Knight from the Ashes by Shari L. Tapscott
Clover
A sealed envelopefalls upon the table in front of me, right over the book I was reading. Henrik’s name is scrawled across the front.
I glance up at Camellia, wondering why she’s giving me the note.
“I want you to deliver this to Henrik,” she says, her tone snippier than usual.
“But he’s on the supply run.”
“I know where he is,” she answers tartly.
“Am I a courier now?” I demand, brushing the letter aside. “I already cleared the dishes from your room. Find someone else to deliver your love letter.”
“It is not a request, Clover. You will take this to Henrik.”
With an aggravated sigh, I slam my book shut and push my chair from the table, accidentally creating an awful scratching noise that makes the scribes in attendance glare at me.
I know what this is. It’s punishment for interrupting…
Whatever it is I interrupted.
My eyes drift to Camellia’s hand, and she immediately crosses her arms, hiding her now-bandaged palm from sight.
Frowning, I snatch the letter from the table. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“You’ll leave now.”
I glance out the wall of arched windows. A storm has settled in, thoroughly soaking the valley. Rain runs down the windowpanes, and the sky is a miserable gray.
It doesn’t show signs of letting up soon.
“It’s raining,” I needlessly say, waving listlessly toward the dreary day.
“Wear a cloak.”
With a flick of her hair over her shoulder, Camellia turns to leave. As she goes, she warns, “He’ll check the seal—no snooping.”
As if I want to read whatever flowery, nauseating drivel she penned.
I turn the envelope, studying Camellia’s phoenix crest that’s pressed into the red wax. If Henrik’s truly gone, who exactly was in the closet with Camellia and Hellebore, and what were they doing?
I assumed it was an afternoon tryst, but with her handmaid present? And I’m sure that was blood…
No.
No, no, no.
I’m not involving myself in this. Absolutely not.
But…if I didn’t know better, I would say Camellia has taken up necromancy and that she and her maid were offing someone in the privacy of her closet.
As soon as I allow myself to think it, I laugh at the idea of Camellia dirtying her hands with the dark blood magic and push the ridiculous thought away.
The princess may be many vile things, but she’s far too vain to dabble in sorcery. She’d never give up her beauty for power.
* * *
“Clover!”Lawrence hollers from across the courtyard.
I pause in the middle of the downpour, watching as the prince runs across the cobblestones. He holds a hand over his eyes to block the rain from dripping down his face, but his hair is already wet.
I smile, acknowledging that he makes a dashing figure, even when half-drenched.
“Where are you going in this weather?” he asks when he reaches me, jerking his head toward my horse.
“Your lovely sister is sending me on an errand.”
“To where?” he demands. “And surely it can wait until the storm passes.”
I shrug a bored shoulder. “Apparently, it’s urgent.”
“What could possibly be this pressing?”
“She has a letter for Henrik.”
Lawrence mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his head. “Come inside—we’ll send a courier.”
“No, it’s all right. I’m pretending it’s a holiday. I’ll spend a night in Roversten with my aunt Talia and then get an early start in the morning. I should reach the group before they make it to the river crossing and be back before the end of the week. Just imagine—several days without your sister hovering over my shoulder imagining new and inventive ways to torture me.”
“Who’s going with you?” Lawrence asks. “Haven’t you requested a guard?”
I roll my eyes. “Is there a safer stretch of road in all of Caldenbauer? Have some faith in your patrol guards—I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll go,” he says stubbornly. “Wait for me.”
Shaking my head, I begin walking my horse toward the gatehouse once more. “You know very well you can’t escape your duties to play knight to me. I’ll be back soon.”
Lawrence grasps my arm, pulling me back as he puts on a pout. “I’ll worry about you. If you won’t let me accompany you, stay with me and send a courier.”
Laughing, I shake him free. “Go inside. You look like a drowned rat.”
“A handsome rat?” he asks, flashing me an appealing grin.
I roll my eyes and mount my mare, giving him a wave over my shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
“Do your brothers know?”
“Goodbye, Lawrence!” I yell over my shoulder.
“Be careful,” he calls when he realizes he can’t talk me out of it. “Watch out for troll pits! And don’t wander off the road!”
As soon as I leave the castle, my smile fades. As glad as I am to be away, it’s going to be a damp, miserable ride.
I feel for the letter in the inside pocket of my cloak, making sure it’s still there. As it keeps trying to do, my mind wanders to the strange thing I interrupted in Camellia’s chambers.
It’s none of your business, Clover.
Dropping my hand, I continue down the road.
* * *
The rainthankfully lets up by the following afternoon, leaving the air smelling clean but still too hot and humid for autumn. At least it will be pleasant in the mountains—if I can figure out the best way to reach them. Ahead of me, there’s a fork in the road, and both options seem to lead north. Which one do I take to find Henrik?
Wishing I’d thought to bring a map with me, I turn back and head to the farm stand I passed that was just outside a roadside orchard.
The last summer peaches are ripe, and many a housewife is here, bartering for a good deal with the Boermin man who runs the stand with his young granddaughter.
I wave at the girl when she spots me standing to the side, and she shyly waves back. She wears a tidy dress in pale pink, with a crisp apron over the top. She wears no boots, as the Boermin prefer to go barefoot—or rather, bare-hooved. A white bow adorns the coarse, tufty hair atop her head.
With their short, stocky build, stout snouts, tusks, and floppy ears, some people say they bear an uncanny resemblance to pigs, but that’s a cruel connection.
The Boermin are a kind people, friendly and quiet, who have an affinity for working the earth. They also have wicked tempers, and if you even breathe the word “hog” in their presence, they’ll likely chase you off their land with a sharp sickle.
The girl extends a wooden plank that holds sliced peaches, silently offering me a sample.
“They’re the best this time of year,” I tell her as I bite into the juicy fruit. “Have you had a good crop?”
She nods.
“Did the rain slow down business?” I ask, looking around, careful to phrase my questions so she can answer with a shake or a nod of her head. Though the Boermin can understand the common tongue, they lack the necessary vocal cords to speak it. Instead, they communicate with a variety of grunts that very few in Caldenbauer can understand.
She extends a hand and waves it side to side as if to say, “Only somewhat.”
“May I buy a couple?” I ask, motioning to the peaches. “I’m traveling, or I’d take more.”
Quickly, she nods and motions me into the orchard. I follow, bemused, wondering why she doesn’t pick a few from the baskets. Carefully, she studies several, and then she motions to them, silently asking if those will be all right.
I nod, and she plucks them from the tree. She then carefully wraps them in a white handkerchief and gestures to the painted wooden sign to show me what I owe.
Before I pay, I ask, “Can you tell me which way I need to go to reach Riverwren? I’m not sure if I should take a left or a right up ahead.”
She walks to the edge of the road and extends her arm, pointing to the right.
“Thank you so much.” Smiling, I slip a gold coin into her hand and bid her a good day.
The clouds break up as I ride, and the air becomes a little less sticky. I eat one of the peaches as I breathe in the smell of the wet, sun-warmed grass.
It almost feels like summer. Squirrels run up and down the massive cottontuft trees that dot the landscape, preparing for winter, and locusts clack as they leap from the road into the long meadow grass.
It feels serene out here—peaceful even, and I decide going after Henrik isn’t such a chore after all.
“Maybe I should become a courier,” I tell my horse with a satisfied sigh.
She doesn’t answer, but I’m sure she agrees. I give her neck a pat, and we continue toward the towering northern mountains.