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Chapter Text

Alanna slid into her seat beside Jonathan just as Master Oakbridge was calling the assembly to order. Dressed in training kit, hair mussed, her eyes sparked with what could be anger or excitement.

“Cutting it fine,” Jonathan whispered.

“I got waylaid.” She grimaced in response to his questioning look. “Later. We have an audience.” She tilted her head to where Burchard, lord of Stone Mountain, was glaring at her. “Do you think it’s my attire, manner or position that has him upset this time?”

“Oh, all three, undoubtedly.”

Alanna inclined her head at the lord who turned away. “I’m starting to wish I’d agreed to marry you just to see his reaction,” Alanna muttered and Jonathan smirked. “We could still do that,” he offered.

“And give him and his kind the satisfaction of us calling it off again? No thank you.” But she was sniggering, which only elicited another vicious look from the lord.

At that moment Master Oakbridge struck his ceremonial staff against the flagstones, signalling the start of the Lord’s Assembly. This was a new fortnightly event the new king had instituted to allow lords outside his immediate circle to bring their concerns and complaints directly to the monarch. Alanna found the whole idea of it excruciating, though Jonathan professed to welcome it. “Otherwise I only hear filtered news,” he pointed out. “This will give me a far better sense of what is actually happening.” After the events of the coronation day, none of the Council lords was prepared to argue against it.

Jonathan also planned to institute an event on similar lines for the common folk to bring their own petitions to him. This had horrified some lords who felt it usurped their authority, an argument swiftly undermined when the king politely commented that if the people were satisfied, the assemblies would quickly prove unnecessary. At least within Jon’s hearing, the complaints had stopped.

Gary was in his element. Alanna would have teased him if it didn’t save her having to actually participate. She much preferred discovering the state of the realm first-hand, on the road, and her role here was simple: look sufficiently menacing to deter any direct threat to the king. She would have been even happier if she could do so less visibly. There were at least a few lords present whose main interest seemed to be gawking at the young Champion, a fact about which she had little option other than to grit her teeth and endure.

And some things took more endurance than others. “Perhaps, Master Oakbridge,” Lord Burchard was saying, icily polite, “We should wait until all members of this assembly are ready to give its business the attention it deserves.” Oakbridge, who had missed the earlier interaction, paused in his opening comments to glance at Jonathan, who waved his hand. “I am sure we are all ready to give your words our full attention. Pray continue.”

Well aware that he had missed something but wise to the ploys of court politics, Oakbridge merely nodded and continued setting out the business of the day.  The assembly was well advanced and Alanna’s focus leagues away when a page trotting to Myles’ side caught her attention. Messengers were not uncommon in the council hall and the current petitioner did not pause in his complaint, something about road taxes, Alanna thought. Myles scanned the document the page passed him, then penned a brief note which the boy brought straight to Jonathan, offering it with a neat bow.

Jonathan read the note before handing it to Alanna. Word from the Hill Country, was the terse message and Alanna glanced over at Myles who gave her a reassuring smile. Word from George, then – at last.

She’d lost track of the court’s business but her attention snapped back as the new speaker demanded, “But what is the Provost doing about the Rogue, Sire?” She felt Jonathan tense beside her as they both turned to the speaker – whom the Provost had already pinned with a sharp eye, though his words were measured. “Tracking them, Lord Aiden. Disrupting their efforts to harm honest folk.”

A couple of faces coloured at that and Alanna had no doubt the Provost had marked them though he gave no sign other than the faintest hint of a smile, as he finished, “Keeping the king’s peace, as best we may.” His tone as he said those last words would have quelled many a man but it seemed Lord Aiden of Greymount was made of sterner stuff.

Alanna knew him only slightly from the practice yards, enough to know he was a decent swordsman and a skilled rider, keeping himself in better shape than many knights and minor lords once they came into their inheritances. That inheritance was clearly what was troubling him now as he turned from the Provost to the king.

“Sire, in the last few weeks three shipments from my fief have been targeted by criminals, right here in the Corus docks. My people rely on the sale of those shipments to feed them through the winter.”

Alanna dredged her memory for what exactly Fief Greymount produced but Jonathan was ahead of her, possibly aided by Gary whispering in his other ear, she thought sourly as the king said, “In what way have your linens been targeted, my lord?”

Alanna frowned. Linen might be an essential product but it was hardly something the Rogue would want, usually. Then she caught herself: she no longer knew what the Rogue would want – a jarring thought.

Greymount’s next words sent ice down her spine. “I hear tell there’s a new man in charge and the old Rogue has disappeared, walked out into the night. At least we knew where we were with him, but now he’s out there somewhere doing who knows what, and with this new man, who’s to say what will happen now?”

Jonathan, still apparently relaxed in his seat, glanced at the Provost who smoothly picked up the cue. “You know our approach to the Rogue, my lords. He keeps control over the worst elements of society, and we keep control over the worst excesses of the Rogue. Until I see evidence that the Rogue has broken that agreement, it remains our policy. It is the most efficient means of managing the city.”

“But my goods!” Greymount protested. “Those docks are essential to Corus’s trade!”

“I am well aware of that, but the fact remains that for now, the Rogue is essential to Corus’s stability,” the Provost said repressively. “I am aware that there has been some unrest in the docks, but it would seem we are not the only ones considering the new Rogue’s authority, we are simply the most illustrious. So yes, he is making a point of taking control but you may be assured, my lords, that my men are keeping a close eye and the moment it threatens to spill over, we will act. Until then it is best to let the Lower City deal with its own problems.” Then he added, stark, “We have enough of our own to deal with right now.”

When Greymount still made to remonstrate, the Provost cut him off. “I would suggest, my lord, that you reconsider your warehouse and security arrangements. You may find that the Rogue’s issue is with those who manage your goods, and not with you.”

Greymount bit back his words so fast he made a strangled sound, and Alanna was hard pressed not to laugh. There were still mutterings across the hall as Jonathan rose to his feet. “I have every faith in your judgment, my lord,” he said to the Provost who bowed his head. “And I think that concludes our business here.” Without waiting for a response he swept across the dais and out to his withdrawing room, where he pulled off his gold diadem and tossed it aside with a groan. Alanna, close on his heels, pulled the door shut before giving vent to her own frustration.

“What the hell is Greymount trying to do? Start a civil war?”

“Enough, Alanna.” Jonathan was also frustrated but more resigned as he tugged at the fastenings of his robe of state. “He has a right to be concerned about his people. He’s a decent man, if a little hidebound.”

“Not that decent if he’s using crooks to manage his warehousing,” she sniffed, stepping forward to help him with the clasp, finally easing the robe away. She knew it was her worry for George and the slow steps they had to take to get him into his new position that had led to her show of temper, not Lord Aiden himself.

A knock on the door heralded Gary’s sandy head. “The Privy council are waiting,” he sounded apologetic. “I tried to put them off but I think they want to revisit that last discussion.” Jonathan swore and Gary raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. George already making his presence felt at court?”

“Get out, Naxen, before I make you deal with them.” Gary grinned back as he ducked out again. Jonathan rubbed at his eyes, Alanna biting her lip as she watched him.

“What will you tell them?”

He shrugged. “George’s change in circumstances had to come out eventually. Later would be better but they need to know so it might as well be now.” He squared his shoulders. “Come on. I can’t leave Will to face this alone.” It took her a moment to realised he was referring to the Provost. The man was so synonymous with his role she sometimes forgot he even had a name.

The privy council was indeed still fixated on the question of the Rogue and even the Provost, poised though he usually was, looked relieved when the king took his seat. The uproar had barely paused as Jonathan entered, only a handful of perfunctory bows greeting him. Now, the king rapped sharply on the table, his gaze raking around the assembly. “Gentlemen.” His cool tone, studied though it was, raised colour in more than one cheek. “I believe we have business to attend to.”

They took their seats, and Alanna took a sly pleasure in how some looked more like chastised pages than peers of the realm as Jonathan folded his hands before him. “I understand that Sir Myles has news from the Hill Country.” Alanna admired his attempt to turn the discussion but she could have told him it would never work.

“Jonathan!” Lord Martin’s usual terse courtesy toward the king had abandoned him. “We all share your faith in the Provost but the fact remains that the most notorious criminal in the realm has disappeared to the Gods know where. We must surely discuss the matter of George Cooper.”

While the Rogue’s identity might not be common currency, George’s name had frequently come up in this council over the years. Alanna was used to the twist in her gut that followed it but this – this was different. George was now, after all, safe from the justice this august group could mete out but to receive their approbation – well, that would be a very different matter.

Jonathan sighed, but Martin had not finished. “Lord Greymount makes a fair point. Even if Cooper has truly gone from the Rogue, we cannot assume he has renounced his life of crime. He’s young yet, and resourceful. We need to find him before he becomes another, different threat.”

Alanna didn’t dare look at Jonathan. He may have planned to keep George’s new status a secret until after he returned from his current mission to the Hill Country, to allow a period of time to elapse between his departure from the Rogue and his emergence as a member of Jonathan’s court, and because he could almost certainly achieve more on this mission as a commoner than as the new curiosity at the king’s court, however minor he might be. But she couldn’t see how he could avoid sharing it now, and it seemed Jonathan had come to the same conclusion.

“There is nothing to fear from George Cooper, my lords,” the king said calmly, though Alanna could see his foot tapping under the table. “You have my word on that.”

A murmur of confusion ran around the table and Lord Martin raised his voice above it. ”Forgive me, Sire, but if we don’t know where he is, how can that be? The council has a right to know!”

Jonathan sighed. “There is nothing to fear from George Cooper, my lords, because he has been pardoned.” A pause, a stunned silence, then he added, “and appointed the Baron of Pirate’s Swoop.”

The room exploded into pandemonium, though Alanna noted with interest that three people gave no reaction to the news. Two of the three were no surprise: the Provost, and Myles. The third however – that was unexpected, and she tucked the information away for future consideration as Jonathan slammed his fist on the table and order returned to the chamber. Order, but not peace.

“Sire!” Martin again, and he sounded more irked than Alanna had ever heard him – and she had had plenty of experience of that. “This is most irregular. We’ve all had experience of his criminal activity, some of us at firsthand. And now you reward him?”

“I’m well aware of his former activities,” Jonathan replied. “And surely you know me well enough to know I would hardly reward such behaviour.” Alanna knew that was technically true but she also knew it ran close to the wind. If he had had to, Jonathan would have found their friend guilty of those crimes, though he would have wept to do it. But he had also used his position to avoid just that situation. Ethically – well, it was grey, veering to black.

“What you may not be aware of, my lords,” the king continued, “is that without Cooper we would almost certainly have lost our throne. It was his early intelligence that led us to identify the threat my uncle posed – and you all had firsthand experience of how serious that was. Cooper has more than redeemed himself for his past, and has now sworn allegiance to the Crown, renouncing his former activities.”

Alanna had missed any renouncing George may have done, but she was not about to say so. “And even now,” Jonathan finished, “He is acting on our behalf.”

Lord Martin was shaking his head. “But how do you know you can trust the man? He’s been a criminal since he was a boy! How could you even know him?”

Jonathan swerved past that last comment. “Suffice it to say, I am fully satisfied of his trustworthiness. One thing I have learnt in the last few years is exactly who I can trust, and who I can’t.”

All the lords present knew how close Jonathan had been with his uncle, before Roger’s original betrayal; and then, to watch Roger’s return, and Queen Lianne’s slow death from the magics Roger had laid on her? Not to mention the treachery by Alexander of Tirragen, the king’s boyhood friend. Jon’s comment was enough to cow most of those present.

It was his other uncle who spoke, deep voice calm in the awkward silence. “I would know what Sir Myles thinks of this decision.” At the confused murmur that arose, the Duke went on. “Sir Myles’ political acumen is known to all of us. His council is surely of value here.”

Alanna was surprised that – despite the continued mutterings – no objection was voiced. But among the many things she had learnt about her adoptive father since her knighthood, the most surprising was that despite Roald’s obvious dislike of Myles’ intelligencing, many other nobles had seen its value and events of the last year had shown quite how wrong Roald had been.

Or perhaps that was the least surprising discovery? But she didn’t have time to think about that now, just be grateful that Gareth was giving Myles the opportunity to use his influence.

Myles steepled his fingers before him, inclining his head in polite recognition of Gareth’s words.  “I agree with his majesty.” He glanced around the assembled lords. “I should say, my lords, that I have met the man.”

He forbore to say when or how which was probably wise. If this was their reaction now, Alanna hated to think what they would say if they knew their king had been associating with the Rogue for years. “Cooper’s methods may be the definition of unorthodox,” Myles said, with calm authority. “But I have no doubt that he is loyal to the interests of our king, and our realm, and his contribution to uncovering the attempted treason – an attempt that was so nearly successful – goes to prove it. I for one believe we can trust him.”

Jonathan gave Myles a small nod before turning to the council as a whole. “I suggest we let Cooper’s actions moving forward provide the proof of his intentions and allegiances. As I said, he is currently acting on our behalf to round up any remaining rebels in the Hill Country, on which point I believe Sir Myles has an update; and we had intended to spend this meeting considering the parlous state of the harvest. But before we move on,” and his sharp gaze ran over the room. “I am relying on your discretion. Nothing of Cooper’s new position or his news can be shared outside this chamber until I give permission.’

Heads were nodding agreement, even Lord Martin’s, as Myles straightened his papers. If he was concerned that Jonathan had revealed too much of his new sources, he gave no sign; but then he as much as Jonathan needed these councillors to believe in George’s abilities. At a nod from the king, he swiftly moved on with the original agenda for the meeting.

The council meeting lasted nearly as long as the assembly had, and Alanna was struggling to hide her yawns when servants finally entered bearing dishes of food. Jonathan rose to his feet, and perforce the Councillors had to follow. “And with that, my lords, our time is done. Those involved in the palace repairs will stay, please; but the other councillors, I thank you for your time.”

“They’re not exactly happy,” Alanna observed under the bustle of movement but Jonathan shrugged. “They don’t need to be, not yet. I’ll work on them, but for now they just need to accept it.” Alanna cocked her head toward the end of the table and Jonathan groaned. “Except Lord Martin. You’d have thought he would be more forgiving of the Voice of the Tribes but I swear it’s made him even more belligerent. I’d better soothe ruffled feathers.” He paused as Alanna also rose. “You don’t need to come too.”

Alanna snorted. “I’ve no intention of getting involved. I’m heading for the food.”

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Jonathan threw over his shoulder as he headed to where Martin was remonstrating with Gary, who was trying to usher the lord out.

Alanna snuck between the servants to load two platefuls which she carried over to Myles, who smiled gratefully from behind his papers. “Thank you, my dear. Though I suspect this particular act of kindness might come with strings attached?”

His eyes twinkled at her wry smile. “Could I not just be showing care for my father?” she said airily, nibbling on a pastry.

“Oh, you could well be,” he agreed. “But you’re not. Are you?”

She accepted a cup of light ale from a servant with a word of thanks and sipped it before she spoke. Myles, ever patient, busied himself with his own plate. It was one of the things she liked about him; always ready with help and advice, but he let a person take it on their own terms.

With a quick glance to ensure no-one was listening, she quietly asked, “He’s only been there for – what, a few weeks?” She didn’t need to say who he was, and Myles gestured for her to continue. “But he’s sending reports back already. How can he possibly have this sort of access?” She turned worried eyes on the knight. “What risks is he taking, Myles?”

Myles smiled reassuringly. “My network may not be vast, but it is entirely at our friend’s disposal. He’s not working alone.” As her look didn’t lighten, he added, “and it transpires that he did not come without his own resources.” Seeing her confusion he explained. “He already had contacts across the country, and not simply of the ilk you might imagine from his former career. For over a year now he has been expanding those contacts. It seems that last summer he started planning for a very different future.”

Last summer. When she had been with George in Port Caynn. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified.

Myles patted her hand. “Those contacts would have served him well, whatever path he chose. As it happens, they now serve us well too.” Well. She’d be pleased then, since she didn’t much like the alternative. “Best not to fret,” Myles advised. “If anyone can succeed in this arena, it is our friend.”

That wouldn’t stop her fretting but she did suddenly feel happier. “Thank you.”

The meeting ran late into the afternoon, food and drink long finished by the time it finally broke up. They had played out multiple scenarios but the stark truth was that they were facing a famine that winter, with the threat of further rebellion in the hills, though George’s information had at least provided some reassurance there. But even so, it was not an auspicious start to the new king’s reign.

Jonathan’s sigh reflected that frustration as Alanna went to join him in the window embrasure where he had pushed open the casement. The cool autumn breeze coming through was a welcome relief in a room grown stuffy from the hours of talk. Duke Gareth made his way across too, stiff with his cane; and there was something in his face that made Alanna wave away the servants who would have cleared the debris of the meal.

The Duke gazed out at the city but as soon as the room emptied, leaving just the three of them, he murmured, “You could have told me your plans, Jonathan.”

Time was Jonathan would have flushed at the Duke’s quiet rebuke, but not now. Conté blue eyes met Naxen brown, and the king’s look was polite but determined. “I could have,” he allowed, “but given the risks, I chose to tell only those who had to know, until it needed to be shared more widely. That was Myles and the Provost.”

He caught Gareth’s glance across at Alanna and added, “Even my new Champion was in the dark until it was done.” Then he smiled. “She also made her thoughts on the matter known.”

“On that I have no doubt,” Gareth smiled as Alanna scowled, but he had not finished. “And you trust the Rogue?”

“I trust the man who helped me keep my throne,” Jonathan said simply. When Gareth still looked sceptical, Jonathan sighed. “Do you know, he’s never asked me for anything? He never asked for this. He’s never taken any advantage, and there aren’t many here at court who can say the same. This is hardly a gift with all the strings attached to it, and I know he will likely curse me for it many times in the years to come. But already his information is proving invaluable. As is his friendship.”

Gareth’s smile was wry. “I can hardly ask for a stronger endorsement. And he is clearly capable, but many will question your move so I’d be a fool not to do what I can to smooth his path.”

With a bow, he left them and Alanna gave a low whistle. “Getting George accepted by the court may be the biggest challenge of your reign,” she remarked and Jonathan snorted. “I’m pretty sure I’ve faced worse, and will again. Remember – most folk don’t know the Rogue’s name or face. He’ll just be another commoner ennobled for services to the Crown. It’s rare, but not unheard of.”

They’d left the council chamber and were heading back to Jonathan’s study, and the king waited till they had passed a gaggle of twittering courtiers before he asked, “Why were you late to the assembly?”

She pulled a face. She’d hoped in the fuss of the assembly and then the council, Jonathan would have forgotten that, but he would find out soon enough. “Those challenges you thought might come my way as your new champion? The first has arrived.”

“Sooner than I’d hoped, later than I expected. Who’s the challenger?”

“Lewin of Eeries’ Peak.”

She spun to a halt as he grabbed her arm. “Lewin – Alanna, are you serious?”

She yanked her arm free. “No, I thought it a fun jape.” When he just stared, she snapped, “Of course I’m serious.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, then closed it sharply as he spotted the craning heads and eager eyes watching them. Instead, he took her arm again and marched her down the hall. Equally aware of their audience she let him, though her temper flared and as soon as they reached his study she slapped his hand away. “Curse it, Jon – you knew this would happen!”

“Not with Lewin!” he retorted. “He’s one of the best swords in the realm.”

“I do know that!” She’d even asked Rhendall Ashe about him, when they were cooling down after a fierce bout at swordclub. They’d been talking about who else was a member and, curious, she’d mentioned Lewin. Rhen had curled his handsome lip. “There’s two criteria to entry here. One, you need to be the best. And two – “ he cocked his head to where Gareth was offering advice to Rahul – “his Grace must trust you. Lewin only passes on one count.”

Now she said to Jonathan, “Lewin’s weakness is that he knows he’s the best.”

“But you know you’re the best too.” When she didn’t answer, Jonathan frowned. “Alanna – you do know that.” Still no answer, and he swore. “You don’t believe it. Even now?”

She pulled a face. “I know I’m good. Of course I do! But I’m only as good as my last win. Then again,  I know that, and Lewin doesn’t.”

He was still worried, she could tell. “Jon, you know you’re being ridiculous? You literally just said I’m one of the best. You made me your Champion, knowing challenges would follow, because of how good I am. Isn’t it a little late to get protective now?”

“What was his challenge?”

She could feel her irritation growing as he dodged her question, but it was irritation at Lewin. Mostly. “Concerned for the state of the realm, apparently. And possibly your sanity. ‘Imagine what our enemies will think, knowing a chit of a girl –‘ have you noticed how that is their favourite phrase? What even is a chit? – anyhow, ‘a chit of a girl is now responsible for our honour and chivalric reputation’. Gah!”

Jonathan couldn’t hold back a laugh at the mincing movements she added to the words. “You’re right. I made you champion, and I knew challenges would follow. Just – don’t lose, please.” He caught her evil look and added, “And try not to break him too badly. I can’t afford to completely alienate the conservatives.”

“Do you have to take the fun out of everything? Fine. Just enough breakage to make my – your – point.”

……..

Alanna was waiting for Duke Gareth when he arrived at his office the following morning, early enough that torches still spluttered in the corridor. He waved her to a seat. Gary, arriving with his father, stayed just long enough to drop his pile of papers on the desk before disappearing with a mumbled excuse and a wink at Alanna.

Breakfast was already laid out on the table and Gareth poured her a coffee, pushing the food over. “Eat while we talk. About Lewin, I assume?”

She wasn’t surprised that he knew. Even without Gary’s gossiping credentials, Lewin was making no secret of his challenge. He might maintain that it was a challenge to the king’s folly but she knew, as did Gareth, that it was Alanna herself he was testing, and it was well-known that Gareth was her swordmaster. They both needed her to win this.

He eyed her over his cup as she picked at her food. “Eat. It will hardly help if you’re too weak to even lift your blade.” She’d been obeying that sharp tone since she was a child, and quickly took a proper mouthful. He said no more until she had finished the plateful and refilled her cup.

“Well. Lewin. Not an entirely surprising challenge, but an interesting one nonetheless.” She was grateful that he wasn’t assuming her victory; even more grateful he wasn’t expecting her failure.

“He’s good, they say,” she ventured and he raised one greying eyebrow. “Do they, indeed? And will you take their word for it?”

She grinned at him. “You taught me better than that, sir. Here’s what I’ve learnt.” Since Jonathan made her champion she had spent all her spare time on the practice yards, training – and watching. It had only been a matter of time before a challenge of this kind was issued. Since she’d been made Champion she’d had more sword fights than she could count and most were friendly enough, knights curious about this female suddenly thrust into their ranks, though a fair number had verged on full-blown duels from men who couldn’t countenance how a ‘chit of a girl’ had achieved such a feat. But there were plenty of fighters who never used the yards, more who never came to the capital at all, but it remained one of the best training grounds in the realm.

“I did wonder if I should choose something other than swords.” She blinked as Gareth actually ‘pshawed’ at her.

“That would have been an act of pure folly. And cowardice.” She flushed, though in truth she had rejected it for the same reasons. “Would you have had a sedate archery contest? Fisticuffs, perhaps?”

“It was only a thought,” she muttered before she caught the glint of humour in his brown eyes, though his words remained stern. “The King’s Champion should use a sword. If it is Lewin’s size that has you concerned, or his fighting style, I believe you have had more than enough practice against brawny swordsmen of questionable noblesse.”

That glint again. She was going to kill Gary, after she had reminded him of the meaning of the word ‘secret’. “My son has his uses,” the duke said, following her thoughts. “But he only told me of Cooper after the council meeting.”

She might just maim Gary, rather than kill him outright.

“I look forward to meeting the new baron,” the duke said now and she blinked again. The thought of such a meeting even a month ago would have sent shivers down her spine. Now though – and her mind went back to the council meeting, and the people not surprised by Jonathan’s announcement. The Provost and Myles, of course – and Duke Gareth.

“You knew,” she whispered. “You already knew.”

He gave his thin smile, the one he reserved for when a student had finally learnt their lesson. “Not about the ennoblement – as I told my nephew,” he allowed, “but about you youngsters and your illicit friendship? I may have had an inkling.”

And that made a strange kind of sense, now she thought about it. Of course the Provost had known, that had been clear since George had dealt with the rebellion in Marti’s Hill and those awful hours when Alanna thought he’d been arrested. But the Provost had been clear: as long as George solved more problems than he caused, he could stay. Gareth though? Gareth surely had a different view on the crown prince and his closest associates having such a friend?

She looked up to find Gareth’s measuring gaze on her. “How long have you known?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Since our young prince was knighted, or thereabouts.” Her breath caught. Five years? More? Something George had said to her years before, about being careless, came back to her. She’d retorted that she’d not been followed – her eyes snapped back to the duke. “Then why –“

“Why didn’t I stop it? Oh, I certainly considered it. But then Will came for a chat. He’s a bright man, our provost. Wise in the ways of the city, and of young lads.” A wry glance. “And lasses.”

He poured her more coffee and she gulped at it, barely aware that she did so. Five years?!

“Will already had the measure of Master Cooper by then. A crook and a scoundrel, aye, but a good man for all that, or so he told me. It would be as well for our young prince to let of steam, learn the seedier side of his realm, and he was confident Cooper would not let harm befall any of you. Which turned out to be true. Mostly.”

She grimaced, too aware of the scar along her thigh that had nearly killed her, the result of an attempted coup in the Court of the Rogue. But George had saved her that night, getting her to Eleni just in time.

Gareth knew where her mind had gone. “I might have stepped in then too but it was clear Cooper had your best interests at heart.” He smiled at her. “But now, this might be the best outcome for all involved.” She nodded, dumbstruck  by the revelation – and starting to see the humour too. They thought they’d been so cunning, her, Jon and the others, but Gareth had been watching for years. And George had known about the watchers, of that she had no doubt.

Gareth tapped a fingernail against his cup, pulling her attention back. “But that’s not why you sought me out, Champion,” he reminded her. “Let me tell you what I know of Sir Lewin’s swordsmanship.”

They were soon so buried in their conversation that they didn’t look up when Timon came to clear the breakfast things. The valet took in the scene with a sigh. The furniture had been shoved back to clear a space by no means large enough for one sword, let alone two, so the duke was demonstrating with walking sticks he kept for this very purpose (Roanna would argue they were for him to walk with. He would give her a look that had had pages quaking for years. She would ignore it).

“He will try to draw you in, like this,” the Duke was saying. “He’ll be seeking to use his greater bulk to grapple, assuming he can easily overpower you. But you’re much stronger than you look, so use that to your advantage. If you use that move you learnt from Ironarm –“ Alanna suited action to words and Timon winced as the duke tumbled over her slim hip and down to the carpet.

“Exactly!” Gareth huffed, waving away her offer of a hand and making his own stiff way back to his feet. “Lewin won’t stand on knightly ceremony so you should also use any techniques our newest baron has taught you. Normally I would not condone such things in the duelling courts.” His severe look was one that made Alanna flush even when she knew she had no transgressions on her conscience. “But the champion must win, by whatever means. Now – again. And this time, like you mean it.”

(Timon beat a swift retreat. Duchess Roanna would have his head if she knew he had not stopped her husband. The duke would have it if he tried. Selective blindness, the valet reflected, was the most useful tool in a servant’s arsenal.)

Leaving the duke’s office some time later, Alanna next sought out Lord Imrah of Legann. He had yet to leave after the Coronation, although she knew he had plans to head home soon to see out the winter. She found him, after a fruitless search through the palace, down at the training yards and stepped up to lean on the fence beside him.

“Trebond.” Then he smiled. “Olau? Or perhaps I should say Sir Alanna.”

She ducked her head. “Trebond is fine, sir.” Though it wasn’t really, not any more, but she was still arguing with Jon about that.

“I feel that some people could do with the reminder.” His voice was even but at his glance she looked over her shoulder. They weren’t the only ones watching the training – or they hadn’t been; now, the attention of the other men was almost entirely focussed their way, though most of the eyes cut away as they met hers.

She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

The tilt of Imrah’s head told her that he didn’t buy her nonchalance, but he would let her get away with it. “So. What can I do for you, Sir Alanna?”

She was nervous now the time had come to ask. “I’ve had my first challenge as Champion.”

“So I heard. Sir Lewin?” At her nod, he added, “It won’t be an easy one, but it will help cement your place.”

She took a deep breath. “I was hoping – would you be my second, Sir?”

His sharp gaze made her drop her own, feeling suddenly foolish. “Why me? I’d have thought Sir Raoul, or Duke Gareth.”

She forced her eyes back up. “I did consider them,” she said frankly. “But I need someone that Lewin and his kind can’t use against me, or against Jon. Someone aligned to Jon’s plans but not helping drive them. A respected knight, rather than one of my friends.”

For a moment she thought he might turn her down but then he broke into a broad smile. “All good reasons, Trebond – all reasons for me to agree. But mostly I’m agreeing to have a front row seat when Lewin gets some of the smugness beaten out of him. So don’t let me down.”

She grinned back. “I’ll try not to.”

“Well then.” Imrah pushed away from the fence. “Tomorrow, I take it?”

“Yessir. An hour after dawn, the knights’ training grounds.”

“Wise. Lewin is most assuredly not a morning man.”

She stared after him as he strolled away, thinking about the fight to come. She wouldn’t readily forget the moment Lewin confronted her: the gauntlet flung so fast, so hard, she barely caught it before it could clash to the ground. The welt it left on her collarbone, though she hadn’t even felt it at the time. Lewin’s sneer as he rapped out his challenge. Gary at her side, near as stunned as she but faster to recover, and didn’t that burn in her memory?

But that burn had faded against the burn of Lewin’s grating words, hissed so close she could smell his sour breath. His lewd slur on her honour, on Jonathan’s. And he hadn’t even been wrong, that was the worst of it but it had never been like – like that, never twisted and sick as Lewin had painted it. Words Gary had also heard, so she had to grab his arm and hold him back as Lewin strode away, that sickening smirk still on his face.

“Alanna,” Gary had started awkwardly, and she’d given a sharp shake of her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Gary had said bluntly. “Nor should you be. What he said –“

She sucked in a breath. “Just leave it, please, Gary. I’ll get my satisfaction.” Her eyes were still on the arch under which Lewin had disappeared. “I’ll carve it into his skin.”

Chapter Text

“Ready?”

Alanna took a deep breath. This, she hated. This minute before a fight when she could imagine all the ways it could go wrong. She didn’t look at Imrah waiting patiently as she tugged her gauntlets tighter. Again. The gauntlets were her only protection; otherwise she wore only a shirt, belted tight over breeches and low boots. When Imrah had questioned her choice – her right as the challenged – she’d shrugged. “We’re fighting to first blood. It’s pretty hard to draw blood through armour and I’d prefer to avoid dragging this out any longer than we have to. So no armour, for either of us.”

She let the breath out. “Ready.”

Imrah let her precede him through the door – an unconscionable liberty in any other circumstances for a mere knight to precede a knighted lord, but here he was her aide. It was just the two of them. Gareth had offered to accompany her, as had Gary. Raoul had assumed he would and near sulked when he learnt he wasn't to be her second, till she’d laughed at him. She’d given them all the same answer: for her first champion duel she wanted as little fuss as possible, thank you. There would be others for them to watch, if she survived this one. They’d all understood, even Raoul, eventually.

Or so she had thought but now she almost stumbled and it was only Imrah’s bolstering presence at her back that stopped her bolting. The salle was a sea of bodies, the viewing gallery packed full. “What the –“

She heard Imrah’s voice rumble low in her ear. “Of course there’s a crowd. Lewin was crowing about this. Just be grateful your folk are here too.” Glancing around she saw them, all the people she’d warned off, clustered at the Champion’s end. Raoul even waved, the bastard. “I’ll kill them,” she muttered and Imrah chuckled. “All of them? But you’re welcome to, after you’ve dealt with Lewin. You’ve a job to do, so focus, Champion.”

She squared her shoulders. There had been more onlookers when she fought Roger the first time, she reminded herself, and she had been a lesser swordswoman then. Roger had been one of the best, just like Lewin – and she had still won. With a nod at Imrah, she stepped forward.

The formalities passed in a blur, Imrah and Sir Wyldon of Cavall, acting as Lewin’s second, reciting challenge and response – the formal challenge, thank the Gods, and not the slurs Lewin has spat out. Alanna kept her eyes on Lewin, ignoring the whispers from the crowd. He hid it well but she could read the signs of a late night in the shadows on his cheeks, the smudges under his eyes, all reinforcing what Imrah had murmured on their way here, that her opponent had been presuming his victory with a late night in a seedy tavern. Good. Every fool move on his part helped her. It was, after all, why she had chosen this early morning timing. Well, that, and to avoid the very hordes now craning for a glimpse of her.

Resolutely she pushed them from her mind, though it was harder to ignore Jonathan. She hadn’t wanted him there either but he had overruled her. “You’re fighting on my behalf. Of course I’ll be there.” When she’d continued to argue, he’d held up a hand. “What message would it send if I weren’t?” She’d grudgingly had to accept that point and though she’d have denied it, there was comfort in having his visible support despite the distraction of him at the edge of her vision.

The screech of Lewin’s sword leaving its sheath called her attention back. Her own blade was already in her gloved hand, steel glistening in the low morning light as the room dropped into an expectant silence. Eyes still on Lewin, now sunk into a ready stance, Alanna gave a tiny nod and Imrah raised his hand.

The bout was over almost before it had begun – and then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

Lewin didn’t even pause to salute, a serious breach of etiquette. Raising his blade with a roar, he charged with a vicious downward sweep right at her head – but Alanna wasn’t there, sliding like silk under his blade to slash along his exposed right shoulder, his blade overcommitted, his bulk unable to turn in time. A cry rose from the crowd as crimson blood welled from the cut.

Alanna darted back as their seconds stepped forward. By their agreement the Champion had won, drawing first blood – but then they were scrambling clear as Lewin screamed, rage making him incoherent, and attacked again, drawing his blade back up and round, slashing for Alanna’s side, nearly catching his own second as Wyldon fled the floor; but Alanna had learnt that lesson long since and was more than ready, swinging up to parry, both hands on her hilt now. Lewin shoved forward as soon as the swords met, using his hilt to drive her blade and arms up, leveraging his greater bulk to overwhelm her just as Gareth had warned.

Alanna could vaguely hear Wyldon shouting at his principal as she let Lewin's momentum raise her hands above her head – and then let the tip of her blade drop behind her. Lewin, expecting resistance, stumbled forward and Alanna twisted to her right, arms screaming with the effort to keep her own needle-sharp blade from her back. The twist pushed out her left leg and Lewin tumbled over it, screaming in pain as he crashed to the floor, the sharp crack of bone echoing through the hall over the gasps of the onlookers.

She whipped her sword and body back around to rest her tip at Lewin’s throat, making him freeze his writhing. His face was white, sheened in sweat, his breath heaving.

“Which bit of first blood did you misunderstand?" Her tone was almost conversational, but her eyes were ice-cold.

“You broke my leg, you little bitch!”

Her lip curled. “I didn’t do that. You chose to ignore the rules, and tripped.” Her eyes flicked to the leg, the healer in her assessing the damage. It was a nasty break just below the knee and Lewin’s bulk landing on it had pushed it further out of alignment. Even mage healing would struggle to return it to its natural position – and Alanna, for one, wouldn’t be offering her services to this pathetic excuse for a knight.

Imrah had come up to her side, Sir Wyldon hovering awkwardly behind.

“You have the right to kill him, Sir Alanna,” Imrah said, quietly enough only Alanna and Wyldon could hear. She raised shocked eyes. “But – “

“He broke his sworn word,” Imrah reminded her. “For a knight that is unforgiveable, and when that word is to the King’s Champion, it is effectively to the king. As the king’s sword you may take his life, if you judge it appropriate.”

“Sir Imrah is right.” She noticed Wyldon's avoidance of any honorific for her, but that was the least of her concerns right now. “Sir Lewin’s life is forfeit, if you so choose.” Wyldon was a stickler for the rules and Lewin had broken all of them. She took a bitter pleasure from Wyldon’s discomfort in having to admit to it.

She licked dry lips. She’d killed before, of course she had. She’d even killed outside the heat of battle, when she had to. And Lewin’s insults felt scored in her brain. But this? She looked at the man whimpering in pain below her. She owed him nothing, she realised. Not even her blade.

She turned back to Imrah. “I am the king’s sword. It is for the king to decide.”

“And the king has made his decision.” Jonathan had come to join them, eyes cold as diamonds. “You fought well, my Champion. Which is more than can be said for Lewin.” No honorific here, either. “Well, Lewin? Will you rescind the insult to your king that led to this duel?”

Lewin grated out words that might have been an apology, but Jonathan was not in a forgiving mood. Alanna wondered if Gary had told him what Lewin had actually said to her.

“And will you apologise for your insult to our Champion, for your heinous attack after she had won the victory?”

Lewin’s sweating face twisted. Pain or anger, Alanna couldn’t tell but no more words came. “Come, man!” Wyldon urged, kneeling beside his principal. “A knight must follow the rules of chivalry, whatever the provocation!” But Lewin turned away, refusing to answer, and Jonathan sighed.

“Very well. You disgrace your shield, Lewin, and you disgrace my court, both with your insults and your lack of chivalry. My decision is this: you are banished from Corus until and unless you learn manners and apologise – to both of us.”

Alanna started forward. She didn’t need the added enmity from Lewin and his ilk that demanding an apology would cause, but Imrah’s hand held her in place, his headshake warning her not to react.

Lewin grunted. “I owe no chivalry to that upstart bitch. She must have cheated with her magic!”

“Indeed?” Jonathan raised one cool eyebrow. “You seem to have forgotten that your king is also a mage. Or perhaps not. Take care, Lord of Eeries’ Peak. You have already forfeited your place here. Do not forfeit your fiefdom as well.” He turned to Wyldon. “Get him out of my sight. I expect him out of my palace today, and out of the city as soon as he can travel.” He did not offer any healing. Without it, there was no way the leg would heal well and a high chance it would kill Lewin. Jonathan knew that as well as she did, for all that he was no healer, but he turned his back on the man to address the assembled nobles.

“My lords and ladies. The seconds have agreed that the victory goes to our Champion. Twice. For his heinous attack after Sir Alanna won the bout, Lewin –“ still no title, Alanna noted – “is banished from court. I will not brook such disgraceful behaviour in my house.” And with that he swept from the salle, Alanna at his side.

Neither spoke as they strode through the corridors till they reached Jonathan’s office. The moment the door closed on the Chancery staff pretending busy industry in the outer chamber, Jonathan pulled her into a tight embrace, barely giving her enough time to set aside her still-bloody sword.  She let him hold her for a moment before pushing him away.

“What was that?” she demanded, and his face clouded over with confusion.

“What was what? You proved your point. Admirably. Twice.”

“I know that! I meant you. You’re using me as your excuse for banishing him?” she accused.

“Of course I’m using you.” His voice was suddenly a whip. “I just used you to avenge me, did I not? You’re my Champion. What did you expect?”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You knew. You knew this would happen, that he’d try something.”

His smile was aggravatingly smug. “Lords like Lewin need shaking up. They’re too damned complacent, and I want changes. Progress. Your knighthood gave them pause. You as Champion is another blow to their stranglehold so yes, I will take advantage of that.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Me as champion – “ she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask, but she had to know. “Did you appoint me just to make a point?”

Jonathan had turned away to rummage in a drawer in the desk but now he stared up at her, and what he saw brought him straight back to her side, her hands in his. “No, Alanna, I swear it. Absolutely not. I told you Gareth agreed, and he wouldn’t do that if he thought you unworthy. Not even for me.” He squeezed her hands. “Especially not for me. Don’t you remember how he bangs on about princes being held to higher standards?”

She gave a reluctant shrug, her anger already ebbing. She knew full well she was his weapon to wield, and that Lewin was never going to give in easily – and she remembered what he had said when he appointed her.  She knew he had faith in her – when she had her temper under control. “Fine. I suppose I’d better be ready for more challenges from idiots, then. Let’s hope you don’t need to banish all your lords.”

“He’s lucky I don’t remove his knighthood.”

“He might not survive long enough for that.”

Some of Jonathan’s belligerence faded at that, and he took a breath. “I know. But he has only himself to blame. If he asks for healing, I will grant it. But – “ and his eyes turned hard again – “only if he apologises to you. He cannot have the benefits of mages while he insults us.”

She wasn’t going to argue with that, and he turned back to rummage in the drawer again. “I know it’s here somewhere,” he muttered, then bellowed, “Finbar!”

His squire’s head appeared around the door. “Sire?”

“Where’s that damned key?”

Finbar gave Alanna a polite nod as he slipped into the room. “Here, sire.” Picking up a key from the large central table he held it out to the king. Alanna, wiping her sword on the edge of her tunic, didn’t look up as she murmured, “Just as well being king comes with minders.” Finbar choked on a snort, shocked eyes darting to Jonathan as the king gave a mild tsk. “Please use my Champion, and former squire, as a living lesson in how not to treat your overlord, Squire.”

Finbar’s lips twitched again. “Of course, Sire. Sir Alanna is ah – most instructive.”

“Side with his majesty now, but remember I’m the one you face in the training salle.” She had recently taken on training the senior squires in swordwork, at Gareth’s request.

Finbar bowed his head again. “Most instructive, my lady.”

Jonathan plucked the keys from Finbar’s hand. “Come, oh incorrigible Champion. I’ve something for you – not that you deserve it.”

........

“What is this place?” Alanna asked, curious. Jonathan didn’t answer as he crossed the shadowed room by blue magelight to fumble with the windows and shutters, cursing briefly before flinging them wide to let chill autumn sunshine flood in.

The room – the suite – was spacious. They were in a generous reception room, two walls lined with low shelves that cried out for books, though they were currently empty. A broad fireplace was fronted by a pretty tiled hearth. The furniture was covered in dustsheets and from the motes floating in the air, the rooms had been undisturbed for some time. Even so, they felt comfortable and peaceful. But she still wasn’t sure why they were here. “Jon?”

He threw a smile at her as he opened one of the doors leading off the main room to reveal a bed chamber, though that too was draped in dust covers. Coming back to the reception room he tugged a sheet from a cosy-looking sofa – and raised enough dust to make them both cough. “It might need a clean,” he admitted and she laughed, waving ineffectively at the cloud he’d caused. “Might?”

She wandered over to the window, drawn by the light, and took in the broad views over the royal gardens, a smile on her lips. “Whose rooms are they?”

He leant against the wall beside her, a spark in his blue eyes. “Yours.”

She stared at him. “Mine? But – " She’d walked past the door any number of times; the suite wasn’t far from the royal quarters. She’d never seen it open, but she’d never given it any thought. The palace was a warren and plenty of noble families had rooms that often remained shut up for months, or even years. “I don’t understand.”

He cocked his head. “You’re the Champion. And these –“ he waved his hand around vaguely –“ are the Champion’s rooms.”

“But –“ she’d run out of words, and Jon chuckled. “Most eloquent, Champion.” He dodged her slap, conceding, “Uncle didn’t need them since he had the Naxen suite, so they were closed up.” His gaze came back to her. “Till now. They’re yours, if you want them.”

It was her turn to scan the space now. It desperately needed a clean, and an airing; it was musty with disuse. But it was comfortable, and welcoming. It felt like it could be home. “It’ll be scandalous.”

“What was I just saying about shaking up the conservatives? You already stay in the Olau suite alone when Myles isn’t here.” Neither of them mentioned the Trebond rooms, where Thom had died, which she had been studiously avoiding. And which they were still arguing about, Jon wanting her to have the fief, Alanna aching at the very thought.

She was grateful he didn’t reopen that discussion now as he added, suddenly awkward, “And if a certain new baron finds his way here – well, you’ll have more privacy.”

Her answering smile was shy. They still had some distance to travel in this new reality, but he was trying, and she welcomed it. ”Thank you.”

He pushed away from the wall, dusting off his hands. “I’ll talk to Master Oakbridge, get the rooms ready for you. Besides,” and now his smile widened, “This is closer than the Olau suite. You’ll have no excuse for ignoring me when I call.”

She was still looking around, imaging the space as hers. Hers. She could move the sofa before the fire, the desk to catch the breezes from the window. Bring her books and weapons from the Olau house. “I’ll need to tell Myles,” she murmured, then caught Jonathan’s eye, and sighed. “Why am I always the last to know anything?”

“Because it is always so entertaining seeing you catch up.” He dodged away as she raised her hand again. “Truce! Anyhow, he was the one who reminded me these rooms even existed. You deserve the perks of your role, not just the responsibilities.” His voice was suddenly serious. “Because I will use you, Alanna. And I can’t apologise for that.”

She nodded, still taking in her new home. “It’s a deal.”

...........

Alanna was brushing Moonlight when she heard an awkward cough. She and Jon had taken a dawn ride out into the forest, stealing a rare moment of calm. That calm had shattered the moment they had trotted back under the palace walls, a swarm of clerks hovering ready to attack.

Jon had laughed when she had voiced that opinion. “More like to smother.” He’d handed Darkness’ reins over to her. “I take it you’re not coming with me?” She hadn’t even graced that with a response.

Now she glanced up to see, of all people, Wyldon of Cavall standing stiffly behind her. Slightly further than a swordslength away, she noted with dark amusement. There was something off about the man – more than his usual poker up the proverbial, she thought, and she continued to groom the mare, using the time it bought her to covertly watch him. It took her a moment to realise he was fidgeting, hands drifting between belt, sword-hilt, tunic collar and back again.

She didn’t know him well but she knew he was stiff as a post and as unwielding. He’d made his opinion of females fighting abundantly clear including in her hearing, which made it even more odd that he was now twitching in the stableyard. Fine – it wasn’t her responsibility to make him comfortable, so she ducked under Moonlight’s neck to brush her far flank, and keep an eye on the man until he spoke or left.

She was rather hoping for the latter, but no such luck. “She’s a fine mare.”

If he was hoping to soften her with sweet words about the horse, he would be sorely disappointed. Alanna was in no mood for games. She tossed the brush into the waiting barrel and stepped around the mare again, hands on hips. “What do you want, my lord? I’ve duties for his majesty.” She didn’t, but it did no harm to remind him of her position.

His pained look turned constipated but he finally met her eyes, tucking his hands smartly behind him. “I wished to apologise, my lady.” Her face must have reflected her shock because he clicked his tongue in frustration. “For Sir Lewin’s – ah – behaviour, yesterday. It was – not chivalrous.” His constipated look deepened and Alanna had to bite back a smile. He was hating every second of this but he was the one who had come to her, stickler for the rules that he was, and she had no intention of making this easy for him.

She plastered a look of curiosity on her face. “Forgive me, my lord.” Since he had not accorded her the knightly title, she was damned if she would use it, either. “But are you apologising for your principal’s unprovoked attack after I had won the duel, or his refusal to apologise when the king requested it?”

Wyldon’s face had turned puce, but he managed, “Both, my lady. Neither was the act of a gentleman.”

She nodded, contemplative. ”So you admit he lost the duel? And the combat proved his allegations were false?”

“I believe I admitted as much yesterday,” he grated out. “But if you insist on my spelling it out, I will say again: you defeated Sir Lewin in fair combat, which proved you worthy to bear arms for his majesty.”

Not quite the same as agreeing she had earned her knighthood, but just occasionally even Alanna could see the value in quitting while she was ahead. But she couldn’t resist one more jibe.  “So you no longer think women fighting is an abomination?”

His puce colour turned scarlet as he heard his own words on her lips. “That might not have been the best turn of phrase,” he grudgingly conceded. “And you have proven yourself to be capable. Though one could argue that access to the best tutors in the realm could make anyone capable.”

She snorted. “You offer high praise indeed, my lord. If only you hadn’t immediately taken it away again. I had the same tutors as any other page or squire.”

His face twisted and he looked away, taking a deep breath. “Forgive me, Sir Alanna,” he said at last, though the words clearly pained him. “I do not think the fairer sex should be asked to bear arms. War is ugly and brutal, and women should be shielded from it. I hope to the Gods my young daughters are never put in such a position. But you are a unique individual, in a unique role, and there will always be exceptions.” His tone implied that there would not be any more if he had any say in the matter.

She was suddenly tired of this unbending man and his rigid opinions. Bending to scoop up the jacket she had abandoned on the ground, she waved a groom to take Moonlight. “Your apology is noted, my lord.” She too could use half-meanings; let him read into them what he chose. “I, too, truly hope your daughters are never exposed to the horrors of war to which women all too often fall victim. But know this, and I suggest you tell your friends: I will defend my honour, and that of my king, by any means. And I. Will. Win.”