“BROTHERS, CANDIDATES,” GRAND MASTER declaimed. “Before our customary reading from the Litany, I have His Grace’s permission to make an important announcement.”
He had been relegated to a stool, like the other masters. The King occupied the throne, overflowing it, making it look much smaller than usual. Ironhall swarmed with Blades. Some were eating at the seniors’ table; others stood guard along the walls. There were even Blades in the kitchen, tasting the royal food and escorting it every step of the way to the table. Master Nicely was nowhere in sight, still tending his own vile business elsewhere.
Emerald stood in the doorway, studying the gathering. A wise Brat ate early and left early, and it was almost time for her to disappear. Hazing was officially frowned on before bindings, because the Brat ought to be left in his right mind for the ritual, but she did not trust the likes of Servian and his henchmen to observe such rules.
“It is not only His Majesty who honors us tonight but also many companions in our Order—as you may have noticed.” Grand Master’s attempts at humor rarely won smiles, let alone laughter. “They are welcome, but they are dangerous. If they were not dangerous, Ironhall would not have done its duty by them. In normal times we tolerate a certain amount of illegal activity in the hallways after lights-out. Recently it has been less productive than usual, I understand.” That small witicism did raise some sniggers. “However, there must be none of that during our guests’ stay. None whatsoever! If you go a-roaming tonight, you will be risking a lot more than a few days’ stable duty. Every corridor and stair will be patrolled. The Blades see much better in the dark than you do, but they are authorized to run you through first and question you after….”
Even at the far end of the hall, Emerald could tell that the King was displeased. There had been none of the usual boisterous royal laughter.
“Brat?”
She jumped halfway to the ceiling. She would have sworn any oath that no man in boots could have approached her undetected over the paving stones. She spun around angrily, and found herself nose-to-nose with Sir Fury, who was certainly not the largest of the Blades but might well be the cutest.
He said, “Sorry! Wonderful reflexes! You can be proud of those, boy. Glad you’re not armed!”
Ironhall humor, no doubt. Emerald just blushed scarlet, and he fortunately misunderstood. “Leader wants to see you, lad. Come.”
She had danced only one gavotte with Raven. But with young Sir Fury she had danced a multitude of gavottes—also minuets, courantes, and quadrilles—on several evenings. Sir Fury had expressed serious interest in Sister Emerald. And here he had failed to recognize her! He would never forgive her when the truth came out.
She walked beside him in silence, knowing that some people recognized voices more readily than faces. As they passed the great stair, she glanced up and saw four Blades guarding the door to the royal suite. Others were patrolling the hallways.
Halfway along the corridor to First House, she realized that Fury was stealing glances at her.
“Do you by any chance have a sister, Brat?”
“No, sir.”
“Fury’s my name. Cousins, then? There’s a girl at court who looks very like you.”
“I’m sorry for her.”
Fury sighed. “Don’t be. She’s gorgeous!”
Emerald felt her face warming up again. “Then are you certain she looks like me, Sir Fury?”
“There’s a strong resemblance. I’m desperately in love with her, and I think she likes me but can’t bring herself to say so. She’s very shy, you see.”
Emerald probably turned purple about then, but apparently he did not notice. Shy? She?
The guardroom was full of Blades—snacking, dicing, talking, or sharpening swords. Some were doing several of those things at the same time. A few were changing their clothes. They took no notice as the Brat was escorted through and ushered into Leader’s room, the lowermost chamber of the Queen’s Tower. It was circular, of course, sparsely furnished but well cluttered with masculine junk—swords, fencing masks, boots, rope, axes, horse tack, lanterns, and document chests. Commanders came to Ironhall and were gone again in a couple of days, following their king. For centuries, none of them had found time to tidy up.
Bandit had been reading papers under a candelabra. When the door had been safely closed, he stood up and offered her a stool. He looked tired and beset, but he managed his usual smile. “Why are you grinning?”
“Because the last time I parted from Sir Fury, he was extremely eager to kiss me.”
The Commander cleared his throat loudly and sat down. “Understandable, but let’s not make this any more complicated than we have to. I assume you’re not crazy enough to sleep in the sopranos’ dorm. Where can I find you tonight if I need you?”
“Falcon’s empty just now. I have a key.” Falcon was an overflow dorm for seniors.
Bandit nodded. “Tell the guards downstairs if you sense anything untoward. Did you hear Grand Master’s announcement?”
“Some. I assume it was about Nicely’s pets?”
“He was told not to mention them specifically, but we want as few candidates eaten as possible.”
“They’re the same as the monsters on the Night of Dogs?”
Bandit grimaced. “They’re copies. Nicely claims these are more controllable, but I don’t put much stock in that. He’s going to loose two of them to roam the moor and leave the largest inside the royal suite. That suite is easily recognized, you see—it has the only balcony in the school, it has the royal coat of arms in the windows and over the door at the top of the big stair. Lord Chancellor Roland is most anxious for Silvercloak to drop in and be torn limb from limb.”
“By a dog? He killed Demise and Chefney.”
“Sister, we worked in teams on those brutes! The only man who managed to kill one single-handed was Durendal, and his was one of the smallest. Worry more over how we get out of here if Nicely can’t put the horrors back to sleep and nail them up in their crates. Spirits! That thing in the suite is the size of a pony.”
“So the King sleeps in the Queen’s Tower?”
“State secret.” Bandit’s smile said she had guessed correctly.
“And Princess Vasar of Lukirk is the dog?”
“It’s a code for all three dogs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “I wish I never let Durendal talk me into this! You know, Sister, if you include the seniors and the knights, we must have close to a hundred able swordsmen in Ironhall tonight, not to mention three monsters. And there’s only one man out there in the dark! So why do I feel besieged?”
He was an honest man doing his best, and she felt angry at Lord Roland for adding to his burdens. Yet the situation was not really Roland’s doing. At least he had seen the danger and taken precautions.
“Could you have stopped the King coming to Ironhall?”
“Probably. But he would soon have found himself a new Leader.”
“Does he know I’m the Brat?”
Bandit shrugged. “Not from me. From Roland maybe. The King knows only what the King admits to knowing, Sister. He’s in a monumentally foul temper, but that may just be from finding Nicely here and having to sleep in a strange bed—and the very idea that there could be royal quarters like the Queen’s Tower existing unknown in Ironhall all this time did not improve his mood! White Sisters and inquisitors are not things he associates with Ironhall. He doesn’t want to be bothered with those here. He looks on his Ironhall excursions as recreation. He hates to think his Blades are not capable of protecting him.”
“I can’t be Brat at the binding.”
“No, we’ll let you off that. Ambrose is very sensitive to scandal, too. A woman in Ironhall sets his teeth on edge.”
“Does Master Nicely know I’m here?”
“Not from me,” Bandit said sharply. He might enjoy deceiving the inquisitor or perhaps did not trust him—Blades trusted no one except one another.
“I’ll stay the Brat for now,” she agreed. “But then you owe me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“You did tell one man who the Brat really is, didn’t you?”
Bandit nodded sheepishly. “Had to warn him when I sent him to fetch you. Didn’t want him letting any cats out of bags.”
“Give me your solemn promise that you will not tell him you told me you’d told him!”
“Er…I promise.”
Oh, did young Fury have something coming to him!