints whatsoever.”
One of the squires closest to Splinter groaned quietly, and she soon realized why. The outdoor practice courts covered a large expanse of the palace’s outer ward, with snow-covered fields and sandy circles, and pens and lists for horse training. A single round of the hilly grounds was easily a mile or more.
“If I catch anyone dawdling, we’ll go for three,” Brenet snapped.
The squires started running, with Lucen taking the lead. He glanced over his shoulder once to see how Splinter was doing and picked up the pace, the other squires following suit.
By the time she passed the archery lanes, Splinter’s heart hammered in her chest and she was lagging. She’d loved running with Camille, but they usually just chased each other around the abandoned orchard until they were laughing so hard they couldn’t run anymore.
By the time the squires circled around the jousting lists, Splinter’s legs and lungs were burning. She’d bound her hair back to keep it out of her face, but errant strands were matted to her temples.
Ilsar fell back to keep pace with her, laughing at her struggles. “If it makes you feel any better, none of us could do this run the first time around.”
He paused, then added, “Except maybe Meren. We’re fairly sure he’s part bird.”
“Why do you care what I can and can’t do?” Splinter gasped. “You don’t want me here.”
“I don’t want you to get Lucen into trouble. He’s my friend.”
He started it. Splinter didn’t say that out loud.
“But I do want you here,” Ilsar said. “Court is boring with all the knights off to the war. For as long as it lasts, your presence is going to liven up these dusty old halls, and I intend to have a front-row seat.” He smirked and comfortably rejoined the front of the line.
After the run and two rounds of early morning weapons practice, the squires reported to the mess hall for breakfast. Servants had set out food for them on a single long table, and one by one, the squires found their seats. Splinter’s stomach roared. But no matter where she turned, there was no place for her. Every empty chair got snatched out in front of her. All the plates and sets of cutlery were claimed.
As soon as she walked away, the boys moved seats back in place and shook knives from their sleeves, laughing uproariously.
At the head of the table, Lucen filled his cup with fruit juice and watched Splinter’s wild dash for a place to eat with a satisfied grin. He lifted his cup in a mocking salute.
Eventually Splinter gave up trying. She snatched a plate from one of the squires, a raven-haired boy with a tawny brown complexion and a slight look of discomfort on his face, then filled it up with food and sat down at one of the unused tables, far away from the others. She twisted Ash’s ring around her finger.
She’d barely finished half of her breakfast when the bell rang for their lessons. She downed her juice, stuffed a bread roll in her tunic, and started thinking of a better strategy for lunch.
The tricks and teasing persisted. In the classrooms, none of the squires wanted to share a desk with her unless told to by their tutors. During etiquette practice, they had to be ordered to pair up with her.
The classes weren’t great for Splinter. She’d never been good with numbers, and she hadn’t read any of the strategy reports the other squires had studied. Lord Adelard, her politics and diplomacy tutor, made it a point to comment that only noble sons had the courage and fortitude to become knights. His words were met with cheers and hoots.
In her history class—the one subject she usually loved and excelled at—her teacher had a low, monotone voice, and he droned on about the kings and queens of old without pause. The squires passed notes and shared jokes, while Splinter squinted and tried to listen so hard she gave herself a headache. She wasn’t used to so much noise and other students around her. She couldn’t even make out Master Ness’s homework assignments. When she asked him to repeat them, he told her she should’ve paid attention.
At least by the time lunch came around, she knew better than to wait to claim a spot. She dove into the room first, stole another plate, filled it up, and found a quiet corner. She kept her head down and focused on what she’d promised Veridia.
She would prove herself to them all. Even if it would take a long time to get through those thick skulls of theirs.
After lunch, the squires returned to the practice courts for sword practice with Master Elnor, to be followed by blacksmithing and blade theory in the royal smithy. Then they’d have riding lessons and work in the royal stables. And at the end of the afternoon, they had one final hour of classes in the star chapel, after which the squires had the evening off to spend time with their families or sponsors. In Splinter’s case, Ash. They planned to read up on the Maronnes together.
On the court, Master Elnor set the boys to doing pattern drills with their blades and brought in guardsmen to keep an eye on their work. He paired off with Splinter himself.
“You show talent,” he said. He shut down the whispering around them with a dark look. “But you lack technique.”
“My family’s weapons teacher refused to teach me,” Splinter protested.
“Excuses do not matter in battle,” Master Elnor snapped. “And your weapons master was a fool.”
Splinter felt a glimmer of hope. “Sir?”
“Talent untaught is talent wasted.” He motioned to Splinter to assume the guard position, and when she did, he corrected her grip and her footing. He brought her elbows up higher and pushed her shoulders lower. “You taught yourself from a book?”
“Yes, sir. I know it’s not perfect, but—” Splinter stopped herself. He’d just told her excuses did not matter in battle.
“It’s far from perfect,” Elnor agreed. He considered her thoughtfully, and gestured at her to follow the same patterns as the other squires. She’d memorized the stances from the books she read. The blocks and the attacks. The lunges and the feints. She’d never known for sure if she was doing it right, if she held her blade properly, or if it was a pale imitation of what she was supposed to do.
Master Elnor made her repeat the moves. He met every attack with the right block, every step forward with the right step back. He suggested small improvements. He tapped her fingers with his sword when she gripped the hilt too tightly. He kicked her stance wider.
He picked up the pace, and Splinter met it, and for a few blissful moments nothing existed but the gentle clack, clack, clack of the wooden practice swords. The clack, clack, clack as they moved quicker and quicker.
If Splinter closed her eyes, she could imagine the sword was made from steel and she was wearing armor, the DuLac flower emblazoned on her chest.
The clack, clack, clack of adventure and heroics.
Clack, clack, snap. Elnor’s sword cut across Splinter’s knuckles, and she hissed at the sudden pain.
She clung to her blade to avoid dropping it. The sword master raised his eyebrows, but although her hand throbbed, Splinter kept silent and pulled back to guard position.
“No daydreaming, squire,” Elnor chided.
Splinter’s cheeks heated. “No, sir.”
She saluted him with the sword and hoped he would continue. Instead he put his own practice blade away and ordered the guard to end the exercises.
He barely looked at Splinter when he repeated his earlier judgment. “It’s far from perfect.” Then he grinned, and Splinter understood why the guards at the gate had called him intimidating. Master Elnor’s grin was feral and dangerous. “But the potential is there.”
Splinter glowed. “I want to learn,” she blurted out.
“Then I will teach you, squire,” he promised, and with a glimmer in his eyes, he raised his voice loud enough that she knew the other squires would hear. “You will curse my name before we’re through, but you will learn swordplay like a knight.”
Chapter Eight
Ash
Ash straightened her dress and used her mirror to peek into the adjacent room. Although today was a rest day, Splinter had her practice sword out, and she was going through the motions. Like she was dancing.
After a few seconds, Splinter spotted Ash looking at her, and she grinned self-consciously. She wiped the sweat from her eyes. “Master Elnor says I should practice every day.”
Ash smiled. “If he ever worries that you don’t practice enough, I can vouch for you.”
Over the past week, Splinter had gone through the sword patterns constantly. As soon as she woke up and before they both went to bed, and whenever else she could fit it in.
Every time Splinter picked up the sword, Ash found an excuse to watch. It made Splinter look like a knight.
If Splinter could be a knight, maybe Ash could be a princess.
She had to be. Ash plucked at the hem of her sleeve, and she sighed. Today she would officially join the social circuit of the city’s nobility. She would meet her targets—and based on how disastrous the masked ball had been, she did not feel ready at all. “The Maronnes will definitely see through what I’m doing.”
Splinter tossed her sword on her bedside table, and she walked through to Ash’s room. The royal suites all had rooms for companions or squires built adjacent to them, and ever since Splinter had moved in, they’d kept the connecting door open. Splinter laughed at how messy Ash’s rooms were, with clothes and books everywhere. Ash marveled at how clean and empty Splinter’s room was, with her bed neatly made and her scant belongings stored in a big wooden chest, so she could swing her sword around to her heart’s content.
At night, after they’d both gone to bed, they talked about Splinter’s squire lessons, and Ash’s morning study with Lord Lambelin, where he’d taught her everything they knew about the Maronnes. They talked about the scornful comments the courtiers made when they saw Ash with her cane and her braces. They talked about their favorite legends and their shared love of history.
The more they talked, the more Ash was grateful for Splinter’s companionship.
Splinter flopped down on Ash’s bed and patted the spread. “Sit, I’ll braid your hair.”
Ash grabbed her braces and sat down in front of Splinter. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I let slip that my mother thinks they’re traitors?”
“You won’t.” Splinter ran her fingers through Ash’s hair. She was far better at braiding than Ash—wayward strands always got stuck between Ash’s bands and rings. “You pay attention to people. And you’re brave.”
“Me?” Ash whirled around, pulling her hair from Splinter’s hands.
“You and my brother are the bravest people I know,” Splinter said seriously. “You stood up to court for me. You’re going to spy for the crown and unravel a conspiracy.”
Ash felt color rise to her cheeks. “The queen doesn’t want to call it spying.” Queen Aveline had showed up to her meetings with Lord Lambelin twice, but both times she’d worn her crown and she’d been there as queen, not as Ash’s mother. And both times, she’d been shepherded away to other meetings before Ash could ask if they could have breakfast together—or go for a walk across the palace grounds. She wanted to spend time with her mother like she’d spent time with Aunt Jonet. She wanted to find a way to tell her that she was afraid, but she’d do her duty anyway.
The bed bounced when Splinter shrugged. “It’s still spying even if you don’t call it that.”
“That’s what Uncle Lam said too,” Ash admitted. At least Lord Lambelin had listened to her. He’d told her about Lord Maronne’s correspondence with Ferisian nobles, which had first raised his suspicions, and how Lady Maronne had bribed her way into the royal archives, though the scribes hadn’t been able to uncover what she’d searched for. He’d reminded Ash that all she needed to do was to get the girls to trust her, and to pick up every bit of information she could, no matter how useless. He’d also quietly confirmed that Splinter’s uncle wouldn’t be part of today’s event, as he’d left the city to go on a hunting trip. “Uncle Lam promised he’d keep an eye on me.”
“And so will I,” Splinter said.
She’d taken her duty to Ash to heart.
“I know.” Ash let Splinter pick up her hair again. She began to fasten her braces around her arms. Her fingers ached. “It may be very boring. If it’s anything like the masked ball, it’s a lot of people complaining about everything they don’t like about themselves and everything they don’t like about each other.”
“You don’t have to pay attention to everyone,” Splinter reminded her. “Just those girls.”
