Winterbourne's Daughter Read online

  "That is not the―"

  "Or you can move to the dungeon."

  Roz pressed sier lips together and retreated, and the king's smile widened as he sank back into his plush throne. "As I thought."

  *~*~*

  Gennadi headed back to the fighters' quarters, whistling. Later tonight or tomorrow he would move his things from his current room into the castle proper as befitted his new station.

  Right now, though, he wanted to have a few moments with Vasya. Gennadi had known that Vasya most likely wouldn't attend the ceremony―he preferred to spend as little time listening to the king's long-winded speeches as possible―so he had crept away as soon as his own part in it was done.

  He hadn't decided yet if he should bring up the conversation he'd had with Loyalist Yelena. If Vasya hadn't mentioned such things himself, then maybe he didn't want to discuss them at all. On the other hand, perhaps broaching the subject himself was too painful, and he would rather someone else initiated the conversation.

  Lost in thought, he jumped when he heard the sharp sound of wood scraping against concrete. Quickly stepping around the curve in the long hallway, he blinked in surprise when he saw three men charging into Vasya's room. From the cursing and sounds of flesh hitting flesh, at least one was already inside.

  With a curse, Gennadi ran forward, grabbing one man by the back of the neck before he could get fully inside. After giving him a sharp uppercut to the jaw that sent him sprawling, he reached inside the room and grabbed the second nearest fighter, pulling him back and slamming his head against the wall.

  The third fighter he went for, having more time to react, slashed at him with twin knives. Gennadi ducked away, trying to lead him out into the hall where there would be more room to fight, but the man was having none of it, and it was all Gennadi could do to keep the blades from striking anything that would be fatal.

  He recognized the attacker. Recognized the two he'd knocked unconscious, as well. They and their two other friends―whom Vasya seemed to be making quick work of, though one of them had gotten in a deep-looking cut―had been sentenced to the Arena four days ago after being convicted of murder. The five of them had been traveling, stealing food and belongings from several of the villages. At one home, the owner had still been inside, and he had fought back. They had killed him.

  Apparently they didn't like the idea of a one-on-one fight in the Arena against someone they weren't likely to beat.

  Then Vasya knocked out one of his attackers and caught him before he could fall, picking him up and throwing him at the man wielding the knives. He hit the wall with a pained exhalation of air, and Gennadi stomped on his one visible wrist, kicking the slender blade away.

  Gennadi winced, looking at the multitude of defensive cuts up and down his forearms. "Good thing you weren't asleep."

  "Oh, I was," Vasya said. "I just tend to put a chair in front of my door to block it." He sighed, looking down at the groaning men scattered around on the floor. "I'll get the guards." Then he glanced over at Gennadi, smiling. "How did the ceremony go?"

  Gennadi laughed quietly. "Not nearly as exciting as this."

  Chapter Seven

  The castle doctor blinked wide, owlish eyes at her. "Exactly what I said, Lisette."

  "But I... I heard he took a rather nasty cut." That wasn't the first thing she'd heard. The first she'd heard was a wretched rumor that the other fighters had been successful in their ambush, and that he had been killed. Her stomach hadn't yet stopped roiling.

  "Probably did. He just prefers to deal with such things himself. Gennadi's here, though," he continued, nodding toward the open door. Lisette hurried into the medical room where Gennadi was sitting on the cot, his restless expression shifting into a smile as soon as he saw her.

  "Are you all right?" she asked, looking over the multitude of bandages that covered his arms. "I heard there was an ambush. I didn't know who else was involved, that you―do you know who did this? Are they in the dungeon? If they aren't I'll―"

  "Slow down," he laughed, taking her hands gingerly in his uninjured one. "I'm all right. So is he. And yes, the five who tried this are in the dungeon."

  "Five?" Lisette exclaimed. "Against only two?"

  "Wasn't even supposed to be against two," Gennadi said. "I heard the fight starting and..." Seeing the way her face blanched, he sighed. "I'm not very good at this whole 'reassuring' business."

  "No, it's all right," she said. "I'd rather know everything." She stepped back and looked around the room, hands twisting restlessly. Alain's quarters and the dungeon were so very close to each other. She wondered at that sometimes, wondered if the man who'd dedicated his life to healing others ever had to hear the screams of the tortured.

  "Well, this won't do," she finally said. "For a bad cut―what do I need?"

  Several moments later she was crossing to the fighters' quarters with a shallow bowl of water, a washrag, and a bottle of the strongest alcohol the doctor's collection boasted. A needle and thread were tucked safely in her pocket.

  She rapped on the Champion's door with the bottle, her mouth dropping open in shock when he opened it. His left arm was slit open almost all the way from shoulder to elbow and blood sheeted his forearm and hand.

  "Why didn't you go to the doctor?" she asked, barging in without waiting for permission. "Sit," she said, bumping the door closed with her hip. "Let me clean that up."

  For the sake of her temper, she would ignore the fact that he looked amused.

  "That is what Alain is there for, you know," she said, scrubbing the blood off his forearm. She rinsed the cloth with more force than was necessary and told herself to be more careful when cleaning the wound itself. "Refusing to seek help when it's quite clearly needed is only going to get you a horrible infection, and then someone'll drag you to the doctor anyway. And if it's me, I will make sure to bump your stubborn head on every step on the way there."

  Realizing that her intended lecture had stepped well over the line into ranting at him, she kept her eyes firmly away from his face.

  "All right," she muttered. "Alain said to just pour this..." She upended the bottle of alcohol over the cut. The muscles in his arm tensed, and he growled a curse that had her automatically scooting back.

  He took the bottle and drank what she hadn't poured onto him. Considering that was still well over half the bottle... realizing she was staring, she quickly returned her focus to her work, withdrawing the suture needle and thread from her pocket. Both were much bigger than what she was used to for sewing, and the needle had an odd curve to it. She bit her lip. Gennadi would be here soon; Alain had said it wouldn't take much longer to finish bandaging the last couple of wounds he'd received. She was tempted to stall, see if he would do this instead, but then she remembered the wound across his palm. It was either this or convince him to go to Alain.

  "Don't hesitate with it," he told her. "That'll only make it worse."

  She nodded and tied a knot at the end of the thread, willing her hands not to shake. Then she gingerly placed the needle, gritted her teeth, and punched a hole in his skin.

  It was like sewing a dress, she thought, blinking rapidly before she continued. A warm dress. That was bleeding. All right, so her comparison was terrible.

  "You don't have to do this, my lady."

  "You do realize how low I am even among the servants?" she asked, tugging another stitch tight. "Besides, I'm sewing your arm. I think we're past 'my lady'."

  "Understood." And he smiled. While her heart had already been pounding from the stress of ensuring that she didn't make a mistake, now it sped up for an entirely different reason. "My lady."

  She automatically gave him a swat―not on his wounded arm, she wasn't quite that daft, but she did make contact with a bruise on his chest and he winced.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I am so sorry!" If she hadn't been halfway through another stitch, she would've hidden her face in her hands.

  And he laughed. Startled and relieved, she laugh
ed as well.

  "Well. Sounds like you're feeling better," Gennadi said, pushing the door open. "How's the cut?"

  He moved closer to inspect the injury, raising his eyebrows. "That... is the worst stitching job I've ever seen."

  "You hush," Lisette laughed.

  Chapter Eight

  Lisette brought another two buckets of water from the kitchen well, grinning as she stepped out into the biggest tiltyard. The annual sparring competition was on its second day, and the guards, fighters, and loyalists who were participating seemed like they were going through a hundred buckets daily. She and many of the other bondservants had been excused from some of their usual duties to make sure that the competitors had enough food, drink, and bandages.

  None of these fights were to the death. It was just a week-long contest for bragging rights. The participants shouted and swore and laughed with each other, and though it was a great deal of extra work for her and the other servants, it was also the best week of the year. Oddly, it was in this mockery of what they endured in the Arena that the fighters seemed most relaxed.

  And this sparring competition would be even better―she had a mostly developed plan on how to sneak Roz out on the sixth day of the competition when a great feast was held. People were allowed in from out past the Wall; the biggest set of gates would stand wide open as people filed in and out. She would sneak back to the kitchens with Roz, hide sier in one of the outgoing carts...

  Right now, sie was talking to Gennadi, and Lisette moved closer to the pair.

  "How are the new fighters doing?" Gennadi asked.

  "They have a lot to learn," sie replied, the thick scar on sier lip adding a sardonic twist to sier smile. "Very good with swords and defensive maneuvers, although they need to work on the shorter blades. And some of the younger ones... Goddesses, it'll all I can do to not ruffle their hair."

  Gennadi smiled. "Is it true that your first training session was just spent telling Arena stories to the newcomers?"

  "Yes."

  He threw his arm around sier shoulders. "So. What'd you say about me?"

  "Hm. Don't believe I mentioned you at all. Should I have?"

  "You're cruel, Roz."

  "Don't I know it."

  "Not bragging quite so loudly now, are you?" a loyalist called good-naturedly, and Gennadi turned to him, laughing.

  "I'll beat him next year, I swear by the Goddesses." He looked so different now, easygoing and smiling, that Lisette had a hard time associating him with the tall, glowering teenager she'd swung at years ago.

  "They'll be disappointed."

  Giving the loyalist a rude gesture as Lisette approached, Gennadi then reached out and gratefully accepted a cup of water. "Bless you, Lisette." He drank it down and then paused to tie a clean rag around a shallow cut on his left forearm, grabbing one end of the knot in his teeth and tightening the bandage. "Sure you don't want to compete?" he asked. "You have a pretty mean punch."

  Lisette laughed. "Surprised I didn't break my hand, actually."

  "As am I." His gaze moved from her over to one of the buckets she'd carried down, and his eyes brightened with mischief. "If you'll pardon me."

  She nodded, and he picked up the bucket of water and crept up behind the Champion, flinging the contents at his back. He leapt up with a shout, shaking his head like a wet dog, and Gennadi howled with laughter, pushing the bucket back into her hands. The Champion turned, shoving his now-soaked hair out of his face, and Lisette abruptly realized how the empty bucket and her wild laughter might add up.

  "I had nothing to do with this."

  "Oh, I know. Gennadi can't rest during this competition until he's drenched someone," he said, starting forward menacingly. Gennadi danced back out of his reach, moving behind Lisette.

  "Gennadi, I hate to tell you, but this is quite like trying to hide an armorhart behind a cat," Lisette said.

  In answer, he grabbed her free hand, keeping her in front of him as he tugged her back toward the entrance to the castle. "Since I just wasted the whole bucket, I think I'd best help you replace it. Maybe run a few errands; I haven't spoken to the doctor in a few weeks. Might be in there the rest of the day, really."

  "Run if you want to," the Champion said. "I'll be waiting tonight."

  Lisette laughed as she pulled the door to the castle closed behind them. "Was that really a good idea?"

  "Might've been one of my best, depending on what he has in mind for revenge," Gennadi quipped.

  Lisette blinked and then grinned. "You two are...?"

  "Well, not yet," Gennadi said. "But I have my hopes for him. As, I assume, you do?"

  "I haven't really thought about it," she said dismissively, though judging from the smile on Gennadi's face, she hadn't been convincing at all. She cleared her throat, deciding it was time to change the subject. "I would ask a favor of you. Would you teach me how to fight?"

  "What?"

  "It is not such a strange thing!"

  "Beg to differ," Gennadi replied. "Think you're the first bondservant I've ever seen ask to get whacked around."

  "I would know how to defend myself from other servants," Lisette said. "I am not the most well-liked person among our ranks."

  "Don't know why you wouldn't be," he said. "Always thought you to be a ball of sunshine and sweetness." She narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned. "I'll show you whatever I can. Not sure how often the lessons'll be, though―the king's talking about sending me off toward Vedrana's Forest after the competition for some damn reason or other."

  Lisette stopped, remembering cloths tied around a single branch, eerie voices calling to her. "No," she said. "You can't go in there."

  He laughed and started to say something―a smart remark, she was sure―but then he saw the look on her face and relented. "I'll be all right," he said. "I promise."

  Before she could argue, they reached the kitchens, and he went to the well to refill her bucket. As soon as it was full again, he reached out with his free hand to try and sneak a tart from one of the trays. Colombe smacked his hand with the back of a wooden spoon.

  "Out!"

  "Okay, okay!" Gennadi said, holding up his hands. "I know when I'm not wanted."

  "Hmph," she said, though she was smiling. Lisette carried two buckets of water back out of the kitchen while Gennadi carried one. Once they were out in the hall, he used his free hand to give her a tart he'd hidden in the pocket of his tunic.

  "How did you―?" she began and then decided it didn't matter. The tart smelled wonderful. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "So," she said. "You believe I look at the Champion in a certain way?"

  "I know you do."

  "And yet you don't know how I look at you?" She grinned. "Seems your eyesight may be going. And at such a young age, too. Pity."

  She thought that he would look vindicated, perhaps even a little smug―she couldn't entirely fault that last possibility; from everything she'd heard from the other servants, she was but the latest in a long line of hearts he'd effortlessly won―but instead he looked surprised and then smiled as if what she'd just said was the best news he'd ever heard.

  *~*~*

  Accepting Gennadi's challenge to hand-to-hand combat, Vasya realized, was quite possibly the worst idea he'd ever had in his life. Or the best. Once skin made contact with skin, he found it hard to judge.

  Punches were thrown on both sides, and several connected, but Vasya was used to that. No blows were gentled in the Arena, even in sparring competitions like this one. And though Gennadi looked somewhat startled when Vasya's first blow landed, he didn't fold. Teeth flashed in a darkly promising grin, and then he moved in closer, landing a punch of his own.

  Gennadi did hold his own for a few moments, though he probably would've had more of a chance if his three earlier sparring matches today hadn't exhausted him. A well-placed kick to the kneecap and he went down, raising one hand briefly to signal a surrender.

  Vasya held out a hand to help
him up, and Gennadi smiled. "I don't know," he said, still on his knees. "Sure you don't want me to stay right here?" And this teasing, mouthy kid was going to be the death of him.

  *~*~*

  Gennadi had honestly thought he'd made a breakthrough with his comment after their sparring match. Vasya hadn't replied; he had just arched an eyebrow and turned away, but the way he'd looked down at Gennadi before the mask had fallen back into place...

  After rinsing off the blood and sweat and tying cleanish rags across a couple of still-seeping cuts, Gennadi went in search of Vasya.

  "I need a drink," he declared. "Come with me."

  Vasya just shook his head and started to turn away.

  "I know it's a bad idea," Gennadi said. "To play nice with people who're just gonna be one more mark on your death count someday." He grinned, displaying a newly-loosened tooth. "That's not the case with us. Because if we ever get into a true deathfight, I'll kill ya. Now c'mon and let's get drunk."

  There was a tavern on the castle grounds, talked about by the king as giving his personal servants and the fighters one more nearby convenience, but all of them knew it was because venturing beyond the Wall without permission would either get them arrested or killed, depending on the mood of the guards on duty that night.

  The bartender looked up at them, greeted Gennadi, and then recognized the Champion and blinked.

  "What? You don't think he drinks just like the rest of us?"

  "Honestly, no," another patron called, and after a spate of laughter, conversation resumed and the two of them sat down at the bar.

  *~*~*

  Emeline crept down the fighters' hallway. It was the night they all got their payments and, as usual, the halls were empty and most of the rooms quiet.

  She pushed open the door of a now-familiar room and ducked inside, nearly getting the door shut behind her again before she realized that the Champion wasn't alone.

  He sat on his cot, and Gennadi stood across from him, just a little closer than general propriety would allow. They both looked surprised to see her, and Emeline felt color rise to her cheeks.