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The hiss of arrows cut through the early morning haze. The sun began its lazy ascent, spilling a luminous glow across the castle. Its proud walls shimmered as they drank in the molten-gold sunrise. Although a chill still hung in the air, Rowan felt sweat bead from his hairline.
He lowered his longsword and stepped back, then gestured for Jonas to go to the center of the training yard. He obliged with a nervous look in his gaze. A man twice his age met him there, a veteran of the Siege of Winslowe Castle, with a dark mop of hair and a row of missing teeth. The teeth he still had were rotten stumps. He grinned at Jonas, flashing that smug and grisly smile.
Jonas made a poor contest, Rowan knew, but wars were a poor and nasty sport. And in this unforgiving world, every lesson in this training yard might mean the difference between life and death.
“Lift your sword, Jonas,” Rowan commanded his squire, his voice as steady as a drum. “And remember all I taught you.”
Rowan stepped back as the boy and the man crossed their sparring swords. The clash of blunted steel echoed and hung in the morning air. The acrid scent of sweat mingled with the earthiness of the soil. Rowan watched, his senses heightened, as Jonas struggled to parry the relentless strikes of his opponent.
He felt the tension in the very ground beneath him, the rumbling of footsteps and the thudding of blows. The training yard came alive with the rhythm of their sparring, the harsh impact of steel against steel. Rowan’s eyes, sharp as a wolf’s, took in every nuance of the duel, the sweat-drenched brows, the strained muscles, and the raw determination etched into his squire’s young face.
Movement from across the yard caught Rowan’s eye. At first, he took the slim hooded figure for Blanchette. “Well done,” Rowan said to them. “Rest now. All of you return to the barracks.” His eyes parted from Mary’s petite form and scanned the sea of faces.
He crossed the yard swiftly, passing the anvil as a blacksmith pounded steel and bright red sparks flamed.
“Mary,” he greeted. She lowered her hood, exposing her delicate pale features to the crisp morning air. Her nose shone bright red, and the apples of her cheek glowed. “What are you doing about the castle so early? The sun has barely taken to the sky.”
She hesitated, then glanced down at Smoke and ran her gloved hand over his head. “I’m sorry, Father. I couldn’t sleep.”
Rowan nodded and gave her hesitant expression a once-over. “Don’t be sorry. It can be difficult to sleep in a new place. Especially one as big and as formidable as this. Blanchette can bring you something to help you sleep until you become accustomed to Winslowe Castle.”
Silently, she stared forward for several moments, and Rowan saw a debate in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head and sniffled, then rubbed the tip of her nose. “I can never really sleep.”
Rowan felt something pull tight across his chest. He tentatively reached out to touch her curls, but his hand froze midair. His fingers clenched, closing in on themselves repeatedly.
So close, yet so far away.
“Come,” he finally said, hesitantly setting his hand on her slim shoulder. “Let’s break our fast inside.”
* * *
Soldiers filled the long wooden trestle tables. Handfuls were in full armor, while others wore little more than beaten trousers and shirtsleeves. Rowan and Mary lounged relatively isolated as a pretty serving girl filled his tankard with ale and Mary’s with water. Smoke lay beneath their table, his muzzle resting on his huge paws. The serving girl eyed the wolf warily.
Rowan nodded his thanks, his eyes shifting to the front of the hall. He examined the seats of high honor, and within his mind’s eyes, the ghostly images of the king and queen took shape. It was suddenly ten years earlier, and merriment, drunk soldiers, and serving wenches filled the barren hall. King Bartholomew sat rowdy and drunk in his gilded seat beside his queen. The golden crown blended into his curls, the rubies and amethyst sparkling under the torchlights. Beside him sat Rowan’s own wife. Beatrice’s belly was swollen with child, and her cheeks were flushed—though not from the wine. He watched as she and King Bartholomew stole a glance from across the din.
Then they all vanished, and it was just him, Mary, and a handful of his soldiers again. “I noticed you’ve made friends with Smoke rather quickly,” he said conversationally, drinking deep from his tankard. She nodded, her wide blue eyes scanning the great hall. “Have you always been so fond of animals? And they fond of you?”
An answer I should already know.
“I… I think so,” she said. “They’ve always been my friends.”
They kept me company while I’ve been alone, was what he heard. When duty called, and you left me alone.
Rowan forced a smile, but it didn’t fit well. Then he reached across the wooden table and took her small hand in his. She gazed at him and blessed him with a beautiful smile. That feeling pulled tight again across his heart. A few moments later, the serving girl returned with two bowls of porridge seasoned with honey and cinnamon. “You are with me now, Mary. Where you should have been all along. You don’t have to feel lonely anymore.”
She nodded, her blue eyes sparkling. “All right. I’ll… I’ll try not to.” Rowan returned her smile, and this time, it felt right.
Rowan read her eyes as she took in the great hall. “It’s okay to be afraid sometimes.”
“Are you ever afraid?”
“Every time I go to battle. But courage cannot exist without fear, Mary.”
She nodded, visibly soaking in his words. He grabbed his tankard and drank a mouthful of ale. “I’m not really lonely anymore. Blanchette has been my friend,” Mary said, her tiny voice nearly inaudible over the soldiers’ chatter. They’d grown rowdier the past few minutes as the ale ran free and his men fell deeper in their cups. Mary dug her wooden spoon into her porridge. Steam rose into her face and curled her hair. “And Governess Agnes too.”
“Blanchette has taken quite a liking to you,” Rowan said over the mounting commotion. Then he reached forward and cuffed her ear. “And what’s not to like?”
Mary giggled and slid back into another comfortable smile. Silence passed between them. “Do you think about her a lot?”
