The Princess Knight Page 13

  “Is he though?” Quinn asked. “I mean, compared to you. Is he really?”

  Annoyed, Gemma sucked the marrow from the turkey leg, then lobbed what remained at the centaur’s head.

  “Well, that was just rude!” he accused.

  “I don’t know why you always have to fight everyone,” Katla complained. “You’ve been gone two years but you haven’t changed.”

  Laila chuckled. “You sound like her sister.”

  “You too, Laila?” Gemma asked, mortally wounded.

  “It is something Keeley would say!”

  “And Sprenger’s not going to kill you,” Shona announced. She wasn’t eating. Instead, she’d set up a blanket a bit away from them and spent her time sharpening her sword.

  “You can’t tell me he’s not going to try. I’m positive. He’s going to want to execute me.”

  “He’s definitely not going to execute you.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he no longer makes decisions on his own. He and the elders have to agree.”

  “He’ll override them. I’m sure of it. The man needs to execute me.”

  Laila finally threw up her hands. “What is this obsession you have with this man executing you? It’s as if you want him to execute you.”

  Gemma smiled. “I do.”

  “My brother’s right. You are insane.”

  “I told you,” Quinn said, leaning back to stare up at the two suns, his hands behind his big head. “I told all of you.”

  “I’m not insane. I know exactly what I’m doing. Sprenger hates me, which means he’ll want to look me right in the eyes before he sets me aflame. And that’s when I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill him.”

  “Won’t you be tied up or something?” Keran asked.

  “Eh. I can get past that.” And then, when everyone stared at her, “What? You think no one’s tried to execute me before?”

  “She’s right,” Katla agreed. “If she was condemned to execution this time, it would be your . . . what, Gemma? Fourth?”

  “Fifth.”

  “Fifth? Did I miss one?”

  “You did,” Shona said, looking over her sword carefully before going back to sharpening it a bit more. “You had an injury and stayed behind when we took on Lord Turnball at his mountain retreat. That was the fourth one.”

  “Has anyone not wanted you dead?” Quinn asked Gemma.

  She glanced off, trying to remember, until Quinn finally sighed and said, “Forget I asked.”

  “And so it’s true,” a female voice said from behind her. Gemma felt that shudder go up her spine and her lip curl, and for once, she really wished her sister’s demon wolves were around because they tended to randomly attack when they were startled.

  * * *

  Quinn had noticed the female monk walking toward them but hadn’t thought much about it. Why should he? She hadn’t seemed much different from the others wandering around the grounds. She was tall and strong, like all the female monks at the monastery. Well, they might not all be tall, but every one of them appeared strong. She had dark skin and black hair plaited into war braids. Scars littered her face, neck, and hands, the only parts of her Quinn could see.

  Her eyes were dark brown and constantly scanned her surroundings. Whether they were searching for misbehavior or attacking enemies, Quinn couldn’t tell. She wore the white tunic of high rank and a constant scowl of disappointment, but other than that . . . she seemed no different than the rest of her brethren.

  She stopped behind Gemma and stared down at her as Gemma’s battle-cohorts gawked up at the woman with something akin to fear. Strange since the three of them didn’t seem to fear much of anything but more Kir-tears.

  “And so it’s true,” the newcomer finally said to the top of Gemma’s head, and Quinn saw Gemma cringe as if she’d just been caught stealing money by a town magistrate. “You really are back.”

  Katla opened her mouth to speak but the monk stopped her without doing more than glancing at her. Literally, that’s all she did. She lifted her gaze to Katla and the words died in Katla’s throat. Then the monk moved her gaze back to the top of Gemma’s head.

  “I hear you’re a princess now. How nice for you.”

  There was a beat . . . two . . . and then . . .

  “So are you just going to sit there and not greet me properly, Brother Gemma?”

  Gemma scrambled to her feet at the snapped question and faced the woman.

  “Master General Ragna.” Gemma briefly bowed her head. “How nice to see you again.”

  Hands behind her back, Master General Ragna began to walk around Gemma in a tight circle, looking her over as one might a prize bull. “I see you’ve been letting yourself go a bit. Not quite training like you used to.”

  “I actually have been training . . . Sir.”

  “Not like you should be.” She slapped at Gemma’s side. “Look at that flab.”

  Gemma’s mouth dropped open but then she just as quickly closed it again.

  “Your hair is ridiculously long too.” It didn’t even reach her shoulders.

  “And what are you wearing?” she asked, feeling the chainmail between her fingers.

  “I—”

  “Have you taken a vow of poverty?”

  “My mother made this chainmail.”

  “You’re taking hand-me-downs from your mother now. That’s pathetic.”

  “Master General—”

  “Don’t speak. I didn’t give you leave to speak.”

  Impressive. Even Keeley—a queen!—couldn’t get Gemma to shut up that easily.

  The master general stopped in front of Gemma and stared her down again.

  “So why are you back here?”

  “I bring word from the queen.”

  “A princess bringing messages from the queen? Doesn’t she have actual messengers for that sort of useless duty?”

  “She does, but since I have a past relationship—”

  Eyebrow peaking, the master general repeated, “Past relationship? So you no longer consider yourself one of our order?”

  “I . . . wouldn’t say . . . I . . .”

  “I asked you a question that should be easy enough for you to answer.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it? Because the commitment you made was for life.”

  “I know but—”

  “Are your commitments as weak as your back kick?”

  “What’s wrong with my back kick?”

  “You know, Brother Gemma—”

  “I feel like you’re making a statement by calling me that.”

  “—there are some here that I’d let go without even a backward glance.”

  Shona frowned. “What are you looking at me for?”

  “But there are others, like you, where I do believe . . . that would be a mistake.”

  Now Gemma frowned. “Once you asked me if my parents knew when I was still in my crib if they’d created a disaster. Then you asked if they were closely related.”

  The master general pointed at the monastery. “You do know that right now, there are men, up there, making decisions about your life?”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Because they seem to think that you’ve turned your back on our gods.”

  “That’s not true. I just . . . just . . .”

  “You just . . . just . . . just . . . what? Tell me, Brother Gemma, what’s more important than the commitment you swore to?” She stepped close to Gemma, standing over her, looking down at her.

  “My family,” Gemma finally said.

  “Ahhh, yes,” the master general said. “Your precious family. So important to you that you walked away from them all those years ago.”

  From the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Keran shoot past him, but Farlan was quick enough to catch her before she could tackle the master general to the ground and start pummeling.

  “Is there something you want to s
ay to me, Master General?” Gemma asked. “If not, I’d like to get back to my meal.”

  The master general grinned but Quinn took no solace from that grin. None at all.

  “Actually, dear Brother Gemma, I’d like to show you something.”

  “Show me what?”

  “You’ll see.” She glanced at each of them. “You’ll all see.”

  No, no, no! Quinn did not like this at all.

  * * *

  Master General Ragna was a brilliant soldier, a brilliant general, and a brilliant tactician. But she was a bitch and Gemma hated her.

  She didn’t hate her for the same reason she hated Sprenger. How could she? Ragna had never once put her hands on any of the trainees inappropriately. But the monk was a ball-busting, cold-blooded, heartless female who had first been Gemma’s trainer, then Gemma’s first commanding officer. Those had been long, painful years.

  It was clear to anyone with eyes that Ragna never liked Gemma nor had respect for her. The reasons why were plain. She thought that although Gemma was “fine” in battle, she did not truly uphold the dogma of their order. As far as Ragna was concerned, Gemma was vacuous, selfish, and—

  “A complete chatterbox.”

  Quinn glanced back at Gemma. “A chatterbox? Gemma?”

  Ragna nodded. “Yes. She never shuts up. Haven’t you noticed? It shocks me that anyone talks as much as she does. She spends all day joking and distracting everyone from our true work and calling.”

  Quinn again looked back at Gemma, the confused expression on his face making him appear to be another person.

  “Gemma?”

  “Why do you keep repeating her name?”

  “Because I’ve known her for two years. I’ve been in battle with her. Eaten meals with her. Hunted with her. And take it from someone who knows . . . the woman has no sense of humor.”

  “Perhaps you’re just not humorous,” Gemma noted.

  “Perhaps you’re just mean-spirited,” Quinn guessed.

  A mile or so later, Ragna silently called a stop with a raised fist.

  Closing her eyes and clasping her hands together, she lowered her head and chanted a spell. A few seconds later, the air around them parted, revealing a large number of trees wound with twisted vines. She took out her sword and slashed at the vines until she’d opened up a small path.

  She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she said softly, and motioned them to follow.

  The path only allowed them to move in two at a time. They were just about to enter a sizable clearing when Ragna stopped them all again and motioned for just Gemma to advance with her.

  Once Gemma was inside the clearing, she saw a large, beautiful, dapple-gray horse with a black mane and tail on the far side grazing on some grass.

  It seemed strange that Ragna would use her magick skills to hide a horse from the view of the other monks. Each brother was given two horses when they made their vows. Horses weren’t something that war monks had to share with one another. Becoming one with the beast you rode into battle with was as important as learning how to use the sword strapped to your back. Meaning that there was no need to hide a horse you found if you took a true liking to it. And as a master general, Ragna could pick any horse she wanted. So why was this horse here?

  The horse turned a little and Gemma saw the splotch of white on its hindquarter that almost looked like a hammer! She remembered when she’d first seen that marking and how she’d insisted that the horse had to be hers because “she’s wearing my sister’s hammer!”

  “It’s Kriegszorn!” Gemma happily cheered. “It’s Kriegs—”

  Ragna’s hand slapped over her mouth and she was dragged back into the woods with the others.

  Gemma was pushed into Quinn’s arms and Ragna pulled out her sword. Then she silently waited. The horse moved around the clearing but eventually went back to grazing on the far side.

  “What’s going on?” Gemma whispered. “It’s just Kriegszorn. My warhorse. She’d never hurt me. She . . . she . . . oh fuck.”

  * * *

  Quinn had known Gemma for a while now . . . that was not her good “oh fuck.”

  “What?” he whispered.

  Gemma faced him. “Kriegszorn’s dead.”

  “When?”

  “Couple of years ago.”

  “Is that her offspring?”

  “She didn’t have any offspring.”

  “Sibling?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s a problem.”

  “How did she die?” Laila asked.

  “In battle. A month or so before I left for home. A spear through the neck.”

  “I remember,” Katla gasped, hands covering her mouth. “Oh, Gemma.”

  “What?” Quinn demanded while still keeping his voice at a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell him, Brother Gemma,” the master general insisted.

  Gemma let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, but she finally began. “This particular battle wasn’t going very well. We were getting pushed into a corner and it looked like we wouldn’t be able to get out.”

  “And?” the master general prodded.

  Gemma glared at the monk, but finally admitted, “So I raised Kriegszorn.”

  “From the dead?”

  “Shhhhhh!” everyone hissed at Quinn’s surprised yelp.

  “Yes. From the dead,” Gemma whispered. “But the spell should have only lasted twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.” Gemma pointed toward the clearing. “Why is she still alive, Ragna?”

  “It’s Master General to you, defiler—”

  “Hey!”

  “—and I have no idea. She came here like that. Looking for you.”

  “That battle was a thousand leagues away.”

  “And yet here she is. In the decaying flesh.”

  “I don’t understand,” Shona said, trying to peer through the trees to get a better glimpse. “I’ve never heard of something like this before.”

  “It gets even stranger,” the master general happily went on, much to Gemma’s annoyance. “Parts of her are decaying while parts of her regenerate.”

  “What?”

  “And, if you look at the clearing, some trees are dead and some are filled with beautiful, bizarre flowers I’ve never seen before. And on some nights, weird lights radiate from the area.”

  “What does any of that mean?” Laila asked.

  “I have no idea,” the master general said with a disturbing chuckle.

  “What do the elders say?”

  “Do you think I told anyone about this? Are you mad? If I had, I knew that Sprenger would have you burned as a witch as soon as you came back. Of course, that was my fear before I knew you’d become a princess.”

  “You do know you’re actually saying prince-ass, don’t you?” Gemma demanded.

  “Only Joshua knew about your unholy horse and he had no answers either.”

  “She’s not unholy,” Gemma argued, “and none of this is her fault.”

  “No. It’s your fault. You did this.”

  “I don’t know how.” Gemma looked at everyone. “Seriously. I have no idea how I did it. None.” Gemma held up her hands, gazed at them in wonder. “Am I magickally gifted?”

  “Doubt it,” Keran muttered.

  Gemma scowled at her cousin just as the horse finally turned away from its grazing spot so Quinn could get a really good look at it. What he saw horrified him.

  There was no flesh on the right side of the creature’s face, giving it a disturbing smile. Where its eye should have been, there was just a blob of blood. Chunks of its skin and flesh were missing from its neck, revealing rotting tendons that moved anytime it opened its mouth or moved its head. Pieces of it were dropping off its gut, and all that remained of its back right leg were tendons.

  It didn’t seem to be suffering. Yet Quinn didn’t care. Pulling his sword, he started forward. He was going to end it now.

  But Gemma grabbed his arm.

  “Where
are you going?” she asked.

  “To kill that thing.”

  “You’re not killing my horse.”

  “Gemma, it’s an abomination.”

  “It’s Kriegszorn.”

  He pointed. “Look at it. Did Kriegszorn have fangs? Because it seems to have fangs now.” He pointed at another spot in the clearing. “There are bones over there of something that it has recently killed and, I’m guessing, eaten.”

  “That’s wild boar. It doesn’t mean she eats humans now.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?”

  “I am not going to let you kill my horse and that’s the end of the discussion!”

  “Uh . . . Gemma?”

  “What, Keran?”

  Keran never got a chance to answer as the half-beautiful, half-horrifying horse’s head poked its way through the trees inquisitively. And, like the mighty, fearless warriors they were, all of them—except Ragna—screamed hysterically and dove for cover.

  * * *

  “That was just embarrassing,” Ragna complained. “You even scared the abomination.”

  “Stop calling her that,” Gemma said as she brushed the dirt from her leggings, chest, and face.

  “So what are you going to do with her?” Keran asked.

  “I’m going to see exactly how dangerous she is.”

  “She’s dangerous,” Ragna insisted.

  “We just scared her with our screams. How dangerous can she be?”

  “When she was traveling here to find you, there were rumors of a devil horse killing people indiscriminately across the lands. When I secured her in here . . . those rumors stopped. So she’s dangerous.”

  “That’s not proof it was her.” But even Gemma knew her argument was weak.

  Gemma felt horrible. What had she done to her poor horse? Kriegszorn had been an amazing, loyal horse and she’d turned her into this horrible thing.

  Before she made any decisions, she had to make sure putting the horse down was absolutely necessary.

  Gemma stepped back into the clearing and called out to Kriegszorn. Well . . . she tried. What came out was a weak, squeaked-out whisper. She tried again. Still nothing. Finally, she got out, “Kriegszorn!”

  The horse spun around and faced her.

  Gemma cleared her voice again. “Kriegszorn, it’s me. It’s Gemma. Come here, girl. Come here. Come here . . . beautiful.”