Nyssa showered, reluctant to separate from Jara. Though sometimes the co-ed cadets did shower in the same general room together, they never had before and aside from now being conscious of changing their routines around each other where people could notice, Nyssa didn’t think she could contain herself and so just walked away from the temptation.
Her body did ache, everywhere, but she was at least grateful for new clothes, fresh and dry, clean hair brushed and re-braided and new boots. She was inserting her dagger into those boots when Jara showed back up at her room to escort her down.
“You don’t have to come, you know,” she said as he waited for her at her door, lazily leaning against the doorframe. He shrugged, looking miraculously relaxed for someone about to be in audience with the king.
“I’m curious as well,” he said. “And besides, I have no intention of losing track of things with you, so I guess everybody might as well get used to it,” he added. Nyssa stopped what she was doing and stared at him. He held out a hand to her. “Come on, the king is waiting.”
King Madras was waiting. He was leaning up against a paddock fence, one leg up on the bottom rung, his arms resting on the top one. He and his first guardsman, Sir Brack, were watching the animals being worked in the ring. Nyssa arrived, and the staff milling around behind them made way for her. Jara stood comfortably just a few steps back, until she waved once to him that he should wait in the background. He nodded in encouragement and kept his smile on his face but moved back a bit to be more inconspicuous.
“Da,” she said quietly from behind him. She was much bigger than a few years ago and slightly bigger than when he’d last seen her, but Nyssa felt incredibly small when her father stood in front of her. She kept her hands at her sides and tried her best to appear at attention.
Madras had turned slightly at the sound, saw her there and now turned fully to look at her. He did, his eyes openly travelling from her feet to her head. He had no comment, so Nyssa told herself to take that as a good sign she hadn’t screwed up her choice of clothing. He was looking at her sternly, but then he uncharacteristically smiled.
“Well done, my daughter,” he said to her and put his hands on her shoulders. Nyssa, stunned, blinked at him and moved with his grip more like a rag doll than a mostly grown person.
“The Elite training course is a tough one. Even I remember the challenges we faced,” he said and chuckled. Nyssa smiled weakly back and nodded, not knowing where this was going. “And now you have truly done something unique,” he said. “You are officially the youngest to complete it. Ever,” he added and clapped her hard on the shoulders. Nyssa tried to brace herself, but he hit a bruise and she winced.
She was surprised at that revelation. She hadn’t really considered an attempt to complete the course to beat a record. She’d simply done it because she wanted to prove to herself that she could because that was what she had been doing there all along. Proving herself as good as any cadet there because if Jara could do it, she needed to as well.
“It is excellent timing then, that I arrive back here with a gift for you. Originally, it was just to honour this year’s achievements, but Brom tells me that you not only will apply the credits from Elite to your impressive profile, but you will also graduate earlier because of it. You’ve moved ahead with all your extracurricular activities and now this advanced course. You will graduate in less than one year, Nyssa. I am very proud of you,” he said then and Nyssa couldn’t help reacting in complete surprise.
“But I have classes I have not yet completed, Da,” she interjected. “How will I learn those?”
“You will concentrate on officer’s training this last semester,” he said more seriously. “You’ve proven yourself capable physically; you need field experience and leadership training. If you can accomplish that, I will take you with me in the field, as an officer and a knight,” he said. Nyssa was still in shock.
“How old are you now, Nyssa?” he asked her and was already turning her toward the paddock, less focused on her and more on the animals again. Nyssa frowned. The confidence and pride he’d just puffed her up to deflated like a balloon. She felt like the little, long-distance daughter again.
“I’m sixteen, Da,” she said, barely above a mumble.
“Eh? Sixteen you say?” he said, barely looking at her again, but his arm was still on her shoulder.
“Yes, Da,” she replied and sighed. She gave up and looked to the paddock.
There were two animals trotting magnificently in the ring. One, a beautiful grey palfrey, was trotting proudly with his head high and long mane elegantly braided but his tail free. He was tall, maybe fifteen or sixteen hands high, strong in the chest and lean in the rump. Nyssa admired his colour and his handler was calling out commands that he seemed to follow with quick reaction, indicating he was well trained and quite smart.
But the grey was slowed and walked off. The next horse to be brought in was making a fuss at the entrance. Nyssa’s father shifted impatiently beside her.
“He’s still giving us trouble, Your Majesty,” Sir Brack said, not turning his head at all to speak, but Madras nodded and grumbled anyway.
The horse, easily seventeen hands high and, Nyssa thought, extra-wide in the chest and the hoof with long ‘feathers’ over his fetlock, clomped loudly and smartly into the ring, the whole time raising his head against the handler’s hold on the reins. He was spirited, Nyssa remarked to herself, but she was admiring him for so much more. The destrier, because he couldn’t have been bred for anything else, was a force to be reckoned with, just by looking at him. He was intimidating and fierce and Nyssa liked the way he looked when he was facing her directly. He was an incredible storm blue-grey colour, his hair almost the exact same colour except his feathers’ hair was a creamy white. He had a darker grey forehead and nose, until it went adorably pink at the nostrils. He was young, she deduced. Three or four years maybe, which accounted for much of the energy he was exhibiting.
The handler suddenly felt jerked off his feet when the horse considered the fifth turn in the ring. Nyssa thought the horse was getting bored but was immediately snapped back to the present when the yelling started. Two more groomsmen came out, both with lines and switches. Nyssa’s mind froze and her body tensed. Without warning, she vaulted over the paddock fence and into the ring.
“Nyssa!” her father and Jara called out at the same time. Her father snapped to stare at Jara in surprise and fury, but he was past caring. He was fixated on her and trying to copy her effortless vault over the fence himself, but Sir Brack was there and yanked him back down.
Nyssa didn’t hear them. She was focused on the enormous beast in front of her; all she could think about was getting him away from the men with the whipping sticks. Nyssa walked up to the commotion and when she was within view of the horse, she shot her arms up in the air and called him out.
“Horse!” she yelled and stood still in the middle of the ring. The horse, which had been bucking slightly and was getting wilder in the eye, shifted his sight and saw her. He didn’t exactly freeze, but he slowed and calmed from pulling.
Nyssa indicated to the groomsmen at the rear that they should move back. They hesitated and she glared at them.
“Princess!” the head groomsman yelled at her in surprise and dismay that she was in his area. “This horse is too big for you. Get away now! Off with you!” he yelled and the horse became agitated again.
“Horse!” she said loudly again and again the animal refocused on her. When he stood still long enough, she moved over to the groomsman and held out her hands for the reins.
“No, Princess, you can’t...” the groomsman protested. Nyssa turned her face and gave him a look that denied argument. He handed them over, wincing as he looked over at her father. Madras had not made one comment since she had entered. The whole arena was silent.
Nyssa, now with the reins in her hands, moved smoothly back to the front of the enormous animal. She let the slack fall loose between them and held up a hand flat so he could see it.
“Hello, my friend,” she said gently and quietly. It wasn’t necessary to yell. He could hear her fine, she knew, and his ears twitched and pointed forward in interest at her. Nyssa knew she needed to hold the reins to indicate she was his driver at this point in time, but she didn’t want to force him.
“Hello,” she said again and started to move forward. He didn’t move, but his skin flinched nervously and his foot lifted a bit. Nyssa saw these in her periphery but kept her eyes on his. Finally, her hands reached his enormous face and she laid it flat on the broad part above his nose but below his eyes. Nyssa wanted to hug him, to calm him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him. After a minute, the horse leaned into her hand and took one step closer to lower his head more into her body.
Nyssa let her other hand go around his lower jaw, to the massive bone and muscles there. She scratched his chin and he huffed at her. She scratched some more and he whinnied low but with affection.
“How about a slow ride, Big One?” she asked him quietly. He wasn’t saddled, but he had his bridle. Nyssa wanted this so badly she could feel it. She let her hand rest on his skin and walked from his head to chest, feeling and patting him along the way, letting him know that she was there, she meant him no harm and where she wanted to go. When she got to his back, she saw he was entirely too tall for her to jump up there. She turned and motioned for a groomsman to bring her a stool. He hesitated and looked at her father, who simply nodded. She waited, but she clearly wasn’t happy about it. Jara had run around to where the groomsman had now vacated and was trying to get her to change her mind. She ignored him.
The groomsman carefully brought the stool, deposited it and quickly backed away. Jara, on the other hand, his face clearly displeased, crossed the paddock fence, shooting an angry scowl at the fleeing groomsman and strode up to stop beside the now deposited stool. Clearly, he’d understood she’d still need a hand to get up off it.
He said nothing but held out his hands so she could step into his palms. She did and he lightly threw her leg over the back. The horse stepped back a bit and moved nervously under her, but he kept it together. Nyssa called him out to be calm and patted his huge neck in encouragement.
“Whoa, my love,” she said to him, “whoa. It’s all right now,” she repeated and kept him even and engaged. With a short nod to Jara, he removed the stool and backed away, back to the edge of the fence but not over it. He was in the ring with her and that was final. She shrugged and clicked her tongue to the horse.
Immediately, and with a gentle gait, the horse began to walk from the centre and answered her very subtle commands to turn and pick up speed. Nyssa was incredibly impressed that he responded so quickly to the lightest touch. His size indicated he would need brute force, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
She noticed his broad back, wide for her shorter stature, so she moved ahead a bit, and found her comfortable spot, tucking her legs up at the base of his neck. The horse picked up more speed, up to a canter, and she smoothly guided him around the paddock.
Nyssa was deep in concentration driving the horse. She zeroed in on his tells and movements and she was watching his head and ears for indicators of his personality. She tried some more advanced commands, like to slow and to speed up right after the other, and he obeyed without fail. She was so pleased that she said it out loud.
“There’s a good boy!” she said and broke out into a grin. The horse, running at a trot, started to parade shuffle, high stepping his front hooves and beautifully arching his neck. Nyssa laughed at him. “Oh, you are a smart boy, aren’t you?!” she exclaimed.
Nyssa wanted nothing more than to leave the stupid paddock and take this beautiful beast for a flat-out run. She really wanted to see what he could do, but when she looked to get help to open the gates, she met scowls in the crowd. She slowed the animal and looked for Jara.
“You can’t take him out without tack, Nyssa,” he said shaking his head and moving now to the middle of the circle. The horse sort of snorted at him, but he held his hand flat and the horse bonked his nose into the top of it and stopped still in front of him, allowing Jara to take the bridle in his hand. Jara made no indication he was intimidated by the beast. He slapped the huge neck smartly and brushed his hand down the long snout. Nyssa pouted for a second, but then she swung her leg down and jumped off the back. She came around to the front where Jara held him.
“So,” she said only to the horse, “are you for me, then?” The horse was chewing his bit and twitching his ears but was otherwise relaxed. She left Jara to hold him and turned with a huge grin to find her father.
“Is he for me, then?” she asked him confidently. Madras had been regarding her closely, probably the whole time. Sir Brack looked intensely annoyed but held his tongue.
“That is a huge beast, Nyssa. I brought him here to test him against the other one, but I think he needs more training yet. When he’s spirited, he is impossible to control. In a few years, he will be a knight's horse but not for you.” His voice was final about it. Nyssa felt her heart break.
“I will train him,” she said immediately. Her father stopped from turning away from her; she was surprised at that. Usually, he just walked away.
“Da, I will train him,” she reiterated. She was certain he was a good fit for her. She didn’t want him to spend a minute as anything but hers. He was too magnificent, too smart for that. Nyssa saw he was special.
“Nyssa, that horse could kill you if he loses control,” Sir Brack said angrily from beside her father. She looked at him, a bit afraid, but she steeled her resolve.
“He is for me, Da. I want him and I will make it work,” she said finally. Her father looked at her and back to the horse again. He narrowed his eyes, but she didn’t think he was upset.
“He’s yours then,” he said finally. Brack’s head whipped around so fast she thought he must have hurt himself.
“Sire!” he called out to him in a quiet but fast rush. Madras held up a hand for silence.
“My daughter has set her mind to this one. She will break that horse to her or fail, the consequences of which will lie at both their feet,” he replied calmly and then he turned and left.
Nyssa watched him go. She was thrilled he gave her this chance and terrified that she didn’t really know if she could make it work; she’d just literally bet her life on a horse.
When she returned to Jara and the waiting animal, she looked at them both. The horse seemed bored and she nodded. She took the reins from Jara and led the animal back to the stables. Jara wasn’t sure what she’d planned, but she just started taking out the brush and water. Once she had him tied securely, she went to work. He got her the stool she needed and some more tools, but he knew she needed this time, so he kissed her cheek and left her alone.
“Roan,” she said out loud when she was done and putting his bridle back on. She wanted to take him to the field and let him run. “I think I will call you Roan.” She looked up at the big face and soft brown eyes. He blinked but did little else to startle her. Calmly, like he was an old palfrey, he let her lead him through the busy stables and outside the barn, down the slow walk and out to the field. She opened the gate and went inside with him. When she removed the reins, she produced a shiny red apple. Roan ate it immediately.
“There is plenty more where that came from, my lovely,” she cooed to him and patted him strongly on his chest and neck while he nudged her, trying to smell for more. “But tomorrow, we start on a journey together, you and me,” she added. “Tomorrow, we begin getting to know each other better and I promise you, there’s more to me than meets the eye. I’m guessing that goes the same for you.”
Nyssa led his bridle to point his nose out toward the open fields. There were other horses there, playing and running, eating, resting. Nyssa could feel Roan’s urge to go. He looked over at her. She nodded and smiled and slapped his big side in encouragement.
“Go, you big idiot!” she said and laughed at him. Roan, whose skin had been quivering with excitement, now bolted away. He kicked a few times, jumped a few more and raced almost out of view. He was fast, Nyssa noted. She couldn’t wait to feel just how fast.
Nyssa worked with Roan every day. When she returned to classes, she was with him in the morning and then after. Jara, who borrowed whatever horse was available from the academy as a cadet, joined her in the afternoons to run the animals; they took them through the forest trails and into complicated ditches and levels to test Roan’s ability and communications. Nyssa was an expert horsewoman; Jara admired that about her from his first meetings with her. Whether she was on a small gelding or a huge destrier, she handled them smoothly, smartly and always in tune with the animals as instinct, but until now, they’d always been firmly broken and trained.
Roan was different and Jara watched him closely. He was immensely powerful. His ability to reach top speed in mere seconds was impressive, considering he wasn’t thinly built like race or hunting horses. He was broad-chested, wide-backed and thick-legged, but he wasn’t short, which led Jara to believe there must have been a hot-blood in his background somewhere.
Nyssa looked like a doll perched on his back, but she was firmly in control. Watching them run for the first time, Jara nearly had a panic attack and was glad that her father wasn’t there. However, once he calmed down and saw Nyssa was thoroughly enjoying herself and not scared in the least. Jara could appreciate the sight. She was finding herself one with the animal. Roan responded to her, respected her and after only a few weeks, knew her scent, her voice and her body. They were beautiful together. Nyssa was elated.
A few months passed with Nyssa working with Roan every day. It was freedom and accomplishment for her, something of her own that she could build and care for, and she poured her heart and soul into him. She felt Roan grow accustom, recognize her until he anticipated her arrival with his giant head waiting outside his box stall for when she would arrive. He was the greatest joy of her life.
“You have to get him fitted, Nyssa,” he said to her one day when he came to watch them on the training grounds. She was just finishing up and leading Roan back to the stables. Jara took her gloves and patted Roan strongly in greeting. Of the very few people other than Nyssa who could handle him, Roan behaved best around Jara. “If you want your last credit to be for cavalry with him, to ride him for the graduation ceremony and keep him afterwards, you have to train him to not only wear his armour but fight,” he said.
He had brought this up a few days ago, but Nyssa hadn’t been overly responsive. No big surprise. Training a spirited horse to accept heavy and restrictive plate armour, and then wear it in the face of screaming enemies to ride them down, was another matter than just wearing it to ceremoniously show off an accomplished royal. Nyssa was apprehensive, not of the need, but of having to force Roan into something that he might resist. Of all the training she had been doing, which wasn’t all easy, this was the worst. This was the one she feared could end it all.
“I know,” she said to him. They were returning from the stables now. Roan had been good this week. Last week, they had a bit of a setback and Nyssa had had to spend extra time and seek advice from other trainers. It had paid off, but she was painfully reminded that Roan was young, strong and very big for her.
“I’ll take him tomorrow, maybe,” she said and squinted at the evening sky. It was late summer; the days were already getting shorter.
“You have little more than five months, love,” he said very quietly so only she could hear. “That’s really cutting it close.” She nodded.
“I know.”
Nyssa presented Roan to the knight who trained the warhorse cavalry two days later. He’d seen Roan around, even stopped in to inspect him for himself, but he’d never said a word to her. As Nyssa rode him into the training grounds, the big knight watched them approach with his arms crossed, face plain.
“So, you’ve brought him to fight finally, Princess?” he said to her when she reined Roan in ahead of him. Nyssa nodded and patted his neck.
“Are you ready though?” the knight asked and he squinted at her.
“I am,” she said confidently. Nyssa wasn’t concerned about her ability.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Well, I’m concerned for both of you,” he said.
He walked around Roan, checked a leg or two, patted the rump, which Roan tolerated, came up the other side and patted the neck. Nyssa had watched him do his inspection in silence.
“He’ll either be the best warhorse I have ever seen or the worst,” he said finally. “The matter is really up to you, Princess,” he added. “But you coddle him, so I think this is going to be harder on you than it is for him.”
He pointed to the stable area that Roan would move into while they trained. Nyssa had been assigned to concentrate on this for two weeks. Her father had been stern and quiet when she’d made her request; he knew this part of it was the most dangerous, too.
Jara didn’t come with her to the remote area. He had finals and other courses to attend to. He’d completed the knight cavalry course the year before. Instead, Sir Brack had called him for consultations on placements — an odd request given that the first guardsman never interjected himself with the cadets before — and Jara was torn between obeying or asking for a leave of absence to help Nyssa. In the end, she’d insisted he see what Brack was about. She needed to do this on her own anyway.
The knight in charge, Sir Atris, was nearly twenty years a warhorse master. He had six other students at this course and he laid early his expectations. They needed to exhibit complete and absolute control with their mounts. Then he would train them to joust, to charge and to move in a group. He would train them on commands and to understand and resist extreme noise and shock. Nyssa was more nervous than Roan.
Near the stables were the specialized blacksmith furnaces that created the destrier armour. Their craftsmanship was legendary.
“The princess!” one of them had declared when she walked Roan in for their first fitting appointment. “Well, I always like a challenge!”
Within a week, bits of the final armour were emerging. Roan’s blankets were delivered, his headpiece was completed and his breastplate, made of layered plate and chain mail underneath, was polished steel with her family’s crest. They had only the rump armour to go, but already, Roan had gone from horse to war machine. It made Nyssa a bit sad, but when she thought about what he would face, she was glad for it. The idea of him getting hurt in any way terrified her.
Nyssa worked Roan through the training, every day, all day. He improved because he was intelligent. He fell behind because he was impulsive. Atris spent a considerable amount of time yelling at them. Roan, having trouble adjusting to the yelling, shifted and pawed under her, making Atris angrier still.
“CONTROL YOUR HORSE, PRINCESS!” he bellowed at her for the hundredth time that day. Nyssa winced and whispered to Roan, begging him to calm down. Roan was nearing the end of his patience though and she knew it.
“AGAIN!” he yelled and Nyssa walked Roan to the jousting gate, turned and accepted the lance from the batman. She caught his sympathetic glance. No one would question that Nyssa and Roan were both trying hard, but the pace was gruelling.
Nyssa saw her opponent down the alley and she lowered her face shield. At the signal, she bumped Roan into a run and felt it all wrong from the start. He took off too fast, unsettling her hold on the lance, which caused her to bring it down too slowly. The opponent caught her directly in the target area of her breastplate; she was lifted from the seat and thrown back with a force so great that when she landed, instant and sharp pain robbed her of her breath.
“That is what happens when you don’t control your horse, Princess,” Atris said to her, low and angrily. He was standing over her while she lay flat and in pain on the ground. “If he won’t obey your commands to charge, he won’t obey your commands to do ANYTHING on the line.”
He stormed away and continued with the other students, all of whom were not having much better luck, though their horses weren’t the issue — they were. Nyssa was surprisingly a proficient and fearless jouster.
“Better go set up a wagon to the infirmary, Princess,” a batman said, trying to help her get up off the ground and seeing it was considerably difficult. Another one was leading Roan back to her. She could tell he was very unhappy.
“No,” she said and managed to get up. “We’ll go again. I just need a minute with him,” she added and took the reins from the boy with a nod. They were reluctant to leave her, but she insisted.
When they were alone, she sat back down on a hay bale, slowly, and let his reins fall free. If he ran away, so be it. They needed to back up and start again somewhere. Not only was Roan distinctly not listening to her, but he was also agitated and that made him unpredictable. Nyssa was exhausted mentally and physically.
“You’re a brave beast, Roan. I don’t know why you think this is so hard,” she said after a minute. The horse just stared at her. She sighed at him.
“I’m a princess. I’m a soldier and soon, Roan, I will have to ride out and join my father. I will face battle, with or without you. I was kind of hoping that you’d join me. I could really use your help,” she said to him.
He snuffed and sniffed her hand. She had no apples. Nyssa was feeling the pain from her fall. She winced and tried not to breathe too deeply.
Roan walked up to her and head butted her chest, nearly toppling her over. It hurt like hellfire. She caught his face, though, and rested her own on his soft nose.
“You have to do the work though, baby,” she said to him. “I know it’s hard, but I can’t do it for you.”
She got up and walked him back to the alley. She watched as two of her classmates rode past her, their hooves shaking the ground with their speed. The crash as the lances met armour and shield was deafening and splinters flew everywhere. Nyssa felt a little afraid seeing it from this view, but she also felt the determination to get it right. She knew he could do it. He was strong enough, but he needed to learn to trust. He needed to get it right.
“Come, one more time,” she said to him firmly. He didn’t pull back. It was a good sign.
Nyssa was remounted and accepted the lance. Her face shield was down and she was grateful for the cover, so they couldn’t see her sweating through her pain and forcing her eyes not to water. Just mounting Roan was excruciating, but Nyssa was used to pushing through pain. Sheer willpower got her to this end ahead of anyone else; she could do one more run.
She dreaded the thumping of his run, the weight of the lance in her arm, but she walked him to the gate and waited.
“One more time, Roan,” she said firmly to him.
The batman standing in the middle dropped the flag and she noticed Roan start to move almost without her signal but still firmly within it. He ran smoothly, not jarringly, digging his hooves to gain speed, but straight from the back, his head reaching for his objective. Nyssa could drop the lance and she held her breath against the discomfort and shaking in her arm. Her opponent ran toward her and she saw his tip come down too quickly. It glanced off her shoulder, but hers hit him dead on, unseating him.
Nyssa yelled in pain and fury at the impact. She thought she’d startled Roan, but he simply heeded the reins himself and stopped at the end.
“PERFECT!” Atris yelled from his platform. He jumped down and came toward them, his hands clapping in wide enthusiasm. “PERFECT!” he said again.
Nyssa, though, barely heard him. She was gritting her teeth from crying, successfully holding it in so far, but it wasn’t just her ribs but the emotions of finally nailing something they’d taken days to learn. She was overwhelmed that Roan pulled through, that she’d pulled through. But she felt it was also over and her mind and body wanted to let go. Her control over her pain was slipping.
Nyssa was bent over in the saddle. She’d dropped the lance immediately after it had shattered, as she was instructed, and managed to ride controlled to the end, but that’s where it stopped. Atris, upon approaching, noticed something was wrong and ran up to her the rest of the way. She was expecting him to a make snide comment, but instead, he was genuinely concerned.
Nyssa screamed when they pulled her helmet and gauntlets off. She was cradling her ribs and begging to get off. Roan was a bit agitated with so many people around him and his rider in distress, but he held it together with a kind groom holding his reins and reassuring him. Atris was there, taking her equipment off, and sliding her off her saddle. He carried her in his arms to lay her on the ground when Jara appeared, completely out of nowhere. She looked at him confused.
“Nyssa,” he said calmly to her. “Breathe, just breathe and look at me.” She did and that was the end of it. She burst into panicked tears at the pain in her side and the relief to see him.
She was brought into the boarding house and into a little room they kept for the wounded. A nurse or physician was summoned, but it would take a few hours. Atris left Jara to undo her armour and settle her, but before he left, he held out his hand to her. She took it.
“Well done, Princess,” Atris said proudly. “We knew he was smart. Now we see how brave he really is,” he added, but he was smiling from ear to ear. He grinned wide to Jara at the door but left quickly.
“Nyssa, that was the dumbest thing I have ever seen you do,” Jara said when they were finally alone and he’d just laid her down on the pillows.
“I had to do it,” she replied weakly. “Roan was failing. We were failing. I had to do it right then or risk giving it up.”
“I didn’t see the fall. Where does it hurt?” he asked her, still a little frustrated with her. She pointed to her rib cage. He lifted her shirt and nodded, seeing the bruises already forming there.
“Broke some ribs, probably,” he said and put her shirt back down. “That won’t make continuing very comfortable.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, but she didn’t really want to think about it anymore. “He can do it, Jara. He’s magnificent when he gets it right. Did you see?” She couldn’t hide the pride in her voice.
She had felt rather than seen Roan get it right at the joust. He was all power, all brain. Despite the discomfort, she was able to complete the run because she was in tune with him. It had felt wonderful.
Jara leaned over and gently kissed her lips. She didn’t want him to stop, but where they were wasn’t private. They hadn’t seen each other in over a week. She wasn’t even sure why he’d shown up that day, but she was happy he was there.
“He is magnificent, I’ll give you that,” he said quietly and finally smiled at her. “And so were you. Jousting, Nyssa? I really didn’t think it would be your thing,” he added and tried to laugh.
“I bet it was your thing,” she said sarcastically, knowing he had completed his course the previous year and she figured he had the physique for it. He’d probably done very well. Jara smirked at her and shrugged, but then his eyes went distant.
Nyssa noticed his face. His mouth was trying to smile for her, but there was a pull to the corners and he fidgeted. She watched him a moment more and saw he wasn’t there for a cordial visit. He was anxious about something.
“What is it?” she asked him abruptly. He continued to look at her. Nyssa wasn’t feeling patient or amused anymore. “Jara, what?”
He took a deep breath and sat back. The bed was too small for him to lie beside her, so he moved to the end and sat, moving her legs to cover his so he could lean back on the wall. He took a deep breath. Nyssa thought she would explode.
“Brack has invited me to intern under him,” he said. He watched her face. She had no reaction. He frowned. “If I can pass his training, he will recommend me to the king.”
“Recommend you?” she said confused.
“First guardsman, Nyssa,” he said a bit impatiently.
Nyssa didn’t understand. Was Brack unwell? The guardsman commission was a lifelong appointment to a specific monarch; she hadn’t thought he would ever leave her father’s side. And if something was seriously wrong and he wanted Jara to replace him, Jara would get a very early initiation into life on a front line and in the political field.
He was far too young for it. Normally, the first guardsman rose from within the Elite ranks, already an established and mature soldier in his role due to the extreme rank.
And her father sought out conflict and rode through the middle of it. Nyssa was getting more agitated just thinking about it.
“What’s wrong with him? He’s my father’s closest friend! What are we going to do?” she began, peppering him with questions the more anxious she felt. At first, Jara looked surprised, then confused, then exasperated. He leaned over and took both her hands in his own to focus her.
“I’m not replacing Brack, Nyssa. Brack is indestructible. He’ll never leave the king,” he said. “The king wants a guardsman for you,” he said, a single short laugh escaping.
“For me?” she said, looking at him sideways. He nodded and leaned back to wait while she let that soak in.
Nyssa’s mind began to race. Did she need or want a guardsman? These were big commitments to consider. A guardsman’s oath was to serve and protect a serving monarch all the days of their life, until or unless the monarch retired them, released them or one or the other died. The state paid their pension, but should the guardsman wish to marry, the monarch was expected to personally supplement their income and death benefits, assuming the responsibility of care for their widow and children in the event of their death. Needless to say, the monarch had to approve any lifestyle requests.
Some said the role was one of borderline servitude, but those that understood it knew that it was one of the highest honours a soldier could achieve. They lived their lives as the right hand to the most powerful person in the country. They were diplomats, generals and had no higher authority than their monarch themselves. As Orak’Thune recorded the history of its leaders, the guardsman who served along with them were recorded generation after generation by the academy and the Elite Order, selected personally and trained by the last legend to burn his story in the stars.
“Jara, I don’t know what to say,” she said finally and she really didn’t.
This was an honour unlike any other he ever could have expected. And like Jara, she didn’t understand why her father had requested it. It was unusual for there to be two first guardsmen, it wasn’t the first, but it had been centuries since the last.
“I know,” he said and looked down at his hands. “I said exactly the same thing.”
Certainly, Jara was strong, capable, a prodigy for knighthood, she had no comparison, but… guardsman? He was so young.
“You are going to be the best first guardsman Orak’Thune has ever seen,” she said suddenly.
She didn’t know what was going on and she was fatigued by her father’s pulling the strings of her life from afar. At the least, Jara had to accept the opportunity was too precious, too unique, to pass up and she knew he would be great. What he lacked in years, he’d make up for in tenacious attitude to learn.
What it would mean for them, though, she didn’t have any idea.
Jara reached up and took back her hand. He rubbed it and stared at it for a while. She expected him to be happier but figured he was probably overwhelmed by it all, too.
“You’d accept me, then?” he asked and she felt he really looked nervous. This was not difficult for her. Jara around, the rest of her life? Problem solved.
She tried to sit up but remembered why she shouldn’t and blew a slow breath out as she inched her way back down.
“I thought I had already,” she said and watched him get up and move to check the door before coming back to her. He sat on the edge up close to her shoulder.
“This is different, Nyssa,” he said seriously, but he had a little smile she caught.
“How?” she asked. “You get assigned to me for life. It’s not marriage, but you know what? It’s more likely to be accepted by my father,” she added and smirked at him.
“Marriage?” Jara repeated and Nyssa felt her stomach fall out the bottom.
It was extremely presumptuous of her to mention it, but why was it so farfetched? Every one of their conversations involved finding ways to stay together. Why would being married sound so ridiculous as one of the solutions? But then it occurred to her; they could never marry if he was guardsman. It would never be accepted. There were some rules or other about it even.
“You’d marry me?” he asked quietly.
“Of course, I would,” she said without hesitation.
He smiled at her and she thought he looked so sweet, innocent. He moved and kissed her gently. He let it linger. His hand went into her hair and he pulled himself closer.
“I am so sorry,” she said suddenly and he pulled back a bit, just enough to look in her eyes. Nyssa wanted to cry; her eyes welled.
“For what?” he said slightly alarmed.
“Damn him!” she exclaimed, her face flushed with rage. Jara sat back but was totally confused.
“He’s forcing you to choose!” she said to him. “By offering you the commission, he knows we could never legally be married! If you refuse the commission, you’ll have nothing but me, maybe a general somewhere, but we’d never be together. They’d see to that. He’s forcing you to choose, putting you in the middle — he’s making us choose!” she said and the tears rolled down her cheeks. Jara’s eyes were searching hers fast, his mind trying to make sense of it. Finally, he shook his head and stood up to walk a bit.
“No, there is no way your father — or Brack, for that matter — knows anything about us,” he said firmly.
Nyssa rolled her eyes at him. “He doesn’t care whom I take to my bed, Jara,” she said. “He’s trying to pick the best companion for a lifetime. I think he thinks we aren’t together and he’s being clever. If you don’t take it, he will find another,” she warned him.
Jara stared at her.
“Well, I don’t care whatever his backdoor reason or method. You’ll take the commission. Of course, I accept you. We’ll be whatever we want to be, end of story. It’s nobody’s business but our own after that,” she said fiercely and winced because she had nearly crossed her arms hotly but remembered she shouldn’t.
Jara nodded, but silence fell on the room while they digested more of what was unravelling.
“You,” he swallowed hard, “you’d still want me… that way. You’d not care, if we could never be legitimate, I mean,” he asked her and looked to his hands, away from her.
Nyssa wanted to stand up, walk over and slap him. She winced just thinking about it. Instead, she levelled a look at him.
“I love you,” she said simply. Jara looked up at her, eyes wide. She was nervous to see surprise there. She watched him brush a hand back through his hair, check the hall and fold his own arms before leaning back on the doorframe. All before he looked back at her.
“I’m an orphan with no home and no parents, Nyssa,” he said to her finally. “I have nothing to offer you but what I pull out of the academy.” He shrugged but looked to the floor, kicking one of the floorboards a bit.
Jara was second in the graduating class. He had plenty to offer her. Her father might insist on pedigree, but it wasn’t law. The royal family of Orak’Thune were elected officials; they were free to marry whomever they chose. Whether her father would agree was another story.
“And if you take this commission, you’ll have considerable rank — highest next to a serving monarch and be remembered forever — and I’ll be able to serve my father as his fighting princess,” she said soothingly to him, reaching a hand out that she wanted him to take. “And I will love you for all of my life, as it should be,” she added.
Her hand hung in the air, between them a moment, but he pushed with a shoulder and came to take it, sitting back down beside her at the hip.
“No matter what, Nyssa, I will always love you,” he said in return and moved to kneel on the floor beside her so he could kiss her ear and her neck. When she heard horses’ hooves and hard boots on the cabin floor, Jara was sitting neatly in the small chair opposite her bed when the physician arrived. She dismissed Jara immediately. He moved to the doorway, crossed his arms again and leaned on the frame to watch.
“We must remove your clothing, Princess,” the healer said, indicating the inappropriate presence of some random cadet.
“He is to be my first guardsman, Healer,” she said, her eyes staying on his face. “He should learn all he can about field first aid, don’t you agree?” The healer looked at Jara anew: a bit more respect in her face.
“Very well, then,” she said, not caring, and began removing Nyssa’s shirt and chest bindings. This was not a fun process and Nyssa complained until Jara came over to support her body from the back. When it was done, the physician carefully prodded her ribs with her fingers. Nyssa hissed loudly when she made contact.
“Two,” she said and turned to pull her satchel closer. “Two are cracked, maybe broken. You’ll need to bind them so they heal properly and you will require bed rest so you don’t move them too much. They will hurt for some time, I’m afraid,” she said sympathetically. “Here, let’s get you bound up. It will hurt at first, but you’ll feel a little more mobile afterward.”
Nyssa endured the wrapping, Jara holding her arms up and the doctor unrolling yards of fabric and pulling it snug. She let the tears fall but made no sound.
When the healer was finished, she gave Nyssa tonics to sleep. Some she said would help with the pain, but she warned her they’d make her groggy. The healer bowed to the princess and even nodded to Jara. He looked at Nyssa with a bit of surprise after she left.
“Not so bad, is it?” she asked him and he couldn’t hold back the laugh.
“Come here and tuck me in, Jara,” she said, a bit of a wicked smile on her lips. He caught it and moved over.
“Is that an order, Highness?” he teased her and kissed her lightly while he held his body above hers. She shook her head.
“I order you to tuck me in every night, Jara,” she said and took his face in both her hands. Her expression was suddenly serious. He went serious too and she saw a new look cross his eyes, a deep conviction, and it caused her heart to constrict.
“I swear on my life, Nyssa, I will never let you meet the darkness alone,” he said and waited until she nodded, which was her heart starting to beat again. He leaned forward and kissed her, lightly at first but then deeper. They kissed for a good long while, until she finally had to admit she couldn’t stay awake anymore. She drifted off with her hands in his, her head warm and comforted against his shoulder and she dreamed of marrying a man in a suit of armour.
---
When she awoke, Jara was gone. There was no window in the little room, so she edged, crawled, whimpered and finally stood up to dress. When she emerged in the courtyard, Atris had already begun his lecture; he stopped. She waited for some comment, but he changed his mind and went on.
The lesson today was charging an enemy line. Atris had the line set up so they could see it. Pikes dug at angles in the ground, hay barrels were stacked high and dummy scarecrows held bows and swords. It was densely packed and admittedly intimidating.
“Your horse is going to see and hear chaos,” he was saying and was walking up and down the front of the display. “If they’re well placed, they might not see the pikes at all,” he said and slapped one as he walked by each of them to emphasize his points, “and then imagine all these people are yelling, throwing things, banging on shields and the like.”
Nyssa winced, not at her injury but at the thought of the onslaught to Roan’s senses.
“Right now, your horses have been exposed to some of that noise and stress in the joust. They felt adrenaline when you urged them toward a crashing result. But on a battlefield, there is smoke, the smell of blood and death. Your horse’s natural instinct is to flee from all those things. We will train them not to fear it, under your command. It’s a gradual process,” he warned them and fixed Nyssa with a look. “Pushing too hard will result in them creating a negative response and horses have long memories.”
“The desired result is a warhorse who will charge this line on his rider’s orders no matter what he sees, smells or hears. It is a significant bond of trust you’re asked now to build.” He moved to look at each student individually. “But if you can manage it, there is little else that I can teach you after that. You will be one with a one-ton war machine. Orak’Thune has the best cavalry in the world and I believe it is all down to that trust.”
Nyssa accepted Atris’s offer of a pass to mount and practice that day. Instead, she sat on the side and watched her classmates practice on the different elements of the course. She was interested to see that their horses were not that much more trained than Roan. Each of them had issues with the course at first; she was nothing special in that regard.
In the afternoon, she went and sat with Roan. She fed him from her hand and brushed him where it didn’t extend her body too much. She talked to him a little about what she’d learned that morning, clearly working it through in her mind and trying to figure out a plan of action for them both. Nyssa thought approaching the barrier course first might be best. If she could get Roan to trust that she wouldn’t blindly drive him into things for no reason, perhaps the smoke, noise and smells Atris talked about would be easier.
After about a week of running light exercises with Roan, mainly driving him toward hay bales and padded fence posts wearing his chest armour until he learned she actually wanted him to crash through them, Nyssa was feeling more confident and better rested. Her ribs still burned by the end of the day and wrapping them was an immense chore by herself, but she was managing. She hadn’t seen or heard from Jara again and she felt it beginning to distract her.
The day they lit the display on fire to train the horses not to react to running toward fire and smoke went better than expected. The day they brought the noisemakers was harder. The last week they spent on blood, fire and noise was awful. Roan panicked a few times, Nyssa barely able to control him from bolting. She suggested they try to approach the active course as a formed-up line of mounted soldiers. She wanted to see if other horses would rely on each other for directions and signals and also confidence and strength.
It worked somewhat. The six students brought their mounts close together, almost touching, and marched them smartly toward the course in a perfect line. Nyssa heard her classmates calling out signals now and then, corrections or reassurances. Roan’s ears flicked and flattened and flicked back again, but flanked on either side, he held it together. As they were taught in the open, they walked slowly at a pace at first and then the order was given to charge and they all urged them into a run. In a smooth, thunderous force, the group charged the display, jumped the obstacles and proved they could do it.
Atris was very pleased with their progress and commented that usually one or two of his students failed or dropped out of his classes. He was immensely pleased to see the whole class would be passing this time.
Nyssa and her classmates spent the rest of the week drilling their mounts to familiarize them with the scenarios of a battlefield and she felt Roan relaxing more and more every day. By the end, he stood well for receiving his armour and nearly pranced when she put him in the line until she called out the command to charge. Now, Roan needed none of his fellow horses to encourage him and he was usually the first to the other side.
Nyssa was profusely grateful to Atris for his patience and expert advice and she said so. He bowed deeply to her and asked her to be dressed for the graduation parade. This was a deep honour; she would represent him and his whole year of students as his best success. She agreed with a huge satisfying grin.