Sky of Wind by Emily Deady
Ten Years Earlier
Robin unstopped her flask, shaking the final splash of water into her mouth. She would need to refill at their next stop.
“I hate donkeys,” Lind muttered behind her for the seventeenth time.
Robin did not respond to her lady’s maid. Instead, she leaned forward, patting the thick neck of her stocky mount. “She does not mean that,” Robin whispered to the plodding animal.
The donkey shook its head happily in response to Robin’s soothing touch. Humphrey might not have the elegant features of a horse, but he did have the sweetest disposition of any animal—or person—Robin had ever encountered.
“Just imagine . . .” Lind’s tone instantly switched from complaining to excited. “You get to spend Silverfest at the palace of Iseldis! Surely the venison pies they serve to the king himself will be bursting!”
“Mhhh,” Robin replied, her tongue sticking to the top of her mouth. Not even the thought of a savory meat pie could lift her spirits. She swallowed drily, willing away the tears that nipped at her eyelids.
“Will you save me some?” Lind asked, pressing her mount closer to Robin’s.
“What?” Robin blinked, forcing a quick smile.
“Will you save me something from the feast?” Lind asked again.
“Have I ever failed you?” Robin teased, this time with a genuine smile. “But if the king can afford the kind of feast you’ve been describing for the last twelve miles, surely he’ll also be providing something sumptuous for the palace staff?”
Lind’s eyes clouded over as her mount slowed, falling behind. “Perhaps. But I do not know that every lord is as generous as your dear father was, my lady.”
Robin’s smile faded. Her parents had been exceptional in most ways before a sudden sickness claimed them both. At fourteen years of age and with no other relatives, Robin had found herself quite alone in the world.
“You are ever so lucky, my lady,” Lind continued, “to be the ward of King Frederich himself. I’m sure many others would kill to be in such a position.”
Her maid was only trying to cheer her, but lucky was not the word Robin would have chosen. She was lucky to have spent her childhood roaming Lockwood forest with her herbalist mother. She was lucky to have had a father who allowed—and even encouraged—her to ride and hunt, to learn swordplay and archery. Robin twitched her nose as it suddenly burned.
“Oh, Robin.” Lind dug her heels into the side of her lagging donkey, urging it forward. “I did not mean to make you sad again. Things are changing for the better now. Think of all the new velvet gowns and furnishings and delicious foods you’ll get to have! Your father did his best, but you won’t have to worry about harvestreign taxes draining the holdings or re-dying old dresses to mark you as a lady instead of a mere farmer’s daughter like me.”
Robin forced another smile, though the weight on her chest was still heavy. “I won’t be missing turnip root mash, that’s for sure.”
Lind grimaced. “Neither will I. Ugh.” She scrunched her nose, abruptly changing the subject. “Why does Lumpy always smell so foul?”
“It’s Humphrey.” Robin sighed. Personally, she found the warm, earthy aroma rather comforting. She preferred Humphrey’s mild temperament, steady plodding, and low profile. Donkeys were less expensive to care for than horses and worked twice as hard, so her father had sold their best horses some years ago when early frosts were decimating their crops. It was one of many small sacrifices he’d made for his people.
“I do hope the crown prince isn’t there to welcome us immediately. I imagine if he saw you riding in on a donkey, he would never even consider a betrothal with you!” Lind giggled.
Robin inhaled, turning toward her maid. “I’m the king’s ward, Lind, nothing more.” She kept her tone both firm and gentle.
“Ah, my lady, I was only teasing,” Lind replied. “You know what they’ve always said since your fathers were such close friends. Imagine how happy Lockwood would be if one of their own was on the throne.”
Robin shook her head. As much as she appreciated Lind’s cheerful presence, she would prefer to live with her parents in their poor forested holding than marry the crown prince.
The two men traveling as her escort pulled their mounts to a stop up ahead near a stream.
Robin gratefully reined Humphrey in as well. Her whole body was stiff from riding all day and despite Humphrey’s short height, she did not relish the thought of having to remount him if she dismounted.
Lind had slid off her mount the second they stopped moving.
“Could you refill my flask?” Robin asked her maidservant.
“Oh, Robin,” Lind sighed, sinking into the frosted grass at the side of the road. “I don’t think my legs will be the same again.”
Robin had spent many days traveling beside her father to visit their rural tenants, and she was more accustomed to the saddle than her maidservant. “I’ll get it then,” she said, sliding off Humphrey. “Does yours need to be refilled?”
“You are too kind, my lady,” Lind responded, handing over her own flask.
When she remounted Humphrey some moments later, Robin groaned silently. Surely King Frederich would hardly let his ward out of the castle, much less ride through the forests upon a donkey.
“My lady,” Lind said as they continued down the worn dirt road, “I’ve been trying to cheer you up all day, and I know you are nervous that the palace life won’t suit you. I’m sure it will when you give it the chance, but, in the meanwhile, I just might have an idea.”
Robin turned toward her.
“What if . . .” Lind lowered her voice conspiratorially, pressing her mount even closer until the poor donkeys were nearly tripping over each other. “What if we led them to believe that I am Lady Robin Lockwood?”
Robin froze, unsure what her maid was implying. “What are you saying?”
Lind exhaled quickly. “I’m saying . . .” Her voice had risen in exasperation.
“Hush!” Robin warned, glancing ahead at their escorts. “Keep your voice down.”
“If you pretend to be me,” the maid continued, bringing her voice back to a whisper, “you could enjoy some freedom in Iseldis before locking yourself into this new life.”
“That’s impossible.” Robin immediately shook her head. “How would that even work? I’ve never been a lady’s maid before, and we could not keep up such a deception indefinitely. How would we switch back? What would the king do?”
Despite her resistance, Robin felt a small flicker of hope in her lonely heart. What if she could be free for just a little while longer? Free to do whatever she liked, just as she had always done.
“I would cover for you, of course,” Lind responded to the first of her questions. “You’ve always been so kind to me. Once you feel comfortable with the royal family and have had a chance to explore the city freely, we could explain everything. Call it a safety measure that your mother requested on her deathbed to ensure you were treated properly, and not shunned or forgotten.”
Robin slowly nodded, her mind suddenly filled with all the ways in which this tantalizing dream could become a possibility. “But . . . but your hair?”
As was most common in Iseldis, Lind’s thick hair was a glistening raven black.
“I was presented to the king and queen when I was a child,” Robin continued. “My father said they continually marveled over my golden hair. If they remember anything about me, it would be that.”
Lind shrugged. “I’ll say I dyed it so as not to outshine Princess Meena.” She looked at Robin’s fair locks. “And we’d better coat yours with coal dust so you do not stand out.”
Robin pinched her lips. She had not yet consented to this wild plan, but she let her maid’s words lie uncontested.
Walkingdown the hall to his castle room, Ian reenacted a dramatic lunge with his wooden sword. “You didn’t even see that one coming, did you?” he said, gleefully referring to a recent sparring session with his younger brother.
“No, no. I did see it,” Onric protested. “I was just trying to block with it a clever parry instead of head-on as the captain showed us. It almost worked, too.”
Ian heard the frustration in his little brother’s voice. “That would have been a smart defense,” Ian responded. As the crown prince of Iseldis, he had been taught to always be gracious—at least out loud. The confident swagger of his walk remained even as he praised Onric’s attempt at defense.
“She’s here!” Princess Meena crept out of her room, whispering in a loud hiss as the older boys walked by.
Ian stopped abruptly. “Already? Why are you hiding from her?”
Meena scrunched her small nose. “She said I was cute.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s true,” Onric blurted out, not seeming to notice that their only sister was quite upset.
Ian chose not to point out that the six-year-old girl was wearing an airy purple dress with an enormous ribbon tied atop her loose dark curls.
“It was the way she said it,” Meena defended, still whispering as her eyes glanced toward the door at the end of the hall. “I don’t like her.”
“She can’t be all that bad,” Ian responded, hoping Meena was wrong. The Sirilian siblings were a close-knit family, but as children of the king, they rarely found friends who would treat them as equals. They were all excited to welcome a fresh new face into their inner circle—especially since it was a girl. Although, Ian knew better than to mention that last part in front of his younger brother. He would never hear the end of it if he did.
“She squeals,” Meena declared before twirling around and slipping back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
“Shall we go meet her?” Ian asked his brother.
Twelve-year-old Onric had his eyes warily glued to the far door. “I don’t like girls. And I especially don’t like girls who squeal.”
Ian nodded, pretending to agree with his brother’s assessment. He was not sure he had ever met a girl who squealed, but he guessed he wouldn’t like it too much. Secretly, he hoped she was pretty.
“Come on,” he repeated. “Let’s go meet her.”
“Ooh!” The girl’s squeal was so loud when the two brothers opened the door to the family salon that Ian visibly flinched.
At least he hadn’t covered his ears as Onric had done.
“You must be Prince Ian and Prince Onric,” she said, dropping into a dramatic curtsy. “It’s so good to see you again after all these years!”
“Lady Lockwood,” Ian responded, bowing his head lightly. “Welcome to your new home. I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your parents.”
“You are too kind, my prince,” she said, smiling up at him.
She was not un-beautiful, Ian decided, though he felt that her smile was too . . . elated. Perhaps her parents had not been as kind as his own. “Please, call me Ian.”
“Ooh! Thank you.” She turned toward Onric expectantly.
Ian’s younger brother was openly scowling when he dropped his hands from his ears after her second squeal. “Do we have to call you Lady Lockwood?” Onric asked. “That seems a bit . . . generous.”
Ian jabbed Onric’s side, a little harder than necessary. Since they were still wearing their padded sparring armor, Onric probably couldn’t even feel it.
The new girl glanced between them, her broad smile still plastered to her face.
Ian felt his hopes begin to fade. “Let’s go clean up before supper,” he said to Onric.
“Could you escort me to dinner, my prince?” the girl asked, dropping her large eyes and blinking rapidly. “I’m afraid I’ll get lost in this large castle.”
“Ian, please,” he repeated. Something about the way she said “my prince” irked him. Perhaps Meena was right. He did not want to make a snap judgment of this girl, but in less than a hand’s length on the sundial she had come across as thoroughly annoying. “Of course, Lady Lockwood. Though I’m sure you’ll find your way around soon enough.”
No matter that they had several staff members who could have easily shown her the way to the dining hall. He knew when graciousness was expected of him. “I’ll wait for you outside your room.”
“Ooh! Thank you!” She nearly danced out the door.
“Meena was right,” Onric said, hardly waiting until the girl was out of earshot. “I plan on never speaking to her again.”
Ian nodded, envious of the fact that his younger brother did not have to act like a mature fourteen-year-old crown prince.
“Have fun escorting her—” Onric started to taunt, but Ian quickly cut him off.
“Who’s that?” he said, distracting his brother as he gestured toward the window.
In the private courtyard just below the family room, a young girl stood next to a drowsy donkey. She was holding its reins in one hand, but her attention was fixed on the stone walls around her.
Ian squinted to get a better look at her upturned face. He did not recognize her, though he prided himself on knowing all the members of the palace staff. He wanted to be a kind and just ruler like his father.
The girl’s expression was difficult to read. She seemed both uncomfortable with her surroundings and also unimpressed.
“How should I know?” Onric replied, peering out the window. “Probably a new servant or farmer’s daughter dropping off vegetables for the kitchen.”
“If she was from a farm, she wouldn’t be in the private courtyard,” Ian pointed out.
“It’s just some girl.” Onric shrugged.
If she was a new servant, she was not acting like it. All the servants Ian had ever seen were either rushing around with focused intensity or chatting in a corner with their friends. This girl was standing in the center of the courtyard, not seeming to mind that there were people busily traversing it and that she was blocking their way.
“Maybe I should go talk to her and see if she’s lost,” Ian said.
Onric snickered. “Look at Ian on the chase, can’t resist a pretty face,” he chanted.
Ian punched his little brother on the shoulder.
Onric punched him back.
Ian didn’t feel a thing through his padded armor, though he suddenly felt quite warm. “I hadn’t even noticed she’s pretty. But now that you say it . . .”
Onric punched him again.
“Fine, fine. I’m sure she can find her own way through the castle, whoever she is. Let’s go get out of this obnoxiously warm armor.”
Read Lady or Maid to finish this short novella about Robin and Ian.
Coming to Amazon Soon.
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Acknowledgments
It is the most wonderful thing to have someone who patiently tells you everything will be alright, even if you have to ask multiple times a day. Who encourages you to go for your dreams, even it means late night writing sessions. And who orders Chipotle when your brain is too stuck in a story to think about food. Thank you, Ethan.
And thanks Emily S. and Hannah for cheering me on and checking in on me!
And Will, for philosophizing about creativity with me. And playing games with me when I needed a break.