“Have you lost your mind?” Esme cried, clutching Cordelia’s arm in despair and a belated attempt to prevent the suicidal act.

“I have not,” she answered, glaring back. “Have you lost all your goals and dreams?”

“Oh, confound my goals and dreams! The devil could not with malice make me renounce them so decidedly as you do with kindness!”

“Kindness!” Cordelia exclaimed, yanking her arm away. “May I be damned if ever I have done a thing out of kindness! Do you pray to your God for niceties, Esme? Nor I! You belittle the life I offer so! My life that you salvaged - my life for which your brother perished! I do not throw it away lightly but for a thing significant!”

Came a loud crash. And Cordelia staggered. Esme withdrew her hand, which now pointed at Cordelia's face reddened with marks.

“You belittle yourself, not I. I hate the most those who don’t care about themselves! So take care of your life first, fool, only then do you get to offer it for another person!” And her voice drew to a new, heightened pitch: “Look to the sky: the world is wide and great! Think you so wise you can presume any chance is the last chance at one's purpose? But so long as you and I are alive, so long as we keep our values straight while chasing at every opportunity with everything we have, we shall be just fine!”

And the blonde whipped her head back to the knight, eyes afire. Her pointed blade had not lowered a moment despite the assertion of the stinging slap. “Give us leave, sir,” she said measuredly. “I shall battle your entire garrison if I must, this I say and I shall.”

The knight observed her, then lifted his sword. “But will you fare against I?”

“A mark of folly, in my humble opinion, to debate a martial issue with words.” She lowered her blade, but to a stance ready to fend off incoming attacks, not to strike or mete out threats.

“You would have made a fine knight.” And without another word for preamble, the greatsword swept downwards with the might of a stricken oak, startling as a thunder crash. Esme abandoned aught attempts to withstand that brutish force, but by a hair’s breadth hurled herself entirely aside, opening a wide angle at the opponent’s flank. Her advantage in mobility without the burden of heavy armor was apparent, but this discredited not the inhumanity in her reflexes. She was fast, edging even an advantage against the knight in this regard.

She struck Kamaric’s armor, a strike which glanced off the closed gap at its underarm. This failure to catch the knight off guard cost her greatly. For in truth there was never an exposed spot in his stance, and the attempt at one of the few gaps in his plates was doubtful at best. But in trying to end the fight with that one opportunistic and decisive blow, she had overcommitted. His left arm at once released the two-handed grip. The steel gauntlet struck Esme’s temple, making a terrible sound. And she fell over.

Disoriented, Esme crawled on her feet, gasping. When she stood upright again, she was heaving heavily, eyes dazed. Yet her grip remained firm.

Kamaric’s stance, however, had dropped. “Enough,” he said, and sheathed his blade to Esme’s bewildered look. “I am weary of these exchanges. Let us take respite before proceeding with this bloody business.”

Esme did not budge from her spot.

“I swear you no harm,” he said again. And still she did not falter.

“Oh confound the girl!” he cried, and beckoned a squire over, giving him his weapon.

Only when the man was unarmed did Esme lower her sword, yer her hawkish eyes watched every subsequent movement.

“Come. I do not think either of you have broken your fast.” The knight gave a disarming gesture, his arms outspread. And then, to the disappointment of the unwanted audience, he ordered the guards back to their posts and the crowd dispersed. The men-at-arms remained.

And in response to all this, Cordelia tapped on Esme’s shoulder and nodded at her full of meanings. The violence was over, all too suddenly.

They warily followed Sir Kamaric as he marched off the square, watchful for his flanking men-at-arms. Their destination was a tavern just off the main street. Repast was soon being prepared amid the chaotic rush of the staff, who also had only returned from the spectacle.

As the kitchen flames went ablaze, the knight ordered the girls to sit. They faced off across a long table at the center of the establishment. The seneschal disappeared into the back, while some choice men took their seats by the lord knight.

He took off his helmet and padded hood, revealing long red locks and a stern face. And he considered the girls.

They waited. While Esme held her bruised brow, Cordelia defiantly refused to cover the reddened side of her face. It was a savage blow Esme had dealt, with all the unrestrained power of her frustration behind it.

She could only guess what the dignified knight was thinking as he looked at the injuries he had inflicted, directly and indirectly, upon two girls young enough to be his daughters.

But when he began, it did not seem their hurts had concerned him that much. “Well, you two... know you of the manner of my father’s passing?”

A silence fell. The men were quiet. Only the clink and clank echoed from the kitchen could be heard. The waiting servants did not breathe audibly.

The knight chuckled at the general reaction. “ ‘Tis not a thing so grave. Quite the contrary, in fact. Well, do you know?”

Under the table, Cordelia kicked at her friend’s leg. It is not a servant’s place to speak when both the lady and hers are addressed.

“Nay, sir,” Esme said, as much mazed by the blow she’d suffered as by the bizarre turn of events.

Sir Kamaric leaned back on his chair. “He rode to the king’s aid. In fact, he was one of those few of his time who could claim so for their last deeds. He rode to his liege,” the knight said slowly, as though basking in the memory his words invoked, “to perish by his side. For it was a hopeless march, but nevertheless, he did. He could not stand living on while his one charge had been undone, and so he cast away his life like a broken net. Had the old man aught chance to deliver the day? I do not know. But one imagines the possibilities of which must have meant very little to him. I was a babe then. Only during the tail end of it, but I did live in another era, a bygone time, a better time, of kings and knights of the old ways. Deogratias had a king then, a kingdom united, and thus, a seneschal of the realm. Now we live in an age where those fine things have passed like dreams, and each lord must fend for himself, as quarreling and petty as the unruly devil’s horde.”

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“You would have inherited your father’s charge,” Esme remarked, “if there had been an heir to the throne.”

“Mayhap I would have,” he said, “but such is how it is - my destiny: to be a marcher lord at the edge of a broken kingdom, guarding this now desolate frontier. I defend my people, I keep my family fed, and I ward the chance evil off the land. But that is little more than the natural duty of a husband and father to preserve what is his. Betimes I wonder how it’s like to serve my better.” He looked long at Cordelia. “How’s it like to fight for a worthy cause.”

Just as Cordelia was about to answer this musing, he raised a hand to check her. “Do not get me wrong. It was no mere test. And I had a mind to punish you for the transgression done to the honored duel. I wouldn’t have taken your life, but the punishment would have been devastating all the same. Then again, one must take into consideration the spirit of the laws.”

Esme frowned, seeming unsure of where this was going.

“The laws,” he went on, “must have been written to discourage duelists from underhanded methods, naturally. But it is so because the combat is sacred, is when ideals come to a clash when all peaceful appeals have failed to reconcile the parties. ‘Tis where might speaks where reason could not prevail. And yet far too often even honorable souls are led astray by passion or personal gains, that they come to forget the spirit of the duel: to make the nobler man or woman victor of the debate. Even as one who cheats intellectual discourse with sophistries, they lie with their sword. But you offered your life, Cordelia, and in doing so denying yourself all possible gain should your mistress enter my household. And so the spirit of the laws you did not violate, for ‘twas a noble charge you did uphold. My admiration for your loyalty, then, was perhaps only part of the reason I’ve decided to pardon your transgression.”

“As for my part -” Cordelia said, “If you will excuse me, sir - I do not muddle nobility with might, nor have I either. It was a mere trick and little more to aid my lady’s future, irregardless of my worthless life. While I thank you for your mercy, the question still stands as to whether my lady shall be admitted into your household.”

“Cordelia!” Esme cried, “ ‘Tis enough already!” She turned to the knight. “Pardon her, sir. I pray that you keep your promise, and trouble not yourself over my issue.”

“I would hear your issue,” he said. “But I have already decided. Few indeed are those who can avoid my first strike and are not knights. Though I have no mind to admit strangers to my household in these times, you have talent enough to challenge my caution. Who taught you the sword, lass?”

Esme was stunned for a moment, then said, “My brother, sir, who was Sir Derrick, a knight of the realm and the Order of Sir Gareth. My education, however, is incomplete for he had recently perished.”

“So it was your brother who fought the fey’s invasion of the temple! ‘Tis a tragic story. And yet your lineage is proven. I shall welcome you to my band of warriors.”

Esme rose from her seat and bowed low. “I humbly thank you, sir. For all that I have caused you much offense, this is far too kind an offer.”

“You have your friend to thank also. And as for this friend, Cordelia, what shall be your desire for the coming days?”

“I would like to remain by my lady’s side, sir.” She remained seated.

“And yet we cannot have you do naught but attend to your lady in my house. How’s this: my children want a tutor, and from your letter I could tell you are well educated, will you take the post of giving my children a worthy tutoring?”

“That’s more than I could ask for, sir,” she bowed as Esme had done, “With gratitude I shall.”

“Gather your belongings then, my seneschal will receive you later at the keep.” He rose to his feet. “But be seated and have your belated repast. As for I, I shall have mine in my house.”

And so they bid the lord knight and his men farewell, who only half an hour ago they had fought as enemies. Nor had reality sunk in Esme, who was sitting very still and confused.

As for Cordelia, she sat back, staring into empty space and feeling all but numbed. Her overstretched nerves had deflated and now she shivered even without dangers abounded. Delayed fear and intense emotions threatened to collapse her. But she clung to what remaining dignity still had, and sighed.

It was over. Over at last.

And done.

Even the movement on her wrist could not drag Cordelia back to crude reality after such a victory. A voice echoed in her head, and the bracelet at her wrist stirred, “But it was close. Very close.”

“Well, I never had to enact plan D,” she answered.

The primary plan, of course, had been to strike at the knight’s conscience so he might grant to their request. And this she would have done, even begged at his feet all teary, had he been a man who could be moved that way. But in the moment of their confrontation, she had judged almost at once that he was not so, and so swiftly discarded this plan.

The second: entering a duel and employing her new trick to cheat into success - this she attempted, and failed, even with the Sedative Miasma.

In the end she’d had to rely on the desperate tactic of using the snakeling poison to catch him off guard. And of course he would be surprised. How not? What person in their right mind would cheat so openly at a sacred duel and earn themselves certain death or maiming? The laws of the sanctified duel had forbidden it so clearly, and in fact was about the only rule that mattered (though Esme had insisted that the fifty-something methods to decide the winner through a complicated system of awarded points was, in truth, the chief articles).

Her plan C was unreliable to be sure, for it entailed that she must follow through with the failure of the previous with the strongest appeal on the fly to the man’s fierce sense of loyalty, his most significant trait among those Huginn had divulged.

“But you never did expect the Maiden’s response,” said the familiar. “Nor, I daresay, with your diminished Charisma attribute, you would have been able to deceive the knight. Not, if those naive and frankly suicidal thoughts had not been earnest for the most part.”

She squeezed the bracelet with ire, prompting a puzzled look from Esme.

“Well,” she told the tiny snake, “I always had my plan D to fall back to.”

Plan D: using her special, one-time ability Privilege of the Favored to pardon herself of all transgression done to the knight. A flimsy but much needed safety net. Should plan C have failed, it would have absolved her of the crime of cheating.

The only flaw of course lay in the uncertainty of whether he would still make Esme his squire after pardoning Cordelia from her crime. Though she would still live with her limbs and life intact for another day, regardless.

With this ability as the last failsafe, had Kamaric not ruled the guard’s murder in her favor, she would have demanded a trial in combat, possibly with the additional terms of Esme’s employment thrown in. And once the knight was beaten, this power would clear all his misgivings for her as a murderer, and allow her to serve Esme in the keep.

Then again, she had not used this ability ever before. And even if it had worked as intended, she misliked wasting its one-time usage so early into the game. So many threats mortal and immortal lurked along her path, so little she had or prepared to do to safeguard her future. And so it was no small thing to cheer for that she had saved the use of this power for another day.

She broke a loaf of bread to celebrate this success only she knew.

Then she prodded her friend and nudged over the hot bowl of soup. “Eat, my lady,” she said. “Feed your rattled brain.”

Esme glared, “Will you drop that? Why you...” She left the words trailed off, too many thoughts and protests seemed to compete in her head for just one to come out.

“It is done,” Cordelia shrugged. She sipped her own bowl, which was tasteless to her parched tongue. Then she dropped the spoon, starting to rub her sore shoulders bruised by the men-at-arms’ restraints. “For all that we have just been freshly employed, I’m already looking forward to a long, long vacation.”

Esme massaged her temple. “And I should like to give you a piece of my mind,” she said, “only I am weary beyond words.”

“As you should be. And you already struck me once, so excuse you!” Cordelia laughed and began her meal. But after only a few spoons more, she dropped the utensil again, musing. “Think you they would allow the governess a soft bed?”

“So I’d imagine,” Esme replied, breaking a loaf, thinking. Then suddenly she looked up, her expression already devoid of the tiredness from just a second ago. “How soon do you think Sir Kamaric will go on another campaign?”

And how long till she could prove her mettle. To be knighted. No simple thing, Cordelia did not doubt. And she wondered what manner of challenges they must face for Esme to earn a chance at being knighted.