Splinter & Ash, page 9
Letters peeked out of the dictionary.
Hazel and Mist were hidden from view by the endless shelves, so Ash teased out one of the pages. The paper was crumpled, the writing marred by water stains.
But she recognized the language.
Her stomach dropped.
It had been Lord Maronne’s correspondence with Ferisian nobles that had first alerted the queen that something was amiss. Lord Lambelin had told Ash it’d been near impossible to intercept any letters, because the messengers carried star amulets for protection. A handful of short coded messages carried by pigeons had been stolen from the sky by the royal hawks, but the scribes hadn’t been able to decipher them yet.
Perhaps one of these pages, written in a fine Ferisian hand, could help them crack the code. Because several of the words were scrambled and the order of the words didn’t make sense. There had to be some kind of secret design to it.
“Found it!”
Ash’s heart skipped a beat at Hazel’s jubilant shout. Her hand jolted, and she nearly sent the stack of books toppling over.
She stepped back from the desk. With trembling hands, she shoved the page into her shirt, the paper crackling against the fabric.
Mist peeked around the corner. She held out a booklet, then frowned at Ash, standing awkwardly in the center of the room. “Are you okay? You look like you got lost between all the books.”
Ash plastered on a grin. “I could spend whole days here, reading.”
“Papa always tells us that books are the most powerful weapons in the world.” Mist rolled her eyes. “I’d rather spend my days on the archery lanes, if it’s all the same.”
Ash straightened her shirt and smoothed out the page underneath. “I think words can cut too,” she said.
“But arrows are a lot more dangerous, don’t you think?” Mist demanded.
“A lot,” Ash lied.
Chapter Eleven
Splinter
“With the kingdom changing around her, she clung to the star-given right of queens. Some historians argue that she forgot about her responsibilities. That she chose power over the welfare of her people. To many, she wasn’t queen of Calinor, but merely queen of the noble houses.” For the past hour, Master Ness had been droning on about Queen Eliane, nicknamed the Lark for her delicate singing voice. He spoke with dry disdain of the queen who enshrined the nobility’s traditions in law, and his words were met with discontented mutters from Ilsar and two others, who came from families who valued tradition over progress.
Splinter sat on her own in the back of the classroom. Over the past six and a half weeks, she’d grown accustomed to her history teacher’s manner of speaking. Now that she could decipher his words, she could fulfill her homework duties. She read the books he assigned, and she passed the written tests. She never spoke up in class. Master Ness wasn’t the sort who gave squires the opportunity to ask questions or argue points.
She did well with sword practice too. Twice, Master Elnor had told her she wasn’t a complete disaster, which she’d taken as high praise. She practiced every spare moment and worked on Fenna’s tricks whenever she had the chance.
When it came to her etiquette lessons, she’d been forced to pair up with Tym, one of the boys who’d accidentally greeted her on her first morning. While uncomfortable with her presence, he never sabotaged their exercises. “I don’t care about tradition,” he’d explained. “I just don’t want to disappoint the masters.”
Between his careful notes and Ash’s help deciphering the different bows, forms of address, and rules for meals and get-togethers, Splinter was certain she would pass that class too. Uncle Elias would be shocked if he heard.
With everything else, Splinter lagged behind. The other squires made no effort to help her or to keep a seat available for her. More than once, Lucen had “accidentally” tripped her during her runs.
Yesterday at lunch, Ilsar had casually confided in her that she’d already lasted longer than any of them had expected. “If the teachers can’t get rid of you, we may have to try other methods.”
“Go away, Ilsar.” She didn’t want to rise to his bait.
“Aren’t you the least bit intimidated? Or worried?”
“Unless you’re here to tell me something useful, leave me to my lunch. I’m hungry.” When he left, she clung to her bread roll to hide the shaking of her hands because, despite her bravado, she was worried.
But she had other things on her mind too.
The last time she’d accompanied Ash back to the palace from the Maronne estate, Ash had been edgy and upset. As soon as they’d passed the palace gates, she’d pulled a crumpled letter from her tunic. A message written in Ferisian. She’d held it like the paper was burning her fingers, and despite the fact that they’d both been taught basic Ferisian, neither of them could read what it said.
Lord Lambelin had been thrilled. Ash had skipped dinner because she felt ill. Splinter had gone to the kitchens to get fruit juice and dry biscuits for the both of them, and they’d eaten in silence on the hidden staircase.
That had been a week ago. Splinter knew from her mother’s work that translations took time. But no one knew what the letter said yet, and Ash had been invited to join the Maronnes for a long ride tomorrow, while Mist and Hazel were supposed to visit the palace the day after.
After her lessons, Splinter would help Ash prepare for the ride. She’d promised to stay close to her. Splinter reminded herself of Veridia’s warning every night before bed. A knight-to-be protected her princess. Everyone else had to earn her trust several times over.
She scribbled down her homework assignments, scarcely paying attention to them. She scarfed down her food at lunch. When Lord Brenet set the squires to another run around the practice courts at the start of their weapons drills, Splinter barely noticed that she had an easier time keeping up with the others. She still came in last, but it was a near thing.
She ignored the other squires’ whispers and focused on Master Elnor’s arrival, and the wooden swords that he carried. They were longer and heavier than the ones she’d used so far. The blade he held out to her showed the wear and tear of use. It reminded her of Anders’s blade.
“If you want to succeed, you’ll have to build up strength,” Master Elnor said. “This will help.”
Like most practice sessions over the past weeks, he set the other squires to work and squared off against Splinter, aiding her through the forms and dances. He didn’t hold back. He drew her away from her worries.
For the duration of the lesson, there was only the patterns of the blade, Splinter’s steps to keep her footing, and the slow-building ache in her arm muscles. Her brother had once told her that this was a good ache. The type of pain that told you that you were growing and learning.
Splinter knew what he meant. All too soon, Master Elnor stepped back, a frown on his face. He surveyed the practice yard and called out, “Ilsar. A moment?”
Ilsar broke away from a mock fight to walk over.
“Master Elnor?” he asked politely.
The sword master indicated that Ilsar should take his position opposite Splinter. “Humor me. I need another perspective.”
Splinter’s vision narrowed. She heard the faint echoes of whispers around her as the other squires all stopped their practice to watch.
Nerves ran down Splinter’s spine like ants. She hadn’t sparred with any of the other squires yet. And while Ilsar wasn’t as strong a fighter as Lucen, he was the best of the rest. He was twice, maybe three times, the sword fighter she was.
Ilsar stepped into the circle and smirked. “My pleasure, my lord.”
“We go until one of you disarms the other,” Master Elnor said. “I want a fair fight. No foul play, no dangerous charges. Respect your blades and each other, do you hear me?”
They both nodded.
Splinter’s hands felt clammy.
“As for the rest of you—” Master Elnor raised his voice. “If you have time to dawdle, you’re not working hard enough.”
None of the squires moved.
Splinter stepped into guard position. Master Elnor wouldn’t ask her to fight if he didn’t think she was ready—right?
They raised their blades, and the moment Master Elnor brought his arm down to signal the start of the match, Ilsar attacked.
Unlike Master Elnor, he didn’t trade Splinter blow for blow and form for form. He fought with the intent to beat her. His moves were met with cheers from the squires, Lucen’s whoops loudest of all.
Ilsar’s blade snaked past Splinter’s defense to whack her on the shoulder. He ducked under one of her attacks, and the next thing she knew, his sword slammed into her ribs with bruising speed.
“Focus,” Master Elnor called. “Don’t be cowed by stronger opponents.”
Splinter dodged Ilsar’s next attack. Before she could press her advantage, he circled around her and jabbed the back of her knee. She struggled to keep her balance, bringing up her sword at the last moment to block his lunge.
“You are better than this, Squire Splinter,” Master Elnor snapped.
Ilsar hooked his blade around hers and pulled her close. He grinned at her, but his eyes were cold. “Are you better than this, squireling? Or is it time to show the teachers you’re nothing but a sham?” He kept his voice low so Master Elnor wouldn’t hear, but the words burrowed deep under her skin.
Splinter slammed her heel onto the instep of his foot, forcing him to release her.
She adjusted her grip like Master Elnor had taught her. She widened her stance in the way Fenna had shown her, to block more comfortably.
When Ilsar’s next attack arced toward her, she parried. The voices of the squires around them dimmed. She followed a low thrust with a sideward slash. Ilsar might be more experienced, but Splinter was quicker, and she had nothing to lose.
Her body remembered the forms she’d practiced endlessly. She dashed in and out of range. She felt, rather than saw, Ilsar’s surprise. She pushed when he wavered.
She didn’t hear the squires around her anymore, or Master Elnor. She lost herself in the fight. Perhaps it was luck when Ilsar overreached and lost his balance, but she was there to take advantage of it. She feinted to the right and stepped into the left, and her blade hooked around his.
She twisted.
Ilsar lost his grip. The wooden practice blade slipped from his fingers. The blade tumbled to the ground—and the rest of the world roared back to Splinter.
The sword clattered softly before it came to rest outside the practice circle. Then deadly silence.
Master Elnor clapped his hands, the sound echoing across the courts. “Adequately done. Squire Ilsar, thank you for your assistance. Squire Splinter, you are progressing admirably.”
Splinter grew hot and cold all over.
Ilsar stared at her, pale and furious.
Lucen picked up the fallen blade. Ignoring Splinter completely, he handed the sword to Ilsar. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to work. Don’t think this means anything.”
Splinter knew the words were meant for her. But she also knew Lucen was wrong. She had bested one of the most talented squires in the group. It meant everything.
She raised her head and smiled.
“Look at her. She thinks she deserves to be here now.”
“She just got lucky.”
“Father says the palace squires are the laughingstock of court now. Wait until he hears—”
Splinter stopped listening. She turned to Master Elnor and raised her sword. “Do we keep going, sir?”
The sword master looked at her curiously before he shook his head. “No, squire, I think I know all I need to know.”
He pitched his voice to reach the very corners of the practice courts. “Squires, put down your weapons. Since you all have so much time on your hands, instead of playing around we’ll make use of it.”
Master Elnor gestured. “Taking care of your equipment extends to these courts. Our master smith has business at the docks today, which leaves me to decide what to do with your afternoon. The dummies need cleaning and the targets need to be refilled with straw from the stables, and let’s try to spruce up the fields and lists.”
Some squires groaned. The practice courts had gone muddy and disgusting from the melting snow. Corwen sighed loudly, and Meren elbowed him, but that didn’t stop his twin from speaking up. “This is servants’ work, sir.”
Master Elnor walked over to him, staring him down. “Any worthy knight knows how to take care of their equipment. But if you’re not willing to put in the work, I’m sure Lord Brenet will be happy to explain that to you.”
Corwen blanched. “No, sir. I’ll work.”
Master Elnor nodded at a handful of stable boys, who brought in rakes and shovels and buckets. The sword master gathered up the practice weapons. When he approached Lucen, he considered the crown prince. “Perhaps some good honest work will give you time to consider the meaning of courteous behavior, your highness.” He raised his voice. “Have fun, my doves.”
Then he wandered off, deep in thought.
Chapter Twelve
Splinter
At first the squires on the practice courts worked in harmony, in case their teachers were watching. Lucen and the oldest squires divided up the tasks, and no one complained—not even Splinter, who was given a shovel and a bucket and told to scoop up the mud from the practice field. She felt her ears burning, and she thought it better not to draw too much attention to herself.
When no one showed up to check on them, the squires slacked. Corwen took his dummy and danced a waltz with it. Two boys took their rakes and pretend to joust. Lucen swung an arm around Ilsar’s shoulders and talked to him for a few minutes. Ilsar’s sullen pout tightened into a smirk, and he punched Lucen’s arm, laughing. They nudged Corwen, who sauntered over to Tobias, who, in turn, made his way to Meren.
Two guards crossed the courtyard and the squires snapped back to work, but as soon as the guards disappeared, they stilled.
Meren stopped filling up the archery targets and nudged his brother. Together they crossed the courts, stopping by the other squires, exchanging a few words. Some laughed. Others nodded.
Splinter noticed, but she kept her head down. She didn’t like this assignment any more than they did, and the mud kept sliding off her shovel, but she wasn’t going to get in trouble over it.
Until Lucen walked up to her, hands at his side. The twins flanked him. “You know, if we’re to make these practice courts look appropriate for a royal palace, we should do something about all the muck gathered here.”
“What—” Splinter started.
Meren and Corwen grabbed her by her arms and hoisted her to her feet. Lucen leaned in close. “You do not belong here. You leach away the masters’ time and attention. You’ll never be strong enough to protect my family.” He picked up her bucket, half full with mud, and tipped it out over her head. “And we’ll get rid of you, like the stain that you are.”
Splinter spluttered to keep the mud from seeping into her mouth. “Let me go!”
She tried to pull out of the twins’ grasp, but they carried her over to the archery lists, out of sight from the gate. With little regard for her struggles, they held her over a muddy puddle at the edge of the lane, where grass met greenery, and let her fall.
Ilsar advanced on her with a sloshing bucket full of dirty water. With a smirk, he threw it at her. The other squires gathered, carrying shovels and rakes, and they began to cover Splinter with filth.
Mud slammed against her head and tangled into her hair. Her tunic was soaked through and freezing. And the chant was like a drumbeat around her. “Stain!” “Stain!” “Stain!”
Splinter curled to protect her head and her face. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying.
Fendar—one of the youngest squires, who apparently acted as lookout—hissed. “Quiet! Someone’s at the gate.”
Immediately the chant ceased. The shovels and rakes dropped to the ground, and all the squires ran away from Splinter. All but Lucen and the twins.
With her bullies’ attention elsewhere, Splinter slowly pushed herself up from the muddy puddle, to see who the visitor was.
A page in palace livery held a note in his hands and scanned the practice courts. “Squire Splinter? I have a note from Princess Adelisa.”
Meren stepped in front of her to block the page’s line of sight.
Corwen held Splinter down with his shovel. Mud dripped in her eyes and mouth, and she spat. “Let me pass,” she croaked.
Corwen pushed until she was facedown on the ground. He tsked. “Stain.”
Splinter drew breath to shout, only to inhale a mouthful of mud.
Lucen walked up to the page. “A message from my sister?”
The page stammered. “Prince Lucen, it’s addressed to Squire Splinter.”
Splinter struggled to get out from under the shovel. She needed air. She needed that note.
“I will make sure it gets where it needs to go. Trust me,” Lucen promised.
The page hesitated, then he held out the folded piece of paper. “Thank you, highness. Please make sure it gets to her as soon as possible.”
Splinter snarled. Mud crept up her nose too.
Lucen saluted the boy and spun the letter around. With a single glance in Splinter’s direction, he broke the seal and read it. Then he tore it to shreds.
With a strength born from fury and desperation, Splinter grasped for the shovel again, and this time she found purchase. Her fingers curled around the tool, and instead of pushing it back at Corwen, she yanked hard and rolled away, pulling him off-balance.
She scrambled to her feet. She rubbed the mud from her eyes and nose, spat on the ground, and locked eyes with Lucen. She put her head down and rushed him.
The other squires jumped to Lucen’s aid. It was a mess of fists and knees and elbows. One of the squires hissed when an elbow clipped his eye. Another coughed when a foot connected with his stomach.
