Page 80 of Unrivaled
Not one, butthreeships.Movement in the city made me remember the stillness of the winter we’d survived, and the lively autumns I’d witnessed in the past.
Not all energy was good.The times the city had been full to the brim, people had been pushed to the fringes.We’d been crushed, then squeezed for work or coin.The stillness had been peaceful, even companionable.
I wanted both.I wanted prosperity, divided equally.I wanted peace, and the population to share it with.
I was, in my heart, a greedy noblewoman.It was a reality I was accepting about myself, in moments such as these when I knew no one would interrupt me.Isolde was following up on some skullduggery Daniel was up to.Chay and Thomas wouldn’t do more than trail along silently, even if I sat all day pretending to be a statue.No one was going to bother us here.This area of the keep wasn’t in use.It had been the area our castle tailors had worked in, rooms that connected to the storerooms out the back, and servants’ quarters.Newcomers would visit the steward, then come to fetch their uniform and bedding.
I’d never attended these tailors, myself.They were thecommontailors, skilled at making heavy, coarse fabrics that lasted rather than crafting high art from expensive silks and velvets.I suspected they’d’ve known how to fit my shoulders properly into a gown, unlike the fashionable tailors, and wouldn’t have cut dresses too narrow through the waist assuming I’d be tight-laced.
The thought reminded me of the beautiful green silk I needed to have crafted into something.
What did a kraken wear?Aside from sea foam and the blood of their enemies?
I imagined a few different dresses, more or less elaborate, with exaggerated shoulders, or sleek upper arms and long sleeves, with full skirts or simple layers.I’d never enjoyed the feel of exaggerated shapes.
What did Iwant?
It was a strange question to ask myself, one I usually tried to avoid when others asked it of me in any sort of situation where there was no clear answer.
What didIwant?
The city before me wavered.
I wanted to feel strong.I wanted to feel strong, and comfortable, and beautiful.
Not strong like the kraken Elynta had joked about, but strong like my horse.An enduring, assumed strength, not flashy or stolen, not aiming to instill fear or feed some fantasy of power.
I could imagine the conversation with the tailor.Good morning, master.I’ve come into this excellent fabric, and I was hoping you might have time within your schedule to craft me a new outfit.Everyday wear, please, something I can put on for casual rides into the city to visit my pirate lover, or wear when they visit me in the keep.Yes, day to day occurrences.I want no one to remark upon my garb for these excursions.The style of it?Oh, please do decide that for me.My only specification is that you make me feel like my horse.
The humor I felt in response to my own silly imaginings made me feel lighter.I’d figure out a better way to phrase all of that.Except the lover part.I’d just leave that out entirely.Any way I sliced it, visiting a tailor was an endeavor for the future.Being a greedy noblewoman meant occasionally tolerating, and even prioritizing, underlings who wanted to bury you.So I felt the bright, warm kernel of hope and breathed in again, imagining that breath circulating around the hope, feeding it.Just hold on.That’s all we needed to do.This cart was rolling.It was on the right track.We just had to?—
A door opened ahead of us.Then two more, behind us.The sound hadn’t travelled from my ears to my mind when the door directly before me opened in a rush.I was grabbed around the shoulders and dragged.
Battle energy shot through my limbs.The sound of hurried steps came from ahead, and from behind.Many of them, too many, rushing toward us.The smell of salt and dust hit my nose.
I dropped to the ground.
“To the lady!”The call was thunderous, the force behind it enough to make my teeth ache.
The sound sent claws deep into my limbs, white-hot and tipped with poison.My attacker’s hands were scrabbling at me.I kicked out against them, using my momentum to make space, aiming to get away more than to do damage.My back scraped against the stone floor.They made a noise of pain.It melded with Thomas’ cry: “To the lady!”
The bird-call Isolde had taught me to signal enemies lodged in my brain.Words were gone.Time slowed curiously for a moment.I heard shouts, words, the scuffing of boots.Close-by, the familiar sound of a sword being unsheathed sent those claws deeper into my limbs.Someone grunted in pain.I stayed on my back while my attacker collapsed against the wall.There were more ahead.More to the side, coming from the doorway.I kicked at hands that came close, hip-escaped backward to where Thomas and Chay would be.Skirts tore.I put my hand down for purchase in a pool of blood, snatched it back.Used that same blood-stained hand to grab a wrist grabbing at me, jerking my attacker down and into my knee, then kicking them in the face as they reeled back.
“To the lady!”
I drove down with my heel to scoot back from the door and the wave of faces.The bloody tip of a spear swiped across my vision.I took the reprieve Thomas had bought me to get to my feet, deliberately standing on the torn fabric of my skirt to rip it out of the way.
A cut rope tangled on the ground, an attempt to keep my guards from me.Chay and Thomas stood, back-to-back, holding at bay what felt like a sea of enemies.
But it wasn’t.More than three.Less than ten.Plain clothes, all of them.
Movement came from nearby rooms, running steps from ahead.More were coming.
Thomas shoved me ungently behind him with his shield arm, the spear slashing through the air again.Chay impaled a man coming at him with a knife, grabbing his hand as the man’s eyes widened.He lifted a foot and kicked, sending the man toppling into his fellows.
“Justgether!”someone shouted.“Fast!”
Chay tossed me the knife.It was bloody.
