Twelfth Knight

Chapter 6

The rest of the week went by quickly and with little event. Emberly spent most of her nights with Arran in the kitchen, cleaning numerous pots and pans. He had served his allotted punishment soon, but continued to help Emberly with her work.

Emberly spoke little to the boys around her, except Arran, who had believed her story in an instant. Any respect Emberly possessed for these supposed “gentlemen” disappeared while she was walking with Ben to Central.

Even for the future king, Emberly held in low opinion. She was still clumsy before Prince William, but she was no longer embarrassed by her faults. This boy was supposed to be their future king. But to Emberly, he was nothing more than a commoner. No, she decided when the thought came upon her, he was something below the commoners. The place of respect Prince William once had in Emberly’s heart had transferred itself to Benedick Torpe.

Saturday came with glory. Emberly spent most of the morning in bed, giving her feet rest from the long week. The wounds left on her feet following her walk to Central had reopened twice throughout the training that week. Kyra had done her best to address the wounds, but she could not do everything and Emberly was forced to work through the pain.

But oh! Saturday was a blessing. She would spend the morning resting then go out into Central to visit her grandmother at her townhouse.

Kyra, with a large yawn, entered the room. She was still wearing her night clothes and shuffling about as though she were readying herself for bed. “You realize you’re probably the only servant just now getting ready for the day?” Emberly pointed out, an amused smirk glittering across her face.

“Yes, and those servants don’t know how to think for themselves. It’s your lots fault for that, you know.”

“I know,” Emberly answered, “you remind me, enough.”

Kyra hadn’t said, but Emberly knew her friend had been worried when she woke up to find Emberly gone. On some level, Emberly wondered if Kyra had blamed herself for not stopping the kidnappers. Emberly certainly didn’t blame Kyra. She blamed the boys who had left her in the middle of nowhere.

“What’ve you decided we’re going to do today?” Kyra wanted to know, taking a seat beside Emberly on the bed.

“We need to visit my grandmother,” Emberly replied. Kyra slumped back on the bed, groaning a little.

“Why don’t we just send flowers, instead?” Emberly chuckled softly, then smacked Kyra with her pillow.

“Come on, it’s the least we could do. Besides, it’s not like we have to live there.”

----

Emberly’s grandmother was a woman who grew up with noble blood, but acted as though she deserved to be queen. She was not overly snobbish like many of the noblemen and women. Instead, she believed that her opinion was the only true opinion in the world. Anyone who disagreed with her was terribly wrong.

She was a soft, greying woman of around seventy years. She had known each of the monarchs throughout her entire life. She had even, at one point in her life, been a lady-in-waiting to the king’s mother. This was before she had met Emberly’s grandfather, the Earl of Northem.

In truth, Emberly held her grandmother in high regard. Unfortunately, the two of them had many different opinions about things. The old mistress of Northem hated the country and the forests. She lived for her days in the city. It was the only true place to live in her mind. She had never understood her husband’s nor her son’s devotion to Northem Manor. Especially, when they had such a lovely home in the city.

“Lady Emberly, ma’am,” announced a serving girl as Emberly entered the drawing room.

“Do not slouch, Emberly,” ordered her grandmother. A small smile flittered across Emberly’s face. Of course, the first thing her grandmother would notice was her posture. Emberly straightened.

“Good afternoon, Grandmother,” she greeted, striding over to the woman seated on the sofa. Emberly gently kissed her grandmother’s check before retreating to a chair across from her. Emberly sat with her back straight and her posture poised, knowing her grandmother would be disappointed otherwise.

“Now, tell me,” her grandmother said, her voice rougher than usual. For a brief moment, Emberly wondered if her grandmother was unwell. “How is the castle these days? I assume Cousin Isabelle is teaching you well.”

“She is, indeed, Grandmother,” Emberly answered simply.

“That is very well,” her grandmother replied. “You have always been too crass for polite society. Hopefully, this will change that in you.” Emberly opened her mouth to respond, but her grandmother was not finished speaking. “Of course, this your father’s fault. I had told him a dozen times to remarry. You needed a good, hard woman’s hand in your life. Not a naïve governess.”

“Father will never remarry,” Emberly refuted, a defensive passion rising in her. “He love my mother.”

“Yes, and look what he has now. A daughter without manners and a coward for a son.”

“Kyler is not a coward!” Emberly cried in outrage.

“Do not lie to me, Emberly Dern. I know he disappeared from training this week.”

Emberly’s heart rate rose in panic. If her grandmother had heard, who else had? And it wasn’t even her fault. Kyler was not a coward. He held a bravery different from others. She wasn’t her brother to be seen for who he truly was.

“There was more to it than that,” Emberly stated, her voice straining for a polite and patience tone, but only achieving bitterness instead. “He was abducted by the so called ‘gentlemen’ of his year. They left him in the middle of nowhere! It was his fault!”

“He is not a very good knight, is he then?” returned her grandmother. “To not be able to stop is attackers.”

“I don’t think he expected to be attacked by boys who are, by the way, supposed to be gentlemen.” Emberly realized her mistake too late. She could see it in her grandmother’s eyes. The woman had lost Emberly’s point. It had breezed past her like the wind. Her grandmother, instead, focused on the small fallibility of her words.

“Emberly Dern,” scoffed her grandmother. “Do you speak this way before Cousin Isabelle? You are not a peasant. Only peasants slur their words together as such. And do sit up, Girl. You are quite plebeian this morning.”

As directed, Emberly straightened. She let her grandmother change the subject. It really seemed like the best course of action.

-----

When Emberly returned to the castle, back under the guise of a boy, she found herself with little to do. She had already decided to spend her Sunday afternoon with Feste, but this left her with little to do on her Saturday. So, she began to wander.

She had been to the castle before, but this was usually only short-term and she was a guest among numerous guests. There would be celebrations to attend or something of the like. Her time at the castle was spent in the company of the same seven corridors. She wanted to know more about the castle and the rich history it held.

Kyra and Arran were with her. In her boy clothes, Kyra, who went by Kyne in her ruse, looked four years younger than her seventeen years of age. When Arran had first met her, he had asked Emberly why she’s brought someone so young with her. Emberly could barely contain her laughter, much to Kyra’s mortification.

The castle was large and vast. Emberly found it easy to be lost among the many corridors. Though many of the corridors were not often seen by guests, or really anyone who wasn’t a servant, they were still decorated as though the king himself was about to trod down that floor.

Emberly was enchanted by the portraits she found lining the walls in a long corridor on the fourth floor. The paintings depicted different pieces of Etruscan history. One was of Arthur the Great, who had, as legend told, defeated hundreds of men in battle with his small band of merry men. This was a story that nearly everyone in Etrusca had heard. It was a fixture in the society’s history and beliefs. Arthur the Great later began the first king of Etrusca.

Another painting showed the grueling and never-ending was with Cyra. The war had raged for almost seventy years now, with little victory on either side of the battle. Truthfully, Emberly couldn’t remember what the war had even been about.

The painting itself held no clues but instead depicted one civilization brutally murdering another.

“D’you think war really is that bloody?” Arran asked, studying the painting as well. Kyra scoffed.

“’Course, it is,” she said. “It’s not all sunshine and roses. Honestly, what kind of knight are you?”

“Don’t mind Kyne,” Emberly told Arran. “He speaks his mind.”

“Shocking that I have one, I know,” mumbled Kyra under her breath.

“Don’t let the other squires hear you talking like that,” stated Arran, not openly acknowledging that he’d heard her, but having heard her all the same. “They’ll punish you for even breathing without their permission.”

“I’m not afraid of a bunch of silly boys,” Kyra returned, superiority echoing through her words. She led them out of the corridor with the paintings to a woman hallway.

“You should be,” Emberly and Arran said together.

The hallway they entered led to a small, sturdy staircase. Without question, and with resounding curiosity, the three friends climbed the stairs–Emberly using the side of the wall as a railing should she fall.

They entered a small balcony area that overlooked the king’s throne room. Below them, in the room itself, sat the king, a worried gleam in his eyes. Beside him, sat the queen. She was as regal and beautiful as the people claimed. The queen sat in the way that Emberly’s grandmother was always prodding her to do.

A large rectangular table was located in the center of the room. The king was seated at the head of the table. Seated at the sides of the table were noblemen that all had extensive knowledge in battle. Sir Wylan sat among them, a bored and annoyed expression plastered to his face. The war council chatted among themselves until the doors banged opened, emitting none other than Lady Elizabeth.

With a strong look of pride, she marched to the only open seat left, the seat beside Queen Reyna. The queen granted the newcomer a kind, small smile before returning to her stoic, regal demeanor.

“Now that Lady Elizabeth has finally decided to join us,” called one of the noblemen, a man Emberly knew to be called Sir Roland, “perhaps we could start this meeting.”

“Thank you, Sir Roland,” King George returned. “Your opinion on Lady Elizabeth’s attendance has been duly noted long ago.” Sir Roland grumbled indistinctly in his seat. Ignoring him, the king continued. “Sir Leon, I believe you have a status report on the eastern border.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sir Leon. The man tentatively stood. Emberly had always believed that Sir Leon had a kind face. His playful blond curls gave him the appearance of a man much younger than his age. His eyes, in contrast, held a thousand-year-old wisdom, a trait he had gained when he was sent to war fifteen years prior. “We have lost the village lying near the border. A village called Illyria, sir.”

Emberly gasped quietly. Kyra and Arran shared her surprise at this news. They’d been told they were winning the endless war, that soon the army would be prepared to invade Cyra. Apparently, these were all lies.

“And the villages?” the king asked his voice a low, quiet noise.

The weight of the world descended on Sir Leon’s shoulder. “We evacuated all that we could. Anyone remaining was destroyed by the Cyrans. The entire army, sir, has been obliterated. I alone survived.”

Silence hung in the air following these words. So many men had died in a battle that no one remembered how it began.

“And the border?” the king finally inquired.

“It remains intact. For now.”

“We must keep it that way. Sir Roland, send as many troops as you can to the eastern border.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Sir Wylan,” the king continued. “How goes the new recruits.”

“They’d be better prepared if you took away their excessive number of breaks.” The king waved a dismissive hand.

“I know your thoughts on the subject. And until the situation becomes dire, I will not move. They are just children. Let them enjoy this time while they can.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Sir Wylan answered, lean on the table, interest sparking his features, “if they weren’t enjoying their time so much, then I wouldn’t have squires suddenly left in the middle of nowhere.”

“There was no proof that had actually taken place. It is just one squire’s word against another. Besides, the squire needs to learn to defend himself.”

Once again, Sir Wylan returned to his bored expression. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kyra, Emberly, and Arran crept quietly out of the room, their minds reeling over what they had just learned.