Page 59 of A Brat's Tale
I would get into the whole I am not a child thing, but it’s useless. I give up on the idea, it’s not happening. “Diekin it is then.”
“I have a surprise for you; I’ll get Diekin to bring it with him. Now, will you please sleep, my love? Your eyes have black and blue under them and you’re beginning to look like the dead walking.” He kisses my forehead.
I yawn, because he’s right, I am exhausted, but I want out of here, badly. If I work harder than I’ve ever worked before, I figure I can pass the exams in six months, which means only three and a half months left locked away like this. But one night of full sleep will do me good. I nod into his chest, sleep already taking me.
“Good afternoon, Warlord,” Diekin says. He comes bearing a large wooden box. “A gift from your husband.”
“What is it?”
“You must have your nose in books. I’m surprised you don’t have any clue. It’s something you asked for.”
But then I remember, and I brighten. “Really?”
He nods. “Open it.”
Inside is the most brilliant bow I’ve ever seen. I know—from my studies, and from my time in Aldrien—the Elven bows are crafted from the wood of fifth-generation, firstborn trees, which seemed like an oxymoron to me until Cupper explained that firstborn designates its purity and not lineage. By the time a tree hits its fifth generation, the genetics are the strongest. I can feel the magic in it and recognize my husband’s essence. He forged it himself. On the weapon, as per tradition, is an inscription.
“Victory.”
It’s one of the words I still can’t say without an Aldrien accent, but Corrik knows that and I think it’s my husband telling me he accepts me for who I am. My eyes tear up. “This is beautiful.”
Diekin is beaming. “He worked hard on this for you, Warlord. It’s his finest work.”
“Wherever did he find the time?” He’s been with me a lot, as much as he can. Whenever he’s not doing princely stuff and war stuff. Corrik is not Mortouge’s Warlord, but he has an active role with Mortouge’s Warlord, Zelphar, whom I’ve never met, but have heard lots about.
“He made the time. You’re important to him. I know what he’s like, but Tristan, that Elf would do anything for you, even if that means locking you in a tower for your protection.”
I roll my eyes. Yes.That Elf. Totally overboard. That’s a thought for another time, right now I’m distracted by this shiny, new weapon. “Let’s go shoot things with arrows, brother.”
We go to the room I now refer to as my training room. In between studies, I never fail to train. I won’t get weak or lose my skill just because I’m up here. It’s not the same without another person to fight, but both Diekin and Ditira come as often as they can, separately since Corrik’s only allowing one visitor at a time—the only exception being the king and queen. Diekin had wanted to introduce us. “I will someday soon, Warlord,” he said to me. I’m glad Ditira visits. She reminds me of Deglan, whom I miss. I try not to think too long about those who I miss, it only distracts me from my goal.
I take the target from my training room and give eyes to Diekin that tell him all about my mischief. “You’re going to get us into trouble, Tristan.”
“Probably. You game? It will be fun, I promise.”
“Well in that case, how can I say no, Warlord? Lead the way.” Diekin has called me “Warlord,” with no junior to prefix it since our time in Aldrien and he hasn’t stopped.
I set up impossible targets and show off for him, placing arrow after arrow in the target. “Impressive, Tristan, but can you do this?” Diekin sets up a course of his own, adding flips and sideways jumps while shooting to spice it up. We take turns coming up with the most dreadful course we can and invent a points system. By the time Corrik finds us, we’ve gone rogue. The game went from target practice to us pretending we were in battle. Targets are set up all over the chambers, in every room. When Diekin hits one of my targets—my warriors—he collects points, the number depending on where he’s hit them, and I get points when I hit one of his.
As we grow weary, some arrows miss their targets and end up in the tapestries, or through books, or the table. It’s not just tired, it’s level of seriousness too, which has gone out the window, with some of our arrows. Arrows are sticking out of every place.
“What in the Gods’ names has gone on in here?” Corrik roars when he shows up hours later. “Kathir!”
But Corrik has left himself wide open and I can’t resist. I let my arrow fly and it catches right where I was aiming, the bottom of his jacket, sticking him into the tapestry behind him. Not to be left out,Diekin follows suit, pinning him on the other side of his jacket. Corrik is furious. He rips the arrows out. “Both of you better get out here, now.”
We can’t keep the smiles off our faces. “Now, Corrik,” I say, holding a hand up to stop him from advancing on me. “Before you kill me, you said I could do whatever I wanted.”
He takes a breath, remembering what he said, regretting what he said. “I will let this go,” he spreads his arm toward the travesty that is now our room. “But this was too far,” he adds referring to the arrows we stuck him with.
“But Corrik, we thought you’d want to play,” I say. Both Diekin and I giggle.
Corrik is unimpressed. “Pants down, both of you and over the table.Now.”
Gods dammit. He proceeds to use the long part of the arrow, like a switch. It’s a whippy little thing, and it packs a sting. “Ouch, Cor!”
After we’re very, very sorry for shooting arrows at him, we’re sent to clean up the mess we made under Corrik’s watchful eye, our backsides complaining. “Worth it,” Diekin leans to whisper to me as we de-arrow the library.
And I have to agree. It’s the most fun I’ve had for a while.
