My hand caresses my knife hilt, my fingers slipping between the slits in the side of my dress beneath the ribbons that I placed for that very reason. I draw it around and place the tip against the man’s ribs. My ambusher quickly releases me and I spin around, only to find him drawing back with hands up in surrender.

“Easy.” Sir Hans'—the Honour Knight who saved me weeks ago—stands before me with his hands raised in a placating gesture. His light blue gaze studies me with a sharpness that I'm loathe to get on the bad side of.

He gestures to a further dark corner. I sigh and follow, my hand still loosely holding my knife.

“Just wanted to check in. Heard some squirt took on Wolfsbane and nearly beat him,” he says, rubbing his chin and beard. His crow's feet grow more pronounced as his lips tip up.

A chuckle escapes me despite the situation and my continued scans of the surroundings.

“How’d you find me?” I eventually ask.

“I shall have to keep some secrets despite you being the Guardian.”

“Ahhh. So then, despite your pledge to me, you won’t tell me?”

The smile is wiped from his face as he stares at me. “Low blow, Guardian.”

“But still you won’t tell me?”

“No.”

“Pity. So why’d you draw me back here?”

He huffs out an amused breath, his eyes scanning the shadows before popping back to me. “Inquisitive, are we? Is it not enough that I came to check and see how you’ve been? It was quite the blow to your head. You healed impressively for it being less than a fortnight past.”

I shake my head. He turned that around quickly enough. “Whatcha need?” I ask.

He leans back against the side of a greasy building, his hands tucked in close to his sides. “These monks coming into the city. There’s something odd about them.” Despite his casual words, his blue-grey eyes convey a seriousness, a worry, that I take to mean something... I'm just not sure what. Yet.

“You want me to take a look at them. What can I do you can’t?” I shouldn’t be quite so… annoyingly adverse when he’s asking for my help after lending his help, but I have so much worry on my plate. I’m not sure what else I can handle.

He looks at me. Really looks at me, glancing up and down, lingering on the circles of exhaustion around my eyes that hours of rest can’t shake.

“What happened?” His voice is softer, almost concerned.

I sigh and rub my eyes. “The monks—as you call them—I believe them to be foreign invaders sent to kill the prince.”

His impeccable stature sags as he glances over at me with surprise widening his eyes.

He recovers quicker than I expect, considering the bomb I just dropped. “That’s why you were at the sign-up table. You were going to enter the Challenge.”

I nod my head. “There is one in particular, also competing in the Challenge. He was sent as an assassin. I haven’t yet been able to identify him among the competitors. The others coming in... I don’t know why they are here.”

“This changes everything.”

“You believe me? Just like that?”

He shrugs. “You strike me as someone trustworthy. Besides the fact that you are always putting yourself in harm's way for others? It’s a feeling.”

My jaw drops. “A feeling?” My voice almost ends in a squeak.

He's trusting me off of a feeling. I swear, this old man is not normal.

“A feeling. Now, you were going to tell me why you look like the hind end of a dragon.”

A half laugh sneaks out of my mouth even as I try to look affronted.

“No, I wasn’t. I’m leaving now.”

“Is it something I can help with?”

That makes me pause, but I still turn away to hide my trembling lip. “I’ve gotta go. I will find you if I have any further information.”

He grabs my arm once again, but gentler this time as opposed to when he waylaid me to talk. “I recognize a stranger can have no hope for trust... not now. Come to my home tonight, have dinner with my family. Let me show you.”

“Show me what?” My voice is impersonal and almost apathetic. Better that than show the weakness of the tears clogging my throat.

“Let me show you that despite what you have seen and been through, there are still good, honorable knights, and not all belong to the forces guarding this city.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“If I say yes, will you let me go?” I ask calmly, despite the way my heart races in my chest as his hand holds me there.

He chuckles. “I’d let you go, regardless. But then my wife would have my hide that I couldn’t get you over for dinner.”

He releases me.

I need someone who can help. I’m tired of doing this all alone.

“When and where?” I ask, my voice still cold.

I sense his smile, even as I keep my face averted. He hands me a slip of paper, salutes with a hand to his heart, then slips away without a sound. It isn’t until then that I realize he was in plain black clothes instead of his normal knightly armor. The man is an enigma. I shake my head, then head to find the chickens squawking at the market, plus some meat for Momma to make some stew. My stomach growls at the thought.

~~~

I return to find Jill awake, Momma clucking over her as bad as a mother hen. I give my sister a quick hug, allowing that brief indulgence, before I regale the tale of the old man and the cane.

As I come to the point of swinging my cane at the youngster, they’re all belly laughing.

“You let... an old man show you... what for?” Jack gets out between giggles.

“He was scary!” I cover my teeth with my lips and bend down with a humpback. My trusty sheathed sword becomes my cane. “Youngsters are the bane of old Gilbert’s existence, I tell ya! They be trying to make Gilbert pay, but Gilbert will send them to find out for themselves if Fifth or Sixth are real!” I shake my cane at Jack.

“Scary. Surrreee.” Jack rolls his eyes.

I pop him on the leg with my cane and he yelps. When I raise it a second time, he scrambles from the dining chair. I chase him around the weathered table with my sheathed sword. “You get back here, youngster! Gilbert gonna make you pay for that!”

Jill and Momma guffaw as I smack Jack’s bum every couple steps, making him yowl like Ran when she's angry.

“Momma! Momma! Help!! Save me from this crazy old man!” Jack yelps when I smack his behind again.

I can’t help it anymore. I burst out laughing and lean over so my hands are on my knees.

Jack takes advantage of my moment of weakness to tackle me.

“Oomph! Get off me, you overgrown toddler!” I grab him and tickle him, pinning him beneath me.

His laughter comes from deep in his belly; a sound that makes my soul sing. He ultimately scrambles away from my fingers, still laughing.

“Jill, I brought your favorite tea,” I say in a singsong voice once I let Jack go.

It won't be long before the scrawny boy turns into a man, and I better win while I can. He's already becoming better and better at wrestling, which sparks some sisterly pride even as I beat humility into him.

Jill groans, a soft sound like the flutter of butterfly wings. “Why? Why that stuff, sis?” Her voice is still weak, and her face far too pale for my liking.

I ruffle her blonde hair, trying to keep the smile on my face even as I see the pain in her eyes that she tries to hide. “Cause I love ya. It’ll help.”

She smiles up at me. “M'kay. Just put a ton of honey.”

I bow. "Your wish is my command, Princess."

She throws a spoon at me.

I dodge, dancing into the kitchen and stoking the flames in the iron belly of the stove and putting a pan of water on top.

The kitchen is a welcome reprieve. Just seeing my sister up is a balm, but also a remembrance. The sooner we can figure this out, the sooner we can be a regular family. I snort. Regular family my behind.

“Whatcha doin?”

I just about jump out of my skin and I spill some of the precious tea. “Jack! Look what you made me do! Do you understand how expensive this is? How much your sister needs this?”

I immediately feel a spasm of guilt in my heart, knowing I said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. What am I saying? Jack does not deserve such horrible anger. I wish the words back, but such a thing is not possible.

His face turns to stone, a look so much older than his young life should be able to produce, and he turns his back to pace out the door with even steps. With a sigh, I sag against the kitchen counter. I scrub my face against the tears there and slip the tea into a wooden cup with a bit of honey. I give it to Momma for Jill, even as I look to the door leading outside.

“I have to find Jack.”

Momma just nods, a knowing, sad gleam in her wise blue eyes.

We both miss dad at this point. He was always the soother of all hurts and the one we all went to for wisdom. If only he were here now, I doubt we’d have the problems we are stuck repeating.

Like taking out anger and frustration from my issues on an innocent little boy who should be playing swords with his friends. He suffers too. Instead of playing with friends, he spends hours playing dress-up and guessing games with Jill when she's sick. Which is often enough that I don't remember the last time Jack spent a long day with his friends. He's sacrificed, just as we all have. I've just been so caught up in myself, I forgot how much they've given up, too.

And poor Jill. She didn't ask for this. She's apologized so often for her sickness and how it's hurt us. But what she doesn't realize is that we would all do it over again a thousand times if it helps her. Because we love her, and she's worth it.

I pace outside to find the woods quiet and still. Crickets are chirping in the distance, and the low hoot of an owl reaches from somewhere in the trees above.

What did you do to Jack? Ran screams in my mind.

I run to the barn, heart pounding as I push aside the twigs of the trees and underbrush. And there, inside the barn, is Jack, huddled before Ran. She curls around him like a protective momma and growls at me.

I pause.

“I didn’t mean it.” Jack doesn’t even look up when I step on some crinkling scraps of hay.

My guilt skyrockets. My innocent little brother. My helper. My little teaser who loves with all his heart. Jill’s keeper.

Even I know the pressure of that, especially when one is helpless in the face of such sickness.

I crouch before them both. He hides his face in the folds of Ran’s silver mane. “Jack. I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong. I was clumsy and spilled some tea, then blamed it on you.”

He finally looks up.

“Oh, honey,” I say, my heart jumping to my throat.

His eyes are filled with tears; his bottom lip trembles even as he bites it to hold in his tears. Sometimes I forget he was denied his childhood just as much as I was... perhaps even more so.

“I’m sorry! It’s been such a fun night, I didn’t want it to end. But I scared you and made you lose that... stuff. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Truly. I know I became angry, but it wasn’t at you. Not really. I’m tired, and with our situation... it leaves me on edge. I’m sorry I took it out on you, sweetheart.” I kiss his forehead as he relaxes into my arms.

My poor little brother. The man of the house, with so much on his shoulders.

“Promise you’ll tell me more about the old man who gave you the what-for later?” he asks, his voice still tight from tears.

I choke on a laughing sob. “Promise.”

I squeeze him in my arms, even if he is getting almost too big for such things. Ran curls herself protectively around us. I kiss his light blonde locks. “Forgive me?”

“Always, sis,” he says, the conviction in his voice unquestionable, bright hazel eyes locking on mine, and the serious set to his face making him look much older than his thirteen years.

I squeeze him tighter. “A better brother one could never find.” I whisper into his hair.

His grin lights up my heart and eases some of my guilt.