I will do the same.
“Your …” Huldric begins and then pauses. He’s the lord of Castle Fairfield and a favorite of the king. They raise his hunting dogs there – or did. I don’t know if they still do. No one has ridden in a hunt for animals in a very long time. What we hunt now are magical shadows, half man, half beast, all demon.
The king waves impatiently over whatever awkwardness has made Huldric pause. “I will take no offense at any suggestions.”
“Your liaison with my niece is well known though not spoken of,” Huldric says quietly and the king’s cheeks – to my surprise – flare scarlet. “Her daughter was born a single day after your legitimate heir. And by our laws the oldest inherits, legitimate or not. She was but a day shy of usurping her place – though perhaps you do not know. We did not speak openly of it.”
“Where is she now?” my king asks, and I snap my mouth closed on censure.
He does not know. He has a daughter who ought to be in his care, and he does not know her day of birth nor her whereabouts.
I grip my sword pommel tighter. I must not show the others how aghast I am at this willful irresponsibility. Honor demands loyalty. That my king will publicly admit a lack of honor makes something I hold tight crumble.
I discard it. Anything that crumbles cannot be kept. I have not the strength to bear broken things along with everything else. I have my vassals to defend and lead. I must occupy myself with that.
The conversation has gone on without my attention.
“Sir Oakensen,” my king says, and my head snaps up. “You’ll ride, then, with any of your men who can find good mounts. Make all haste to Castle Fairfield and retrieve my daughter and the Lady Fliad, granddaughter of Huldric. That should serve propriety.”
There are murmurs of agreement and some grimaces as they look at me. I do not look like a reputable escort for a king’s daughter, even an illegitimate one. They send a known lady with her as a guard for her reputation.
“Lord Huldric’s people will provide mounts for the ladies,” the king continues, but my mind is a blur of organizing and planning.
Can I bring them all? How many horses can I find and from where? How fast can we ride out? The men are tired from battle – but we must ride for the last hours of daylight.
At least I can tell Fergan that the chances of getting hot food will increase the further from the army we go. If I can bring Fergan. I will have to leave him with any vassals I leave behind. Hard to find horses these days. Even poor ones. I’ll ask the picket master.
My mind is so full of orders and demands that I hardly notice being drawn almost bodily from the command tent. Hardly notice as Old Huldric leans in to whisper in my ear in his trembling way, “She’s a good girl. Mind her well. And take the boy with you.”
If she’s a good girl, why do none of them seem to realize that they plan to offer her up to a monster? I look at him from the corner of my eye as a horse might do when it no longer trusts the rider.
The messenger boy is thrust toward me. The one who needs feeding.
I want to object that we will be in danger. That we will ride hard. That there is no place for a child. But I take one look at him and melt. Perhaps, I will find him a meal, too. Perhaps, he can even stay at Castle Fairfield when we get there. The name conjures images of horses grazing and sheep scattered over green fields. It’s winter, but that doesn’t seem to matter to my imagination. I cannot leave him in this hellish mess after imagining him there.
The boy looks up at me hopefully and I nod to him.
“Promise me you’ll look after him,” Lord Huldric says, and I meet his eyes and realize this is what he cares about. Not curses or riddles or even this war, just this one scrap of a child.
And in that glance, I realize he’s thinner than he should be, shakier than men his age are, even in these advanced years. He might not live to see me return. Has he been giving the boy his rations?
“Say it,” he begs, and his hand reaching for me shakes so hard that I grip it just to steady him.
“I so vow,” I agree.
And then we slip away, me and the boy, and it’s finding horses – too few – and packing bedrolls and water and breaking the news to Fergan that I’ve only found a dozen mounts and he’ll have to stay here to lead the vassals I must leave behind, and it’s me giving him my second-best blue tabard so he can carry my authority, and then me bidding farewell those we cannot take with us – too many – and then we’re off.
We make an odd party, a knight who is not a knight, a dozen tired vassals, an eager scrap of a boy, and a happy dog.
4
IVA FITZROY
“Iva!” The voice startles me Especially a panicked voice like this in a place of sanctuary. It has the sound of a sheep fallen down the well or a barn on fire.
I’m careful to place the warm puppy beside his mother before looking up. She starts licking him immediately, though she’s not finished birthing her litter. It’s warm and dark here but if Gretsha doesn’t stop shouting it might trouble Fern too much and we’ll lose a pup in her anxiety.
I turn slowly so as not to startle Fern. This is her first litter and she’s doing well despite the worried look in her sharp eyes. She’s a high-strung dog – perfect for hunting – but not perfect for whelping pups. She needs to borrow my steadiness, my confidence, my strength. I keep my hand on her shoulder when I turn and place a finger to my lips so that Gretsha won’t speak loudly again.
