“Beautiful,” said Hatta, wishing her reflection would last for days.
“I’ll pay you twenty silvers.”
Hatta didn’t reply and Cuora said, “Forty.” She broke the stare, leaving Hatta reeling.
“Why would you do that?”
“For the mirror,” she said.
“This mirror?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you give me forty silvers for a mirror I wouldn’t sell?”
“A hundred.”
Her direct speech confused him. “Beg pardon?”
“I will pay you one hundred silvers for this mirror.”
Running a shop was much different than he imagined. For almost a month no one buys anything. Then a heroine appears and insists on paying more than the asking price, but can’t understand the simple fact that there is one mirror without price.
Baffled, Hatta just shook his head and said, “No.”
“Do you realize who I am?” Through her frustration over the mirror, slight amusement showed.
Hatta nodded. “You’re an angel.
My
angel. Even a king or queen could never outrank that.” Confidence was an unfamiliar emotion, and while Hatta could he’d milk it dry.
Cuora was at a loss for words. Glancing at his dull boots, Hatta asked, “Would you still be buying any other mirrors?”
“Yes. Twenty two mirrors, two hundred and twenty silvers. Minus the damages to the roof.”
Hatta doffed his hat and gave a small bow. “Truly you are my heroine.”
“And you…are bleeding,” she responded.
Hatta touched the back of his head and his hand came away streaked with blood as bright as Cuora’s skirt. It reminded him of the beating, but the pain was still very far behind him.
“You will be my guest today. My physician will tend to you, then I will enjoy your company. You’re quite different than anyone I’ve ever met, Hatta.”
The compliment thrilled him.
Different
was wonderful. As long as it didn’t turn into
strange
or
mad
.
Hatta picked up his jacket and dusted it off. He donned it, replaced his hat, and in another burst of boldness, offered Cuora his arm. She smiled her amused smile, and allowed him to lead her out of the alley.
Chapter 19
Friends
Over the three weeks following the division in the kingdom and the departure of Lady Palida, Chism spent half his time escorting Lady Cuora and the other half on various assignments. As boring as escort duty proved, it didn’t compare with going on damage control missions with the hateful Brune, Lady Cuora’s Knave.
Brune was the antithesis of an Elite—no honor, no fighting skills, and no sense of justice. Chism despised him. He was cruel, but not stupid. Chism watched him every minute, waiting for him to step over the line, but Brune never went that far. The Knave reported only to Lady Cuora, and her standards were much different than the Elites or any other soldiers. Her only concern was that her orders were carried out; how it happened mattered little to her. Now that she had Chism to temper Brune she didn’t have to worry about him. And Chism knew she favored the Knave; it would take a severe transgression for Lady Cuora to intervene.
So much for my blessed freedom.
The rising moon cast night shadows when they entered the inner city. Anxious to be free of Brune for the day, Chism bid farewell to the six guards accompanying them, and increased his pace across the courtyard. Seven palaces, all in a line, spread out before him. The perfect symmetry of the line of buildings was a welcome sight at the end of the day. The shades varied, but on either side of the king’s huge manor were twin smaller palaces, with more on the far side of those that matched perfectly. Instead of seven separate buildings, he thought of them as equal halves of a whole.
From behind, Chism heard a chafing voice. “See you tomorrow,
Partner
.” Brune was aware of Chism’s hatred, and taunted him at every opportunity, relying on Chism’s self-control.
As usual, he didn’t favor the comment with a response. It was two hundred and forty steps to the armory on the side of Lady Cuora’s palace, but he counted anyway to distract himself.
A guard, Mully, helped remove Chism’s leather armor. Thirsty stayed at his waist. “Anything exciting happen around here today, Mully?” asked Chism as a pair of guards entered.
“Just arming and disarming, Chism. Quiet, just as I like it.”
One of the recently arrived soldiers, who Chism had nicknamed Chug after hearing about his tavern habits, spoke up. “We had some excitement. The Lady finally found that mirror maker she’s been searching for. A bit of a tweedle, he is. His hair’s purple of all colors.”
Brune entered along with the other guards in their group. Chism cursed under his breath, anxious to be away from Brune’s ugly face.
Chug resumed his narrative. “Anyway, when we got to the alley where the mirror maker sells his mirrors, the landlord was there, and none too happy. We heard him say, ‘Then you’ll pay in blood!’ and set to beating the poor man. And it was a decent sort of beating, may have killed him if we hadn’t stepped in.”
Brune threw his sword to the ground. “Things like that only happen when I’m gone! I would’ve shown that landlord what a real beating feels like.”
Brune’s words were just bluster. He was very brave with a half dozen men on his side. Chism wasn’t a strong believer in magistrates, but as Lady Cuora’s Knight he had to enforce the laws as she wished.
“Not Lady Cuora,” said Chug in answer to Brune. “She sent him to the magistrate with orders to let him stew for a couple of days.”
“What was his grievance with the mirror maker?” asked Chism.
“He cut a hole in the roof. To get more light for his mirrors, he said. Turns out he didn’t need the light because the Lady bought every one of his mirrors and not only that—she brought him back to the palace. Cancelled her whole afternoon to spend the day with him. Maravilla’s on a path to civil war and she spends half a day sipping tea with a mirror maker! He’s only leaving just now. Probably still crossing the courtyard.”
Chism had no reason to rush out and catch a glimpse of the man. If Lady Cuora was as intrigued as it sounded, the mirror maker would come again.
“Let’s hope he comes back,” said Brune. “A man’s company is exactly what Lady Cuora needs. He could end up saving the kingdom and not even realize it.” Most of the guards chuckled or added agreement.
Brune never spoke without boasting, taunting, or being crude. And it rarely failed to garner an encouraging reaction from the guards. Chism had spent enough time around soldiers to know the direction the conversation would turn, so after a quick farewell for the other guards he exited the armory.
The next morning, after weapons practice and breakfast, Chism reported to Lady Cuora. The change in her countenance was obvious. For one thing she was grinning. Lady Cuora was a ruler, first, last and all. She didn’t have personal emotions or interests and never took time for relationships. It was obvious the mirror maker had made an impression.
“M’lady,” said Chism with a slight bow.
He waited for her to demand an account of the previous day’s activities. It never came so he started. “We found four spies in the houses of the merchants you sent us to search.”
She should be interjecting, wresting control of the conversation
, thought Chism. But for the first time since he’d known her, Lady Cuora listened placidly, content to allow Chism his own pace.
The four spies had been dressed as servants, with mantles dyed to match the color of each house. But underlying the recent dye job, Chism noticed the faint remnant of the flame and stars crest of Far West. None of the other guards in his group saw it until Chism pointed it out. They were too focused on the colors. Chism’s inability to see colors had finally paid off.
“Off with their heads,” said Lady Cuora in a mild voice as if she didn’t really mean it, not like her usual compelling orders.
Chism had to smile when he thought about how disappointed Brune would be when he arrived to find out he was too late to carry the instructions to the headsman. Brune always arrived an hour or two after Chism, and this time it would work against him.
“If you have more, let me hear it, Knight. I have an extremely busy day.” She still spoke quickly, but without brusqueness.
Chism shook his head and took his place at the side of the room.
“I don’t need you this morning, Knight. You’re dismissed.”
He didn’t wait to be told twice. To his knowledge she’d never been in such a mood, and he wouldn’t waste it. Whoever had audience with her today would be truly fortunate.
Out of Lady Cuora’s throne room and free of responsibilities, Chism realized he had nowhere to go. He stopped in the hallway, considering his options and noticed two new mirrors on the wall. They were odd-shaped and much too artistic, but for some reason they had stirred Lady Cuora.
His daily practice with Thirsty was already done, and he had no family in the capital to visit. Taverns were out of the question; he still couldn’t abide them. And as tortuous as it was at times, standing honor guard for Lady Cuora was preferable to walking in order to count steps or stroking a leather strip.
He considered returning to the training grounds to view the current class of Elite recruits and see for himself how drastically the numbers of the Elites had been cut by the departure of Lady Palida’s followers. But Chism was no longer an Elite. He would never wear the Circle and Sword again and couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the other soldiers proudly displaying the symbol.
And even among his former brothers he had no friends.
Curse you, Cactus!
He resisted the urge to break something, and gripped Thirsty’s hilt tightly instead. The decrepit man’s friendship gave Chism a taste, awakening something he’d always assumed he lacked the capacity for. Unknown to Chism, the family planted a seed that continued to grow, no matter how much Chism had despised the idea of friends.
Curse Mikel and Lira and their kindness.
It was the only treatment he couldn’t defend against.
Chism had always been a loner, but never felt lonely until today. Before spending time with the two families, he wanted a friend like he wanted an eruption of boils on his backside, as Ander would say.
Ander
! Chism didn’t think of brotherhood in the same way as friendship, but there was a possibility Ander was a friend. With conflicting pangs of guilt and relief, Chism realized Ander was no longer a Fellow and no longer connected to the Elites. Caught up in his duties as Lady Cuora’s Knight, he had given Ander very little thought.
Gripping his truest friend for confidence, he went in search of his former Fellow. It took an hour to locate Ander in out-of-the-way quarters on the third floor of Lady Cuora’s palace. The door to his room was ajar and sounds of tinkering came from inside.
Chism knocked and called, “Ander?”
Before Ander came into view, Chism heard his voice. “I’ll eat two dozen turkey toes if that isn’t my young friend from T’lai.” He sounded pleased, and it surprised Chism. Ander appeared in the doorway with a delighted smile and hair even more unkempt than usual.
“Have you taken to wearing a borogove on your head, Ander?” They didn’t embrace or even strike hands. It was enough to see each other.
“A dozen borogoves couldn’t match this impressive shag,” said Ander, preening his thick, white hair with his fingers. “Come in, come in.”
Ander’s quarters were cluttered with all manner of trinkets, small metal panels, paints, papers, sketches, and contraptions. He cleared a box of nails and a pair of awls from a wooden chair to allow Chism to sit.
Picking up a small handful of springs in a bowl, Chism asked, “So you’re getting paid to tinker now?”
“No.” Ander’s youthful face belied his nearly snowy hair. He couldn’t be older than thirty five. “To be honest, I don’t know if anyone even realizes I’m here. One of Lady Cuora’s people gave me this chamber while we waited for you to return to Palassiren and I never moved out. The servants get me what I need. I’m not paid, but my needs are more than met. And you, Chism. How is knighting?”
Chism gave a brief account of his three weeks in Lady Cuora’s service.
“Well, I have to thank you, boy,” said Ander.
“What for? Splitting the kingdom or getting you kicked out of the Elites?”
Ander grunted. “I never belonged in the Elites. The only reason I was even a decent Fellow is because you have the temper of an alligator with a dozen achy teeth. I can’t say that I miss soldiering. But thanks for not dragging me around on your duties. I’d do it if you asked, but my place is here. Take a look at this.” He handed Chism a metal gauntlet.
Chism put his hand into the metal glove. It was much too large for him, but had a feel different than most gauntlets. It covered his hand and wrist, but instead of overlapping hinged plates, it was a combination of plates and chain reducing the weight considerably while increasing flexibility.