Wintertide (The Riyria Revelations #5)

“That’s one lance for Breckton,” Leo mentioned to no one in particular.

The duke sat on the far side of Genevieve, appearing more animated than Amilia had yet seen him. The duchess ran on for hours, talking about everything and anything, but Leopold almost never spoke. When he did, it was so softly that Amilia thought his words were directed to Maribor alone.

Nimbus sat to Amilia’s right, frequently glancing at her. He looked tense and she loved him for it.

“That Gilbert. Look at the way they are propping him up,” the duchess prattled on. “He really shouldn’t ride again. Oh, but he’s taking the lance—how brave of him.”

“He needs to get the tip up,” Leopold noted.

“Oh, yes, Leo. You are right as always. He doesn’t have the strength. And look at Breckton waiting patiently. Do you see the way the sun shines off his armor? He doesn’t normally clean it. He’s a warrior, not a tournament knight, but he went to the metal smith and ordered it polished so that the wind itself could see its face within the gleam. Now why do you suppose a man who hasn’t combed his hair in months does such a thing?”

Amilia felt terrified, embarrassed, and happy beyond what she believed to be the bounds of emotion.

The trumpet blared, and again the horses charged.

A lance cracked, Gilbert fell, and once again Breckton emerged untouched. The crowd cheered, and to Amilia’s surprise, she found herself on her feet along with the rest. She had a smile on her face that she could not wipe away.

Breckton made certain Gilbert was all right then trotted over to the stands and stopped in front of Amilia’s seat in the nobles’ box. He tossed aside his broken lance, pulled off his helm, rose in his stirrups, and bowed to her. Without thinking, she walked down the steps toward the railing. As she stepped out from under the canopy into the sun, the cheers grew louder, especially from the commoners’ side of the field.

“For you, My Lady,” Sir Breckton told her.

He made a sound to his horse, which also bowed, and once more the crowd roared. Her heart was light, her mind empty, and her whole life invisible except for that one moment in the sun. Feeling Nimbus’s hand on her arm, she turned and saw Saldur scowling from the stands.

“It’s not wise to linger in the sun too long, milady,” Nimbus warned. “You might get burned.”

The expression on Saldur’s face dragged Amilia back to reality. She returned to her seat, noticing the venomous glares from the nobles around her.

“My dear,” the duchess said in an uncharacteristic whisper, “for someone who doesn’t know how to play the game, you are as remarkable as Sir Hadrian today.”

Amilia sat quietly through the few remaining tilts, which she hardly noticed. When the day’s competition had ended, they exited the stands. Nimbus led the way and the duchess walked beside her, holding on to Amilia’s arm.

“You will be coming with us to the hunt on the Eve’s Eve, won’t you, Amilia dear?” Lady Genevieve asked as they walked across the field to the waiting carriages. “You simply must. I’ll have Lois work all week on a dazzling white gown and matching winter cape, so you’ll have something new. Where can we find snow-white fur for the hood?” She paused a moment then waved the thought away. “Oh well, I’ll let her work that out. See you then. Ta-ta!” She blew Amilia a kiss as the ducal carriage left.

The boy was just standing there.

He waited on the far side of the street, revealed when the duke and duchess’s coach pulled away. A filthy little thing, he stared at Amilia, looking both terrified and determined. In his arms he held a soiled bag. He caught her eye and with a stern resolve slipped through the fence.

“Mi-milady Ami—” was all he got out before a soldier grabbed him roughly and shoved him flat. The boy cowered in the snow, looking desperate. “Lady, please, I—”

The guard kicked him hard in the stomach and the boy crumpled around his foot. His eyes squeezed shut in pain as another soldier kicked him in the back.

“Stop it!” Amilia shouted. “Leave him alone!”

The guards paused, confused.

On the ground, the boy struggled to breathe.

“Help him up!” She took a step toward the child, but Nimbus caught her by the arm.

“Perhaps not here, milady.” His eyes indicated the crowd around the line of carriages who were straining to see what the commotion was about. “You’ve already annoyed Regent Saldur once today.”

She paused then glanced at the boy. “Put him in my carriage,” she instructed the guards.

They lifted the lad and shoved him forward. He dropped his bundle and pulled free in time to grab it before scurrying into the coach. Amilia glanced at Nimbus, who shrugged. The two followed the youth inside.

The boy cowered on the seat across from Amilia and Nimbus, a look of horror on his face.

The courtier eyed the lad critically. “I’d have to say he’s ten, no more than twelve. An orphan, certainly, and nearly feral by the look of him. What do you suppose he has in the bag? A dead rat?”

“Oh, stop it, Nimbus,” Amilia rebuked. “Of course it’s not; it’s probably just his lunch.”

“Exactly,” the tutor agreed.

Amilia glared. “Hush, you’re frightening him.”

“Me? He’s the one who came at us with the moldy bag of mystery.”

“Are you all right?” Amilia asked the boy softly.

He managed a nod but just barely. His eyes kept darting around the interior of the carriage but always came back to Amilia as if mesmerized.

“I’m sorry about the guards. That was awful, the way they treated you. Nimbus, do you have some coppers? Anything we could give him?”

The courtier looked helpless. “I’m sorry my lady. I’m not in the habit of carrying coin.”

Disappointed, Amilia sighed and then tried to put on a happy face. “What was it you wanted to say to me?” she asked.

The boy wetted his lips. “I—I have something to give to the empress.” He looked down at the package he clutched.

“What is it?” Amilia tried not to cringe at the possibilities.

“I heard…well…they said she couldn’t be at the tournament today because she was sick and all. That’s when I knew I had to get this to her.” He patted the bundle.

“Get what to her? What do you have?”

“Something that can heal her.”

“Oh, dear. It is a dead rat, isn’t it?” Nimbus shivered in disgust.

The boy pulled the bag open and drew out a folded shimmering robe unlike anything Amilia had ever seen. “It saved the life of my best friend—healed him overnight, it did. It’s…it’s magical, it is!”

“A religious relic?” Nimbus ventured.

Amilia smiled at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“They call me Mince, milady. I can’t say what my real name is, but Mince works well enough, it does.”

“Well, Mince, this is a generous gift. This looks very expensive. Don’t you think you should keep it? It’s certainly better than what you’re wearing.”