2. Tahlia

Tahlia hurried to the assigned bedchamber she shared with her squire, Fara. When she swung open the heavy oaken door, Fara was gripping a tunic and swearing at it. A bowl of water sat on the table under the high window. Soap suds glistened in the light of the wall sconce.

“I don’t think you can actually strangle fabric, my friend.” Tahlia flopped onto her small bed and toed her boots off.

“It will not release this wine stain and I’m a failure as a squire. You need to go shopping. You can’t go around the castle grounds during your off hours looking like a drunken sot.”

“I don’t care what anything thinks. I’m a knight now. They won’t kick me out for a stain.”

Her purple face screwed up into a scowl of frustration, Fara threw down the tunic and helped Tahlia unlace the sides of her stiff leather vest. “I didn’t plan to be your squire, but I like this position. I don’t want anyone to think I’m terrible at it. Your mess reflects on me.”

Tahlia chuckled. “Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll try not to spill tonight.”

“I do have another interest though.”

“Other than the dragons and working as a squire?”

Fara nodded. “In addition to being your permanent squire.”

“Let me guess. Baking.”

Snorting, Fara shook her head. “I could be talked into that. Especially testing our bakes, but that isn’t what’s on my mind. I have been talking to Healer Albus. He gave me a book about all the medicinal herbs, flowering shrubs, and trees in our kingdom. I’ve been reading it when you’re being insane in the sky.”

“But you’re not serious about becoming a Healer, are you?”

Fara shrugged.

Fara tended to shift from interest to disinterest in a subject very easily. This was likely just another fleeting moment of curiosity.

“Where are you headed?” Fara asked. “I thought it was an eat-in-your-room night.”

Most nights, they dined in the great hall with everyone in the keep. Some days, the staff took time for their families, and the knights and squires made do in their chambers with a tray left by the castle cooks.

“The Brass Lantern. The knights are going to celebrate our day of training. I won the last feat, by the way.”

Fara nodded, smiling. “Of course you did. Did it tick off Ophelia?”

“She wasn’t in practice again today.” Marius had ordered her to take some time to reevaluate her relationship with her dragon because she’d been using these awful spiked gloves on the poor beast.

“Ah, too bad. I would have liked to have a good story about her rage.”

“Her rage is pretty legendary from what I’ve heard.”

“Has Marius found out anything else about your poisoner?”

Tahlia chewed her lip, thinking of that day during the tournament. A shudder rippled through her. “He agrees that Ophelia would make a good suspect, but there is no proof. We can’t accuse her unless we find some. I’m trying to let it go. I need to focus on training and getting the other knights to feel good about me being here.”

“You’re just going to let murder go?” Fara raised an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Tahlia said, pulling her tunic off. “I’m not dead. Whoever it was failed and now I’m a knight, not just a competitor. They won’t try it again.” She went to the second bowl of water on their shared table and splashed her face.

“I wish I was as delusionally optimistic as you.”

Tahlia dried her face and moved on to her underarms. “Is delusionally a word?”

Fara took Tahlia’s second pair of boots from the corner and set them down in front of her. “It is now.”

“All right, then. Will you help me with this?” She pointed to her tangled mess of hair.

Fara drew an invisible circle, indicating that Tahlia should turn around. Tahlia did so and Fara went to work on a new braid.

“You need to grow it out so we can have more fun with styles,” Fara said, her fingers moving quickly over Tahlia’s head.

“I might have black hair like you, but when mine grows past this point, it’s a nightmare. Not all of us have silky locks, my friend.” Tahlia’s hair brushed her shoulders at this length, but it was long enough to tie back.

Fara made a humming sound and sectioned the front of Tahlia’s tresses. “I could help you with that.”

“Thanks,” Tahlia said, “but I like it short.”

“Fine. But you could catch an ague up in the cold air without a heavy braid wrapping that head of yours.”

Tahlia tried to turn and give Fara a look, but her friend tugged gently on her hair to keep her head straight.

“I don’t think that’s a real threat, Fara.”

Fara’s hands paused in their work. “I know dozens of people who have died of an ague!”

“Dozens?”

“Well, all right, just one. My cousin’s great aunt.”

“You’re comparing my ability to fight off sickness with a random great aunt’s.”

A “humph” came from Fara. “If you are fine with dying, then so be it.”

Tahlia rolled her eyes. “If I promise to grow it for the winter, will you stop pestering me?”

“Maybe.”

“Probably not, though?” Tahlia asked, elbowing Fara a little in the thigh.

“You need my warnings.” Fara bumped Tahlia’s arm with her knee. “You don’t take anything seriously enough.”

“At least you’ve moved on from warning me away from dragon riding.”

“I recognize a lost cause when I see one.” Fara’s voice softened. “It’s truly amazing, what you’ve accomplished.” She finished the braid with a few pins.

Tahlia faced her, touching the tight coils. “Thank you. For everything.” She hugged her, not just for the praise and the braiding, but for the way she’d stood by her every step of the way up this mountain. Literally and figuratively.

The Brass Lanternwasn’t too loud yet. The night was young and most ate later on. Tahlia walked in and the warmth of the fire across the room cocooned her immediately. Severin, one of the gate guards, played dice with two others at a round table near the front windows. Good thing Fara had stayed back. She’d be over there losing their new income as quickly as it came in.

Two servers moved around the tavern with trays of mead and bowls of stew. Five males and one female huddled at the bar top, their laughter loud.

Marius was sitting at the table where he’d interviewed Tahlia before the tournament. She paused just to watch him, standing behind a cluster of maids enjoying some time off.

Marius held that same scarlet writing book—a tidily bound collection of parchment—he’d been jotting notes in that day. His brow furrowed as he wrote something down, then crossed it out. He switched his quill to his other hand and stretched his wrist. He had his hair down, and a sheet of it draped over his shoulder as he scribbled more lines of black ink. Her fingers longed to touch his smooth skin, to feel the heat at the crook in his elbow and the underside of his strong jaw.