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Chapter Text

The first time Jade properly meets the heir apparent to Tir Asleen, the princess is trying to steal a horse. 

Just before dawn is a suspicious time for anyone to be in the stables. Jade wakes to the sound of creaking hinges and metal scraping through dirt. Silently cracks the door to her quarters in the back, knife in hand, expecting to find an invading army of Bone Reavers here to finish the job. 

The moonlight shows only a scrawny hooded child with a sword as tall as they are strapped to their belt. The tip of their very nice scabbard drags along behind them as they try to sneak closer to the horses.

Shameful. Jade sheathes her knife and lets the shadows from the hayloft hide her. Watches and waits. 

Moonlight the horse dances eagerly in her stall, knickering and shoving her face towards the intruder because she’s so friendly she has no sense. The thief pauses to rub her nose, considering their options. Then they pass her by in favor of beautiful Pickles and her glossy all black coat. 

More fool them. 

The kid scuffs up the scabbard more struggling with the stall door, too short to reach the latch. Pickles watches them over the top of it with growing irritation. She rolls her eyes at Jade and grinds her teeth whenever the thieving fingers stray too near. If this bandit actually manages to unleash her, there will be blood. 

The horse thief chants, barely audible, “Come on, come on, you horrible little ackleyacker—” 

Wow, vulgar. The horsethief hops for height. Their scabbard clanks deplorably against the hard pack dirt. Jade learns a whole five new curses before she decides it’s time to put the sword out of its misery.

“Can I help you?” 

“Bavmorda’s balls!” The would-be horsethief startles backwards so violently they fall over their own sword and eat dirt. Their hood falls back to reveal their shock. Poor Pickles snorts derisively. 

Jade marches over to shush the horse, sliding between her and this tiny bandit. Pickles nudges the back of her head until Jade produces a sugarcube from her pocket and strokes her silky nose.

The kid picks themself up off the ground. Jade squints. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but they might be a girl-child. They’ve got to be at least three years younger than her — so basically still a baby — pale with straight dark unruly hair sloppily tied up with a silky ribbon and unkempt but expensive clothing. Some noble’s brat, probably, or a well-to-do merchant’s spawn. No farmer or foundling from the home is dressed that nicely. 

“These horses are the property of Her Majesty Queen Sorsha of Tir Asleen,” Jade informs them, rubbing Pickles’s ear. “It’s treason to touch one without her permission.”

“Oh yeah?” the kid sneers. 

“Yeah.” Jade glares, straightening up to her full height, which is not very tall yet. Ballantine says she’s still growing. 

“Well I’m the Princess of Tir Asleen, and I order you to give me that horse,” the kid ordains, with all the lordliness they can muster. 

Jade snorts. She’s seen the princess before many times when the royal family used to go riding. They haven’t done that in years, but Jade still remembers the princess’s smile. Sometimes Her Royal Highness would even wave or say something nice like, ‘sick shiner,’ ‘that’s a cool name,’ or ‘I like your sword,’ which was very flattering even though the swords Jade was kitting up at the time weren’t yet and may never be Jade’s own. 

This kid doesn’t look like they’d know what a smile or a comb was if it bit them in the bum. The future Queen of Tir Asleen is way prettier and more delicate than this snot-nosed twig. “And I’m the True Empress of the Nine Realms,” Jade shoots back. “Get out of here before I call the guards.”

“You wouldn’t—” 

Jade raises an eyebrow. Lets them stew in the silence. She’s training to be a knight, she can take some scrawny preteen with a sword they can’t lift. She’ll haul them to the guards herself. Maybe then the other pages will finally start taking her seriously. 

The kid shows an unexpected spark of wisdom and considers their options. “If you help me, I’ll pay you.” They scrounge around in their small pack and offer up a heavy coin-purse. 

Jade snatches it. “Hey!” She ignores them and looks inside. It’s entirely gold pieces. 

“Where the hell did you steal this?!” 

“I didn’t steal it!” 

“So you just found fifty gold lying around?” Jade pockets it. “I’m calling the guards.”

“No!” The kid lunges for Jade in a full body tackle. Jade sidesteps. The thief slams into the stall door and becomes intimately familiar with the floor again. 

Pickles paws the ground furiously at being so disturbed. Moonlight knickers anxiously from the other end of the stalls, craning her neck to watch the festivities. Everyone else is awake now, to varying degrees of intrigue. 

“I’m turning you in,” Jade tells the thief’s prone body, firmed by her squad of equine backup. “Do you want to fess up now or later?” 

“I’m no thief!” the little liar snarls, rolling onto their knees. “These are my horses not your horses!”

These are Queen Sorsha’s horses and Jade has been tasked with their care and keeping. If she messes this up, they’re never going to let her protect the palace. Ballantine will rescind his endorsement and Jade will be just another failed foundling bound for drudgery or the front. 

“They’re going to throw you in the dungeons for this,” Jade warns the uppity kid. Nobility or no, stealing royal property is a grave offense. There are other safer stables to pilfer. On the opposite side of the gatehouse, even. “Might lop off a hand.”

The kid laughs incredulously, like she’s the one who’s lost their mind. “Lop off my hand?!”

“Maybe just a finger.” They are young still, and Queen Sorsha is known to be lenient. There’s always a couple handless beggars wandering in to seek refuge from Galladoorn. 

“Are you threatening me? Because that’s treason, not touching my own stupid horses—”  

It’s her neck or theirs if this bandit won’t give it up. Jade makes for the stable doors, hollering without a pinch of panic, “Help! Thief—!”

“Shut up!” The little monster grabs for her ankles. Jade hops back, kicking at them. 

“Get off me! Ballan—”

The thief writhes like a feral cat and gets a hold of one of her pants-legs with their teeth. They gnaw hard on her ankle and roll to drag her towards the closest empty visitor’s stall. Jade shakes them off, only to find her bare feet tangled up in their overlarge scabbard. 

“Oof!” Jade thumps to the ground inside the open stall. The little criminal is on her instantly, two sticky hands clamped over her mouth. They’re tiny but fear makes them impressively strong. 

Desperate blue eyes bore into hers. “Stop! You can’t!”

“Mmph!” Jade leverages her foot of height, two years of training, and twenty stones of puberty on them to buck them into a pile of fresh horse shit. 

Plop! 

Jade gets up, ready to finish what they started. She won’t beat a little kid, even if they are a vandal, but she can sure scare the daylights out of one. She looms over the scruffy shit-covered snotrag, not sure if she should draw a fist back or what, but the horsethief flings their arms over their face before she can move. 

“I’m trying to find my dad!” the kid cries from within manure mountain. 

Jade freezes. 

“He’s missing,” the kid admits, burying their head in their arms. They look even smaller than before. “He went on a quest. It was only supposed to take a year, but now it’s been two, and no one’s heard from him—”

Oh mothers. Were they going to cry? Jade can’t deal with crying children. 

“Nobody knows where he is. I’m going to go find him,” the kid vows, trying to firm themself up. It’s hard to look heroic when you’re four feet tall and covered in poo, but they give it their best effort. “That’s why I need the horse.”

Duty . This Jade understands. She would go to the ends of the earth for her family, if they were still alive. She’s still trying to, in her own way. But it’ll take longer to get there. 

Jade brushes the dirt off her pants. Shakes out her soggy ankle. Glances longingly out at the front door. Horses are so much easier than people . “How old are you?” 

“Eleven and a half,” the kid gloats.

“You think you can ride a horse like this? Pickles would throw you in an instant.” Jade blocks the doorway, cornering the intruder in the visitor’s stall. Reaches over and pats Pickles’s cheek for emphasis. Prickly Pickles is a warhorse. Battle-ready like much of Jade’s stable. 

Young Pickles is also to be the crown princess’s charger as soon as Her Highness is of age. Pickles arrived a little over two years ago, only ridden once by her rightful owner. Jade makes sure she gets her paces in the round pen, turns her out to the pasture far from the others, takes her for rides in the big arena whenever she can, and keeps her coat shining just in case the princess ever comes back.  

“You named her Pickles?!” the horsethief squawks, crap-smudged jaw on the floor. 

Jade feels her face go hot in righteous indignation. “The princess herself entrusted me to name this horse.”

If that became a panic-inducing trial of its own which only ended on the day she got a massive mistaken delivery of pickles from the kitchens and Pickles stuffed her whole face in a barrel, that was Jade’s business and no one else’s. 

“Yeah, because you said you—” the kid literally growls in frustration, digging their knuckles into their eye sockets. Where did they get off, speaking so familiar with the princess and then trying to steal her horse? “I’m renaming her!”

The audacity. How in the world did they become so bold? “This is not your horse. Pickles would break your neck if you tried to ride her.”

The kid scrambles to their feet and puffs up into a waifish wisp. “I’m big enough!”

“You’re a baby.” Jade leans against the stall doorpost. She really should just lock them in here. But impulse and the way this particular little shit goes red with rage get the best of her. “I bet you can’t even lift that sword.”

Oh, they’re angry now. “Can too!”

“Okay.” Jade spreads her hands. “Prove it.”

Even with how washed out the half-moon makes them, the kid’s a tomato ready to pop. “Fine!” 

They grab the sword hilt with both hands, putting a boot heel down on the scabbard as they struggle to yank it out. They almost fall over again. 

Jade crosses her arms so she can’t rescue the sword from this abuse. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up! ” With one mighty heave, they wrench the broad-sword out of the scabbard. For a second it hangs in the air on pure momentum, then it falls right back down, nearly shearing off their foot. 

“Great show,” Jade cheers, clapping. 

The horsethief fights with gravity again, trying to get the blade tip more than six inches off the ground. Their face goes even hotter. For a second, Jade’s worries they might bust something. Finally their arms give out and the sword clatters to the hard packed hay. 

Jade tsks . Ballantine would never let her treat fine steel that badly. 

“Screw you! I’m going to find him, and I’ll bring him home!” the kid yells. They stomp right up to Jade and shove a dirty finger in her face. “I don’t care what you or Mom or anyone else says! I’m going to save him.”

Jade stares down at them. They come up to just about her chin, but there’s a determination shining through their red-rimmed eyes that makes them look taller. No one else believed Jade could become a page. Only Ballantine took her at her word. One person was enough. 

“Tell you what,” Jade offers against her better judgment, “if you can best me in a fight, I’ll give you a horse.” 

From another not royal stable, but a horse all the same. Jade is good for her word. Timmie from the workhorse barn won’t rat. 

The child glares bloody murder at her. “I’ll destroy you. It’ll be easy.” 

Adorable. 

Jade lounges against the low shared wall with Pickles’s stall. Pickles watches over it with sharp interest. It probably speaks ill of Jade to take joy in this impending win, but it’s been a long three years and she needs something . “You think so? I should warn you, I’m training to join the Shining Legion. I’m going to be a knight.”

The kid scoffs mightily. “Yeah, right! They don’t let stablehands join the Shining Legion.”

“I’m going to be the first,” Jade tells them, just because she can. It’s nice to be able to brag to somebody, even if they are a cocky child criminal. No one else listens. “I’m already a page. I’ll be a squire soon.”

“Liar! No way you’re old enough.”

“I’m fourteen,” Jade retorts. Probably. It’s hard to know when you’re an orphan with no birthday. “I’m apprenticed to Sir Ballantine. Sometimes I even beat him in a spar.” If she counts the rare times he lets her win first-touch to prove a point. 

Her audience rears in shock. “Ballantine’s Captain of the Pacalcade!” 

“Yeah,” Jade agrees, picking her nails just to piss them off more. “So I’m really hard to beat.”

The kid looks like they want to throttle her. Good. 

“Come on,” she nods at them. She tries to remember what Ballantine said to her, that first day in the stables. “Hit me. If you can hit me once, I’ll let you go without calling the guards. If you can best me, I’ll give you a horse and show you the way out of the castle.” 

The kid chews their lip. “You swear?” 

“On my mother’s grave.” 

The kid nods once. “Okay. Prepare to die.” They take a step back and unbuckle their sword belt, finally dropping the hazardous scabbard. Then they roll up their sleeves and settle into a gentleman’s boxing stance. 

Jade laughs. “What’re you doing?” 

“Beating you!” They throw a wild punch. 

“Like that?” Jade turns and lets it brush right past her. Grabs their wrist and yanks them down to the dirt, just to drive the point home. “This isn’t a sparring match. I’m bigger and stronger than you. You have to fight dirty.” 

“Bug off!” They lunge for her again, telegraphing every move. Jade nabs the back of their collar and tosses them into the manure pile. Splat!

She doesn’t even have to raise her fists, taunting them with lazy ease the same way Ballantine did her. “Come on, put some effort into it.”

The kid peels themself free and spins around, spitting mad now. But there’s a new cold calculation in their eyes to match the malice. Jade steadies her stance. 

Then the kid pulls a knife from their sleeve and throws it at her face. 

“Troll’s tits!” It’s only quick reflexes from two and some years of training plus loads more scrapping which save her eye. The knife goes ricocheting off the post and into Pickles’s stall. Pickles whips away and neighs in high pitched fury. 

Jade clamps a hand to her bleeding cheek. “What the hell?!”

“You said fight dirty!”

“Yeah, not ‘try to kill me!’”  

“I wasn’t!” The tiny murderer actually looks guilty, but not guilty enough to stop their hand from creeping into their pocket. 

“Enough of this!” Jade growls. She has them on the ground and pinned on their stomach with their arms behind their back before they can blink. Pickles had better be fine. She tries to touch as little of the tiny monster as possible, covered in shit as they are. “Yield.”

The demon squirms in her hold, shrieking curses. “No! You dintithering cowardly cudglemudgin! Crone take your eyes!”

Damn, where did they learn that one? Jade has always considered herself versed in vulgarities from years at the foundling home, but this kid is on another level. 

“Yield.” Jade leans back and lets them struggle, slinging swears. They’re very inventive. She laxes her grip slightly so they don’t twist their shoulders from their sockets. “If you don’t hush up, I won’t even have to call the guards. They’ll hear you hollering and come running.”

“Suck spider eggs!” they spit, but quietly this time. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jade shifts their flimsy wrists to one hand and quickly turns out their pockets, producing no less than two quality daggers, a very enticing set of those throwing stars Jade’s always wanted to try, and what might be a blasting bottle. “What in the seven hells… you have a whole armory in here!” 

The kid sulks in silence, struggling half-heartedly now that they’re devoid of their arsenal. Over her shoulder in the hallway, the horses have nothing to add, except Pickles, whose bloodlust is clear on her face. 

Jade rubs at the shallow scratch on her cheek. How did Ballantine ever deal with this? “Who’re you trying to kill?”

“Nobody!” A hard yank on her grip. 

“You expect me to believe that?” 

The kid goes unnervingly still and quiet. Jade kicks the weapons aside and waits, grip unwavering. She’s really very patient, normally. She’s been waiting her whole life for people to notice if she’s present. She’s sure she’ll be waiting the rest of it for anyone to care what she has to say.

A beat or three pass. Jade has just long enough to reconsider the implications of apprehending a shit-covered noble’s kid who’s only covered in shit because she threw them there. But she’s not just any stablehand, she’s the private royal stablehand with Queen Sorsha’s wrath as a trump card, so she’s got dirt on them too. If they try to frame her for their other thefts, she can probably count on Ballantine to back her. 

Hopefully. Maybe. Perhaps she really should‘ve called the guards, the gatehouse is right there—

The kid cracks first, “My dad’s the best knight in the realms. Whatever’s keeping him from coming back has to be really bad.”

Jade surveys their meager haul from what must’ve been a pit stop robbing the Pacalcade. At their size, they really should’ve gone for a polearm. “If that’s true, then you won’t even put a dent in it.”

The kid doesn’t say anything. But they stop fighting entirely. 

Jade stands up, threat neutralized. The kid stays on the ground. Curls onto their side and rubs their wrists close to their chest. 

Jade retreats to lock them in the stall, but finds herself pausing. Shifts awkwardly with a hand on the door. She’d tried to be gentle with them, but maybe that only went so far. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” they snap, bite back in their eye. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

It’s weirdly endearing that they have such boundless confidence, even if it’s going to get them killed. Jade adjusts her hair wrap where it’s gone askew in the nonsense. She’d be more embarrassed about doing this in her night clothes if this kid wasn’t covered in horseapples. The back of her neck prickles, exposed by her hair up and the loose collar of her sleep shirt. Fortunately the dark will hide the mark. 

She should close the stall door and latch it. Go fetch the guards. They’re not tall enough to get out. 

“Look,” she tries, lingering in the doorframe, “I’m barely a page and I can trounce you. If your dad’s that good, then anything that can kill him can definitely kill you.” 

“I know that, idiot ,” they admit to the suicide mission in the snidest way possible. But the voice crack gives them away. They go quiet for a second. Then, so softly Jade almost doesn’t hear it, “I just want him to come home.”

Their shoulders shake, folding in tighter. They sniffle. Oh no. Stars help me. She’d take Bone Reavers over this.

Jade makes desperate eye contact with gentle Moonlight, much better with children than Jade is. Moonlight whinnies softly. Age has not given the princess’s childhood mare any clear advice. 

Jade remembers being young and angry, younger and angrier than she is now. Sitting freshly bruised on the stable floor, pretending she wasn’t crying. Pretending she was big enough to beat her demons. What would Ballantine say?

“Hurting yourself doesn’t help anyone,” she echoes, still only almost believing it. When they don’t buy it either, she adds the other louder lessons she’s learned since, “You think your dad would want you to run off and die on some harebrained revenge quest? You’ve got to wait until you’re stronger and can really show them what for.”

The kid’s breath hitches awfully. 

No good. Jade looks to Pickles for help. Pickles haplessly flicks her ears. 

What do you even say to crying children? Jade doesn’t know how to talk to people. She barely talks to horses. This is more than she’s voluntarily said to a person in days, and it’s not strictly voluntary. 

Jade never got on with most of the foundlings at the home and the other pages don’t deem her worthy of conversation. There’s chat with some of the castle staff, friendly faces in town she recognizes from the schoolhouse, but that’s short and shallow. Ballantine prefers work over words.

She opts for distraction. Children can’t be that different from horses, right?

Jade crouches down and shows the child a sugarcube. “Want one?”

The kid stares at it like it’s poison, but is too startled to cry. Good enough. They keep staring until the sugarcube starts to melt in Jade’s palm, so she shrugs and pops it in her own mouth.

“Hey!”

Jade rolls her eyes. Sometimes animals need to see food is safe before they eat it. She offers them a second sugarcube. 

The little thief sits and tentatively takes it. Chews on it. Their eyebrows go up in surprise.

Jade nods, satisfied. She stands and returns to the stall door, slips another one to Pickles so she won’t get jealous. Boundless supplies of sugarcubes is one of the benefits of being the private royal stablehand. Queen Sorsha likes her horses pampered, even the ones she never rides. Jade particularly favors Pickles for her origins and taciturn personality. 

She tosses a third to the kid as a bribe to ensure the miserable set to their face softens further. “What’s your name?”

“Kit,” they grumble around a mouthful of candy.  

Jade frowns. Why did that sound so familiar? Does absolutely nothing to clear up the gender. Jade shrugs it off. Probably short for something common. “I’m Jade Claymore.”

Kit scowls, opens their mouth like they’re going to say something, then thinks better of whatever insult was on their tongue. Grunts and sucks on the sugar cube. “Cool.”

“Wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, Kit, but you’re a righteous terror.” That earns a wet huffing laugh. “I should report you to guards for stealing. Lucky for you, I am a woman of my word and you managed to nick me with that knife, so…”

Jade steps aside and tosses the sack of gold she cannot be caught dead with down at their feet, waving their way out of the empty stall and through the front doors. “You’re free to go. Don’t let me catch you sneaking around here again.”

Kit staggers up, rubbing snot and crud all over their face. “I hope a horse kicks you in the head and you die.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Kit churlishly boots the coinpurse. It rolls closer to Jade. She bends down to pick it up and hand it to them, but Kit waves her off. “You can keep it.”

They must be insane. “I’m not keeping your ill-gotten gains.”

“I didn’t steal it. It’s mine. Mom gives us a monthly allowance.”

“Bullshit.” This is more money than Jade has seen in her life. What the hell is she supposed to do with this? If she turns it into the guards, they’ll think Jade robbed a man blind. “You’re setting me up.” 

Kit glowers, doing a good play at seeming genuinely confused. “How? No one’s going to know it’s missing.”

Oh yeah, because nobody would notice fifty gold suddenly disappearing from their coffers. She throws it back at them hard enough to thump into their shoulder. “Take it with you, asshole, or I’ll rat you out.”

Kit fumbles the catch. Clenches their fists. Opens the coin-purse and dumps most of it into the manure pile. “For your precious silence . ”

“You’re trying to get my hands cut off!” Jade accuses them. “Pick it up!” 

“You can touch the shit this time.” Kit stomps over to the equally stolen sword and scabbard. “You’ve already dumped me in that crap-pile twice.”

Jade stares aghast at the gold in the manure pile visiting Lord Libbiliny’s horrendous gelding left behind mere hours ago. She tried to do a nice thing and now she’s going to lose both her hands for it. How the hell is she supposed to be a knight with no hands?! 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mom.” Kit slings the scabbard-belt over their shoulder and picks the unsheathed sword off the ground, dragging it through the dirt behind them as they shove past Jade. It’s not Pacalcade issue. She doesn’t even want to know where they got that. “Can I have my knives back?”

“No.” If Jade’s going down for thievery, she’s at least keeping these very nice daggers and throwing stars. 

Kit huffs. “I hate you.”

Jade shrugs. It’s mutual. 

Kit trudges down the line of stalls. “Be careful with that bottle. I’m not sure what it does, but I think it might explode if you shake it too hard.”

Jade reconsiders the dubious contraption in the stall. Definitely a bomb . 

“Get out of here before I throw it at you,” she orders, pointing towards the front door.

Kit the would-be-killer, failed-hero, and third-tier-horsethief trudges out into the golden sunrise. They look back over their shoulder, unable to resist one last goad, “ I should report you for treason.”

“Goodbye, Princess Kit,” Jade sneers, slamming the stable door in their face. What a brat.

The dust settles on the shattered remains of her peaceful solitude. Jade takes a moment to breathe it in. Nasty . She’s going to need to wash up while she still has hands to get the manure smell out of her shirt because Princess Kit—

Wait.

Princess Kit. Wasn’t Queen Sorsha’s youngest named Kit? 

No, no way. There had to be more than one Kit. This vagrant couldn’t be that Kit—

Suddenly, Jade can hear their voice clear as day, mocking her, ‘I’m the Princess of Tir Asleen. These are my horses.’ 

What if they’re actually Kit’s horses?! 

Her back thumps against the door. Pickles, Ravager, and Moonlight stare curiously at her. Nimbus, Yonder, and Sanctiminius are awake thanks to the kerfuffle but cannot be bothered to look up from their hay baskets. 

Pickles. 

‘You named her Pickles?! You said you—’ abruptly becomes a scratchy squeaky, ‘That’s a cool name, how’d you get it?’ which turns into her proud, ‘Picked it myself,’ to which the flippant response from the then even-tinier much-cleaner princess was, ‘Sick, can you name this horse?’ 

Jade is surrounded on all sides by evidence of treason. There’s the manure pile waiting for her wheelbarrow that still has the indent of Princess Kit’s body in it. There’re the horses Princess Kit had full rights to request whenever they liked but Jade had refused to release. There’s the scuff marks in the visitor’s stall dirt where Princess Kit had fallen flat on their face and nearly shorn off a foot. There’s Princess Kit’s weapons, also in the visitor’s stall, which Jade had apparently stolen. And what was presumably Queen Sorsha’s gold festering in pompous Lord Libbiliny’s weak-stomached purebred’s mess. 

Jade’s pulse pounds in her temples, mind racing so fast she fears it might pop.

She thinks of herself as fairly familiar with the royal family, more so than most of the castle by nature of managing their horses. But she only took over the stables four years ago, and the royals have been gradually disappearing over the last three. First friendly Prince Airk, who sent jolly Julipee to be housed with the Pacalcade. Then the cordial King Consort, relieving her of monstrous Avarice when he went out on his quest. Followed by the kindly crown princess, who’s barely shown her face since. 

Queen Sorsha took the longest, lasting a whole year before she couldn’t stand Avarice’s empty stall anymore. But her interactions have always been the tercest, perfunctory warmth belied by hurried hard steel. Jade still keeps Nimbus, Yonder, and Sanctiminius on rotation in the tie stall in case the Queen elects to leave the castle, but essentially Jade’s duty is to take them to the hitch-post outside or hand them off to another staff member upon request. 

Based only on these brief imperious fly-by’s, Jade knows with full certainty that Queen Sorsha would, without blinking, kill anyone who laid a hand on her children. 

King Consort Madmartigan. He’s been missing for a year, gone for over two . They say the prince has become a bit of a fop in his absence, but no one even sees the crown princess. She just hides in her chambers. It’s only known she’s alive because sometimes the castle phantom emerges to wreak havoc on the halls. She’s left such a trail of broken dishes Her Majesty had to request Her Highness’s meals be brought in a set of wooden bowls like a common peasant.

Rumors abound that the princess is sick, disfigured, or simply unfit. Jade refused to believe any of them, clinging to her memory of Princess Kit’s easy smile and friendly compliments. 

‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mom.’

Jade slides down to the floor with a thud, all the blood draining from her face.

She just dumped the heir to Tir Asleen into a pile of horseshit. Twice.

/-:-:-:-:-/

Chapter Text

Jade sweats sleeplessly for countless nights, waiting for the Pacalcade itself to come drag her away. Every time she walks through the castle gates she braces herself for an arrow to the back. It never comes. But she doesn’t see the princess again either. 

Apparently, the heir to the throne is grounded. The chewing out was so legendarily loud you could hear it down in the kitchens. 

“Her Majesty’s banned Her Highness from, like, literally everywhere on castle grounds,” the kitchen maid tells Jade, dropping by to deliver the baskets of sugarcubes, apples, carrots, and Jade’s weekly allowance of cured sausage, bread, and cheese along with the latest salacious gossip. 

This maid’s another one of the castle foundlings, pale, blonde, and wispy, likely no relation to Jade. Jade never saw her in the home — the girl must’ve got her placement in the kitchens long before Jade left for the stables — but they recognize each other from the schoolhouse. She’s kind enough to slip Jade extra fresh produce and a pastry or two with her rations when the scullery can spare. Jade never quite caught her name. Now it’s way too late to ask. Brun-something-long?

“Oh really?” Jade fails to feign disinterest, busying herself with the apples while her heart beats its way out of her chest. So far, by some miracle of good luck and shivering silence, she’s kept her hands and her head. 

When in doubt, a good knight shuts his mouth, Ballantine always says. But even when she stays quiet, Jade’s face gives her away. I really have to work on that. 

The kitchen maid grins like a cat in a milk tub. “Apparently Her Royal Highness was found covered in—” she lowers her voice, Jade represses a flinch, “—horse dung.”

How is Jade not dead?!  

The maid snickers. “They say she fell through a window at the east gate guardhouse and ended up in the manure barrels. Are you sure you didn’t see her?”

“Nope,” Jade chokes out. “Wrong stables.”

That’s how Jade’s not dead. Kit, true to their word, lied out their ass about it. Apparently with enough foresight to know Jade would be at the very least thoroughly questioned if they mentioned she was even on the same side of the castle when it happened. 

“Too bad,” the maid mutters. “I would’ve paid my whole pittance to watch that.”

Jade — who has recently come into more money than any foundling has ever earned to stay mum about watching that and has spent the days since praying to every god she’s heard of to smooth things over in advance if her own inevitable public execution — gapes at her. 

The kitchen maid shrugs. “What? The prince is cute but the princess can be kind of a jerk.”

Jade feels… inexplicably compelled to defend the princess even though it’s completely true. And then some. She scratches the peeling scab on her cheek. “They’re eleven.”

“Yeah, which means it’s time for her to grow up,” the maid declares, at the ripe old age of — Jade is pretty sure — twelve. 

Jade isn’t certain she disagrees. She had to grow up a lot younger than that, after all. But she isn’t sure it’s right either. 

Then again, Jade’s not expected to run the kingdom someday. Stars, was Kit the horsethief going to be in charge of the kingdom someday?! Maybe they hadn’t told Queen Sorsha yet because they were waiting to torture Jade themself once they took the throne. 

This and other such graphic possibilities hound her every waking hour. What if Princess Kit had stabbed themself with the innumerable weapons they were hoarding and the heir’s corpse was found in Jade’s stables? What if Jade had gone ahead and punched them like she wanted to? What if the gatehouse guards had heard the kerfuffle and come to inspect? What if Her Highness had actually succeeded in stealing a horse while Jade was sleeping, and then she was personally responsible for losing the crown princess?

Jade is the worst page who ever lived. Knights have one duty — to protect the crown — and she’s gone and thrown the crown into a pile of horseshit repeatedly.  

Ballantine, of course, notices Jade’s distraction during training. Training she doesn’t deserve, because she’s a disgrace to the legacy of knighthood. 

“Sloppy,” he chides, after humiliatingly disarming her for the umpteenth time in a row. Jade lets the exhausted shame settle deeper into her worn bones. 

They’re practicing defense against an opponent with superior reach, since neither of them is sure how tall Jade will get. Jade doesn’t hate polearms — is good with them even — but it’s not the grand sword she craves. Unfortunately glaves are also the more attainable option for war orphans whose savings can ill-afford a large commission from the blacksmith. Foundlings in their school years earn even less of a pittance than normal stablehands in exchange for being provided room and board outside the overcrowded home at the former nunnery. She’s only recently graduated to a full salary of nigh nothing a week.  

Of course, now Jade has thirty-three gold pieces buried in as deep a hole as she could dig beneath Pickles’s stall. Enough to buy the entire stables and most everything in it if she wouldn’t be strung up for trying. 

Ballantine impassively watches her fumble her staff into the dirt again. It’s clean at least — she triple swept the round pen before he arrived to make sure she wouldn’t cover a noble in horseshit for the second time in so many weeks. Ballantine should be meeting with her on the castle Pacalcade training grounds like the other knights, but lowborn almost-pages aren’t allowed. They turn the pasture round pen into a sparring ring during off-hours instead. 

Ballantine finally says, “What’s wrong? You’ve been off for days.” 

Jade turns to collect the wooden pole so that he can’t see her face. I beat up the princess and they threw a knife at my head, but now I really wish they hadn’t missed because however Queen Sorsha kills me will be worse. Every time I shovel horseshit, I see the spot where I body-slammed the heir to the throne. Whenever I close my eyes, I hear them calling me a traitor. If I tell you any of this, you’ll be honor bound to execute me yourself. 

“I’m fine,” she mumbles. “Not sleeping well.”

Ballantine studies her. “There’s been a missive from Her Majesty. Regarding the stables.”

Jade’s blood ices. This is it.

“She’s tightening security, given…” Ballantine inexplicably sets his practice sword aside instead of running her through, “…last week’s incident.”

Jade shakes in her too-tight boots. 

“I told her she needn’t worry about the private royal stable, since my page is already guarding it.”

This is as high of praise as Jade is likely to get in her life. It’s also as official an announcement as he’s ever made about their association. She’s his page — cares for his kit, minds his horse, receives his instruction — but she’s never formally worn his colors or his emblem. As a foundling, especially one with odd marks, she’s not destined to bear anything but the uniform of the ground guard on the frontlines of border skirmishes.  

A hungry part of her glows with pride. The rest of her wants to throw up. 

“Are you — are you sure?” she hears herself croak. 

“You’ll also be receiving a lock,” Ballantine informs her kindly. “And a bell. Possibly two bells.” He nods to the wooden staff she’s white-knuckling. “You can take that with you, too, if you like, so long as you’re judicious about which intruders and how you apprehend them.” 

So Jade was welcome to beat any would-be horsethief except the princess with a stick. Which would’ve been great to know before she thumped the princess. 

“You heard about the princess?” Ballantine echoes her own thoughts close enough to stop her heart. 

Jade’s not sure what she’s heard about the princess. Came skulking into the castle at dawn covered in dung seems to be the meat of it. The general consensus is Her Highness must’ve been trying to galavant off on a night ride and got thrown into the manure barrels. 

Which is not so far off from the truth. That could’ve happened, if Jade hadn’t done it first. 

The sword is curiously absent from all of these accounts. Jade is praying Kit returned it instead of squirreling it away for later. 

Who am I kidding, there’s no way in hell that kid quietly returned it. That sword and its whereabouts are going to haunt Jade until her premature death. 

At least the sack of gold is also not part of the overall story? Bodes better for Jade’s chances of continued survival. Even safer would be taking that thirty-three gold and getting the hell out of Tir Asleen before Princess Kit changes their mind—

“Queen Sorsha strongly wishes to prevent further incidents and injuries,” Ballantine says, “so you’ll need to be on alert.”

“Injuries?” Jade squeaks, because she’s a self-incriminating idiot who hasn’t learned restraint. 

“Her Highness took a tumble and twisted her wrist.” Ballantine’s gaze softens at Jade’s visceral panic. “She’ll be alright. I know you’re fond of her.”

Is she?!

Jade treasures her memories of the benevolent princess who gave her naming rights over a beautiful warhorse, sure. Shit-covered literally ankle-biting Kit the aspiring bandit, not so much. 

Jade’s pulse races. Her vision goes spotty at the edges. She hadn’t wanted to hurt them. Even before she was aware of the high treason bits, she hadn’t meant to—

“Kid,” Ballantine interrupts her spiral. “Breathe.”

Jade, usually a shoo-in at following direct orders, cannot seem to manage this one. Her temples throb hard and quick. She needs to resign her position. She needs to dig up that thirty-three gold and flee the country. She needs to apologize to the whiny piss baby she accidentally thrashed—

Ballantine pats her on the back hard enough to shock her into exhaling. “Don’t fret. You wouldn’t have let that happen in your stables.”

Jade just barely doesn’t scream. 

Ballantine’s eerie mind-reading escalates, “Is this what you’ve been losing sleep over?”

Jade listlessly nods. No point in fibbing. She’s already lying in her own grave with the thirty-three gold she buried. She didn’t even bother using Pickles to guard the throwing stars, those are stashed beneath a loose floorboard under her bed. Next to the bomb, under a different loose floorboard beneath her bed. Her cot is frankly not big enough to hide all these crimes for long. 

Thank stars her quarters have a door. She thought the door and window the height of luxury when she moved in —  Queen Sorsha has very strict specifications of foundling placements including ‘ventilation,’ ‘heating,’ and ‘a functional roof,’ but most postings don’t go much beyond that. Jade quickly realized her accommodations are outside the hayloft to afford privacy to the royal family not herself. For such occasions as the crown princess trying to secretly abscond with a horse. 

“I’m glad you take your responsibilities seriously,” Ballantine reproves, “but if you let worrying over your charges keep you from resting, you can’t do your job. A good knight sleeps eight hours a night.”

Ballantine must’ve gotten her mixed up with a wailing baby at some point because when in doubt he always resorts to nursery rhymes. No cleaver’s too good for a Bone Reaver was how he first introduced her to using unconventional weaponry and tricks of the terrain. Rhyming night with knight is not his best.

A good knight doesn’t dump the princess in a pile of shit and almost break a child’s wrist. 

Jade’s perhaps not at her best either. 

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day?” Ballantine suggests, because he still lives in blissful ignorance of his already risky charity case page being a traitor to the throne. “Turn in early.”

Jade takes this for the mercy it is and trudges back to the stables to write her will. It won’t take long, she doesn’t have much in the way of worldly affects or affairs to get in order before her hanging. She can leave the throwing stars and the gold to Timmie and her pants without a hole in them to the smiley kitchen maid who brings her extra sweet bread on delivery days. 

“I’ll try, sir.”

/-:-:-/  

As much time as she spends planning for the inevitable, Jade doesn’t actually see Princess Kit until a day later when they pop out from behind a bush and tackle her on the way to another thanklessly shameful showing in the round pen sparring ring. 

“Bavmorda’s bits!” Jade yelps, shoving the hooded bandit off her, but not before her unseen attacker rolls them both into the brush on the other side of the path.

Jade is on top of this vagrant with an elbow across their throat and one of her fancy new knives out of her sleeve before she’s realized she’s committed treason again. 

“Hey now, that’s Our Queen’s late mother you’re talking about!” Kit grins at her through the leaves, unconcerned by potential strangling or stabbing and looking every bit the scruffy horsethief. 

But in the daylight Jade can see how nice the fabric of their loose shirt is beneath the peasant’s shoulder hood, and how unusually clean they look. Someone who hasn’t had to do work or touch dirt a day in their life. They have the same eyes and smile as the former Princess Kit, even if they’re missing a couple more teeth and there’s a sharpness to it all that Jade never noticed before. 

Jade drops her knife and scrambles off the heir to the entire country for the second time. She stands to attention with her hands safely clasped behind her back exactly like Ballantine showed her, and bows so deep her nose nearly scrapes the ground. As if this is going to save her sorry hide. “Your Highness.”

“Ah.” Kit’s face drops. “You heard.”

Everyone’s heard. They couldn’t have been a little quieter about it?! Jade’s literally going to get killed over this and they’re here flouncing around like nothing’s happened. 

“My sincerest apologies for my prior conduct,” Jade recites from memory of her lengthy last ditch effort speech, “I can only beg your merciful forgiveness of my ignorance, for I did not realize you were—” 

“Zudderpickings, shut up,” Kit groans, flopping down in the brambly bush leaves. Part of her jolts at the mouth on this kid before remembering the crown princess can say whatsoever they choose. “If you keep going, I’ll claw my eyes out.”

That’s it, Jade’s a dead woman. At least she left the note with the map under her blanket, bequeathing her ill-gotten gains to Timmie and the nameless kitchen maid.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jade stands and stares straight ahead at the middle distance as is proper Pacalcade posture for dealing with the peculiarities of royalty. 

“Don’t call me that.” Her Highness throws a twig at Jade’s face. Jade stalwartly doesn’t flinch as it bounces off her nose. She cannot call the princess an asshole. She cannot—

“Of course, Princess.”

“My name is Kit,” Princess Kit complains from their throne among the bushes. “Why are you so boring now?”

Boring?! If it was literally anyone else, Jade would have throttled them. Her stress levels are spiking so high she still might. 

“Did I get you so good with that knife you forgot how to talk?” Princess Kit whines. Asshole. Asshole, asshole. Their next sovereign is such a raging asshole. “You weren’t like this before!”

Jade tries for mercy one last time, “In my ignorance, I did not realize your station and behaved in manner unbefitting—”

“I told you I was the princess!” Princess Kit sulks. “I told you at least three times!”

Jade very nearly stomps her foot in frustration. Which would be so immature even if it wasn’t distinctly suicidal. The worst part being it’s all true. Jade is the idiot here. 

“Come on, Jade Claymore.” Jade’s heart kicks her throat up into her nose. They remembered my name?! “We’ve met, like, a bajillion times. If you didn’t recognize me, that’s on you.” 

Jade is sweating through her shirt but still feels very cold. “How—” slips out against her will. Her jaw clicks shut. 

Her Highness peers at Jade with hawkish focus. They sit up with the same look as right before they threw that knife. “Of course I remember you. You’re the stablehand with all the swords. Your name’s so hardcore I wanted you to pick one for my flipping horse — Pickles is horrendous, just so you know, not metal at all—”

A deep sadness swells up inside of Jade. She’d worked so hard on that name for such an ungrateful little twerp and now poor Pickles would have to relearn it—

“—Honestly, I’m offended,” Princess Kit concludes. Her Highness hammers more nails home into Jade’s coffin, “I’m insulted you forgot me, I’m insulted you made my horse sound like a sandwich, and most of all I’m insulted you’re pretending you didn’t toss me into a shit pile that night knowing full well who I was.” 

Jade’s neck throbs with restrained heat. Jade didn’t know, is the thing, which is actively worse, because Princess Kit is spot on. She legitimately did not recognize them, in ways that cannot be blamed on the dark. Jade knows she’s not great with faces but this is beyond. She was not expecting to feel guiltier about it than before, but now—

Princess Kit lifts their nose and glares the way only self-righteous preteens on the warpath can. “Are you an idiot or do you just think I am? There’s no way you’re gonna get to be a knight if you can’t recognize the princess—” 

Jade’s boiling over before she even realizes it, “Well, excuse me for not believing you when you sneak around at night like a vandal!” 

She stands there, breathing hard, stoney facade broken under Princess Kit’s concentrated assault. Ballantine would be so ashamed. Will he learn about this when she hangs or will he have time to tell her how much he regrets taking her on first?

Princess Kit brightens considerably. “You really think I look like a vandal?” 

Screw it, she’s done for either way. Jade’s going to toss the crown princess into another pile of shit if it’s the last thing she does. Lonely Moonlight and poor prickly Pickles deserve better. 

“You look like someone who never considers consequences,” Jade hisses. She rubs the twig smudge off her nose to hide her stinging eyes. “You look like someone who enjoys torturing dead men. Does it make you happy, knowing you’ve hounded me for weeks before I hang?”

Princess Kit scowls in furious confusion. They launch to their feet, checking down the path like bandits are about to run up on them both. “Who the hell is trying to hang you? Lord Smelly Boogerface? Give me their name and I’ll get them thrown in the dungeons.”

What. 

“You,” Jade reminds them, since apparently Princess Kit forgot. “You’re the one who’s trying to get me beheaded.”

Princess Kit is inexplicably offended. “No?”

What the hell — they don’t get to just— “Yes. You’re trying to get me beheaded right now. Do you think I can be seen rolling around in the bushes with the crown princess?!”

Princess Kit plucks a leaf from their hair and throws it on the ground. “I’m not going to tell. I didn’t tell anyone about you throwing me into a shit pile, did I?” 

They really hadn’t. Which has led to Jade stewing in a state of terrified confusion, completely at their fickle mercy, for days on end. She’s pretty sure this comes out in the form of a strangled sound. 

Princess Kit grinds the leaf to paste beneath their boot heel. “Very uncool of you, by the way. My boots still reek. Mom says I can’t get new ones because I did it to myself. Even though I didn’t . Do you know how long she chewed me out thanks to you?” 

Long and loud enough to go down in history among the castle staff. Jade’s latest bushel of apples had come with an unsettling but comically delivered recounting of direct quotes. 

‘And then Her Majesty said, “If I can’t trust you not to sneak out of your room to terrorize the horses, how am I supposed to trust you with international relations?!” and Her Highness was like, “I don’t give a—” Well, actually, that part’s unrepeatable, but right afterwards she said, “I care about diplomacy as much as you care about finding Dad!” And then there was a lot of door slamming and dish breaking, so the scullery maids have really had it with Her Highness.’

The blonde kitchen maid’s Princess Kit and Queen Sorsha impressions were truly impeccable. Jade gets goosebumps and palpitations just thinking about it. 

She can’t even envision how unimaginably bad it would’ve been had the crown princess actually made it through those gates with horse and sword. If Jade wasn’t chained up in the dungeons, she’d have been out on search party with Ballantine for weeks until they tripped over the corpse.  

“Look,” Princess Kit smears leaf paste around the ground. They’re right, they do smell a little weird. “I’m not going to tell Mom anyway, but I super duper promise I won’t tell her you were the one who wrecked my clothes if you don’t tell Mom I was trying to go save Dad.”

It has not occurred to Jade until this exact second that she might have dirt on Princess Kit too. 

The world realigns on its axis. 

It’s not equal dirt, of course, since no one’s going to execute the crown princess for running away. But it could be a fate worse than death or at least get close enough to be a reasonable deterrent. 

Mutually assured destruction. Hm. That’s workable. 

“You left a bomb in my stables,” she tells them, because decorum is so far out the window she might as well be sleeping in the dungeons already. “Do you know what it’s like to have to sleep with a bomb hidden under your bed?”

Kit has the audacity to roll their eyes. The arrogance makes more sense now, actually. “Just return it? I got it from the Pacalcade. They let all you stuck-up pages in the armory.”

They let all the real pages in there. Jade has never been welcome. “I’m not a highborn.”

Kit squints at her. “So?”

“I’m not—” Jade shouldn’t have to explain this to the country’s crown princess, “—it’s your bomb, return it your damn self.”

Kit crosses their arms sullenly. But there’s a bit of a sly smile to them, like they’ve won something. Jade’s not sure what and the idea of it makes her skin crawl. “It’s not my bomb. You took it. It’s your bomb now.”

“I’m giving it back to you,” Jade says more magnanimously than they deserve. “I don’t want it anymore.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d taken it in the first place, other than to prevent rogue explosions in the castle. Knowing it was in the crown princess’s possession all along does not give her the reassurance that it should. 

“Nope.” Kit sets their shoulders and pops their hip. They’re smiling again, she doesn’t like it. “That’s your mess. You can get yourself out of that one.”

Jade splutters, “Are you kidding me — you’re the one who stole a bomb from the Pacalcade!”

“The crown provisions the Pacalcade so all your stuff is my stuff, actually,” Kit says with unshakeable confidence and deeply evil logic. 

This is what coups are born from. The kingdom will not survive the year. Maybe the whispers are right about Bavmorda’s line being bad blood. 

More immediately, Jade needs to figure a way to get that bomb out from under her cot. “If it’s yours, take it back. ”

“It’s a gift,” Kit shrugs, “my mom says those are important for building alliances.” 

Jade’s going down for regicide some day. Today, possibly. 

Leverage . Jade has more in this instant than she’s ever had in her entire life. “If I’m keeping the bomb, you’re not renaming Pickles.”

Kit is clearly not expecting actual pushback on their malicious whims. “Pickles is my horse!” 

“Pickles already knows her name,” Jade rattles off in defense of the best meanest horse of all time, “she’s learned all her commands. She’s very smart. If you suddenly start calling her something stupid, she’s going to get confused and upset.”

Kit glares with their stormy bug eyes. “Your last name was a fluke.” 

“At least mine means something,” Jade bristles. Claymore was a great off the cuff decision for her schoolhouse signature and she’ll stand by it. “What does Tanthalos even stand for?”

“Hell if I know.” Kit tugs at their very rumpled obscenely expensive silk shirt. “I think it used to be Grandpa’s. Pretty sure Mom took it so we didn’t have to use Grandma’s.” Blood of Empire Nockmaar. It’s a wonder Queen Sorsha’s rule is as stable as this, no matter how precarious it may be. “Why’d you choose Pickles, anyway?”  

Jade doesn’t have to answer this. She owes them nothing but her continued freedom from the executioner’s block they put her on. It is, however, a fond memory she never gets to share. “Because she likes pickles. She got her whole head stuck in a pickle barrel once.”

“You almost let my horse drown in a pickle barrel?!” Kit burns with indignation despite having never once visited poor abandoned Pickles. “What kind of stablehand are you?”

“I’m the royal stablehand,” Jade snaps. “I’m the best stablehand in the entire castle. None of the other stablehands can be trusted with Her Majesty’s horses, let alone Her Highness’s personal—”

“My horse?” Kit levels a truly imperious look at her. “My personal horse? The personal one? My personal horse I should get to name whatever I want?”

“If you bother Pickles, I’m going to hide that bomb under your bed and see how you like it,” Jade threatens, forgetting once again that this is high treason and not necessary posturing with a fellow ruffian youngster. “What do you think the guards will say when they find a blasting bottle in your chambers?” 

“That you’re an assassin,” Kit answers bluntly. “Can’t see this one working out for you.”

Unlucky for them, Jade is thirteen steps ahead of both Kit and herself, “Yeah, but what’s Her Majesty going to do if she thinks someone’s trying to assassinate you?”

She watches Kit painstakingly put two and two together. That’s right. They’d never get to leave their chambers again. Certainly not without a whole retinue of guards. No more running around playing horsethief and tackling unsuspecting innocent citizens into bushes. 

“You wouldn’t,” Kit gasps, more taken aback than she’s seen them since the shit-pile. 

Picking fights she can’t win against kids bigger, stronger, or more numerous than her has made Jade great at bluffing, “Try me.”

“You’re nuts,” Kit realizes, visibly awestruck. Jade jitters between flattered, flat out terrified, and offended. “You actually want them to hang you? I don’t think we even do hangings anymore.”

They definitely do, but she supposes the crown princess never bothers to watch. Of course, it’s all slowed down a lot since Queen Sorsha concluded her campaign against magic and the various empirical cults and covens. Jade still misses the nuns. She just barely remembers their stories and arcane rituals, from before they disappeared overnight and the Proctors took over the foundling home. Now the queen favors jailing or exile beyond the barrier. As good as an execution by Bone Reaver. 

That’s most of the reason Jade hasn’t run for the hills herself. Knowing what happens beyond Mother’s Gate. 

“I’m dead anyway,” Jade declares, even though she isn’t unless she irreparably pisses the princess off the way she’s doing now, “you can’t scare me.” 

Something like respect sparks in Kit’s eyes. Definitely not actual respect — they’re patently incapable of that — but an adjacent thing. Admiration or astonishment, maybe. Like Jade is setting a heroic example. 

Which she’s definitely not. She doesn’t think she’s ever been more scared shitless in her entire life in Tir Asleen. But she hasn’t spent the last week and a half planning her own funeral to cave to some pompous entitled little jerk hopped up on hubris. She sees enough of those on tourney day when she has to spar with the other pages. 

“Bonkers,” Kit concludes correctly. “Mad as a bag of bats. Totally off your rocker.”

Jade has been pushed so far past her personal edge of sanity she can’t even see it on the horizon anymore. “Wanna bet?”

Kit locks her into a staring contest. More pity for them, Jade never blinks first. 

“Fine,” Kit surrenders furiously, wiping tears out of their eyes. “Fine! You win! Pickles can keep her awful name. Don’t — don’t blow me up while I’m sleeping!”

“I wouldn’t blow you up,” Jade insists, because she’s still a knight and has a duty to the crown, “I’d plant a bomb and tell the Pacalcade I heard someone else was trying to blow you up.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s way better and saner,” Kit sneers. Which is dumb of them because it is. In one of those scenarios they both die, and in the other one nobody does, probably. 

They both stew in sullen silence for a moment, mulling over the shock of Jade’s truly horrifying life choices. When this finally hits her later, the panic is going to be insurmountable. Currently she’s running on spite, something she’s built up a lot of since the Bone Reavers massacred her family. 

“Are you gonna remember my name this time?” Kit sulks. The weirdest part of all of this is they sound truly put out about it. The whole damn kingdom knows who they are, what’s it matter if Jade the stablehand didn’t recognize them in disguise in the dark?

“Yes,” Jade curses. She’s never going to forget their terrible face. 

She pulls a twig out of her low puff of curls and a leaf from her twist. Straightens her tunic from when it went awry getting tackled into a bush. Clicks her boot heels together. Takes a breath. 

A good knight tries to make wrongs right. “I’m sorry for twisting your wrist.”

Kit gawks at her. “What?”

This gnawed at her all night. She hasn’t slept. She’s turned the fight over in her head a thousand times . Jade has to apologize, even if they don’t remember, “Your wrist. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What’re you talking about?” Kit’s face scrunches up in confusion. Oh, come on. “You mean when you threw me into the shitpile? That was the grossest possible thing, but it wasn’t a hard landing.” Kit shudders and rubs their arms. 

“No, you deserved that.” With the threat of execution off the table, Jade’s not sorry about that part even a little. She’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Asshole,” Kit mutters, kicking a stick. “Pickles is my horse.”

“And you’d better visit her more often,” Jade snaps. This is all completely beside the point, but Pickles has been suffering in silence for two years. “She’s a good horse. She deserves to be taken out for rides. Moonlight, too.”

Jade’s not able to bring them outside the big arena for fear of thievery accusations. She can hardly even get them there, since she has to wait until the knights are done training. That’s okay for Moonlight, middle-aged and content as she is. But Kit can finally take Pickles on the long hillside gallops she craves. 

Kit chews their cheek. They’re silent for a long breath, thinking about something. Long enough for Jade to get really nervy about the bomb threats earlier. 

“Yeah,” Kit finally says. “Thanks for looking after Pickles and Moonlight.” Jade jolts in surprise. “I should’ve— taken proper care of them.” Kit scuffs their smelly boot through the dirt. “Pickles… was a gift from my dad, and I… yeah.” Kit shrugs. “Not Pickles’s fault.”

This is more than Jade thought Kit capable of and she finds herself revising her opinion of the crown princess once again. 

“Still not sorry for getting you with that knife, though,” Kit grins viciously, “that was fair and square.”

“You nearly took my eye out!”

“You threw me in a shitpile twice!”

“You can wash off horseshit! You can’t put back my eye!” 

“They make glass eyes,” Kit rolls their flesh ones, “you’d have been fine.”

“Don’t go tossing knives around if you don’t know how to throw them,” Jade warns, shaking with well-earned fury. 

“Don’t go tossing people around if you don’t know who they are!” Kit counters. “If I’d been Airk, he definitely would’ve squealed.”

There is, potentially, an important lesson here. But Jade’s not going to take it from this brat. 

Still, because Jade is the bigger person, two or three years older, and came into this conversation with the intention to apologize, she repeats, “Ballantine said you were hurt. I’m sorry for twisting your wrist.”

For a second, something besides understanding flashes behind Kit’s eyes, too quickly for Jade to parse. “Oh! My wrist. It’s fine.” They flap a hand around in front of Jade’s face, flipping it this way and that to demonstrate how fine they are. “Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt me. I only tweaked it picking up the sword.”

Somehow, Jade’s not sure she believes that. Then again, she’s done worse to herself in training and Kit’s whole display with the broadsword was remarkably awful. 

Kit grins. “You couldn’t touch me.” 

And there’s the arrogance. 

She’s said her piece. Jade doesn’t have to feel bad anymore. They can eat shit. “History begs to differ.” 

“Pfft— I mean, I’m glad you didn’t die, but it was a near thing,” Kit gloats, which is still in no way an apology for nearly blinding her. “Besides, I won, so.” 

“Bullshit!” Jade’s in free fall off the cliff she jumped from with both feet halfway through this conversation. “You barely lasted ten seconds. I basically let you throw that knife at me.” Not true . She’s still freaked about that. “You couldn’t beat me even if you trained for a million moons.” 

Kit grins even wider. A sliver of fear runs down Jade’s spine. “Actually—”

“No,” Jade says.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask!”

“The answer is no.” Jade heads for the round pen as fast as she can without running. That would be unforgivable in front of royalty. Kit has no such qualms and dashes in front of her, skidding to a stop with their arms out wide to block the path. 

“Come on!” 

“Sir Ballantine is expecting me. I’m already late.” Jade tries to dodge around them, since shoving the princess in broad daylight is an even worse idea than shouting at them in a place where anyone could hear. 

Holy stars, I did just do that, didn’t I?

Luckily for Jade’s awful judgment, it’s rare for anyone else to use the round pen at this time of day. Which is why Ballantine always meets her here. It’s the most they can squeeze in between his duties and her work at the stables. Training where the horses do is humiliating but it does keep the other pages from bothering her. 

The sun is already lower in the sky than it should be. She’s so unforgivably late today. There won’t even be time to sweep. Hells, how long has she been squabbling with the crown princess?

“Just hear me out!” Kit begs, latching onto her tunic with both fists because they don’t need to worry about accidentally committing treason by laying hands on royalty for the third time. 

“You’ve made me keep Ballantine waiting!” Jade scrabbles backwards to shake them off without using her arms. “Now I look rude! I’m going to have to run so many laps!”

Kit yanks on her only good shirt. “I’ll explain it to him, it’s fine!”

“No, you won’t!” Jade does bat their hands away. Treason is a forgone conclusion, three times won’t make it any worse. Kit lets go hissing and spitting. “Need I remind you that if anyone hears how we’re acquainted, they’ll have me quartered?!”

“I’ll tell him I wanted to take Moonlight out riding,” Kit explains, proving once again to be a scarily adept liar. “You’re the stablehand for my horses. Of course I’m gonna know who you are.”

They say this like it’s normal for them to remember the names and faces of castle staff. Which, based on their reputation among the kitchen maids, it is not. 

Or maybe it is. Kit could have them all memorized and simply be choosing to use annoying nicknames. That did seem consistent with the rest of their behavior. 

Prince Airk has an equal and opposite reputation for getting to know the castle staff a little too personally, something Jade can only assume will grow as he gets older. She hasn’t personally seen him since he rehomed Julipee, a sudden hit to her ego for which she still has no explanation. 

Jade refuses to develop any such dubious association with Princess Kit. But she’s also absurdly late and her legs hurt from her most recent growth spurt and not enough sleep. “What do you want?”

Kit starts out strong with, “I need you to keep this a secret, but I’m going on an adventure and—”

“No.” Jade listens to her instincts for the first time all afternoon and walks away. 

Kit dogs her steps, hands windmilling. “You didn’t even let me finish!”

“Your last ‘secret adventure’ almost killed me!” At this rate, it still might.  

“I’ll pay you!” They dart in front of her again. She’s got a significant stride on them, but they’re speedy and undignified enough to sprint. “I’ll give you, like, my whole life’s savings!”

“Another thirty-three shit-covered gold pieces? You can have those back.” Jade sidesteps. “Really. Please take them.” If Jade tries to buy anything with a gold piece, she’ll be arrested. 

“I–! I order you to hear me out!” Kit throws a hand into her shoulder to stop her in her tracks. 

A royal order. Screw this. 

Jade stiffens. She leans down to eye-level. “Is that so?”

Princess Kit quivers. They look like they’re the one on the receiving end of a deadly royal edict. “U-um—”

“Go on, then.” Jade crosses her arms. If they’re going to be this way, that’s fine. She doesn’t have to talk to them ever except to hand over the horses. “I’m listening.”

Princess Kit’s eyes bounce all around her face and land on nothing but their boots. “I—” 

They’re wasting her time, but you can’t say no to royalty even when they’re tongue-tied by their own power. Princess Kit might want to playfight like they’re on equal terms, but clearly Her Royal Highness doesn't actually believe it. 

“I’m sorry,” Princess Kit mumbles like someone is pulling their teeth out. It’s as painful to hear as it is for them to say. “I was aiming for the post, I really didn’t mean to throw that knife so close to your head.”

That is… not at all what Jade expected. And somehow more believable than the alternative. Wow, their aim is really shit. 

Kit steps out of her way. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just, don’t leave.”

“Is that an order too?” Jade trembles under the force of her own rage. 

“No.” Kit still won’t look at her. Ironic, since it’s the royal family whose eyes are too lofty for any lowborn to meet. “I’m sorry about that, too. I don’t—” Kit further scuffs up their very high quality stained and stinky boot, “—you don’t have to help me if you don’t want to.”

Jade’s listening. She’s just not sure if it’s true. 

They look up at her from between their bangs. “I mean it. I won’t snitch, no matter what you do. And I’m not gonna — you’re not—” Kit blows air out hard in frustration, “—I know I’m the princess or whatever. But I liked it when you wouldn’t listen to me because you thought I was just some horsethief. Felt like, I don’t know. A person.”

Yeah. Jade liked that better too. 

Kit turns to walk away. “I’ll let Ballantine know why you’re late. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Jade begs the heavens for mercy. “Can’t you go ask your friends?”

Kit pauses with their back turned. They appear once again very young. “I… they’re busy.”

So they have no friends. No wonder why. But… they’re not so awful that literally no one their age should want to speak to them. Jade’s seen the other pages — nobles put up with a lot from each other when they think there’s something to be gained. 

Perhaps that’s the problem. Everyone wants something from Princess Kit and Princess Kit is interested in nothing they have to give. Except apparently Princess Kit now wants something from Jade Claymore the stablehand turned almost page. 

She remembers the blonde kitchen maid, and considers that maybe the princess’s reputation is perhaps — partially, possibly, minimally — exaggerated. 

“If you try to boss me around again, I’m gone,” Jade swears. 

Kit whips around, nodding so emphatically they nearly fall. “I won’t! Promise!”

Jade isn’t sure what to make of them. On the one hand, clearly no one except Queen Sorsha has told this kid no in their entire life, and only the queen herself can grant the authority to do so. Jade certainly has zero interest in being the one to teach the crown princess how to be a half-way tolerable person. On the other hand, Kit promised not to tell anyone about what happened in the stables and apparently they actually haven’t. 

They’re a lonely kid. Jade was also a lonely kid, once. Now she has her pagehood and her posting to fill her days, but the private royal stables are along the west wall, separate from the rest of the castle and the staff quarters. She mostly doesn’t see many people. Then again, she doesn’t want to. 

How long since she last spoke to Timmie?

Timmie would tear her a new one for even considering this. He’d be right to. 

Don’t. Don’t do it. 

“What do you want?” she asks Kit, mentally kicking herself into a bloody pulp

Kit’s back straightens. They smile wider than any mouth should go, baring all their gaps and teeth. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”

“Absolutely not.” Nope, nevermind. Jade’s done her duty and her charity for the year. She’s not involving herself in this disaster. 

“I’ll pay you whatever you want!”

“No.” If she can just get over this hill, the round pen will be in sight—

“I’m going to run away again!” Kit bursts out. Spare me. Jade stops just short of the hilltop, Kit trailing below. “I have to save my dad. But you’re right. I need to know how to use a sword first.”

In the world of worst case scenarios short of execution, this one is pretty high up there. 

Jade rubs her calloused hands over her face. Duty. Hers is to the crown. Jade is now possibly the only person in the kingdom who knows that the heir apparent is planning to make a run for Mother’s Gate. 

If she leaves the princess to die by Bone Reaver on some half-baked rescue mission, that’s definitely high treason. So her obvious responsibility is to stop them. But if Jade tells anyone, she’ll have to explain how she knows. Which is also because of high treason.

The bomb threat plan is starting to look a lot more appealing. On the other hand, even higher treason. 

“I’ll do anything you want,” Kit pleads.

Jade realizes far, far too late that there was probably a point in here where she could’ve explained all this in front of Queen Sorsha’s court and come off in a neutral, even noble light. That was definitely before Jade threatened to plant a bomb under the crown princess’s bed. A bomb she, Jade, is in illegal possession of under her own bed. Which Kit also knows about because Jade is dumb. 

‘I won’t snitch,’ is going to fly into the ether as soon as Jade rats. The physical evidence is reeking on Kit’s feet as they speak. Even if the princess isn’t the most reliable source, the Pacalcade will absolutely look into it. And then they’ll find thirty-three gold pieces, a bomb, two fancy knives, and a set of coveted throwing stars in Jade’s stable. None of which can be sufficiently justified over a week later. 

Hiding them elsewhere isn’t enough since an inventory would still show them missing. Jade could try to return all of those things before she rats Kit out to the guards. Play ignorant when Kit flips. Except even if Queen Sorsha’s feeling merciful, Sovereign Kit could have Jade hanged as soon as they inherit.

Logically, training the princess is the best way to keep them inside the castle walls while also keeping her own head. All Jade has to do is stall Kit until they give up. And slip the bomb back to the Pacalcade without getting caught. Easy. 

Whose grave did I piss on to deserve this?

Honestly, between the two of them, Jade’s starting to wonder who’s the real idiot. 

“Why don’t you ask Her Majesty for sword training?” she tries. 

Kit sees through this instantly. “No, it has to be a secret. If Mom finds out, she’ll lock me in my room forever.” 

Is that where they were all week…? Jade throttles that line of thinking. Kit’s mother is the queen. There is no good answer to that question. “She’s going to find out.”

“Not if you don’t tell her. I’m great at keeping secrets,” Kit brags. “Mom says I’m the best liar in the family since Bavmorda.” 

I bet. Probably why they’ll make a decent politician.

“Why don’t you bring Prince Airk with you?” They described him as a snitch, right? “You can practice together.”

“Why the hell would I bring Airk?” Kit sneers. “He’s the one who ran to Mom when I got back from your shit piles.”

Goddammit . 

“Backup is important,” Jade attempts. A good knight makes it home when he doesn’t go alone. “You should take someone you trust with you. Like one of the knights.”

“One of the knights?” Jade’s definitely pushing it now, Kit looks actively suspicious in addition to exasperated. “One of my mom’s knights?”

“They have loads of swords! They could teach you better than I can!” 

“I already have lessons with Jørgen,” Kit retorts. “He’s boring as shit. He’s too afraid of hitting me or Airk to actually teach us anything cool. I need you to show me how to really fight.”

Of course they do. Jade is the unluckiest bastard in the realm.  

She tries one last tactic, “Sir Jørgen Kase is Commander of the Pacalcade. You know I’m still in training, right? I barely know anything compared to him.” 

“Yeah, duh,” Kit says, like Jade’s the foolish one here. It’s true. “That’s why you’re perfect. You can show me everything Ballantine teaches you.”

What’s most infuriating is that it’s kind of genius, in the most bullheadedly stupid way possible. Jade will quickly come to realize that this is par for the course with Kit.

She once again considers running for the Wildwood and never looking back. But as bad as this is, eaten by Bone Reavers would be worse. Galladoorn and Cashmere are allied with Tir Asleen and would turn her in. Jade is, unfortunately, easy to spot in a crowd. 

“You have to do everything I say,” Jade surrenders her sanity for the foreseeable future. She’s just going to have to work really hard to break them first. “No whinging. No trying to order me around when I say no. If I think you aren’t taking this seriously, I’ll tell Ballantine everything. And I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Okay!” Kit’s buzzing so hard they practically lift off the ground. 

“Swear to me. Swear on your…” Jade wracks her brain. “Swear on your father’s sword.”

Kit looks as solemn as someone covered in twigs and shaking with excitement can. “I swear on Madmartigan’s blade, I won’t tell a soul. And l won’t boss you around, and I already said I’ll do anything you want or whatever.” They quickly add, “So long as it isn’t stupid.” 

Close enough.

“Alright,” Jade says. “Meet me in the stables at dawn.” 

Hopefully this time they’ll get caught.  

/-:-:-:-:-/

Chapter Text

Kit does not get caught, but Jade does nearly kill them with a throwing star. 

Two bells — one to alert her to visitors and a larger one to raise alarm — plus a sturdy padlock on the door and the gatehouse guards within spitting distance do not keep Kit out of the stables. They slip the latch and climb in through her bedroom window. 

“Have you been practicing?” Kit asks, peering at the throwing star embedded in the window frame just above their head. “That was close.”

Jade stays bolt upright in her bed, chest heaving, arm outstretched, and revises her odds of execution to completely unavoidable. She’s just playing for time at this point. 

Kit plucks the throwing star out of the thick wood, unperturbed. They have to work at it, the bladed edges are in deep. “You’re pretty good with these. You should keep at it.”

Kit tosses the throwing star flat side first on the foot of Jade’s bed and flops onto her rickety stool with the short leg. They wobble back and forth, waiting for her to catch up. 

“You’re early,” hisses out of Jade while the panic strangles every other single thing she should say. 

Kit squints out the window. “You said dawn. It’s basically dawn.”

“I meant dawn,” Jade grapples with herself and loses. She’s too sleep-deprived for this. She may never sleep again. “It’s not dawn yet. Get out.”

Kit scoffs like they’re the one whose bedroom just got broken into, but they stand, dragging the stool out to the stalls with them. “Fine! I’ll go talk to Pickles!”

“Meet me outside next time!” Jade shouts after them.

Kit slams her own bedroom door on her. The message is clear — they will not be meeting her outside next time or any other time. 

Jade flops down on her bed and screams into her pillow. She was really hoping to get a full eight hours today. Sleeping in while Kit got hauled back to castle keep by the new patrol routes circling the stables would’ve been a great idea if it had worked. 

/-:-:-/  

She starts them off with pushups. “I can’t show you how to use a sword if you can’t even lift one.” 

“I can hold a sword!” Kit pants, arms trembling from push-up number five.

Jade looks across the stable floor at them from where she’s on push-up number twenty-two. She hasn’t even broken a sweat. “If you know how to carry a sword, then why were you trying to use one twice your size?”

“B-because that’s what the knights all have.” Kit’s elbows buckle wildly. Their form is finally acceptable after several firm examples and a longer lecture. 

Jade switches to one-handed push-ups. She’s supposed to open the stables in an hour or two when the morning bells go off, but until then they can take advantage of the brand new padlock keeping out any prying eyes. “Are you a knight?”

“I’m g-gonna be a better one than you.” Kit shakes their way through push-up number nine and collapses nose-first into the dirt. 

Jade swaps arms and does another set one-handed while Kit glares daggers at her. “Lesson one: Choose weapons that work for you, not what looks cool. The knights are grown-ups. You’re a half-pint. Stick to a short sword.”

/-:-:-/  

Next comes laps. 

“Endurance is a key part of any training regiment,” Jade lectures, jogging backwards in front of Kit as they stagger along the big arena, a place no one goes at this hour. The stables are unfortunately too small for anything but suicide sprints and everywhere else proximal to prying eyes. If someone spots them here, Jade can probably justify being seen. Assuming no one recognizes the princess. “A good knight’s heart can outrace any cart.”

“Did you just flipping rhyme at me?” Kit gasps for air. They’re still wearing the smelly boots. Probably a good choice for this. 

The rest of their ‘disguise’ is simply their plain shoulder-cape hood, the purple vest of royal staff for when they’re on castle grounds, and the thick layer of rumpled mess they sport every time she sees them. They each left the stables separately to meet here. Most of town’s still asleep but the gatehouse is on high alert since the shit incident. Jade has no idea how Kit got past the walls unseen. Probably the same way they’re slithering out of castle keep. 

“The point is,” Jade continues, louder, “whoever tires first in a fight dies. End it quickly, but if you can’t, make sure you can outlast your enemies.” 

“I’ll outlast you,” Kit threatens. 

Kit doesn’t even make it through the first lap. It’s an extremely short loop, compared to the outer walls the other pages run. Jade assigns them both another five every morning that week. 

/-:-:-/  

Then Jade makes Kit muck the stables, just because she can. 

Kit shovels shit like a champ. “We haven’t even sparred yet!” 

“We’ll spar when I say you’re ready to spar.” Jade stretches her aching legs out, lounging on her stool. Watching the Princess of Tir Asleen clean out a horse stall is deeply cathartic. Worth turning everyone out to pasture early. “Be extra-careful with Ravager’s, she’s got a fragile stomach.” 

Kit throws the pitchfork down in the hay. “You’re just making me do your chores!”

Incredibly, it took Kit a whole three days to figure that out. Jade’s barely had to do any of her morning duties, what with Kit getting them all done before the sun is properly up. Fetching well-water, forking hay from the loft, pouring extra feed into the troughs, taking the horses to the paddock, mucking the stalls, refreshing the beds, hauling the wheelbarrow out to the manure barrels. It’s all technically strength training. 

“A good knight doesn’t shirk the importance of hard work,” Jade recites, reclining the wobbly stool against the wall. 

“Take your own advice!” Kit storms out of the stables into the early morning. Through her window, of course, they never use the front door. 

Jade crosses her fingers behind her back and prays. Please give up, please give up—

Kit turns around and stomps right back in through her bedroom door, dragging two wooden practice blades. They toss one at Jade’s feet. “I want to use swords.” 

Where the hell did they get these? “Are you stashing shit by my stables?!”

Kit glares at her shiftily, wooden sword in hand. “No.”

Jade is off her stool and looming over them in an instant. “You’d better be hiding it well.”

Kit waves their sword at her. “I brought them today! I’ll take them back! Show me how to use a sword!”

They’re definitely stashing shit. Jade is going to lose her hands for this.  

“You want to hold a sword? Fine. I’ll show you how to hold a sword.”

/-:-:-/  

Kit’s arm shakes violently, the tip of the blunt steel blade in front of them wobbling like it’s caught in a windstorm. They're stuck inside the stables with only the hayloft hatch open and it’s been a hot summer. Jade wishes a strong breeze could get through. 

It’s barely morning and Sanctiminious is already working up a lather. The smell’s so bad Jade’s nose gummed up an hour ago. The sort of season she longs for the impossible luxury of wearing her hair up off her neck. 

“H-how much longer?” Kit grinds out through gritted teeth, whole body quaking. 

Jade doesn’t even glance away from the romantic farce the blonde kitchen maid lent her. Jade thinks the girl’s name is Brunella. Probably. No one else seems to know either. “Another minute and a half.”

“You’re not even counting! My arm’s going to fall off!”

Jade flips the page. It’s lacking swordfights but the drama’s finally getting good. Will Lenora ever realize her true love has been beside her all along? Jade can’t believe anyone would ever fall in love with someone so dense. That’s fantasy for you. 

“What, no more nursery rhymes?” 

Jade checks the princess’s form where they’re struggling to hold a sword out in front of them at full extension. They’re sweating buckets, hair plastered to their head and shirt soaked through even with the ties loose. Jade can’t let them collapse from heatsick but she can work them close in the name of secrecy.  

She also deliberately requested a blade from the training grounds that’s above their weight class. It’s honestly impressive they’ve lasted this long. “I feel like this one is self-explanatory.”

Kit screams in frustration. 

“Thirty seconds,” Jade says. 

/-:-:-/  

The next morning, Kit brings her an hourglass. They at least have the sense not to give Jade something gold-plated, but it’s still way nicer than anything she can afford. 

Can afford without the gold pieces. The vile gold pieces Kit refuses to take back.  

Kit drops the hourglass in the feeding trough she’s topping off after crawling in her window and tromping through her empty bedroom. Kit won’t do the chores alone anymore, but they’re willing to stick around and haphazardly help — the faster it all gets done, the more training time they can eak out of her. She won’t leave the horses alone in their stalls without fresh feed while they’re out running round the arena. 

Jade stares at the bronze glinting in the hay. A few oats trickle out of her feedsack onto the smooth glass. “What the hell is this?”

“An hourglass.” Kit fishes it out and demonstrates flipping it over so the fine grains inside trickle from one bell to the other. “Because you can’t count. When the sand hits a mark like this, that’s a minute.” 

Jade knows what an hourglass is, but she’s never seen one this nice before. The way the sand shifts is fascinating. “I can count.”

“Not higher than your fingers.” Kit takes feedsack from her, stumbling under the weight less than they used to, and shoves the hourglass into her idle hands. 

Jade flips it over. The glass is cool against her palms. There are etchings on the side for an hour, five minutes, and thirty. The bronze caps on either end are stamped with an image of a knight on a horse. She traces the engraving with the pad of her thumb. 

“I left the schoolhouse with full marks,” she says absently. “Top of my class.”

“Of course you did,” Kit grumbles. They give a little extra to Pickles as they pass, spilling feed on the floor. Pickles tries to sheer their nose off with her teeth.

“Hey!” Jade and Kit clap their hands at Pickles simultaneously. Pickles retreats, sulking. 

Pickles hates Kit. When they tried to take her out of the stall, she tried to take their life. No free flowing river of sugar cubes has made a dent in her ire. Jade’s not sure if it’s a grudge from leaving her riderless so long, or something about Kit’s ineffable ability to irritate anything with a pulse. Either way, Jade’s found there’s a certain pride to being the only person Pickles likes. 

Moonlight and Nimbus also get larger portions. Jade can tell Kit’s favorites by their growing girth. 

“Do you even go to school?” Jade asks, not without cause. Kit claims to be unendingly busy with the most punishing schedule known to the realms, but they’ve been pushing later and haranguing her for even more training as the weeks grind on. Rumor places them at all spots around the castle during odd hours, never at their desk, walking through walls like a poltergeist. 

As someone with an actual packed schedule, Jade’s suffering the stress of their leisure. Her already limited free time is bleeding dry faster than this hourglass. Between Kit and chores in the mornings, Ballantine in the afternoons, and grooming and mending at night, Jade’s working harder than she has since that first year as a page when she had to split time between knight training, the stables, and the schoolhouse.  

It will end soon. It has to. Kit can’t keep this up forever. 

“I have tutors ,” Kit spits it like it’s a dirtier word than the obscenities they spew constantly. “Multiple. Ran the last one off, so Mom saddled us with three more.”

Jade leans against calm Yonder’s stall, turning the hourglass on its side so the sand levels out. “What’s that like?”

“Boringer than shoveling horse shit.” Kit drops the feedsack back in its corner, task adequately complete. “No one cares if Airk shows up, but if I skip, I have to sit through extra lessons, and—” Kit kicks the feedsack, “—dumb etiquette stuff.” 

Jade fears for the future of this country. 

Kit grabs the buckets and heads for the well in the castle courtyard. Jade doesn’t know why no one has questioned the crown princess hauling water back and forth from her stables, but she’ll take the blessing for what it is. Maybe Kit really is that stealthy. 

Or perhaps people simply don’t recognize the princess, out of their finery, rat’s nest hair tied up, vest and hood on, boots stinking of horseshit, dirt-smudged and scowling. They really could be a stablehand, if you aren’t close enough to see the stains are on silk. 

Honestly, it’s giving Jade anxiety about the state of castle security. Someone really should’ve noticed the heir’s been missing every morning of the last two and some weeks. Isn’t that what the Pacalcade is for? 

When the morning bell rings today and Kit trudges back to the keep to wash up before lessons — ‘Worse than your endless laps,’ — they leave the hourglass behind. 

“Hey,” Jade taps them on the shoulder before they can scoot out the window, “you forgot this.”

She very carefully offers the hourglass to them. She cannot be responsible for breaking something this expensive. 

Kit frowns at her, confused. “It’s yours?”

What? Oh — no. No way. It’s the damn bomb all over again. Jade still hasn’t figured a way to get that out of her possession. 

She transferred it from under her bed during the padlocked wee hours to a deep hole beneath a stack of abandoned tack bound for repairs, in hopes it’ll be less perilous if it goes off. But she’s made no progress on finding an inconspicuous way to bring a bag into the Pacalcade’s armory, even if she’s planning to come with it full and leave with it empty. 

Jade presses the hourglass firmly into Kit’s tiny soft princess hands. They’re getting rougher, first blisters popping and leaving tougher skin behind. “I can’t accept this.” 

“Take it,” they demand, shoving it back into her face. “This is for me, not you.” 

Jade dodges backwards. “It’s too much! They’ll say I stole it.”

“Then hide it!” Kit launches themself at her, heedless of the fragile glass. They’re always a slippery grappler, but now Jade has to be extra careful not to break them or the fine timepiece. 

Kit ends up wrestling her into submission — not by actually winning, but by sliding the hourglass into Jade’s pocket while she’s distracted. It falls out that night when she’s getting ready for bed. 

Jade sits on the woven mattress, watching the seconds drip by. 

No one’s ever given her something this nice. But it isn’t a gift, really. More like payment.

The bag of gold buried under Pickles’s stall weighs heavy in her gut. 

/-:-:-/  

Jade tries a few times to tip off Ballantine that the princess might be creeping in and out of the castle at odd hours, but there’s no good way to explain how she knows and he won’t take a castle rumor seriously. 

“A good knight doesn’t sop up gossip, he stops it,” he scolds her, twisting her sword out of her hands as he teaches her a new feint. 

A rare double rhyme! He must really mean it. 

“Sorry.” Jade collects her sword, hiding her shame in the shadows. “I just thought—”

“I know you fret about her,” Ballantine says kindly. “But the princess is safe. The Pacalcade keeps a close eye on her. Don’t worry, she won’t go sneaking into your stables.”

So that’s the end of that dream. 

Jade is beginning to think the Pacalcade might actually not be great at its job. If they aren’t protecting the princess, who is? 

/-:-:-/  

“Why can’t we use swords?” Kit complains, swinging their wooden pole through their first ever set of proper forms. They add a silly flourish at the end of the motion. It’s quite the feat with spear fighting. 

“Because you can’t stab a man dead if you can’t reach his heart.” Jade knocks the staff out of their hand with one stroke. “No fanciness.” 

“Fanciness?” Kit retrieves their staff from the stable floors and deliberately twirls it around one hand like a court jester. They’re maddeningly good at that and it’s completely useless. “You’re just jealous you can’t—”

Jade flicks it out of their hands again. “Ten more laps.” 

“Come on!” Kit scrabbles in the dirt for their staff, which they wouldn’t have to do if they’d just hold it like they’re supposed to. Pickles delights at their loss. “Dad taught me that!”

Just because the King Consort did it doesn’t mean Kit can. “Ten laps. You’ve got to learn it the right way first.”

Kit growls but executes the form mostly correctly, only adding a little twirl this time. Jade disarms them once more. 

She can do this all day, really. The sound of the staff clattering to the dirt is really satisfying. 

Kit grumbles their way into a set of standard forms. “When are you going to show me how to do that?” 

Hopefully never. “Gonna make it twelve laps tomorrow if you keep whining.”

Kit doesn’t stop whining. They get fifteen. 

/-:-:-/  

Jade is wandering back from training with Ballantine, muscles aching and ego smarting, when she spots Kit darting down the path away from the paddock. 

Today’s trials with Kit ran longer than usual, and Ballantine had to shift up their sparring session to accommodate his new patrol assignment, so she turned out the horses late. Moonlight is still hanging around the fenceline. Jade doesn’t think much of it at the time. 

But a few evenings later, when she’s returning from the pasture with Pickles after the other horses are safely in their stalls, she catches Kit again. Fleeing out the front doors right as she arrives.

The stable isn’t locked during empty afternoons — the gate has guards a shout away, her bedroom has a door, and there’s nothing of value in the building that isn’t buried or able to defend itself — but there’s no reason for anyone but the royal couriers to be there, either. 

What the hell?

Kit’s gone before Jade can shout to them.  She thoroughly checks her room for signs of disruption. Throwing stars, hourglass, bomb, clothes, stool all there. Gold pieces damnedly untouched. No obvious new things Jade didn’t buy, doesn’t want, and didn’t ask for. No pins in her bed, needles in her clothes, shit on her pillow, or glue on her chairs. Her soap still smells like tallow and the water bucket tastes fine. 

She catches Kit at it again on evenings when Jade’s busy and the horses are in. Kit doesn’t offer and Jade doesn’t ask. And if Jade notices that Moonlight’s dappled grey coat is so thoroughly rubbed down she’s shining and Pickles is getting rotund, well, Jade just adjusts their portions to match. 

/-:-:-/  

Kit actually is good with a sword. It’s probably the most aggravating revelation of this whole thing. They also twirl it around like a flagstaff. Bad habits they learned from the king consort himself. 

“Jørgen says it’s a legitimate fighting style!” Kit does a loop-di-loop instead of a block at the end of an otherwise perfect series of forms. They must’ve been using a toothpick before, but at least they know how to hold it. 

“Commander Kase may want you dead,” Jade concludes, barely even interrupting her own mirrored progression to disarm them. She’s long since taken her favorite wooden staff home from training and begged permanent lease of the metal practice sword off Ballantine on grounds of stable defense, refusing to rely on Kit’s growing dubiously hidden armory. 

Kit scoops up their oversized sword and breaks the pattern to feint at her, trying to draw her into the real sparring match she’s been dodging for the better part of two months. “Then teach me how to defend my life!” 

Jade sidesteps and trips them into the dirt. Their steel blade is blunt, they’ll get smudges instead of bruises. If she truly bashes them in the ring, she’ll be responsible for hurting the crown princess. She taps the back of their neck with her staff butt instead. “Lesson—”

“Two hundred and thirty seven,” Kit gripes into the scrape in the floor of the stables that’s always starting to look a little like them. Pickles snorts, always happy to see Kit eat shit. 

“—twelve,” Jade decides at random, “fancy flourishes are not for skirmishes. If you treat war like a tourney, it’ll be your corpse on the gurney.”

“Your rhymes are getting better,” Kit observes with begrudging respect. They’re all sullen insult when they trudge to their feet. But when they repeat the partnered forms, Kit completes the dance with half the showy additions. 

There’s a hitch of pride to Jade’s heart at the end of it. It tastes like anticipation. 

/-:-:-/  

Rocks keep worming their way into Jade’s boots running laps round the arena. She’s pretty sure there’s a hole in them somewhere, she just can’t find it. There’s not a ton of point to fixing it — her toes are already pinching badly anyway and her heels are rubbing blisters — but these are her only boots. 

She dumps another pebble to the ground while Kit hunches over beside her, hands on their knees, breathing hard. She’s wiggling it back on when Kit straightens like they’ve been lightning-struck, “Wait! Shit! I almost forgot!”

Jade pauses with her boot halfway hanging off her foot. “You actually finished your laps today.” A whole twenty-five of them. New record. They’re in spitting distance of Jade’s personal daily average. “I didn’t add any extra.”

“I know that.” Kit hustles over to the waterskins they’ve been required to bring ever since Jade caught them vomiting after runs. Kit, being Kit, shows up on run days dragging a whole brimming bag of heavy waterskins with enough to supply Kit, Jade, and a horse. 

They come back with four waterskins in hand — way too many — and throw three at her face as hard as they can. Jade catches these with reflexes born of weeks of this shit. 

One’s a waterskin, but the other two aren’t. 

“What the hell?” she asks Kit, holding the offending objects up. “You asking me to put your boots on for you, Your Highness?”

Kit rolls their eyes and crosses their arms, leaning against the paddock fence. “They’re your boots.” What? “Your feet stink. I’m sick of it.”

Jade gapes at them. “You — yours smell worse!” 

Kit’s finally been allowed to replace their rank walk of shame shoes — out of their own allowance, which she will never stop hearing about even though they won’t take the difference from her horrible hoard in Pickle’s stall. Kit still insists on wearing the reeking things whenever they’re over since, ‘they’re going to get covered in horseshit anyway.’

“You make the horses smell like roses.” Kit sniffs and wrinkles their nose. “I can’t be expected to keep putting up with it.”

“Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Jade chucks her pebble-filled holey boot at them. Kit dodges just before it can kick them in the chin. “Some of us don’t have private baths!”

“You’ve got a bucket! Use it!” 

Jade’s so distracted defending her dignity she doesn’t even realize she’s got the new boots on until Kit’s scurried off for lessons and she’s storming back to the stables alone. The boots are soft and roomy, not so big they’ll blister in thick socks, but with enough space to grow into. 

She’s been kicking rocks on her way home in a blind rage. The toe tips are already scuffed and dusty. Dammit. She’s never done this to new boots. Her steps always turn ginger and careful around puddles until the wear inevitably sets in. And these are nice boots, too. By far the nicest boots Jade has ever owned. 

On the other hand, the stains obscure their newness. No one going about their morning orders has questioned Jade’s extremely expensive boots, not even Jade. 

She stops in her tracks. She can’t keep these. It’s not right. She’ll polish them up and return them to Kit tomorrow. 

She sits on a low garden wall and slides the new boots off her feet, planning to use the old ones to avoid scuffing them further. But now she’s looking at only three boots. Her old left boot is missing. 

Ah, right. She threw that one at Kit’s head. Assault against the crown is so blasé to her now that she barely notices when it happens. 

She hurries back to the big arena barefoot, since hopping around with one boot on is more conspicuous than holding three. Thankfully only Squire Lachlan is there, practicing runs on his stallion. She waves a greeting and ignores his curiosity as she scours the whole fence line. 

“What’re you looking for?” he calls, wandering over to help when she starts lap two. 

Squire Lachlan has always been friendly to Jade even if he’s dubious on her page status. Happy to help a stablehand as soon as a highborn. They search the whole fenceline and everywhere inside it twice. No signs of her boot anywhere, not even in the manure piles. 

Damn it. 

“I need my boot back,” she growls at Kit the next dawn, sitting fully clothed on her bed when they come crawling in. Her feet are dirty and she’s got a scrape on her heel from walking around barefoot. 

“Why?” Kit reels by the window, bewildered. “Do the new ones not fit?”

They fit perfectly, that’s the problem. “I can’t keep them. I didn’t—” Earn isn’t the right word. She’s been working her ass off to get Kit to quit and it’s not her fault they’re too boneheaded, “—they’re not mine .”

“Yes, they are.” Kit sets up on what has quickly become the throne stool, meant for issuing edicts and lounging about while others suffer. Jade has rights over it half the time. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t know what the town cobblers thought they were doing either. These are way too big for me and Airk only wears heels because he’s short. Mom told me to return them, but the cobblers wouldn’t take them.”

Kit, who is also tiny and shows no signs of growing soon, speaks of Airk’s woes with all the derision of someone who’s never going to be tall and hasn’t realized it yet. 

Knowing these boots are a pawning off of a mistaken order and not a gift does help, though. Maybe. A little. 

“I want my old boot back,” Jade repeats. She might be sulking. Whatever. It’s her boot that’s missing. 

“Well, I don’t have it,” Kit tells her bluntly. “So if you can’t find it, I guess it’s gone.”

Kit rocks idly on the stool. Jade searches them head to toe for the lie. They don’t look appropriately sympathetic, but they’re also not suspiciously unsurprised. 

“I don’t have your smelly old boot,” Kit insists with growing exasperation. “What would I want with that thing? It reeks.”

They’re not lying. Someone must’ve come by and walked off with her shitty old left boot. She’s never getting that boot back. 

Jade stares at her bare feet. This is going to suck. 

“You have boots,” Kit reminds her. “You are not bootless. You have a whole brand new pair of boots that don’t stink or have holes in them.”

The new boots clamor at her from where they’re neatly lined up by her bedroom door. They’re very nice boots. Freshly oiled, although much to her earlier panic the tack leather and fancy boots are made of different stuff, so they look weathered instead of fresh from the cobbler. Believably boots she could own. 

“They’re not my boots.” She’s aware she sounds like Kit, she just doesn’t care. 

Kit rocks harder, truly irritated now. They’ve lasted shockingly long on their short fuse. “Well, geeze, Jade. You have enough coin to buy any boots you want, if you hate these so much.” 

Jade’s neck heats up. “That’s your gold, not my gold.”

“It was a bribe and you took it.” Her stool is digging scrapes in her floorboards. “I was buying your silence. Which you’ve kept . So I’d say you’ve earned that gold, partner.”

Jade doesn’t want to have her coffers stuffed with hush money from being treasonous accomplice to the crown princess’s suicidal escape scheme. Alas, she cannot choose her lot in life. Or, she could’ve, but that was before she tossed Kit in a shit pile. 

One of these days they’re going to finally give up on their quest to ruin her life, vanish from it entirely leaving all of their illicit things behind, and then she’ll have to figure out how to buy a lockbox. 

“Where are you keeping your coin, anyway?” Kit makes a show of surveying her sparse room from their seat. 

“Buried it,” Jade mutters, trapped in a staring contest with the new boots. 

The stool thumps hard. “Why?” 

“I can’t use it.” Jade tries to set the new boots on fire with her eyes. The new boots don’t flinch. “It’s gold. I’m a foundling. They’ll cut my hands off for thieving.”

“Okay, first, they don’t do that anymore, I asked.” The stool knocks back and forth quickly. “ Second, if you give me your coin and your shopping list, I will buy you a lockbox.”

Can Jade come up with a thirty-three gold shopping list? She doesn’t even know what it’s possible to buy with that much money. A castle? A fiefdom in the foothills far away from here?

If she does this, there will be no turning back. Not only will she have aided, abetted, and assaulted the crown princess, she will have used those ill-gotten gains for her own benefit. That’s a hanging offense for sure. 

On the other hand, it is a pretty elegant solution to some of her other pressing problems. Like her pants fitting too short and snug despite being huge and loose when she got them. Or her shirts starting to wear thin and pull on her shoulders. 

Kit shows no signs of giving up despite best efforts. When they run Jade will be honor bound to rat on them. If she’s going to the chopping block anyway, she might as well do it without a hole in her shirt.  

“I’m giving you a list and you have to follow it,” Jade orders, scrounging around for the note she kept after some feckless noble sent her a paper missive asking if she could stable their horse for the night. Which is impossible, because this is Queen Sorsha’s private stable and the two visitor stalls are invitation only. “I mean it! Exactly as I say.”

/-:-:-/  

Moonlight grows lazy and fat despite Jade’s best efforts. Kit’s been taking the friendly horse out on long wanderings every few days when they’re avoiding whatever they’re supposed to be doing, but it’s not making a dent in the treat pile. 

They’ll ask Jade to saddle Moonlight for the tie-stall before they leave for lessons and collect her while Jade is out training with Ballantine. Bring her back when Jade is at the pasture, a ghost magicking Moonlight in and out of her stables.   

They haven’t tried to do the same with Pickles yet. Jade lives in fear of the day. 

Pickles needs rides at least thrice a week, or she escalates from sassing to serially attacking Jade and the other horses. Two empty visitor stalls pinning her to the far wall be damned, Pickles will figure out a way to draw blood. It’s as good an excuse as any for Jade to do her favorite thing in the world besides sword fighting. Minding horses is a chore, but riding Pickles is an honor. 

Jade sneaks it in at odd hours when the knights and other pages are busy with Pacalcade duties. She always checks the big arena first to see if anyone’s running drills. Squire Lachlan is sometimes there, pulling extra practice in preparation for his trials, but that’s fine. He never bothers her like the others. 

Kit starts turning up at the fence to watch. 

The first time, Jade isn’t sure it’s them. The coincidence of them guessing when she’ll be riding despite Jade not always knowing is too much of a stretch. There’s just a dark speck on the fence line, getting ever more thunderously broody as Jade and Pickles fly closer.

Proximity gives them away. Princess Kit has weaseled out of lessons and their ineffable royal duties to stalk her here, the one place Jade is free to do as she likes with no prying eyes or expectations. 

She nearly stops to shout at them about it, but Kit is off the fence and making for the castle before she can open her mouth. She scours the arena for them next ride, only to find herself alone. But the two after that, Kit is there again, silently staring, scowling, studying her every move. 

Jade hates it. Kit’s attention makes her want to crawl out of her skin, the further invasion of her personal time — her Pickles time — is unforgivable. Their finding her with her pattern so random would seem to require demonology. It’s so distracting she almost can’t enjoy the feeling of riding a thunderstorm harnessed in the form of a horse. 

But she can’t exactly boot the royal princess from watching their own horse. The horse Jade has been keeping fresh for the princess, even if Jade perhaps enjoys doing so a little too much. The horse Jade told the princess they had to try to ride. A mistake, in retrospect — her first impression of random horsethief Kit was correct — if the princess gets in this saddle, Pickles will break their neck. 

So Jade rides loops in the middle as far away from the fences as she can get for as long as she can stand. Pickles grates at it even more than Jade. The charger rightly identifies their watcher as the source of Jade’s tension and resolves to drive them away with impunity.

One fateful day, Pickles’s patience snaps at the same time Jade’s attention wanes. The horse subtly loosens their laps to the left to avoid any course corrections. Just as Jade has the thought they’re a little near the edge, Pickles swerves to charge Kit. Jade hauls desperately on the reins, shouting. Kit startles so hard they fall off the fence. Pickles buzzes the fenceline as she smugly thunders past, the wind stealing Jade’s apology. 

When Jade and Pickles circle back at a wide berth, Kit’s gone. Kit leaves the big arena alone for a few more days after, neither of them mentioning it in the mornings. But they’re back again the next week. Jade has to be careful not to let Pickles stray too close to Kit’s sullen cloud. 

Pickles is Kit’s horse. Jade outright demanded they stop pretending she wasn’t. But Pickles is also an incendiary rocket who hates everything living or dead except Jade. Only lets Jade go soaring with her, only gives Jade the privilege of being a god on the ground . Audience feels like a violation. 

The arena isn’t big enough to let Pickles loose at full gallop — the charger’s top speed is something else, she needs the freedom of the hillsides for that. Kit needs to take Pickles to the hillsides, because if Jade brings her beyond the arena she’ll get accused of thieving. 

She keeps finding herself looping back to Kit at the fence line, if only to get a sense of what they’re thinking. Telling herself it’s to gloat at the envy plain on their face. 

Except sometimes she catches a look beneath the seething jealousy that seems almost… happy. Thoughtful or proud, of whom Jade can’t fathom. When Kit gets that look, they stay longer, and they creep away quiet instead of storming off in a fuss. 

Jade doesn’t kick them out because she can’t. But she stops minding it so much on days they wander over either. They never once talk about it, both pretending they didn’t look the other dead in the eyes while galloping by on the wind. 

/-:-:-/  

Kit tries to replicate her tornado roundhouse kick and overbalances on the jump, hitting the ground hard on their hip. 

“Stop for the day,” Jade suggests, hanging up a mended bridle. 

Kit’s got to be bruising badly by now. She only sprung the kick on them because she knew it was out of their reach. She didn’t expect them to keep at it all morning. There’s barely enough space for it in the stables anyway, they’re never going to get it like this.

“Show me again,” Kit insists. Stubborn in the same way they got when she showed them how to do a pull-up. 

Jade uses a rod she’s wedged into in her doorframe. The one week she was bold enough to try the training grounds on Ballantine’s word, the other pages tossed pebbles at her to see if she’d fall off. She seriously thought about doing the same to Kit. The meanness of it stopped her. They were already hanging on by their fingertips and shaking worse than a leaf in fall. 

Kit stayed there as long as they could bear and insisted on trying it again for days and days until they could haul themself up an inch or two. They’re finally able to complete a full one now, even if they can’t lift their arms after three. 

They get the kick too. Not at first, certainly with a smarting leg. But eventually, they whip it out during an impromptu grappling match and slam her hard enough in the stomach to knock the wind out of her. 

/-:-:-/  

Jade’s trusty old right boot joins the bomb under the floorboards, now providing further cover for the bottle stuffed inside. The throwing stars and the hourglass have their own special spot beneath her bed, where she can polish them nightly. There’s a growing chip in the wall post and a ‘skulljaw moth’ hole in Kit’s damned scarlet banner — ‘It’s the royal stables, Jade, it should look nicer than this!’ ‘No, there’s not a better place for the royal crest than the royal stables!’ — where she’s been hitting her targets for a month. 

She has five gold’s worth of pennies, coppers, and hae-silvers to her name, because Kit swiped too much for the tailor and came back with it broken down into denominations she can actually use. Jade thinks she might be rich. She gives extra to the handless beggars to pay it forward for when she joins their ranks.  

Summer turns into the first blushings of a crisp fall, that time of year when muggy and chilly switch off weekly. Kit and a cold snap breeze in through her drafty window for days. Kit insists on dragging a whole series of thick soft blankets in with them — ‘If you keep using a horse blanket, you’re going to smell even more like a horse, and frankly you’re already intolerable,’ ‘I don’t give a shit if you’re fine, I’m cold,’ ‘Because you don't have a damn fireplace,’ — but neither of them has suggests fixing the gap in the windowsill just above the latch, barely space enough to slip in a knife-blade.  

Jade’s feet stop hurting. When she tries to thank Kit for it, they trip her into horseshit and sprint away before she can grab their ankles. 

/-:-:-:-:-/  

Chapter Text

Summer’s drawing to a close but the last of the heat’s striking with a vengeance. Kit’s jealousy must be sweltering too because they decide to try and take Pickles out. This time — thank stars — they don’t sneak it past Jade. Maybe they know they’ll never get Pickles in a saddle alone. 

It’s such a shock to see Kit coming through the front door in broad daylight that it actually takes Jade a minute to recognize them. 

She’s getting ready to turn Pickles out to the paddock — always last in line and first in pecking order — when the crown princess walks in. For a second, Jade thinks sheer exhaustion’s finally knocked her flat and this is her dreams trying to justify her non-reaction to whiny bandits breaking in through her bedroom window. 

Almost no one comes to the private royal stables. Jade knows them all by features if not name. Queen Sorsha if she needs to pick up a charger, the stocky porter for Sancitiminius to hitch the carriage, or the harried royal couriers with flyaway hair. Jade’s not been told to expect any nobles whose importance warrants the visitor’s stalls. Kit scrambled out her window more than an hour ago. 

But now there’s a clean highborn kid in an outfit that looks a lot like something Kit would wear standing in Jade’s doorway. Except their belted tunic and pants are unrumpled, their hair is silky in a long tidy braid, and their boots are polished and don’t reek of shitstains. 

“Princess?” Jade asks to be certain, hedging her bets with the title just in case. 

“I want to take Pickles out,” Princess Kit announces, heading straight for the tack Jade’s just oiled. 

A shiver of fear goes down Jade’s spine. “Uh, are you sure?”

Last week, Pickles bit Kit’s hand so bad they dropped the too-big sword every time they tried to work on forms. The swelling has only just gone down. Jade’s not totally sure what Kit told Queen Sorsha — a version of the truth or a complete fabrication. Either way, no one’s come down to shout at Jade about it or haul her and Pickles away for treason. 

“Yeah,” Princess Kit says, full-bullhead determination on high. They could almost be Kit covered in horseshit, with an expression like that.  

During dawn, Jade is just Jade and Kit is just Kit. But now in the daylight, they’re the princess and she’s the stablehand. Instead of telling them off for being a flipping idiot, she joins them at the tack wall. “Pickles is going out to pasture. I can saddle her for the round pen instead.”

Princess Kit stops tangling up all her tack to stare at her in open shock. “You’re going to let me?”

Jade shrugs, shoving away the conflicted feelings dancing around in her stomach so they won’t show on her face. “She’s your horse.”

“That’s not what you said when she spit in my eye,” Princess Kit accuses, eerily perceptive only at the worst possible times. “You said you’d never seen a horse hate someone so much and if I try to ride her I’m gonna die.” 

All true. Jade stands by that. 

She shrugs again, hands fisted inside her pockets. “I can’t stop you.”

“Since when?” Princess Kit gets right up in her face, nose to chin. Jade compulsively checks over their shoulder to make sure no one’s passing by the open door. 

“Since—” Jade tries to step back and Princess Kit corners her into a hanging saddle. She can’t put them on their ass right now, because this is the princess and people might see. “You’re the princess, it’s improper!” 

“Yeah, Jade Claymore,” Kit only says her last name when they really want to make a point, “so was throwing me into a wall yesterday, but that didn’t stop you then.”

A fatal moment of weakness on Jade’s part. Typically she tries not to rough-house with Kit, the wavering product of her last shred of self-preservation. But Kit had insisted she show them grappling yesterday morning, and kept bodily launching themself at her from behind corners when she refused. 

So, yeah, she flipped them over her hip a couple times. And tossed them into a wall when they still wouldn’t stop. And maybe slung them over her shoulder and dumped them in Moonlight’s stall after they were fool enough to climb up into the hayloft and try an aerial assault. 

Moonlight is a gentle horse who adores Kit. She was the little princess’s childhood pony. If the King Consort had any sense, she would still be cursed Kit’s only horse. It wasn’t like Jade had thrown them at the mercy of Pickles. 

“Riding Pickles is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, and that includes the time you wanted to test if my aim was good enough with the stars yet to hit an apple off your head,” Jade fires at them, because Kit’s right — she’s clearly never given a damn about propriety. She keeps her voice hushed, not quite fool enough to risk anyone hearing. “I’m not going to be responsible for hauling your corpse to the castle if she murders you.”

Kit grins viciously. “I’m gonna do it anyway.”

Of course they are. Little twit. 

Kit parades towards Pickles’s stall, victorious. Jade drags her heels after them. She doesn’t want to follow Kit to the round pen to die, but a beleaguered sense of duty to the crown leashes her to Pickles’s stall regardless. Someone should probably be there when the heir to the kingdom inevitably gets tossed. 

Where the hell is the Pacalcade? Isn’t this supposed to be their entire job? She would’ve assumed that the crown princess leaving the keep during normal daylight hours was something worthy of an escort. 

Jade fiddles with the stall latch Kit still can’t reach, playing for time. “What brought this on?” 

“You told me I had to.” Kit taps their foot, impatient as ever. It’s more threatening today. They see her watching and stop. Forcefully relax their posture into shifty Kit again even if they can’t drop their constant aura of demanding entitlement. “It’s been months. You said Pickles needs to go out.”

Kit’s been watching her ride the big arena more often lately. Tracking her patterns well enough to know when she’ll be there. Jade’s been showing off a bit, running Pickles through a couple tricks to stoke their ire or win a smile. Something she now furiously regrets. 

“Do you have Her Majesty’s permission?” Jade probes in case there’s an easy way out. She’s not sure Kit needs it for this, but they’re squirrely about their schedule. Maybe there’s somewhere else they need to be. 

“Yup,” Kit gloats, seeing through her immediately. “Been on best behavior lately. Asked the Pacalcade too.”

And yet they sent no one. Great. What does the Pacalcade do again? This is why Jade needs to join the Shining Legion. The Shining Legion wouldn’t allow their heir to get murdered by a horse. 

Now it’s on Jade to defy a direct decree from the queen or let the crown princess die. She’s only barely a page, this doesn’t feel like it should be her job yet. 

“What other lies did you spin?” she mutters since their ‘best behavior’ is incessantly sneaking out to give Jade palpitations. 

“Excuse you!” Kit squeaks. They lower their voice when she cringes, gaze shooting to the doorway. They lean in to hide their face from watchers. “Are you questioning my honesty?”

Jade just looks at them. Pointedly flicks her eyes towards the tapestry ruining her wall. That was a morning she nearly killed them, when the sudden sound of hammering almost startled her out of the hayloft. She’d thrown her pitchfork at the intruder’s head before realizing it was Kit snuck in to redecorate her house, not an army trying to tear the walls down. Instance seven hundred of assault against the crown. 

“I didn’t lie,” Kit insists in a whisper. “I told them I’ve been visiting Pickles and it’s going okay.” 

Okay?! They clearly have different definitions of okay. Jade hisses back at them, “She tried to snap your hand in half. I was sure she’d broke it.”

“It wasn’t. Which is okay.” Kit crosses their arms, same sort of stubborn they are with pull-ups and swords. “She could’ve gone for my face. She’s getting friendlier.” Sure, from outright murder to maiming. “They said it was alright to try to ride her in the round pen. You don’t have to be there, I can take her out myself.”

Jade nearly laughs at that degree of bullshit. “I think I’ll come, thanks, Princess. Since you refuse to bring the Pacalcade.”

Kit kicks the ground. “I don’t need the Pacalcade. Pickles is my horse.”

It’s true, but. The idea of Kit riding Pickles bothers Jade for reasons beyond the obvious. They’re completely in rights to do so and Jade did take them to task over it at the start of all this. Only Kit can lead Pickles on the long gallops she deserves. But no one rides Pickles except Jade.

It’s one of the only things Jade has for herself. Her practice blades are on borrow, her bed belongs to the queen, her hidden stashes are stolen goods waiting to be whisked back to the crown when she rots in the dungeons. Even Pickles is Kit’s horse. Except that Pickles has chosen Jade to ride her and won’t let anything else breathing near. Getting in that saddle feels like freedom. It won’t anymore when Pickles goes back to her rightful rider. 

The discomfort of it is enough to bolster her blistering anxiety about being involved in the crown princess’s death into action. Jade leans against the stall door, blocking attempts to rush it from either side. Pickles watches over her shoulder, judging the distance to Kit and if she can breach. 

Jade speaks at full volume, “You want my professional opinion?”

Kit scowls automatically. “No.”

‘No’ from the princess is an order, but the princess is also Kit. Kit studies her, frowning more fiercely, opens their mouth to say something inane or insulting. Jade draws on the force of the nightmares she’s had about regicide since that time Kit brought Pickles out of the stall alone and speaks first. 

“I think you might be able to walk her in the round pen on foot,” Jade tells them over every battered decorum lesson screaming at her to stop. “With me also holding the lead. And if you try anything else, she’ll kill you. So I’m not saddling her, and I won’t take her out unless you agree to those terms.”

Kit’s surprise shows, but there’s something else there too. An element of deep satisfaction to their eye despite the denial. Jade suspects she won’t like why it’s there. 

They surrender too easy, “Fine. Lead on, Page Claymore.”

No one calls her that. She’s lucky to get ‘stablehand’ or ‘Claymore,’ mostly it’s just ‘you.’ The flattery works, she bridles Pickles without further argument.  

Pickles complies as long as Jade holds her lead and Kit stays out of range. There’s no telling what’ll happen when they get to the round pen, but she lets them take her from the stables without much of a fight. Kit's toes are only almost stomped twice before they gain sufficient distance from her hooves. 

The air’s stifling and stilted outside the stable. Neither of them talking, unsure how to navigate under the sun. Pickles is a sulky wall between them. Jade’s new boots sit strange on her feet. 

The west gate looms before them. Jade’s never been through with the princess at her side. She walks down the barbican daily without thinking, yet this morning she can’t forget it’s designed to be a killing gallery.

Her stare’s locked on the watchtower as they pass, guilty as sin, sure she’s about to be shot down for treason. Pickles tenses, aware of her fear. At the top of the ramparts, Sir Jellininy and Luklas stare down at them, ballista sitting casually in the middle. Sir Jellininy salutes to Kit. Luklas flings Jade a glare as he does the same next to the knight. Must be shadowing at the west gate guardhouse today.  

“Who was that?” Kit asks as they pass through the market just outside the walls. It’s just waking up, sellers stocking their wares. Jade’s sweating through her shirt already, not only thanks to the peak late summer heat. “Didn’t seem to like you much.”

They’re both allowed to be here as far as Jade knows. Training isn’t until later and it’s not her place to question a royal request. Kit creates a wake of anxious bows in the slim morning crowd, but no one looks at Jade twice. She’s part of the scenery, castle staff leading a horse for the princess. So long as they don’t talk there’s no reason to assume they’ve any more familiarity than that. In a lot of ways, they don’t. 

Jade takes them down winding side streets less likely to get foot traffic before she answers. She doesn’t need local gossips to spot her making casual chat with the princess. “One of the other pages.”

Kit chews on that, hopping between cobblestones so they don’t touch a gap. “Which one?”

Jade tightens her grip on the lead, watching Pickles carefully for signs of impending violence. “Why’d you decide to chance death today?” 

“I—” Kit scowls, kicks a rock down the path as it turns back to dirt. Speed walking ahead of her even though there’s no clear signs Kit knows where they’re going. “I just thought it was time.”

Unlikely. 

Kit must’ve just come from their duties because they actually look the part of the princess this afternoon. No, that’s generous. They look like an unruly noble’s child, out for blood. The sort of person Jade the foundling would avoid at all costs. 

When had that changed?

“I mean, she’s my horse,” Kit blisters when Jade’s pointed silence drags on too long. “It doesn’t matter what Mom thinks.” Great, so this is against the queen’s wishes even if she technically agreed. Once again, here Jade is, defying edicts, breaking laws. “Pickles even let me brush her once—”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jade rounds on them in the alleyway, so cramped Pickles touches both sides. She knows Kit’s been in and out of the stables while she’s not there. But if they’ve been crawling into Pickles’s stall, she's going to have to start using the door lock. 

And a window lock. Several window locks, since there are other windows besides her bedroom Kit never bothers with. Possibly sturdy bars for the hayloft hatch. 

“Just her mane when you left her tied!” Kit squawks, skittering back. Ah, Jade’s idiocy too, then, thinking it’d be fine if she dipped out to the well with Kit lurking. “I didn’t try to get any closer! I’m not dumb.”

This whole enterprise is extremely dumb and she tells them so flat out. “You’re going to lose a finger.”

“Pickles only knocked me off the stool a couple times,” Kit blusters, proving her point. Explains the nasty bruise on their shoulder the other day. She’s going to hide the brushes with the bomb in her boot. “She likes me now, it’s fine.”

Jade’s burying the stool too. Kit’s not tall enough to reach on their own. 

“She hates you and that’s a fact,” Jade declares, wrenching Pickles into line as she lunges for their back again. “She’s tried to nip you ten times just on this walk.” 

They hit a busier main street before Kit can spit whatever insults are on their tongue. It’s back to public areas all the way through after that, exposed in the town or the fields on the way to the round pen by the pasture. Conversation stops. 

This time the silence is a little steadier in its familiar sullenness. Jade foils three more escape attempts from Pickles when Kit wanders too close. The horse trainers are shocked to see them, but don’t argue when the princess requests use of the round pen. 

Jade hides her face by Pickle’s neck. If people notice her in Kit’s shadow, they’ll know her by her hair. There’s no need to make the association worse. 

Jade wheedles Pickles through the gate with only minor incident and a pocket full of sugar cubes. Spies a long coil of rope on the way in and collects that too. Kit feigns disinterest and chats up a terrified handler. The princess is allowed to be anywhere but they haven’t been seen much outside the keep in years. The only word on what they’re like comes from frustrated castle staff. Even a brief excursion is a fright. 

Kit lets their victim flee as soon as Jade’s got Pickles settled. They swagger over to the fence and report cheerfully, “Charry says Gurson’s plowhorse just foaled twins. Both healthy. Told them he should name them after me and Airk.”

Horrible borderline treasonous names for horses and now he’d be forced to use them. Otherwise, she’s glad to hear it. Timmie mentioned the risky pregnancy the last time they passed by each other at the pasture. Farmer Gurson couldn’t afford to lose that mare. “How kind of you. Ready, Princess?”

Kit bounces on their toes. They skip for the gate to the high fence. “ Pssh, ‘ready?’ I was born for this—”

“No.” Jade stops them, holding the gate closed on both them and Pickles. “Outside this time.”

“How?” Kit stares at her like she’s the idiot. They rattle the gate against the bar holding it shut on the outside. “There’s a fence.”

“I’m going to walk her around to warm her up, and you’ll keep pace with us around the fence,” Jade tells them quietly, eyes on the other handler waiting his turn nearby. “Then I’ll throw you a long lead over top. If that goes okay, you can come in.”

“That’s dumb.” Kit pushes at the gate. Jade blocks them, trying to be subtle about it so the handler doesn’t question her. “She’s never going to know I’m walking her that way.”

“She can’t kick you if there’s a fence,” Jade tells them, hushed but firm. “We’re starting out safe.”

Kit gets ready to spew some vile obscenities, but the handler warily watching stops them. Jade’s relieved and surprised it matters. Kit stomps to the fence and raises their hands. “What’re you waiting for? Start walking.” 

Asshole. She can’t tell them so like this but she’s going to show them what for during forms tomorrow. 

Jade keeps a steady hand on Pickles’s bridle. She’s easy as Jade leads her around the round pen once without Kit, very familiar with this sort of exercise. When Kit joins them on the second lap, her gaze zeroes on them but she doesn’t struggle.  

They make it through two laps this way. Jade feeds Pickles a steady stream of sugar cubes for staying calm. Kit raises their eyebrows when their back is to the handler, thankfully smarter than to say it out loud, You worry too much. 

Maybe. Jade’s not sure. Pickles was mostly okay on the walk over, too, when Kit was far away enough. It could be fine now. 

The worst case scenario is Kit dies and then Pickles dies and Jade and possibly also the handler die for letting Kit die, so Jade thinks she’s going to play it safe, thanks. 

She ties the long rope to Pickles’s bridle and chucks it over the rim of the wood fence to Kit. It’s higher than most horses can jump, hopefully even a charger like Pickles, although Jade has her suspicions to the contrary. Unfortunately this also means it’s at least two feet taller than Kit, so the rope hangs over more like a pulley than the smooth lead she’d envisioned. 

This is close to the silliest thing she’s ever done with a horse. Kit and the handler’s faces let her know so too. 

Look, Jade is a stablehand, not a horse trainer. She got taught the basics of how to handle horses by the stablemaster before he fell down whatever bottle or well has kept him the last three years, riding from Ballantine whenever he took a Pacalcade charger to the round pen, and the rest through observation and trial and error with Pickles. If Kit wants better than this they can ask the damn handler standing right there. 

Kit takes the rope and turns to the handler with an eye roll, “We’re still getting used to each other.”

He eyes them nervously. “Have you tried making slow introductions, Your Highness?”

Yes. They’ve ended horribly at every turn, not that anyone listens to Jade. She’s absolutely going to bury that stool if this goes wrong. 

“Obviously,” Kit sneers. The handler flinches. 

Awesome. Terrorizing all the townsfolk today. Worse, Jade’s not even sure it’s intentional. The combination of Kit’s surly snide disposition, impulsive reactions, spoiling, and everyone else’s rightful fear of royalty just has that kind of effect. 

Does Jade still have that instinctive nerviness or has constant treason broken her? She’s not sure.  

The handler’s desperate stare lances over to Jade, seeking solidarity. She keeps her face as impassive as she can. She’s not about to get in the middle of this with Kit in public.  

Kit strolls on with the rope, which does very little to tug Pickles along since if it was anything but slack it’d be yanking her nose in the air. “Come on, Pickles. Entourage.”

Entourage bristles but takes a deep breath before she can say something unforgivable to the crown princess in front of a fellow commoner who’s sure to repeat the story of this rare royal encounter to everyone he knows. Better Jade remains nameless and invisible. If she wants to let Kit get kicked in the face for it, that’s a different problem. 

This go around is slow because the rope keeps getting caught on the fence posts that poke up over top of the rows of thick wooden bars. Kit has to flick the whole thing a couple times to snake the rope free whenever it tangles. They’ll make it a few steps, then wrench to a stop again. 

Pickles is getting increasingly irritated at their halting progress and blaming Kit entirely. She’s grinding her teeth any time Kit gets close to the fence no matter how Jade chides her. Kit’s flaring too, glaring at Jade, the rope, and the fence.

This may have been a bad idea. 

They make it about two-thirds around. A full lap isn’t going to work. Jade can feel the handler’s judgment from here. 

Jade’s just about to call for a stop when Kit throws the rope down and strides for the gate, “Come on, this isn’t working—”

“Sorry, Princess, let me just—” Jade turns to meet them, grip loosening on Pickles as she tries to track all the moving parts, half her attention still on the handler’s reaction. 

Kit’s got one hand on the gate bar but also pulled it yet. Pickles tears free and rushes the fence. 

Pickles charges straight for Kit, a hundred stones of black warhorse versus the weakest part of a wooden fence. Jade grabs for the trailing rope lead, heart stopping in her chest, “Pickles, don’t—!” 

“Shit! Pickles!” Kit wheels backwards.

Crack! Pickles rams and kicks at the gaps between bars, the noise so loud it startles Kit flat on their back in the dirt. For a second Jade’s still sure Pickles killed them, but Kit curses, proving her wrong, “Zudderpickings, Pickles, Crone damn it all—”

The gate wrenches under Pickles’s pounding but the fence is holding, designed for the purpose. She gets her front hooves up on top of the gate to climb it—

Kit scrambles to their knees, “Woah, shit, Pickles—”

“Hey!” Jade tries to haul the charger off before she can clear the fence, heaving on the lead, fairly sure she just died on the spot and feeling her heart punch to life in her chest as it gets going again. “Pickles, stop! Princess, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Kit bites out. They pick themself up as Pickles retreats. Jade tries to reel her in. Pickles resists, scraping along fenceline, tossing her head, ears back, glare unwavering on Kit. 

“Shh, Pickles. It’s okay.” Jade focuses on the charger, approaching slowly so she won’t turn on Jade instead. Not that she ever has, but this is extremely agitated even for Pickles. “This is just Princess Kit. You know them.”

Pickles doesn’t back down. Kit won’t either, standing now and trying to talk to Pickles despite the waver in their voice. They stay out of range, hands up, doing their best to breathe through it despite there being no color to their face. “Pickles, it’s me—”

Pickles stomps and snaps at the fence, snorts angrily at Jade when she gets too close. 

The handler hurries over, horse hitched to the post, approaching Kit as carefully as Pickles, “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I think you need to leave. Before the horse turns on her too.”

He nods at Jade stuck inside the pen. If she goes for the gate, Pickles will beat her to it. 

Kit’s stricken. 

“Princess...” Jade starts, not sure what she’s going to say. Pickles paws the ground. The handler watches Kit more fearfully than the charger. 

Kit clenches their jaw. For a second Jade thinks they might fight. Instead they spin, eyes glinting wet on the ground, and trudge over the hill out of sight. If she sees a small figure running down the distant path, maybe that’s just a farmer’s kid late to schoolhouse. 

It takes Jade the handlers’ help and a good few minutes of gut stopping soothing to corral Pickles calm after Kit leaves. He offers to help with retraining if the Queen so desires. Regicide is delayed another day. It doesn’t feel like a win. 

/-:-:-/  

Jade has two free mornings after that. Wakes up before dawn expecting Kit crawling through her window, but afternoon hits and passes without them. Their absence is nearly as anxious-making as their presence. 

It doesn’t feel as great as she thought it would, Pickles driving them off like that. There’s no telling how long it’ll last either. Jade can’t exactly sleep easy never knowing when they’ll turn up next. Pickles is smug as can be about it too. Which prickles at the part of Jade that feels the same. 

She warned Kit and they didn’t listen. They were lucky to learn the lesson without getting hurt. Maybe now they’d give up on their stupid death quest rescue mission too. It should be a relief, exactly what she’s been hoping for all along. 

Her new boots are heavy on her feet. The stables are empty and too quiet. Jade goes through the morning motions checking for their shadow behind every bush. 

Would Pickles have reacted like that if she wasn’t already upset over Jade’s bad idea with the rope? Her head says no but her heart beats yes. There’s no way to know. 

The handler assured her it wasn’t her fault, “Horse wouldn’t act like that if it wasn’t already death by a thousand cuts. She was fine with you the whole way through. Must not like Her Highness much.”

Jade put her over the top, though. And now Kit isn’t here. 

The handler spreads the story, spun in his own favor about taming a wild beast to save the young princess. Jade doesn’t argue with the idiot stablehand’s almost complete erasure from the narrative. No one asks much about her day out with the princess except to confirm her as witness. No one comes for that or any of her many other crimes. Jade scrapes by unseen for now. 

Only Ballantine, Brunella, and Luklas ever mention it. Luklas as fresh material in his endless flurry of insults whenever she’s within earshot, Brunella to gossip, and Ballantine during training the next day.  

Jade’s loitering by the round pen gates with the broom, unable to bring herself to enter. There are fresh hooves marks and horseapples in the dirt, none still left by Pickles. She needs to sweep it up before sparring. 

She can’t go in. She can’t stop seeing Pickles charging that fence, and Kit’s face when they hit the ground. The wet on their cheeks when they turned away. 

Ballantine finds her there, leaning on the outside of the fence, pen still a mess. “Jade?”

Jade’s so lost in her thoughts she actually startles. “Ballantine!”

Ballantine looks between her and the round pen, practice sword at his belt. “Ah. Maybe we should meet somewhere else.”

Jade pulls at her curls. “It’s fine. It wasn’t — nothing happened.”

“I heard you were there,” Ballantine says, and Jade’s aching heart jerks to a stop again. “Helping the princess with her horse, when Yoshew put a stop to it.”

Because Jade started it. And also frankly stopped Pickles her damn self. It’s fine, she needs a shield from blame more than recognition.

“Her Highness is in confinement for the week,” Ballantine informs her. “For obfuscating some of the facts about the situation.”

Jade knew they flipping lied. There was no way anyone could hear the whole truth about them and Pickles and think, ‘oh yeah, that’s a great horse for a reckless idiot baby to try riding alone.’ She’s shocked Pickles’s general reputation wasn’t strong enough for that already. Then again, it’s rare for anyone to interact with her except Jade. Certainly nobody else tries to ride her. 

She doesn’t know how punishment works for Kit, them being the princess and all. At the schoolhouse you’d get swatted or the dunce cap. The home would send you to sleep without dinner for days. Some of the nastier proctors favored switching, but Queen Sorsha was firmly against most corporal punishment despite the occasional public lashing. Lots of townies thought her being too soft on foundlings was letting them run rampant in the streets. 

Kit being grounded does explain their absence. Jade’s won a few days of peace thanks to Kit’s stupidity. 

The look on their face lingers. That part feels like her fault. 

“Wasn’t your fault,” Ballantine assures her when he sees how skittish she is. “You were under royal orders. Her Highness actually got permission to take her out. First and last time. I saw how Pickles was with you, and I thought…”

Kit could handle it, too. Pickles is known irascible, but there was no way for anyone else to see how much Pickles hates Kit specifically. It’s not like Jade could talk about their early morning visitations. 

Jade was following orders. It shouldn’t itch like it’s her fault.  

No one got hurt, even though Jade feels pretty safe saying Kit would’ve died following their original plan. So in that sense she actually saved their sorry ass. It’s the same as this whole thing, Kit making dumb decisions and dragging Jade along. She should be elated to see them gone. 

“I’m glad you went with her,” Ballantine says, limbering up with his practice sword. “I hear Yoshew had it handled, but I’m sure it was safer because you were there. It’s not your fault she’s no deft hand with horses.”

That feels like a step too far. Kit’s a terror everywhere else but they’re the gentlest in the kingdom when it comes to Moonlight. 

“The princess didn’t do anything wrong,” Jade argues. Why is she defending Kit to Ballantine of all people? “They’re very kind to Moonlight and they weren’t messing with Pickles before she snapped. Pickles is the meanest horse in the realm, everyone knows that.”

Ballantine gives her a long look. Shakes his head, sighing, “You’re so soft on those two.”

It’s not true. Jade adores Pickles, yeah, but she’s pretty flipping sure she loathes Kit. They’re annoying as hell, destroying her previously peaceful life, and the entire reason she’s going to get beheaded for treason. There wouldn’t be a bomb hidden in her house if it wasn’t for Kit. 

There wouldn’t be new boots on her feet either. Her toes haven’t pinched since. 

She goes through forms with Ballantine in awkward absent silence. Her head stays stuck running over what he said. Ensuring there’s no way he knows anything about what she’s been up to in her mornings. Jade’s sure he leaves as disappointed as he came. 

Rumors abound as to why the heir’s horse was trying to kill them. Jade’s never sure whether or not to say anything when she overhears. Ends up staying mum, so other people don’t think like Ballantine. The less anyone knows about her familiarity with the princess the better. 

“You were there, right? When Yoshew saved the princess from that mad charger who leapt over the fence?” Brunella presses eagerly, dropping by with extra fresh bread despite Jade needing none. “Isn’t that your favorite horse? I thought you said you really like riding her.”

“Yeah. Pickles is good with me,” Jade agrees, scraping her heel through the dirt. “Gentle. Not to anyone else.”

“Well I heard she tried to kill the princess,” Brunella whispers. Jade shrugs, it’s not wrong. “So something must’ve happened to her.”

Jade grinds a pebble under her toe. “Not really. Just prickly. Doesn’t like Her Highness much, I guess.”

“What’s she like?” Brunella leans in close, Jade inches away, trapped by the stable doorframe behind her. “The princess. No one actually sees her— I mean, we just hear things.”

Shattering dishes, shouting, slamming doors. Occasional disappearing food, phantom sightings, and horror stories relaid by those closer, such as the tutors Kit takes such pride in running off. There’s a growing fear that if you make eye contact with Her Highness you’ll turn to stone or, worse, a pig for the next royal feast. 

Jade can’t really deny most of these claims. It’s not like there’s any great love to be lost between her and Kit. Mostly she wants them gone. Is grateful for today’s brief reprieve, however stressful it is not to know how long they’ll be away for. She more than anyone has a healthy paranoia about the kingdom’s next reign. 

It’s safer not to say. 

“Her Highness seems fine,” Jade mutters, collecting the apples and slipping into the shadows inside the stables. “Didn’t really talk to them. Sorry, gotta go tend to the horses.”

Brunella leaves her alone after that, but the rumors only grow louder over the afternoon. Jade hears them passing by to the well, on her way to the pastures through the town market, echoing through the courtyard that evening. 

‘Horse hates Her Highness enough she even dumped the stablehand in the dirt, and you know how easy she is with that one,’ is the going story, ‘What could’ve raised a mare’s blood like that?’

The heir did. The heir no one’s seen in years and heard nothing good about besides. Bad blood all the way down and it’s sourest in that one. 

Jade keeps to herself, eyes on her new boots. They’re getting dustier every day from how she’s been scuffing her heels. 

When Kit’s not grounded, they’ll be back. This isn’t peace, just a temporary pause in the battle. 

The third morning arrives. Jade’s finally gotten complacent or tuckered enough from worrying to sleep through dawn. Which means she’s scared shitless by her bedroom window slamming open. 

Kit waltzes through with their hood up and a grin as wide as day. “No throwing stars?”

Jade straightens from the crouch by her bed, knife in hand, trying to catch her breath. Farewell to any calm she’s ever had. “Getting too good with them. You’d be dead.”

So would an actual burglar, but she’s given up on that by now. Accidental regicide is the bigger threat. 

“Aw, Jade, that’s so thoughtful!” Kit strolls through her room towards the stalls. They toss her a plump peach from their satchel as they pass. “Brought them for Pickles, way better than your shitty sugar cubes.”

Jade fumbles the fruit. It’s ripe, rare, and delicious, nearing end of season. “Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?” 

Kit spins on a heel and walks backwards through her bedroom doorway. “Am I? That’s a funny rumor.”

How the hell do they keep getting out of the castle? Jade sheaths her knife and trails them, letting her hair down to cover her neck. Shoves it back to keep it out of her eyes unpinned. “I heard from Ballantine that you lied about Pickles.”

“I didn’t lie.” Kit juggles peaches. They really were born to be a court jester not a princess. They eye the distance to Pickles and judge the sturdiness of their fingers. “We just had a disagreement about the meaning of the word ‘okay.’” Kit and everyone in the castle. “Besides, I hear I’m actually a demon given pretty princess skin and that’s why Pickles freaked.”

Jade is struck by sudden guilt. It’s not her duty to defend Kit’s honor, especially against the truth, but it still feels… wrong. To have kept quiet. Jade stares at her bare feet. “I told Ballantine it’s because Pickles is an asshole.”

Kit meanders closer to the murderous horse’s stall. “Must be why Mom didn’t call the exorcist.”

Jade hurries forward to herd them away from Pickles’s teeth. “Hey, don’t—”

Kit dodges her and tosses a peach at Pickles’s nose from a safe two steps distance. Pickles snaps it out of the air with a crunch down on the pit like she wishes it was Kit’s skull. “Don’t worry, I brought lots of bribes for both of you.”

Jade scowls, gripping her own peach hard enough to bruise. “I don’t want your bribes.”

“Shucks, guess I’ll have to keep these then.” Kit stuffs the peaches in their satchel and produces a plain wooden box. 

Jade sidles closer, curious despite herself. “If it’s another bomb, I’m going to tell the Pacalcade I saw you out of chambers.”

Kit opens the box with a grin, revealing a second glorious set of throwing stars. “So you don’t.”

Jade takes a bite of her peach and debates whether she’s above taking such payoffs. The peach is delicious. She already has an order in at the tailor’s. She’s so deep in this now that she couldn’t turn Kit in to the Pacalcade for slipping grounding even if she wanted to. Which she does — she does want to. “What’re they really for?”

“I wanted to practice too,” Kit admits, pulling one out and twiddling it perilously between their fingers. They hand her the box with the rest. “And, you know, you saved me from being bit by Pickles again. I figured you should get some credit for it, what with Yoshew claiming Mom owes him the whole kingdom now.”

Pickles was clearly about to do more than just bite them and they both know it. There’s an edge to Kit’s eye as they say it, like they’re daring her to contradict them. Beneath that, though, is something tensely coiled Jade hasn’t seen before. Ready to spring with claws out. 

Kit’s been hearing the rumors too. What must they make of their own reputation?

Jade carefully tugs one of the throwing stars from the box and pinches it between her fingers as Ballantine taught her. Sets the box down on the ground by their feet. “You hold it like this.” 

Kit unwinds as they mirror her. Jade demonstrates the proper wrist flick and sends the star whizzing through the air to hit the latest target in her heraldry. Whoops, shit. 

“Skulljaw moths sure look bigger these days,” Kit quips at the growing tears in their tapestry. It’s a crime against the crown to deface the royal emblem. Does Kit care? “But you’re right, their aim is getting really good.”

Kit winds up with far too much force, also aiming for the tapestry. Kit does not care. Jade backs into the visitor’s stall next to Pickles and crouches down behind the door. With the way Kit’s flinging it that thing could really go anywhere. “Careful around the horses!”

Kit scoffs, “I’m always careful— shit!”

Thunk! They both yelp as the throwing star slams into the stall door right on the other side of Jade’s nose. Pickles snorts in fury. They all stare at the quivering blade in shock. 

“Uh,” Kit says, backing up and shaking their wrist out. “That was an accident. I tweaked my wrist again when Pickles scared me—”

“Knives.” Jade yanks the throwing star out of the wood with killing force and seriously considers sending it back at their face. “You’re sticking to throwing knives.”

They don’t talk about the round pen or the rumors after that. When Jade tries to bring it up while running them round the arena until Kit can’t walk, Kit hits her with a list of demands for moves they want to learn. All blatantly impossible at their size and skill. 

Jade’s so busy squabbling about it she forgets for the rest of the morning. Doesn’t try to mention it again. 

Pickles grows even rounder on treats, but only goes for rides with Jade. Jade feels a certain malicious pride in Kit’s failure. They can ruin her life if they want — are trying their level best to do so — but they can’t have this. 

/-:-:-/  

The month drags on in companionable competition. Kit’s swordwork is improving but their aim with throwing knives is still shit. Pickles remains Jade’s to ride. The crown princess’s grounding crawls to an end. Jade’s mornings start early and her days end late, running about to squeeze everything in. 

Fall’s starting and Kit shows no signs of giving up — is, in fact, rapidly getting stronger and making talk that they might be ready to leave soon on Moonlight or Nimbus instead of Pickles — and Ballantine refuses to humor Jade’s unsubtle insinuations that the Pacalcade has a hole in its perimeter. If Kit leaves the barrier, they’re clearly going to die. If Jade outright tells someone they’re running, she’ll also die. She hasn’t slept properly in months and her planning skills are suffering. She can’t see a clear way out of this. 

So Jade escalates to breaking Kit via sleep deprivation. 

Night swimming seems like a good idea at the time. Cardio, low injury risk, and her favorite pond is secluded. Jade doesn’t account for the cold start of fall nights. Or, more critically, the fact that of the two of them she’s the one who’s been doing far too much for far too long. 

She works Kit as hard as she dares that morning — which is pretty damn hard these days — but Kit still shows up in her window at midnight, buzzing with even more energy than before. “Does this mean we get to spar soon?” 

“No.” Jade tosses a wash rag at them for toweling off. Her hair’s tightly braided up and back but her collar is pulled high to hide the mark. “Go swim a lap around the lake.”

“Swim?” Kit is shocked, enthused, and a little flustered. It strikes Jade hard and fast that she’s just asked the crown princess to strip down to small clothes. 

“Wait, maybe not swimming—”

“We’re going swimming.” Kit’s out the door before Jade can catch them. “I flipping love swimming and Airk never wants to go.”

By the time they reach her favorite pond — shielded by trees, never frequented by anyone else, not so deep or wide as to be a risk if Kit is not as strong a swimmer as they claim — Jade’s sense of dread has grown so loud she thinks it might drown her before they even get in the water. The air is foggy frosty instead of humid, not cold enough to warrant cloaks yet but certainly nipping through her threadbare shirt. 

She scours the bank thrush for an excuse not to do this, like a lurking aquatic monster that might swallow her up. Kit yanks their boots off immediately and rolls up their pants to splash their feet in the water. 

“It’s freezing!” Kit announces with undue glee. “You’re a genius. This week’s been so unholy hot. Isn’t it supposed to be fall already?”

Summer this year is giving its last gasp its all. Autumn equinox is next week and the leaves are already starting to turn. Jade doesn’t know if she’s slept a wink the entire season, too busy worrying about invoking the wrath of the Queen or being dragged around by the crown princess.  

How long has it been, since that first shit night in the stables? Everything is a blur running from task to task. Getting heckled by Kit, found wanting by Ballantine, trying to sneak away for any time to herself, being foiled by Kit, snatching spare moments for a solo ride with Pickles, stopping Pickles from bleeding Kit, plodding away at the stables. 

She doesn’t know how her life has reshaped itself to fit this new part. She doesn’t want it there. She didn’t ask for it. But if it goes away now, she fears she’s going to be lopsided like that wobbly stool. 

She’s determined to kick the loose leg out anyway. She can fix it after. 

“If it’s cold, let’s go back—” she attempts before she commits treason again. She’s so tired of accidental treason. How numerous are her crimes by now? Why are there so many rules about royalty?

“No, we’re going swimming,” Kit decides, crouching down in the water, careful of their pants. They slide up their sleeves and stick their hands in too. “I haven’t gone swimming in ages.”

“Can’t you go swimming whenever you want?” As near as Jade can tell, Kit both has the busiest schedule known to Andowyn and nothing to do at all. They’re always supposed to be in lessons, but they’re actually dicking around getting into mischief. Sometimes simultaneously. 

Kit’s joy slips away. “Dad used to take us.”

The King Consort is an open wound. They’re nearing three years since his departure, two since his disappearance. No word has come from beyond the barrier. 

The whispers around the castle are clear. The Queen of Tir Asleen is a widow, whether she acknowledges it or not. These pair well with the mutterings that the princess is a demon in disguise, portentous of the kingdom’s imminent fall.  

“He’s coming back,” Kit declares fiercely, standing with a splash. They spin to face her, daring her to question them. “He’s just having trouble. That’s why I have to go help him.”

Kit’s quest is, at best, doomed. Jade knows it and she thinks deep down Kit knows it too. Kit should give up. Jade needs them to give up, so Jade can go back to her life unassailed by threats of royal retribution.

The words are on the tip of her tongue. Kit’s already cracked around the edges, she thinks it would be easy. 

But if they lose that spark of hope, what’s going to be left to drive them forward? They’re so reckless with themself as it is. 

Jade knows what it’s like to have lost everything, the deadend certainty that you’ll never find anything that matters again. She was throwing herself at the dungeon bars, onto swords, beneath the hooves, at fights she wished might take her out, when Ballantine gave her anger a direction. Without knighthood to strive for, without knowing someday she’ll be strong enough to stand against the Bone Reavers and make sure nothing like that ever happens again, what does she have?

Six horses she doesn’t own. Hollows in her heart that won’t ever heal. The tedious thankless end of a foundling who never found purpose. 

“Guess you’ll need to know how to outswim a sea monster,” Jade says, and watches how Kit returns to themself like a sail that’s caught wind. Before they get any ideas, she throws in a sharp, “Not that you ever could right now. You’re, like, nine years old. But you’ve got to start young to get in the practice.”

“I’m almost twelve!” Kit puffs up in furious offense. “I’ll be twelve in three months!” 

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re a baby,” Jade gloats. “What’s it like to be so small you can’t see over the banquet table?”

Kit trembles with rage. “You’re not that much older!”

“I’m fifteen,” Jade decides on the spot. 

“What!” Kit’s arms go flying all around. “You said you were fourteen last time! We missed your birthday?!”

Jade shrugs. Who knows? It’s not like she’d do anything even if she did know the day. Unlike the twins’ massive annual soirée, Jade doesn’t have anyone to celebrate with other than Timmie, who also doesn’t know his own and so puts no stock in birthdays. Or Ballantine, who gives her a pat on the back and a fritter at the end of the year and says, ‘Survived another one, kid.’  

“When’s your birthday, Jade!” Kit demands, splashing towards her. 

“Not telling you.” She’s never felt so smug. Suddenly not having a birthday is a source of pride not vague despair. 

“You—!” Kit stomps up the banks, feet slapping in the sandy mud. “You can’t just hide it!”

“I’ll tell you if you can beat me in three laps around the pond,” Jade declares, because she’s so hopped up on victory and used to brutally crushing Kit at any petty challenge they throw at each other that she doesn’t think about this particular one. 

Kit fumes at her in flaming fury, then has a realization, stares wide-eyed and turns bright red. Wait—  

Kit comes to a decision before Jade’s slacking brain can kick into gear. “Fine!” they spin around and shuck off their tunic belt, stripping down as fast as they can. “I’m definitely faster than you, anyway!” 

Mother of hell— Jade forgot the basic requirements for swimming because she is an idiot—

The crown princess is sloshing into the water in just their small-clothes — thin undershift and loin-cloth, too young to need a breast band yet — and there is literally no way to explain this if someone comes passing by. 

Tossing royalty into a hay pile, sure, could be an accident. Showing royalty how to throw a knife so they don’t nearly put your eye out again, absolutely justifiable, honorable even. Colluding with royalty to evade their minders so you don’t get caught trouncing them in the stables at dawn, simple self-preservation. 

Getting naked to go swimming with royalty, dumb. Idiot. Asshole. Ballantine will have her hide. 

There’s making a hand-waveable association — even one that could get you killed — and then there’s being associated. Jade will not be associated with this. “Actually, changed my mind, I’m going to go turn in—”

“If you back out, I’m throwing you a birthday party tomorrow and I’m inviting everyone, including Airk,” Kit threatens. “And he’ll come. He loves parties.”

They can’t do that, right? Kit would have to explain how they know each other, which they’d both go down for—

“‘I dropped by to take Moonlight for a ride, and Jade from the stables says her birthday is tomorrow!’” Kit sings, gifted lying little shit that they are. It’s believable, they do visit Moonlight rather a lot now whether Jade’s there or not. Why are they only good at evil? “‘I was thinking it’d be really nice to do something for her, since she’s always doing extra stuff for Pickles, and you said I needed to “show more appreciation for the palace staff.”’” Good, so someone was telling them. “‘Could we throw her a party at the stables? I know you’ve already got that equinox feast planned for next week, so maybe we invite her to that too!’”

Jade would like to go to a feast in the great hall some day. There’s the annual staff celebration one on eve of Elora Danan Day, but she suspects the wine is better for nobility. Spending the day trapped with Kit and a bunch of highborns — probably most of the other pages, ugh — lying about not being acquainted after having her stables invaded by whoever Kit scrounged up an invitation for — terrifying — sounds like hell. This is not the knighthood celebration of which she’d dreamed. 

Kit will definitely make sure the whole thing is as gaudy as shit, too. Force the baker and his smiley apprentice to work overtime on a massive cake, drape her stables with more heraldry they’ll refuse to take down, send a boatload of strangers tromping through, and then give her something useless she has to carry around forever because it came from the princess. Like a brooch, or a hat, or another flipping bomb.

“Mom’s banquets are gowns- only ,” Kit twists the knife. “And you don’t have one, which means I get to tell the seamstress what you like—”

Jade dumps her boots and walks into the water fully-clothed. Screw it, execution is better. 

Kit stares at her. “You’re not gonna—”

“No.” Jade has a back-up pair of pants that stopped fitting last year if these don’t dry out by dawn. 

“It’s gonna slow you down,” Kit warns her. “I’m very fast. Dad said I’m part merfolk.”

“Are you actually?” Jade reevaluates her chances. If she sets her birthday for end of last month, that means it’s already passed and gives her maximal time to foil Kit’s plans. Or get them out of her life entirely, which was the whole point of keeping them up all night swimming laps. That particular plan is for the winds now. 

“Dunno,” Kit shrugs. There’s something up with Bavmorda’s bloodline for sure. “Dad says he and his old buddy Allagash did have a crazy night with a siren once.”

Jade does not want to know this. Why does Kit know this?! Jade only knows the King Consort by his horse — a monster that terrorized her for her first year at the stables — passing friendly interactions — ‘They let kids your size handle horses these days? Ackleyackers, I really need to talk to Sorsha,’ — wild stories from Kit, conveyed with only the utmost pride — ‘and then Mookie threw Dad into the trebuchet and launched him over the walls,’ — and the fact that he left Pickles — the worst possible horse for a nine year old — to what Jade can only assume in retrospect was the world’s scrawniest most impulsive nine year old brat, to be kept under the care of a random twelve year old who’d barely just been accepted as a page. 

On second thought, Jade’s starting to see where Kit gets it from. 

“I’ll still trounce you,” Jade declares, rolling up her shirt sleeves and tucking in her tails so they don’t get in the way. “Prepare to eat my wake.”

She shivers all the way back to the stables in the wee hours before dawn and falls into her bed a wet frozen lump, but her birthday remains a secret for another year. It’s a near thing, Kit is certainly part fish. They refuse to admit the loss and promise to hound her endlessly until they discover the non-existent date. So that’s a pyrrhic victory. 

Jade thought she gave them the morning off but Kit shows up at dawn anyway vibrating with renewed, if slightly manic, energy. Jade’s still in bed, only half-awake under her constantly increasing pile of blankets, joints aching almost as badly as her head. 

She didn’t even pull a knife on them this time. She’s getting far too used to someone creeping in her window. If there’s ever an actual burglar, she’ll be dead. 

“This was your idea,” Kit tells her from their wobbly stool throne. “You said I needed to get used to sleeplessness if I wasn’t bringing anyone with me to keep watch.” 

Jade did say that. She swore to herself she won’t be the one to crack first. 

“Go home,” Jade croaks, surrendering her dignity for the millionth time. What’s even left of it at this point? “I told you not to show up today.”

“I’m here to help you with your chores since you looked so pathetic walking home last night, sopping wet like an dintithering idiot,” Kit declares. How flattering. “But I’ll leave if you tell me when your birthday is.”

Jade peels herself upright, wrapped in her new woolen blankets. She realizes belatedly she’s not wearing anything but her smalls under them, and her clothes are still a puddle pile on the floor. When did she even get back? It can’t have been more than three hours ago.  

“Out,” she barks hoarsely. Kit jauntily struts into the stables and shuts her bedroom door behind them with a bow.

When she drags herself out of her room in her too-tight pants that only come down to her calves and her dry shirt with the larger hole, Kit is already most of the way done with the feeding and has everyone watered. This is a blessing, since if Jade had to climb up into the hayloft right now she’d probably fall out.

“I think I could beat you today,” they brag, overfilling Moonlight’s trough with oats again while Jade shivers on the stool in one of her softest new blankets. “In swimming but also sparring. Like, in one hit, not just two. So maybe you should stay in.”

“No.” She has training with Ballantine today, she’s not staying in. She hasn’t missed training a day in her life, and she doesn’t intend to start now. Especially not because of Kit. 

Kit handles mucking out all the stalls except Pickles’s, since Jade’s nose is running too much and her brain is beating like a drum. Pickles, Kit is not allowed within striking distance of, given the round pen incident. 

Jade leans on the pitchfork, breathing hard. 

“I really think if you weren’t such a wigglewaggling dunce, you would go back to bed,” Kit makes worry sound like an insult. They’re so brimming with health and energy they’re practically overflowing. 

Jade has the sudden thought that maybe Kit just doesn’t sleep. They’re always bothering her at dawn, bright and busy as a bee. They never seem to get tired even with their supposedly endless schedule. 

“Do you ever even use your grand princess bed?” she mutters to the very haphazard wheelbarrow full of shit she’s accrued this morning. 

Kit cleans up the spillover horseapples and grabs the rickety old handles, heaving it up with ease. “Yeah, for reading, lacksadaising, sometimes even — get this — sleeping.”

“You never sleep,” Jade curses, “you’re a bloodsucking night pixy.”

“Maybe,” Kit agrees cheerfully. One day Jade will learn what went bad in Bavmorda’s brood. “Mom says my first four years of life were constant wailing and she never caught a wink. She expected it to stop when I got older but it never did.”

That lines up with Jade’s experience. She has newfound sympathy for Queen Sorsha. Or rather, the nursemaids who cared for Kit on behalf of Queen Sorsha. There was no way the queen was restoring the kingdom and managing two colicky infants at once.  

“Am I your new nursemaid?” Jade ponders, stranded leaning on her splintery pitchfork as Kit leaves the stables.   

“No,” they shout over their shoulder, “you’re way too mean for that. Also, I’m minding your dumb ass half the time.”

That’s not true. That is so not true, and Jade is going to tell them so as soon as she can figure out how to get from this pitchfork to that stool. 

She ends up at the training grounds with Ballantine by some miracle of will. The horses are staying in their stalls today. Kit threatened to lock the stable doors from the outside if she tried to go, but they were called away by the bells for lessons and forgot to bar their window. Jade has no idea how they get in and out of that thing so smoothly. Her hip is still smarting and there’s a fresh scrape on her knee. 

When she crawled out of the alleyway between the stables and the western wall and rounded the bend to the front, she found Kit had not actually padlocked the door. So she’s also feeling pretty stupid right now. 

This marries smoothly with the pounding in her head, burning in her nose and throat, and wateriness in her muscles. The mild chill of early fall is gnawing on her bones. She drags herself over the hill to the round pen, thinking she might roll right down it. 

Ballantine takes one look at her and says, “Wow. Go home.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Jade staggers over to the swords he’s got set up already. Grabs one of them and feels like she perhaps has never lifted a sword in her life and never ever could. 

“What happened?” Ballantine makes no moves to arm himself, leaning against the fence in his padded Pacalcade reds and polished pauldrons, fresh from patrol. “Did you catch the pox off one of the maids?”

“There’s a pox?” Jade asks foggily, trying to keep up. Something’s always going around, but she hasn’t heard more coughing in the castle yards than usual. 

Well, Probably-Brunella the blonde kitchen maid — now baker’s apprentice — said the baker had a nasty stomach bug. But that was coincidental. Jade never talks to the baker, and Brunella was healthy as a bear like always. She never seemed to catch any of the plagues sweeping the castle. 

“Nothing new,” Ballantine shrugs. “That’s why I’m curious.”

Jade, who is no liar like Kit but prides herself on being judicious with information, sniffles and grunts without thinking, “Went night swimming.” 

With the princess is bouncing around in her head, but some lucid part of her saves her from that maelstrom.

“Ah, pond water. That’d do it,” Ballantine agrees. “What possessed you to do that?”

Honestly, Jade has no idea. She wracks her bleary brains and comes up with nothing that sounds reasonable in retrospect. “Stupidity, I think.” Kit brings it out of her. “It’s been hot in the stables all summer.”

“You know you can keep the windows open,” Ballantine suggests, not unkindly. “The princess isn’t going to crawl through one. She’s released from chambers, not allowed back in the stables.”

The princess is crawling through one constantly and Jade just fell out of that same one today. She rubs her aching face with her hand not chained to the ground by the sword. “Still hot.”

“Alright, well, you’re released,” Ballantine declares. “I’m shocked you made it out here.”

Jade stares at him, temples throbbing harder at the betrayal. “We have training?”

“You’re no use to anyone like this,” Ballantine says. “Only a thick knight tries to train while a sick fright.”

The rhyme is actually good this time, which makes Jade angrier. She’s not thick. She’s responsible. She’s not going to no-show and dodge lessons to stalk people at the big arena like Kit. She wants more than her lot, and the world isn’t just going to hand it to her. 

Kit may be able to waltz around, ruining people’s lives, inserting themself where they don’t belong, but Jade has to fight for everything she has. If she doesn’t keep up with training, Ballantine will drop her. She can’t lose it all to a series of dumb mistakes driven by a greedy reckless preteen. 

She raises her sword, arm shaking with the effort. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you’re going to learn this the easy way or the hard way.” Ballantine picks up his practice blade. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

/-:-:-:-:-/  

Chapter Text

Jade wakes up weightless. The world trickles back to a boiling heat, pitching motion, and a pair of arms locked around her like shackles. Her stomach roils with every step. Her skin’s burning off with the brush of her clothes. She knows instantly she should be with the bodies on the ground. Gets her anchorous eyes open and stares up at the face of the Bone Reaver who killed her family. 

“Welcome back.” 

The voice is familiar but the fear is as well. They’re taking her somewhere. Behind him she can see her mother in the grass, the arrow through her gut, red everywhere, on her hands, on the monster’s shirt—

“Kid, you with me?” 

—this one hasn’t even changed his armor, still wearing her mother. She thrashes as hard as she can, throws her elbow to his nose the way she knows how now—

“Shit, kid—!”

—hits the ground rough, finding rock not grass, stunning her into a coughing fit, but makes her feet before he gets close. Sets her stance and slams him right in the gut with her fist, except he twists at the last moment—

“Jade! Stop!” 

— so she turns and sweeps his legs before he can put her on her stomach. The Bone Reaver is on his back on the cobblestones. She’s running as fast as she can manage, chest burning, breath coming out ragged and wet, trying to find the marks in the trees, but there are no trees here. Just the buildings and walls, familiar but alien, not right. 

“Run, Jade! Run!” 

Pounding footsteps behind her. Someone’s calling her name but she can’t stop. It won’t be safe until she’s home, and she can’t find it. She’s rounding the corner to the stables when she slams flat into another body. 

“Jade—?!” 

This one’s smaller. They end up tangled on the ground. The kid is groaning and she’s too shaky to get up. Every time Jade tries her arms give out under the pressure. Her breathing isn’t coming out right and everything is so hot she fears the forest is on fire. Her vision’s gone so blurry she can’t see for the smoke. 

The kid makes it to their knees before she does, despite having to drag themself out from under her to do it. “Jade? Crone’s tits, what the hell are you—”

The heavy footsteps, close now, she wasn’t fast enough— “Jade! Blood of the six— Princess?” 

“Ballantine?” the tiny grabby hands stop trying to haul her to her feet. Wrong, they need to get going, now. “What happened to your nose?”

“Uh.” Another set of larger rougher hands joins the first, lifting her up. Jade rips herself away. Lands heavily on the kid. They stagger under her weight. “We had an incident.”

“Looks like you’re still having an incident.” A small sure arm wraps around her waist and heaves her closer. She ends up draped over a set of shoulders that shouldn’t be big enough, but this courier is determined. 

“I have it handled.” The monster’s shadow moves closer and Jade tries to shove the kid away before they get caught too, get them running. Sends them both stumbling. 

“Zudderpickings!”

“Princess, let me—”

“Ballantine, stop. I’ve got it.” The small terrier shifts her further from the too-big hands, imposing themself between Jade and the mountainous man. They’re too little for that, Jade should be the one protecting them— 

“Of course, Princess. My apologies, I’m just worried.”

—before she can complete the thought, they’re walking. Her muscles feel like water, Jade can’t really see the ground, but her feet are mostly under her, so she knows she’s touching it. “Could you grab that for me?” 

“Planning a picnic?” Heavier footsteps follow them. Jade tries to nudge the friendly presence to go faster. Manages a groan among the coughing. They haul her higher again and shush her quietly. Opting to sneak away, then. That’s acceptable. 

“Yeah, I was going to take Moonlight out to the hillocks.” The air is darker and more familiar now. Smells like horses and home. 

Jade stumbles through the stables, sweating and shaking, but on her feet. And an indeterminate someone else’s feet, which she keeps stomping to viciously muttered curses. 

“Don’t you have lessons?” their tail sounds amused, and perhaps a little cautious. “You aren’t allowed in the stables without permission.”

“Mom knows. Airk was sick today too, so we had to cut class short — food poisoning or something he caught from the kitchens. I heard Brunhilde say the baker’s also down for the count.”

“Probably not related,” the deep rumble is wry. This sounds familiar too, “doubt any of them went for a dip in the pond last night.”

“Really? That’s dumb. Weather’s turning, last night was cold.”

Something about this really irks. Her head pounds too much to place why. 

“I take it you two are acquainted?”

Fear shoots down her spine. Icy among the overwhelming burn of her whole body. When she shifts to take the hit she knows is coming, her small companion turns and shoves them both through a door so that Jade’s back is to the wood and they’re between her and the threat. “Jade? Yeah, I guess. She helps me get Moonlight saddled. And she’s really nice to Pickles. Took her out for me that time at the round pen.”

“She loves that horse.” Fond and exasperated. Something settles slightly into place. “Stars know how Jade got her to let her ride.” 

“One day I’m gonna figure it out,” the squeaky voice grumbles. Walking again. It requires a mind-breaking amount of attention to stay upright. “Jade’s helping me work on it.”

“Is she still? She never mentioned.”

“Just sugarcubes, mostly, she’s got loads of them.” They hit a hard surface and Jade is falling for a second before she hits a pile of soft fabric. “Nothing else, obviously, since I’m banned and all.”

“Ah, so that’s why Pickles is looking so round lately.” Big gentle hands help get her situated under the sweltering pile of blankets. Everything is a bit softer around the edges now, some of the seething panic gone to drowning dragging tired. “Glad to hear you’re visiting. Don’t try to ride her.”

“Wouldn’t dare.” Jade twitches at that even through the burning shakes. They’d better not. “What happened?”

Creaking footsteps away from the bed. There’s a specific floorboard they need to avoid and she thinks she tells them so, but no one reacts and they step on it anyway. “This one took a turn during training. Told her to go home because she looked like death, but she was insistent. Dropped her sword during sparring, tried to pick it up, and fell flat on her face.”

“Wow, she went to training like that? Sounds like something only a curmudgeoning idiot would do.”

The last part is pointed. Jade burrows deeper into the blankets. Kit, bug off. 

“Ha! Are you serious?”

“Your Highness, I’m sorry, she’s really not well—”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m sure she’ll be appropriately embarrassed when she wakes up. Having fallen flat on her face, broken yours, and nearly smashed mine running into me full tilt. Fine work, Jade Claymore. Sounds like somebody should’ve stayed in bed. ”

You little— 

“Jade, go to sleep,” the deep voice is booming now. “The princess is going to take her leave, and I’ll be back with tea and perhaps a physician.”

“Definitely a physician,” the snide one mutters. “If only for your face.”

“Please excuse her, today is highly irregular, she’s never—”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it, glad I could help. Here, might as well give her this. I can’t take Moonlight out without her saddle anyway.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly — let me help you saddle Moonlight—”

“No bother.” Flouncing footsteps fading into the distance. She’s so used to them by now they’re basically part of the background noise same as the horses. “I’ll just swing round the stalls in the square instead. Catch you later, Ballantine.”

A large hand falls on the blanket. Long sigh. Jade’s bones ache too much to focus on it. “Good stars, kid. You got very lucky. That one is not known for forgiving slights.” 

Yeah, because they’re an asshole. 

“You are in a state. Stay put, I’ll be back soon.”

Creaking footsteps. Jade drifts in the aching void. Just her and the horses, alone as they should be. But without the forest and the flouncing it doesn’t sound right. 

/-:-:-/  

Jade finds herself in odd places. A wood full of Bone Reavers fresh from bombing the palace. Halfway up a ladder with familiar voices shouting at her to come down. Inside Pickles stall, asleep in the hay. Locked in her room, shoving at the door but finding no way out of it. It all blurs together with the nightmares into a stew of sleeping and waking where she’s never sure which is which. 

She rouses properly for the first time in days to eyeball-piercing sunlight and Kit lounging on her stool, nosing through the latest adventure tale from the maids circuit. 

“Good morning,” Kit chirps. “You look like shit.” 

What the hell? 

The whole scene doesn’t make any sense. Kit is wearing their finery with their hair down and wild around their face, long ends past their shoulders. They have their bootless feet up on the edge of her bed, reclining against the wall on the wobbly stool, body just long enough to reach. 

There’s a strongly smelling simple clay teapot with on the bedside table — an engraved table which she certainly didn’t have before — along with a sachet of herbs, a half-empty tonic bottle, a pile of extremely expensive embroidered silk lace handkerchiefs, another pile of less expensive still clearly soft linen handkerchiefs, rags in a wooden bowl of water, a clay mug, a wooden cup of water, and another steaming wooden bowl of soup. Topping all that nonsense, Kit’s theoretically reading the chapbook in their hands, something she’s never seen them do before, certainly not for their studies.  

Her head is pounding. She can’t process this. “Why are you here?”

Kit flips the page. “Someone has to keep you out the hayloft and take care of Pickles. I think she’s going to eat your fill-in stablehand. Horrible piece of shit stablehand, also, I’m way better at this than him.”

They called someone else in to cover her chores? How bad off has she been? “Who?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Jimmy something? Wimmy? Timmie?” Kit frowns at the page. “Tall, paler than me even, ears too big for his head, annoying as hell, bows constantly, has a face full of spots.”

Timmie, then. Timmie is, rightfully, deathly afraid of royalty. He must’ve turned a fright when he heard where the posting was. 

Has Jade just become immune by now, by nature of being stalked by Kit for so long? No, she thinks she’d have a heart attack if she ever had to really talk to Queen Sorsha. Thank stars the Queen hasn’t been by for more than a minute in months, collecting Yonder from the post with nary a nod and heading on her way. Jade flirts with death daily. 

“How long have I been out?” Jade croaks. 

“Well,” Kit flips back a page to reference something, “you’ve definitely been talking. A lot. At me. But I think this is the first real conversation we’ve had. Also running around a ton — you’re really bad at staying put. Jimmy had to shove a crate in front of the door to keep you from crawling into Pickles’s stall, since we couldn’t fish you out of it.”

What the everloving hell. 

“So like, four days, give or take,” Kit says, squinting at a word. They pause to trace it with their finger and mouth the letters. “Three if you don’t count the day you ignored my very correct advice and passed out at the training yard.”

“What did I say?!” Jade squawks, because of all things, this feels the most pressing so far. Even though all of it is horrifically humiliating and must eventually be dealt with. 

“You cussed out the Pacalcade,” Kit informs her, “mostly for not securing the palace properly. But like, graphically. So many times.” They glance up so she can see the sarcastic pout when they add, “I’m hurt, Jade, it’s almost like you don’t want me sneaking out to see you.”

Jade is — going to kill them. Or die. She’s not sure which comes first. 

Kit returns to their pamphlet, but she thinks it’s mostly for show now. Their attention is clearly on her. “You also talked about Pickles, how much you flipping hate horses—” Oh stars. Jade did not want that to be common knowledge, “—complained about me padlocking your door on training day — which I did not do — so you nearly broke your knee climbing out the window — embarrassing, it’s not that high up—” It’s a lot higher up than Jade had thought! “—threatened to follow me out on my quest because you said otherwise I was gonna die, cried, mourned the nuns of the empirical cults and covens, bitched out half the castle and all the other pages, and ranted about Bone Reavers.” They glance at her again, gaze unreadable. “What’s up with you and Bone Reavers?”

Jade’s stomach turns. Her eyes burn. Kit doesn't need to — that’s not their business—

Kit, impossibly, relents. They return to their pennyback. “Whatever. Just saying, it came up a lot. Also, you told me several times that Pickles was going to murder me.”

Jade locks onto this because it’s the safest zone in the torrent of horrors. “Pickles is going to murder you.” 

Pickles hates Kit more than anybody, which is a feat given how much she generally despises all beings. Jade thinks if Pickles had thumbs, she would’ve put a dagger through Kit’s gut and two arrows in their eyes that first night. Pickles generally tries to do it anyway without the having of hands, and sometimes she gets pretty close.   

“Not yet,” Kit runs their fingers down the booklet spine. There’s bandages wrapped around a couple of them, boding ill for Jade’s stables. She tries to convince herself it’s papercuts from unfamiliarity with books. “We’ve reached an understanding, in your convalescence.” 

Jade looks around for the first time to take in the evidence of her convalescence. In addition to this table full of things she never bought and doesn’t own, there’s what she suspects is a bed warmer brushing up against her feet to replace her lack of a fire hazard fireplace, a curtain over her drafty window — currently open to clear the lingering musty smell of sickness — as well as a bunch of random shit like a sturdy chest in the corner, a cloak on the peg, a silver candelabra, and a glass vase full of flowers on the mantle. 

She’s wearing night clothes. They are not her night clothes, because her night clothes are just her oldest clothes that are still loose enough to fit for sleeping. These are clean and soft, not quite so baggy she’s swimming in them but close, the way that Kit’s are — intended to be stylish but versatile enough to grow into. Which is insane for night clothes. They’re also distinctly short, which feels relevant, but explains nothing beneath the hammering in her head. 

The collar has fallen low and her hair is up in a wrap. The nape of her neck, already sweaty and stiff, tingles at the exposure. It’s fine so long as she stays laying down or facing Kit. She still pulls the collar higher as subtly as she can. 

Kit’s back at the chapbook, glaring at the pages, mouthing the words as they go. They’re a slow reader, concentrating with their whole body, but the fact that they’re doing it all makes her wonder if she’s still delirious. 

Jade shivers in her bed as another wave of aches rolls over her. There’s a mountain’s worth of blankets on top of her and a hot pot of coals at her feet so she’s basically baking, but she still feels cold. When she burrows down the bed gives too much, the back of her head not hitting anything so hard as the frame. “What happened to my pillow?”

“You had a pillow?” Kit asks, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t see one, so I brought a couple over.”

They’re — the audacity — they cannot be doing this shit—

“People are going to notice,” she accuses, skull aching, but less without the post to dig into it. 

Kit raises both eyebrows this time. “Who’s in your bedroom other than you, me, and Ballantine?” 

That is none of their business, because if she was taking up with somebody, she would certainly not be telling Kit about it. 

“Ballantine was here?” Ballantine is definitely going to notice something’s up between her and the crown princess. He knows her finances and her friends, or lack thereof. 

Come on, a silver candelabra?! Can she even hawk that? They’re absolutely going to think she nicked it from the castle. Another thing she has to bury beneath Pickles’s stall. 

“Ballantine’s been by,” Kit says, unbothered. “His nose is healing nicely.”

His nose? What’s wrong with Ballantine’s nose—

“You broke it,” Kit tells her with glee, abandoning the book and all pretenses of not being here just to give her shit. “Punched him right in the face. He’s got two shiners too.”

“What.” Jade blanks out. 

“You were very delirious at the time, so no one blames you, but it is quite the sight,” Kit continues, setting the chapbook down on their lap and their chin on their hand. “I think he’s telling people it was a training accident. You also bowled me over when you decided to sprint back to the stables yourself, but fortunately for you, my nose survived.”

Oh stars. 

“Then you told me to bug off in front of Ballantine,” Kit goes on with a wide grin, shattering her sense of her own safety and survival instincts. “Even though I was bringing you soup after doing all your chores and I was the one who hauled your sorry ass into bed, since you wouldn’t let Ballantine near you. You were going to call me a nasty name, but he stopped you. I think you did it again after I left, because he gave me a lecture about not bothering the stablehands.”

Holy. Fire in heaven.

“You’re gonna get a lecture about being proper with princesses,” Kit agrees, reading her face easier than that book. “Also night swimming in pond muck like a dintithering idiot.” As if they had not also done that! “But don’t worry — I gave Ballantine a dressing down about sparring with feverish invalids and thoroughly freaking you out. So we’re all even now.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Jade says. 

Kit reaches down and passes her a bucket, still damp from recent cleaning. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Jade does not throw up, though her stomach is rolling around like she should. She does stare into the bottom of the bucket, breathing heavily, because it is a small dark space and Kit isn’t in there. 

“Why are you here?” she asks the bucket bottom. It smells kind of funky, or perhaps that’s her breath. Her voice echoes around the wood, which makes her ears ring more. 

“Can’t leave my favorite night swimming stablehand page to languish in misery alone, can I?” Kit lilts, not muffled enough through the bucket. “Ballantine thinks I’ve taken an inexplicable interest in you after being, you know, flattened like a pancake by you running at full tilt. He keeps looking at me like I’m a wild animal that snuck into your room to bite you.”

Because he’s right, they are. 

“Plus, I wanted to see your face when you were lucid enough for me to tell you all this,” Kit admits. There it is. “Which was priceless, and really makes the whole nursemaiding thing worth it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” Jade demands, sniffling miserably. Outside the bucket darkness, it’s definitely not dawn.

“Well, most of the palace’s sick right now, actually,” Kit explains cheerily. “Some kind of stomach bug the baker passed around. Airk, Mom, and my tutors got it pretty bad. I’m impervious to illness—” Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? They were designed by demons to be the most annoying person to ever exist,  “—so I’ve been released from lessons. Normally I would not spend that blessed free time fraternizing with the infirm, but you’ve been so pathetic I thought I should visit.”

And terrorize her, is implied. 

They kick her bed frame with one foot. “ You’ve been banned from training for at least a week more. On account of inhaling so much pond muck you turned yourself loony. Ballantine says you have to stop going to that pond outside the pasture because it gets all the run-off from the fields.” They kick her bed again, harder. “Thanks for that, by the way, we’re so lucky I’m unscathed.”

“Does Ballantine know we’re—” Jade can’t even finish the sentence in the safety of her bucket, because what were they doing exactly? Crimes, obviously, but she’s long lost track of what sort.

“Colluding to help the crown princess escape the country?” Kit sums it up fairly neatly, if you leave out the assault against the throne and the bomb threats. “No. I told him we’d run into each other a few times when I was taking out Moonlight and Pickles.”

So he was aware they were acquainted, but not that they were… accomplices to Kit’s runaway plan and Jade’s countless treasonous attempts on Kit’s person. 

“I think he thinks I’m doing this to spite you,” Kit remarks thoughtfully. “Which I am. So he’s not wrong.”

“If I’m not allowed to train, then why the hell are you still hanging around?” Jade demands of her bucket. 

“Entertainment.” Kit takes their feet off her bed. “Although I’ve officially collected mine, so I suppose I’ll leave you to it so long as you’re well enough to feed yourself and not fall off ladders.”

Had Kit been feeding her?! No, she can’t deal with this. She keeps her face in the bucket. “I’m fine. Get out.”

“I’d like to see a demonstration, given the week’s events,” Kit demands, probably emboldened by the smell of blood in her burning cheeks. “Quickly, please. I’m planning to skedaddle before Ballantine gets here. My cover is I’m only dropping by whenever I go see Moonlight or Pickles. You know, poking my head in on you, making sure all’s well and you aren’t spilling your soup across the floor as before.”

“Are you responsible for all this shit in my room?” Jade growls. Snot is collecting in the bottom of the bucket, but she will not lower herself to using a cursed kerchief from Kit . 

“What, can’t bring my favorite sickly stablehand an old table I found in an alleyway?” They’re absolutely responsible for all of it. The table must be from the castle, not an alley, in a hall or room they thought people wouldn’t miss it. No abandoned alleyway peasant’s table has carving as fancy as this. And no actual peasants abandoned a perfectly fixable table in an alleyway. 

“Ballantine’s aware,” Kit relents. “He said he’ll send me a writ for the medicine and whatnot.”

If she’s not careful, Kit is going to slowly replace her entire house. She hadn’t noticed with the boots and the blankets — the lies too good and Jade too naive — but they’ve pushed too far this time and the game is up. 

She moves the bucket enough to wipe her nose on her sleeve, freezes at the last second— “Tell me these are not your night clothes.”

“They’re Airk’s night clothes.” Which is not better. “He won’t miss them, he’s got, like, ten pairs and he never wears these because he says they make him look too thin.”

Is that true? Jade suddenly suspects these are Prince Airk’s favorite night clothes and they’ve mysteriously disappeared forever because Jade certainly cannot give them back. Tossing them also feels horrifically wasteful. So now she’s stuck with Prince Airk’s pilfered vomit-stained, snot-covered night clothes, soaked in fever sweat and inevitably covered in horse. Jade shoves her face back in the bucket, hyperventilating. 

“Oh, also, your order from the tailor’s came in,” Kit adds, dropping a heavy square package of something on her feet. “Which is convenient, because Ballantine thinks I bought it for you. He’s terrified, it’s hilarious.”

Of course Kit thought it was funnier this way. The candelabra and the expensive bullshit was clearly just to needle him. Only now Jade has to figure out a way to hide all this without it being incredibly obvious she’s being doted upon by royalty if anyone ever so much as glances through the door to her quarters. 

How the hell did they drag the trunk in? Did they make Ballantine help with that? 

Oh, yeah, no, they definitely had — the torturing potential was too great. At least that was useful since she could stash the silver candelabra, glass-blown vase, and embroidered silk handkerchiefs inside something with a lock. The clay teapot and mug, linen hankies, and wooden crockery were clearly from a first wave where Kit was actually being mindful of what she’d find useful instead of just an asshole to Ballantine. 

If she throws the curtain over the table, will that be good enough to hide it?

Jade doesn’t even look like a thief anymore, no thief worth anything would choose items like these. Besides, Ballantine knows she’s not nicking it, because he literally helped Kit haul it all in. Now it’s like the chambers of a favored mistress, being festooned with gifts to ply her favor and buy her silence. Except it’s all been done out of spite because Kit is horrible. 

“I hate you so unspeakably much,” she hisses into the snotty bucket. 

“I embroidered those handkerchiefs myself,” Kit gloats. “And I told him so too. First time needlepoint has ever been useful.” 

“As soon as I can get out of this bed, I’m going to hunt you down and choke you with those handkerchiefs,” Jade swears, lowering the bucket so they can see the murder in her eyes. She’ll do it this time too. 

“Treason,” Kit sings. They toss a linen hanky at her face. Jade blows her nose, glaring, “so much treason. Also, I offered to replace your bed. He really didn't like that one. I thought he might stab me.”

Well yeah, because that meant Kit wanted to—

Does Kit even know this. Do they even realize. They’re eleven and horrendous, so probably not. They went for whatever elicited the biggest reactions, no care about consequences that won’t happen to them or consideration of the implications. 

She weighs the outcomes of explaining this to them, and settles on screw it because they’re in this hole together now, Kit made sure of it. She sniffs and wipes her leaking face. “He thinks you’re trying to court me.”

Kit’s so shocked they tip the whole stool and topple themself to the floor. Bang! “He what?!”

Well, at least she isn’t actually being courted by the world’s whiniest, most over-empowered eleven year old. Because that was the one thing that would be even worse than this. 

“He thinks you’re buttering me up with gifts so you can convince me to humor your advances,” Jade explains, dead inside. “And he’s terrified because, as a foundling who aspires to be a knight of the crown someday, I would not exactly be in the position to say no if I wanted.”

Kit’s white as a sheet and twice as rigid. Their gaze bounces between the table, the trunk, the candelabra, and the package of new clothes. All of which Ballantine will now assume Jade knows Kit will take as signs of her accepting their advances should she ever wear them.  

Good, they’re getting it.  

They stand up extremely stiffly and brush off their pants. Shuffle their boots. Set the wobbly stool to rights. Clear their throat. Stare at the wall above her head. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“And say what?” Jade buries her face in her hands, snotty handkerchief and all. “What grand lies will you spin to ruin my life next, Kit?”

“The truth,” Kit explains, finally sounding as ashamed as they should. She glances up at them. Their spine is rigid and they look dead serious and extremely determined, still staring at the wall. “I’ll tell him the tailor order is yours, because it is, and that I lied to prank him. The rest were also pranks, except for the stuff I thought you might want to keep since it’s useful. I was planning to put the candelabra, the vase, and the table back after you were done ranting about them anyway. I’ll need his help with the trunk.”

Of course they would. 

“Take the flipping candelabra and the vase with you now,” Jade commands with a cough. “The embroidered handkerchiefs too.”

Kit wordlessly gathers them all up and heads for the door, eyes on the floor. They linger in the doorframe. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to— I’m not—”

“I know,” Jade sighs deeply and flops back onto her very nice feather down pillows she wishes she could keep. The weight of death avoided drags at her bones. At least Kit was eleven and infamously terrible. This would’ve been even more of a nightmare if Ballantine didn’t have cause to believe their explanation. 

“Hope you feel better soon,” Kit mumbles, kicking their feet in her doorway. 

“Goodbye, Kit,” Jade dismisses them, thoroughly exhausted. Her nose aches all the way down to her lungs, her ribs feel worse, and her head is throbbing up a storm again, louder every time Kit talks. But they also did show up when they didn’t have to and she was the one who exposed them both to rancid pond scum. She’s already halfway asleep when she adds, “Thanks for the soup.” 

Kit shrugs and trudges out the door into the stall rows. “Stop guzzling pond water so we can sword fight next time.”

Hm. Maybe. She would like to knock them on their ass for this. 

/-:-:-:-:-/

Chapter Text

Kit demonstrably cannot read no matter how well they playact it because when Jade wakes up enough to open her order from the tailors, the packages on her bed include a lockbox, three shirts, an over shirt, two pairs of breeches, and a cloak just in time for fall.  

Jade studies her new haul. They’re all of the size, make, and quality she specified. Big enough to grow into, sturdy but not so fine it would be a nuisance to explain on her pittance. If she scraped up everything she had for a year or more, she could afford most of this. Definitely not the cloak, third shirt, or the second pair of breeches.

The plain linen shirts are fine between her fingers, far softer to the touch than they look. The overshirt is red the way the actual pages of the Pacalcade wear, even if she’ll never receive their uniform. A bold request on her part that she regrets even less now. She staggers her way over to the trunk to carefully fold everything away. She’s never had so many clothes as to require actual storage before.  

Kit, when she finally sees them, claims that they’re an amazing haggler and won themself a bargain. Which Jade assumes means the royal discount of accepting bribes and shaking down the peasantry for taxes. 

She doesn’t see them until she’s well again, though, because Kit is by all accounts laid up with the stomach flu. 

“Saw Her Highness talking to Ballantine outside,” Timmie explains cheerfully, swinging by Jade’s quarters after covering her chores. “And then they threw up in a bush. So I guess they’ve just been faking fine really smoothly this whole time. Born liar, that one.”

Flipping Kit . Now Jade’s going to get both pond poisoned and the stomach plague. 

“How’re you feeling?” Timmie asks anxiously. They may not be the closest anymore, but they’ve been staples in each other’s lives since the home. “You’ve been quite on the verge.”

“Like death warmed over,” Jade groans from her crusty blanket prison. She blows her nose into one of Kit’s fleet of luxury hankies. “But much improved.”

Timmie nods, lingering in the doorway. He scrapes his boot heel along the floor, like perhaps he’s unsure if they’re still on the sort of terms that allow for bedside visitations. They never had a falling out — no more than their usual scrapes and squabbles — but since she got her pagehood and he his posting in the workhorse barn, they’ve been distant in a way they never were before. 

“Good,” Timmie kicks the doorframe, “I was beginning to worry. Stars forbid you should die and I be reassigned to these stables.” Timmie shivers. “I don’t think I’d survive it.”

“There’s a bed with a door?” Jade offers, since Timmie is consigned to the hayloft. 

“Not nearly worth it for putting up with Pickles and the whims of royalty,” Timmie mutters murderously. 

Which strikes a sudden sharp foreboding in Jade. Kit hadn’t mentioned much about Timmie, but Kit had a bad habit of leaving out critical information like, ‘I’m the Princess of Tir Asleen and thumping me is treasonous,’ or ‘I’m actually deathly averse to blusenberries so if you take me to the patch in the meadow by the pasture, I may break out in splotches and start wheezing.’

Timmie and Jade have an understanding on account of being foundlings with odd marks, so she waves him into her room for further gossip despite her plethora of deadly royalty-related secrets. Timmie’s mark looks different than hers — a simple wave inside a circle— but it’s a scar of the same sort. His hair is thinly straight and shorn short for his stablemaster so he hides his nape beneath a neckerchief. Something Jade’s learned long since not to do given how easy it is to grab and yank. Instead she keeps her thick curls down in the back. 

Timmie described Jade’s mark as more like a flower. When he drew it for her, it reminded her of the sun. Jade thinks it might be pretty if it didn’t bring her so much grief. ‘Pretending to be the next Elora Danan, are you?’ was a milder one she got a lot, in combination with her hair.  

She doesn’t think her and Timmie are related. He’s way paler than her warm light brown, reedy, sickly, and doesn’t have her dots. But they are tied in a way. As much as they’ve bloodied each other up, they’ll always have each other’s backs against the kids with low collars and smooth napes. 

“What happened?” she asks, despite herself. If Kit’s been dropping by, it could really be anything. Perhaps they made him aid and abet with the trunk transport too.  

Did everyone in the castle see that? Hopefully not, the courtyard’s been fairly abandoned whenever she looks through her window. Down for the count with the stomach plague, most likely. 

Timmie takes the invitation and perches on her stool, too tightly wound to tip it any which way. He leans forward, making big faux fearful eyes at her. “The princess is completely flipping terrifying. Did you know they were here every single day?”

News to Jade, although not surprising given how much she apparently rambled at them about everything incriminating under the sun. No wonder Kit stuck around, they must have a horrendous amount of dirt on her from her delirium. “They like to visit Moonlight and Pickles.”

Timmie shakes his head. “Them and that horse deserve each other.” Jade takes note that Timmie, too, does not seem to associate Kit with the feminine. “Did you know Pickles bit them three times, just while I was watching? Almost took their ear off once when they tried to groom her. Her Highness was fine until they saw the blood—” Timmie shakes his head in disgust, “—but then they got so woozy I had to take them to the infirmary to get it stitched back on. Me! Ferrying the princess to the healers because of a horse!”

Holy flipping hell, Kit. ‘An understanding?!’ No wonder their hair was down, they were hiding evidence. “Are they okay?!” 

“Of course, they’re an immortal demon,” Timmie curses viciously and spits over his shoulder to ward evil. “Second coming of Bavmorda. Every single rumor is true. Though Pickles treats you like the Lost Empress. I thought she was going to kill us when we tried to fish you out of her stall.”

Jade has a very vague memory of this that ultimately ends with her wandering out into the hallway alone and confused, nearly unleashing Pickles on the unsuspecting audience. She rubs her aching head. “Was Ballantine there?”

“Yeah, I fetched him,” Timmie crosses his arms. “Her Highness fled before he came, so they wouldn’t get banned from the stables on account of their ear. I don’t know what they told the physician, but clearly it was a lie. I ran out of the infirmary as soon as they crossed the threshold.” 

Insanity. The princess nearly lost an ear in Jade’s stables?! Kit nearly lost an ear in Jade’s stables, while Jade was sleeping not ten feet away! And said absolutely nothing about it! 

Blusenberries. It’s the flipping blusenberries all over again.  

“And the princess,” Timmie goes on, turning blotchy red the way he does when he’s really hopping mad, “the princess! The princess is the snidest most arrogant bastard I have ever met! I wish their damned ear had fallen off!” 

This is a huge departure for Timmie, who usually talks like royalty is lurking over his shoulder listening to his every word. Which in this case, they could be — no wait, Kit is sick, thank stars. 

“What’d they do?” Jade asks, hiding her wince behind a cough. 

“Well first,” Timmie rants, “they told me that if I snuck in here while you were convalescing they’d change the edicts so they can cut off hands again, and then they’d hang mine from their flagstaff.” Crone’s tits. “And then they said if I didn’t stick around to guard the door so no one but Ballantine got in, they’d unlatch Pickles’s stall and let her loose on me in the night.” A death threat. “So then, when I’m shaking in my boots outside your stables, pissing myself from fear, shirking my stablemaster — and you know my stablemaster—”

Jade does, the main is a blithering nightmare. 

“—I see the princess sneaking out of your bedroom window, because they’ve got in through the hayloft!” Timmie shouts, flinging himself and the stool backwards with a bang. “The hayloft, Jade! And guess what they’ve done to the hayloft.”

Jade has never in her life wanted to know anything less. “Tell me you fixed it, and don’t tell me what it is.”

“I’m telling you what it is, because I had to spend a whole two days cleaning it up while they got their flipping ear bit off,” Timmie snarls. They’ve thrown each other around enough, Jade knows she could normally take him, but right now she’s laid up and Timmie is as spitting mad as she’s ever seen. “First, Her Highness has, in their great wisdom, kicked the ladder down by accident. The rotted rungs all snapped, there’s no salvaging it. So I have to get another one from the barn—”

Dammit all, Jade liked her ladder. It was reliable and it got the job done so long as you avoided the missing bits. 

“—which is terrifying, by the way, because I keep thinking they’ll come back and find me gone,” Timmie hisses. “Then they’ve got the pitchforks and the shovel all tangled up in there, and some of those are bent. Like, this twit managed to drop your rustiest pitchfork down halfway into a visitor’s stall, and there’s no getting it out. So those are done for—”

Her entire house! Her entire flipping house! Jade was out of it for four days and Kit has gone and done this—

“—so they tell me to requisition new ones from the market with the royal writ,” Timmie continues, feet and stool stomping on the floor as he falls forward again. “And I have never touched a royal writ before in my life and I hope I never will again. I thought my hands would catch fire, I was sweating through the paper. Plus, the blacksmith could barely read their handwriting, so is it even worth the coin they claim?”

Further confirmation that Kit cannot read or write. The kingdom is doomed, for reasons innumerous. Maybe the best thing Jade can do is let Kit run so Prince Airk can inherit. 

“It’s got the royal seal on it though, so he says it’s fine even if it’s indecipherable, and then he tries to upsell me on—” Timmie cuts himself off, “—shit! I forgot to mention the wheelbarrow—” Even the wheelbarrow?! “—That’s the worst part. Because somehow Her Royal Trying My Patience managed to get that up in the hayloft too. Crone take my eyes if I can ever figure it out. I think they might be the worst stablehand to ever exist, I think they should never be allowed in the stables again, I don’t care if their family owns the country—”

“Agreed,” Jade groans into her palms. 

“—so I ask them this and they’re like, ‘Well, just get it down, Jimmy,’” Timmie does an extremely insulting but dead-on version of Kit’s entitled apathetic affect. “They’ve been calling me Jimmy all week, too, which is better than Wimmy, which is what we started at before I worked up the blood to correct them. At which point they looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘You think I’m going to learn your name, Jimmy? When I’m already learning so much about diplomacy and running the country?’”

Worse, Kit certainly knew it was Timmie. Because they’d gotten it right while pretending to forget it, outside the barrier pronunciation and everything. 

“Stars forbid they should ever run the country!” Timmie echoes exactly what Jade is thinking. “I don’t want to know what the whole country equivalent of a wheelbarrow in a hayloft is!” Jade could not agree more. “So I’m shitting my pants as I have been all week, and I go up to the hayloft with the new ladder I brought to try to get the wheelbarrow down—”

How had Kit gotten that up there? Rope? There had to be rope involved, right? She didn’t think they were clever enough for that, but then again, they were clever enough to replace her whole house and make it look like an accident, so who the hell knew anymore. The fact that she still has her bed and her stool are miracles. 

“—and there is no getting this wheelbarrow down without rope and tackle,” Timmie concludes the same thing she does. “But the pulley is gone, and the princess says it was never there in the first place, and I know they must’ve broken it doing something stupid with the shovel, because I saw it there last night.” Timmie pauses, adds, “They managed all this in a single morning, just so you’re aware. Second day of my posting, I walk in after tending the barn to this insanity.”

One flipping morning?! “How?!” 

“You have to use that padlock,” Timmie swears. “On all the doors and windows. Ask the watchtower for additional, you’ve got an in with Captain Ballantine. I’m shocked there weren’t any deaths in my brief aborted stint as a door guard for vandalism—”

Story of Jade’s life. 

“—But anyway, there’s no pulley and no rope and the wheelbarrow’s still up there. So they say, ‘Shove it down to me, Jimmy, and I’ll catch it!’” They had not. “Only I’m not fool enough to go down for murdering the crown princess by wheelbarrow—” Thank. Flipping stars. Jade nearly had a heart attack at that mental image. All this in her stables, “—so I tell them to go get a rope and pulley. And they ask if I’m ‘ordering them around,’” Timmie says this with particular disdain, “as if they have not been bossing me around all day, breaking your shit and wrecking your stables while you’re deathly ill—” Thank stars someone said it, “—and I’m so beside myself I say, ‘Yeah, I am ordering you around, because you got a wheelbarrow stuck in a hayloft, and I have never seen such bullshit in my entire life!’”

“Mothers,” Jade gasps. “What did they do?” 

“They went and got a pulley,” Timmie says simply. Huh. “And said, ‘Glad you’ve got spine to you, Jimmy,’ and I was so flipping mad I nearly threw that pulley at them. But I was also kind of proud, because this is the crown princess and I was brave enough to tell them off.” Also relatable. “So I’m feeling pretty good, and we’ve got the whole thing rigged up, and they’re being helpful instead of an utterly useless fop. Only then that pulley broke because something was wrong with the latch on it, so I damn near crushed them with the wheelbarrow by accident anyway. The whole thing goes plummeting down from nearly ten feet high, right above their head — ”

“Holy shit,” Jade is in this now. Like, she knows Kit survived, because she literally just saw them yesterday, but half of her is convinced that Kit was a fever dream or a ghost. 

“—But they’re quick, so they dodge it,” Timmie explains, throwing in extra embellishments and miming it out with his hands. Was that an accident or did they know it was coming?! “BANG!” Jade jumps, sends herself coughing. “The wheelbarrow crashes down an inch from their toes, and now they’re the one shitting themself, white as snow and shaking like a leaf—” 

Definitely an accident, holy ackleyackers, Kit nearly died?! And completely neglected to mention it, along with any of this other shit. 

“How did this not wake me up?!” she demands when she has her voice back. “You two idiots dropped a flipping wheelbarrow outside my bedroom door! Santicimimius probably died of fright!”

“Oh, no, you were definitely up at this point,” Timmie assures her. “I swear the whole country should’ve heard. Only saving grace was the horses were turned out so that halved the ruckus. I’m a little worried that the Pacalcade didn’t alert , actually.” As is Jade. “Aren’t they supposed to be minding the princess? Like, who is responsible for their dumb ass?”

“I don’t know,” Jade groans, thumping her head into her pillow. “I really don’t.”

“So you come out, with a knife, mind you, shouting about Bone Reavers—” Mother in hell, of course she did, “—and you nearly stick the princess—” 

“I what?!” Jade shouts. She has only the foggy recollection of a really vivid nightmare about Bone Reavers invading the stable and setting off her bomb inside the castle. But in that one, Kit featured as an early victim— “Oh, stars, no, tell me I didn’t stab them.”

“You didn’t stab them,” Timmie puts his hand on her knee. “Well, you did get it through their clothes bad enough to leave a hole in their shirt—” Oh good, she only nearly stabbed them, “—but you’re very sick and they’re wily and shockingly good in a scrap. So they knock the knife out of your grip, bare handed.” A move Jade had taught them. She’d be proud under any other circumstances. “You go for the throat anyway, and they get you turned around and in a hold, and I swear it’s just like — whoosh—” Timmie spreads his hands to indicate illegal magics, “—they’re a completely different person. I thought a new demon came in and possessed them. They’re suddenly sweet as can be, talking to you all soft like, walking you back to bed, getting you settled, making sure you’re alright.” 

She can’t even envision this. She has no clear memory of it and it simply doesn’t line up. Maybe Timmie is lying? But why would he lie to make Kit look good. “That was them, not you?”

“Yeah,” Timmie shudders theatrically. “Completely disturbing. I thought it was a trick and they were waiting to call the guards on you. Was getting ready to follow that wheelbarrow up with a haybale, to stun them and make a run for Mother’s Gate. But then they literally had you over their shoulder to help you walk, even though they were limping because I think maybe you did nick them a little with the knife—” 

What. 

“You’re saying I stabbed the crown princess,” Jade clarifies, fairly certain she’s in shock. “Like, with a knife?”

Timmie shrugs. “You know how you get about Bone Reavers.”

Timmie, being a year or two younger, has no such visceral associations with their simultaneous arrival to Tir Asleen nor memories from outside Mother’s Gate. But he hates the Bone Reavers as much as she does, because they both know what happened to their families. 

“Besides, you were very unwell,” Timmie adds kindly, relinquishing of some of his heat to reassure her. “The princess didn’t blame you. Who could’ve? We both thought maybe you were gonna die. They were by your side basically the whole first night, I think. There when I got in the next morning, too, even though they said they were just visiting Pickles.”

Huh. Timmie is just about the only person Jade would trust with this information other than herself. Of course, she’d rather not trust anyone, but if it’s unavoidable, it would have to be Timmie. They’d colluded to joyride with a broadsword once when they were little and nearly pulled it off. Lied their asses off to the Ground Guard when they came looking for their missing weaponry. He was the one who got the porcupine quills out of her foot when they went possum-poaching together in the Queen’s Wood. 

Also, what the shit, Kit? They were here the whole time?! Nearly getting crushed and having their ear bit off. Which were both their own damn fault in the first place. Except they were here to make sure Jade was okay, something they didn’t have to do. She’d always sweated out fevers alone in her room or the chilly home sickroom before this, excepting occasional visits from Ballantine the last two years. No one but Timmie ever brought her anything so much as soup. 

There’s a lot of feelings stirring around in her gut and none of them easily nameable. 

Still, there’s the more pressing issue of her having stabbed the crown princess, even if Kit apparently walked it off after and was moving just fine when she saw them yesterday afternoon. The vomiting’s not related, right?

“Ballantine,” Jade reminds Timmie of the other witness, putting the headstone on her own grave. 

“He’s got no idea,” Timmie declares, leaning back against the wall on the wobbly stool and brimming with unearned confidence. “The princess ditched their shirt in the manure barrels before he got there.” Timmie scrunches his face up. “Yeah, there was definitely blood on that.” Mothers. For all the shit they’ve pulled, she still owes Kit such an apology. Timmie shrugs lazily. “I lent them mine to get back to the palace and told Ballantine I’d gotten too hot because you never open your flipping windows.” Timmie’s wearing it again now, so Kit must’ve returned it to him. 

Classic foundling collaborative self-preservation. She’s shocked Kit was capable. This kind of reframes the thing, if Kit and Timmie ended up tolerating each other as allies on her behalf. Her respect for Kit grows slightly, as it does at deeply inconvenient moments when they’re up to impossible levels of tomfoolery. 

“The Queen’s going to find out,” Jade panic sniffles anyway, because there’s no way this doesn’t end horribly for her. 

Timmie pauses. Considers, clearly running all their many escapades over in his head. Gives Kit the best endorsement a fellow ruffian can, “Nah, the princess won’t snitch. Nobody would’ve noticed. Her Majesty's been sick and His Highness, too. Everyone in the palace has got it.”

Including Kit, now, apparently. Unless they’d taken a bout with woundrot because Jade stabbed them and they got bit by her horse. 

“Captain Ballantine was pretty pissed about the wheelbarrow though,” Timmie gripes, drumming his foot on the stool leg. “Blamed me for it entirely, because Her Royal Pain in My Heinie was long gone by then. So he sent me out to buy you a new wheelbarrow, but he made me use my pittance for it!” 

“Timmie, I’m so sorry,” Jade pleads, wiping her nose raw on horrible Kit’s ill-gotten kerchief. “I’ll pay you back. I’ve got the money—”

Timmie dismisses her with a hand. “Oh, I’m sure. No wonder where you got that coin, Her Royal Will Divide Us gave me a fine sum for the wheelbarrow and to stay mum about my troubles.” Timmie fixes her with a glare. “Including to you. So you’d better not say shit.”

Of course they did. Of course they did! They were probably planning to blame all the equipment ‘accidents’ on Timmie and play themself the hero. Stars knew what the story would be about the ear. It might’ve even worked, if Jade didn’t know Timmie was careful as a mouse with his tools. 

She could kill them for this, but apparently she also almost did. So Jade, for once in her life, cannot keep this secret. “I stabbed them! I can’t pretend I didn’t stab them!” 

“Guess you miraculously remembered, then,” Timmie informs her. “Because I need this coin and I am not trying their ire. I believe them about that hands shit.” He thrusts both dirty appendages in her face. “I need these hands, Jade! What am I supposed to do with no hands?”

Jade doesn’t know either. She should not have gone around giving ideas to the heir to the throne. 

“How did this end?” she asks, or her corpse does. “Did it stop with the wheelbarrow or did they pull more stunts to replace my perfectly nice stables with their fancy frivolity?” 

She hasn’t been able to get out to see yet, not for more than a brief visit with Pickles. Apparently still too unwell from walking under her own power to notice she has a whole new wheelbarrow. Not that she was particularly paying attention to the tools at the time, too busy trying to keep her lungs inside her chest. 

Timmie’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth turns into a little o of surprise. That morphs into newfound respect followed by a sly grin. “Oh, is that what they were doing?” He leers at her, leaning forward. “You are in for it now, Jade. There’s no getting rid of a stray dog like that. Once you feed them, they’re yours for life. Shitting in your bed, pissing all over your things. Better hope their bite’s as good as their bark, so they can keep the wolves off you at night.”

“What the hell are you saying?” Jade is too frazzled and the lingering throb of a long fever further keeps her from parsing this one out. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Timmie winks, leans back in the wobbly throne to lord his wisdom over her despite being at least a whole year younger. “Probably too late, knowing you.”

Jade could stab Timmie for this. He deserves it as much as Kit, maybe. “Timmie! Speak plain! Or I’m gonna tell Kit you spilled all the eggs and the basket!”

“Kit, is it?” Timmie grins so wide she can see his missing molars. “Not princess to you, just Kit?” 

“They’ll take your hands,” Jade threatens with full sincerity. “I know they’ll do it. They’re a crazy ackleyacking son of a bitch. They can wait decades for that, they’ll never forget.” 

Timmie raises his chin, sneers down his nose at her. “Must be why you like them so much.” Jade glares and clenches her fists. She’ll thrash him for this, even sick as she is. Timmie sees blood in the water and wiggles his finger in the wound, “Sounds like you two are fine friends. Loath as I’m sure you are to admit it—”

“Hey! No!” Jade has her finger out and as close as she can get it to his face. “No! We are not friends! They’re an annoying little anklebiter who follows me around—”

“Getting you nice things, ensuring you don’t die of pond water plague like a dintithering idiot, scaring Ballantine off when you’re too delirious to recognize him and get all bothered,” Timmie lists it on his hands. “Plucking you off of ladders, warning me away since apparently you never mentioned me, grooming your horse who hates them and wants them dead, thank stars I didn’t have to touch your flipping horse—”

“Pickles is their horse,” Jade mutters bitterly. “She belongs to the princess.”

“Sure,” Timmie allows, dripping sarcasm into a petty puddle on her floor. “Your joint horse. How sweet. Makes my cold dead heart beat a little warmer.”

Pickles was not—! The audacity! 

“You,” Timmie goes for the throat, “still don’t think we are friends. And I have been keeping your sorry secrets since before I could walk.”

Wait, what? “We’re friends?”

“I should’ve left you here,” Timmie curses. “In your deathbed. Alone, because you refuse to ever visit me down at the barn and you’re always out when I come calling—”

“I’ve been busy, okay?!” Jade throws up her hands. “I’m—”

“‘Training to be a knight of the crown,’” Timmy mocks at the same time as she shouts it. Jade’s jaw clenches shut, fuming. “Yeah, and you’re making time for your new princess friend.”

He sounds actually hurt. Damn it all. 

“I’m sorry, Timmie,” she really means it, too. Timmie is important, no matter what they are to each other. “I didn’t… I’m glad to see you.”

Timmie kicks his foot and picks his nails. “Yeah. Me too, I suppose. Even if you are the worst spineless cuddermugeoning dintithering—”

“Okay, I get it!”

“—zudcutter to ever exist,” Timmie concludes. 

“You’ve been picking new swears up off Kit,” Jade grumbles, blowing her nose. Timmie wouldn’t have known any she didn’t know first. 

“You too,” Timmie grins. Jade finds herself smiling back. The familiar joy of a shared secret, even if the shared secret is that they’d both nearly killed the crown princess, know that Her Royal Highness is decidedly unfit to rule, and have both been run around to hell and back by the heir’s specific brand of bullshit. 

Timmie frowns thoughtfully. “So if the rest of it was on purpose, do you think the pulley breaking was an accident…” 

“Definitely an accident,” Jade tells him. Kit does not spook at their own pranks even when they should. “You literally almost killed them. And then I would’ve had to kill you. Thanks for that.”

Not out of duty to the throne, Queen Sorsha had people for that, but because Kit was — while not a friend — certainly the sort of partner in crime Jade would be obligated to avenge. Even against someone as reliably trustworthy as Timmie. 

“Damn,” Timmie mutters. “Then I guess we’re even with the you stabbing them thing. Though I think if you succeeded, I’d have cheered.”

“Their fault for trying to replace my whole house while I was out with my death,” Jade concludes. “We can’t be blamed.” 

Timmie considers this for a second. “You know what, I think you’re right.”

They sit there in silence for a moment, pondering their relative chances of execution. At least, that’s what Jade’s doing, she’s not sure about Timmie. He’s usually shrewd — more careful than her with nobility, never would’ve been dumb enough to get himself into this — but he looks less panicked than she’d’ve assumed, under the circumstances. Maybe he, too, has dirt on Kit. 

Oh, right, yeah — telling Jade any of this. That was going to be a tricky pitfall for a future time. Was she going to have to pretend she actually thought Timmie broke the wheelbarrow? Though technically he had, that was clearly an effort of mutual idiocy. 

“Alright, so what’s the sorry state of my stables?” Jade demands, dreading the answer. “What else did you two numbskulls get up to in my absence?” 

“Well, there’s the stitched-on ear but it wasn’t that bad. They were just fussed over the blood like a wimbly weenie. Probably won’t even scar much.” Thank stars. Timmie ticks the rest off on his fingers, “You’ve got a new wheelbarrow, ladder, pitchforks, shovel, bucket—”

“Bucket?!”

“Bucket, just one, the one with the leak—” it had not been a big leak, “—and freshly installed pulley. All courtesy of me, of course, since Princess Kit did not do any of the hauling themself,” Timmie gripes furiously. “Although I did see them flitting in here with a silver candelabra , and I thought they were trying to frame you with Captain Ballantine for thieving. So I was about ready to knock them silly with that candelabra, when he came in with them an hour later hauling this trunk—” Timmie looks around her room, spots the trunk, “Yeah, that one. So I figured maybe he knew.”

“I’m going to kill them for that, yeah,” Jade says wistfully. “Like, I think I might push them out of the hayloft and hide their body in the pond.”

“You know that’s treason, right?” Timmie presses her, because he still has some of his sense left even after most of a week with Kit. “You can’t just be saying things like that.”

Jade simpers. Blows her nose on Kit’s handkerchief. That ship has long since sailed. “Then don’t rat.”

“Asshole,” Timmie hisses. “Making me accomplice to your attempts against the throne. Doesn’t Queen Sorsha stable her horses here too?”

Yeah, but if Jade let that stop her from doing crimes against the crown, she’d have fled the country three months ago. “I think I just don’t fear death any longer. Wrote my will and everything.”

“Am I in it?” Timmie’s eyes light up far too eagerly. 

Jade rolls hers. “Yeah. You got everything but my good pants, those went to the baker’s apprentice. You know, the smiley one. Brun-something.” Old good pants, now, since she’s got two brand new pairs. Brunella could have those too. 

“The fact that you still don’t know her name is criminal,” Timmie tells her bluntly. “That girl is so sweet on you.” 

Insane thing to say? The baker’s apprentice has a raging crush on Prince Airk, pining from afar as long as Jade’s known her. Timmie was always way worse than Jade with girls, reading and wooing them. Except—

“What’s her name, then?!” Jade demands. “Tell me her name, Timmie!”

“Don’t know it.” Completely flipping useless. Why does she tolerate him? “Because I don’t see her weekly for her to shower me in pastries. I’m stuck buying my own meals, unlike your pampered palace self.”

Foundling pittances included room and board, but how those were handled was up to the posting. Queen Sorsha tried to set an example with the castle but that didn’t mean Timmie’s crap stablemaster gave a damn about it. “I give you the extras, don’t I?!”

“When I see you,” Timmie spits, “which is never. Where have you been this whole summer?”

Gallivanting around with Kit, training with Ballantine, getting her last gasps on Pickles before Kit took her away forever, losing track of absolutely everything else including her own head. Timmie and her didn’t have regular appointments, so it was easy to forget about seeing him. Particularly when their usual mischief was off the table now that Jade was to be a knight. A muffin here or there was the most they’d done in months, maybe years. 

“Sorry, Timmie. I do miss seeing you.” She tangles her fingers in the new thick wool blankets. Swipes at her dripping nose. “I’ll try to pop in more, when I can.”

“You’d better,” Timmie grunts, crossing his arms and kicking back on the stool. “Because now I’m neck deep in whatever craziness you’ve gotten yourself into. Do not bring your pet princess into my barn. Actually, keep them as far away from me as possible. I cannot believe I’ve had royal blood on my hands, I thought my skin was going to unravel like a shirt under skulljaw moths.”

Jade would sure as hell do her best. No point letting Kit terrorize anyone else. 

“Don’t tell anyone they were here,” she begs, just in case. “Nobody knows we’re…” Acquainted? Accomplices? Ackleyacking idiots who’re both going down for this? Definitely not friends like Timmie thought. 

Timmie arches an eyebrow. “Not even Captain Ballantine?” He mews. “Guess that explains a lot.” Did it? “Alright, I’ll keep your horrible secrets, treasonous though they may be. Might want to tell your pet princess to be a bit subtler about your acquaintanceship in the future.”

Yeah, definitely a talk itching to be had with them. Kit didn’t know Timmie was trustworthy. They were just being a too-obvious asshole for days on end. 

“Where’s the cursed candelabra, anyway?” Timmie cranes his neck to scan her room. “I haven’t seen it. You’re going to want to check your floorboards for that, if they’ve hidden it to get you thrown in the dungeons.”

There were so many unspeakable secrets buried beneath her floorboards right now, a silver candelabra wouldn’t even make a dent. 

“They were pranking Ballantine,” Jade groans. Perhaps Kit did deserve the stabbing and ear shredding. “Not about thieving, just trying to get his goat because he didn’t like the gifts. They took it back with them.”

“Gifts…?” Timmie ponders this, always too clever with people for his own good. “Why, he think they were plying your favor?” Jade’s damned face must give her away. Timmie sly smile turns bloodthirsty. “Plying your favor for such ends as courting?”

“No! No—” she’s so heated she sends herself into a violent coughing fit. 

Timmie grins gloriously. “Wow, congratulations on your lofty aspirations, Jade. I knew you wanted to brush elbows with nobility, but this is beyond.” Jade puckers like she’s swallowed a lemon, trying to catch her breath. She’s not gunning for knighthood to get in with highborns. Is that what people think?! “Snagging yourself a royal. How does it feel to be the princess’s favorite plaything?”

“They are eleven,” Jade growls hoarsely, “and I’m no plaything for royals. I’m going to bash that into their head even if I have to toss them out the hayloft to do it.”

“Don’t worry, I think Captain Ballantine beat you to it,” Timmie chirps, clearly relishing the memory. “He was really taking them to task out there. Shocked he was willing to be so public as to do it outside, but I guess everyone is down for the count with the flu. It’s like the ruins of Nockmaar here — nothing and no one but the aura is frightful.” 

Probably how Kit had been getting out so easily whenever they pleased. Except now they’d caught it too along with the lecture. Served them right. 

“If they got me sick again, I’m going to be so mad,” Jade swears, snorting snot. “Even more than I am now, which is pretty flipping mad.”

“What, not like they’re responsible for you drinking pond scum.” Timmie squints at her. “They aren’t, right?”

No, that had really been Jade’s stupidity from start to finish. All Kit did was show up before, during, and after to make themself the greatest nuisance possible. 

“They could’ve been,” Jade sulks. Sneezes and blows her nose. “It’s something they’d do. They drink pond scum all the time, yet they’re ripe as a peach!” 

Timmie studies her like a one of the captivating beetles they used to spend afternoons catching outside the home. “I think maybe you two deserve each other. Good job, Jade, you finally found someone as off their rocker as you are.” 

“Do not compare us!” Jade shouts, inviting yet more coughing. “I am not like that!”

Timmie ignores her, not deigning to entertain that even though he’s wrong, he’s so completely wrong she could scream, following it up, “Have you bashed their face in with a sword yet?”

Jade grinds her teeth, panting. “As soon as I get out of this bed.”

Timmie never forgave her for breaking his nose when they playfought with stick swords at the home. He still has a scar across his cheek that pulls when he smiles. But it wasn’t her fault he wasn’t taking sparring seriously. They’d been planning to join the ground guard at the time, and anything less than perfection would get them killed outside the barrier. 

“Don’t scar up the princess,” Timmie warns her. He points to his cheek and glares. Jade scoffs. She’s apologized for that a million times. “I don’t think even their slippery ass can lie your way out of that one.”

Jade’s good enough now she can trounce someone without leaving more than bruises where clothes will hide them. If Kit insists on sparring like the pages, they’re going to get the full experience — they’ve earned it after this. 

“I’ll try.”

/-:-:-/  

Jade learns why Kit left the wobbly stool intact when Ballantine comes to visit the next morning. She tries to greet him at the door when the bell rings and gets banished back to bed thanks to another furious fit of the shakes and coughs. He follows her to her quarters to chat, waiting with silent stone-faced authority until she crawls back under the blankets like the sad shivering sop she is. 

“Good to see you up,” Ballantine rumbles. “But don’t push it, you’re still not well.” 

Jade nods blearily, trying to get her thoughts back in order after the spurt of activity. Ballantine stares at the trunk like he’s seriously considering sitting on royal property, does an equally desperate survey to see if Kit’s dragged in any chairs, then folds down onto the lopsided stool like a mountain poured into a misshapen cup. 

The stool wobbles beneath him. Once, Jade snuck into a traveling circus with Timmie and saw a bear balance on a ball. It looked just like this. Kit must’ve thought so too. Truly everything that little asshole did was out of premeditated spite. 

On the other hand, it’s hilarious enough that Jade has to hide a snort in her hanky. She rallies, “Should’ve listened to you before. Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Of course. I wanted to come more often, but we’ve been stretched thin on patrols given the new plague.” Ballantine perches on the stool perfect posture, refusing to let it rock again even a little. It’s a feat of will and it shows on his face. 

Also on his face: two fading shiners and a newly knobby nose that Jade put there. 

Shit. She’d forgotten. She’s pretty sure all the blood drains all of her body in a giant swoosh. “Ballantine, I am so sorry about your—”

Ballantine blithely waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. You weren’t yourself.”

Wasn’t she? Jade’s been turning it over in her head whenever she’s awake and alone, but she’s still not sure what happened. Everything from those four days is a blur of nightmares — fever dreams about Bone Reavers, nuns, royalty, and the same red-wreathed centaurs she used to wake up with terrors about her first years at the home. The shadows of those centaurs, more than anything else, were what had driven her down to the fields where the knights practiced on their mounts. An armored monster melded from man and horse, chasing her down in her dreams.  

There at the big arena she could stand and watch it, with a fence between her and the danger. Walk away from the blinding panic if she wanted. Eventually that exercise in control warped into fascination with the knights and their drilling. She’d pick up a stick and try to follow their movements, imagining she was fighting the centaurs off. 

She thinks maybe it was there that Ballantine first noticed her. He hasn’t said. But she remembers the mountainous man with eyes as hard as the steel he carried, who watched her as he dominated sparring matches with ease. Eventually someone started leaving her parcels of bread by the fence line. 

Certainly, this habit was how Jade got her placement at the stables. The proctors mistook her fearful fascination with the wound that bled the most around horses for a love of the terrifying beasts. She’d reached an equilibrium with the centaurs’ equine half since — in large part thanks to Pickles, acting out most of Jade’s worst fears and soothing them in equal measure — but the unplaceable terror response had always kept her away from Avarice. 

What Jade remembers from her fever dreams on the training grounds is that same feeling. Trying to beat the centaur back with her sword, failing, being relentlessly pursued by hoofbeats until inevitably she tired first. But in this case the monster was Ballantine. The same man who’d raised her, believed in her, as much as anyone had ever bothered. 

“I’m sorry,” Jade insists, eyes brimming. “I don’t — I don’t know what happened. I think I had a nightmare and got scared.”

Ballantine’s face flashes through something too complicated to catch. He looks away, studying the trunk in the corner. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“I’m not,” Jade promises, putting her whole heart into it even as a small confusing part of her tweaks like it’s a lie. “I was just— out of my head, I think. Dreaming about the day beyond the barrier.”

Ballantine nods. He knows the broad strokes of it. Was the one to tell her that she needed to put her anger where it counted, instead of turning it against herself, that day he found her bruised and crying, fresh from a battle she couldn’t win. That she could only fight to protect people if she faced forward instead of back. Asked her what she was angry about, if she knew who she was trying to end other than herself, and pointed her towards the enemy with a sword in her hand and the training to use it. 

‘They crushed the capital in Galladoorn,’ he’d said, ‘no mercy. Reveled in enforcing the Demon Queen’s reign. Strung bodies from the ramparts and the crow cages. Took the bones to wear like animals. And outside Mother’s Gate…’

They’d both known what happened outside Mother’s Gate. It was common knowledge in the home and the streets what General Kael and his army of Bone Reavers — outlaws turned soldiers turned outlaws again, fresh from fallen Nockmaar — had done. 

No one knew where they came from, only that they were the most bloodthirsty battalion of Bavmorda’s former forces. Tir Asleen proper had slept through all of Nockmaar, trapped in quartz. Woken up to a rogue army of ghosts wreathed in bone outside their walls, appearing out of nowhere like so much smoke. Refugees from Galladoorn and beyond the barrier called them the scum of the realms and said little of their origins other than that they'd been avid vile dedicants of Bavmorda from the start. Queen Sorsha and the King Consort didn’t speak of those times. Any association with the Queen’s own past beyond the obvious rebellion was stricken from the record but for rumor. 

There are whispers that the marks on certain foundlings come from the same sort of witchcraft as Demon Queen Bavmorda’s skeleton army. Signs of evil Nockmaar, remnants of rituals, sigils of demons that would one day come to claim the bodies they were promised. All the marked foundlings knew it to be true. Jade herself felt possessed by that rage sometimes, carried away into violence without care for the target. Ballantine had given the anger a purpose and a leash in the same breath. 

‘Some people don’t deserve mercy,’ Ballantine explained, eyes distant and hard. ‘But we give it to them anyway, because otherwise we become the same sort of monsters. You can take blood for blood, but you don’t bleed people for its own sake.’ He’d looked at her bloody bruised knuckles. ‘Not even yourself.’

She’d begged him to make her strong enough to beat them. To protect her people from them. He’d seen right through it. 

‘Vengeance isn’t enough. It drove me for a long time, but once it stops…’ he stared hard at his callouses, ‘…there’s nothing left but the sins on your hands. You have to fight for something bigger than yourself. Once you know what future you want, then you can take your due from the past. When you know what you want, come find me.’

She hadn’t believed him at the time. Still wasn’t sure she did. Had insisted on trying to convince him right then and there, until he told her he’d take her on if she could land a hit on him. The scuff she gave him barely counted as a clip, let alone a hit. But he saw something in her and came back the next day regardless, sword in hand, explaining how to polish and sharpen it as the pages did. 

“Bone Reavers,” he says again now, with the same tired loathing he always gives the words. 

Jade stares at the scars on her knuckles. What else is there to say?

“You can’t control your nightmares, Jade,” Ballantine assures her. “And you’re not running from them anymore, either.”

“Ran right into the princess, didn’t I?” she scoffs with a wet huff. 

“Ha,” he shakes his head, “who told you that? Timmie?”

Shit, right. She’d been so lost in the misery of guilt she forgot Ballantine didn’t know Kit had been visiting her for more than brief checks to make sure she was breathing and drop off extravagant gifts. Given his assumptions about the situation, he’d probably flip his lid. 

“Yeah.” Sorry, Timmie. 

“Her Highness should not have shared that with anyone, let alone him,” Ballantine sounds as angry as she’s ever heard him, forcing the words out through a rigid jaw. “I suppose I’ll have to have another talk with her, if the first doesn’t compel her to hold her tongue. Timmie, too.”

Jade sends up a quick prayer for Timmie’s safety and forgiveness. Kit can hold their own. 

“Jade,” he catches her eye and holds it, gaze deadly serious, “you have to be careful with that one. Royalty is…” he searches for the words that don’t amount to treason, “…not subject to the same rules as the rest of us. When they push too far, there’s very little to stop them. And even if they don’t, the consequences will never be the same for them as for you.”

Jade knows this. Has seen it all in Kit, in their reckless carelessness, their assumption that they’re entitled to own the world and everything in it. Their inability to consider that a wheelbarrow to their head or a shorn off ear could be worse for Timmie and Pickles than it is for them. 

But they’re also just Kit, the annoying little shit who follows her around and somehow slings her rickety wheelbarrow up into the hayloft so that they can have an excuse to replace it in secret. Who apparently came to sit by her bedside for days on end, even if they claimed their motivations were selfish. Who was so dead set on not saying a word about her attempting to stab them to death that they’d hidden it even from her. 

“I know,” Jade says, because she does. She just also thinks that maybe it’s a wrong thing to have to know. Wishes for a world where Kit was just a horsethief and a person, not a small thing meant for a hungry throne. “I get it. I’ll be careful.”

Ballantine sighs, like maybe he sees through her now too. “It’s not the worst thing in the world. To be well-liked by the heir.”

Debatable. Kit was kind of the worst and patently impossible to get rid of. Jade supposes their favor or association would be advantageous to her knighthood, if she were low enough to leverage it. Unfortunately for her chances of becoming a member of the Pacalcade in any legitimate capacity, she has self-respect and morals. 

“I don’t think they like me,” she mumbles, knowing it’s a lie. Terrible as they can be to her, Kit is blatantly awful to those they dislike, which seems to be most everyone. They’re a bit like Pickles in that way. 

“She likes you,” Ballantine informs her bluntly. “I’ve never seen Her Highness so taken with someone. When I saw the state of your room, I thought we’d been invaded.” Mothers, really? “But then I recognized the wooden bowls from her chambers—” Wait, was that rumor true?! “—so I knew she’d been by. And then she started with the extravagances.” He shakes his head, a glimmer of real fear in his eyes she’s never seen before. “I didn’t know she had this side to her. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Jade either. It feels like she’s been learning whole new sides to Kit every day. The only consistent thing about them is chaos. 

Ballantine blows out a sigh. “At least those were a prank. Sorry if you,” he waves a hand, “wanted to keep the candelabra.”

“No flipping way,” Jade swears, so thrown she forgets to keep her mouth clean around Ballantine, “What the hell am I supposed to do with a flipping silver candelabra?”

“Truly,” Ballantine grumbles. “I should’ve known then.” Honestly, yeah, but she can see why he was so nervous about it. “I’m to collect your new trunk and table as well, unless you wish to keep them. Her Highness says there’s no expectations involved, but…”

But Ballantine himself will also know. Jade and Kit both are going to need to be a lot more careful about whether and where Jade gets new things. 

Jade’s not sure why this is disappointing. It should really be a relief, given the level of tenacious ferocity with which Kit has disassembled her home. Maybe it’s less to do with the act and more with the heavy unwitting judgment for having received such gifts already and accepted them without argument. 

But she thinks it might also be about the hourglass under her floorboards — cool in her palms and soothing to watch — and the sturdy well-fitted boots that don’t pinch. How the fabric of her new clothes feels finer than it looks, soft between her fingers, not scratchy at all. The additional set of throwing stars that’s quietly joined the first, ostensibly so that Kit can practice with them too, although they never use anything but the knives. The freedom to buy things she wants for herself with the five gold’s worth of pennies, or leave for the hills entirely with the other twenty-seven. 

Ballantine considers her silence, softens. “You deserve a friend who cares enough to bring you soup and a table to put it on. I hope that’s what this is.” He closes his eyes. “If it’s not, and she ever… pushes you for things you don’t want to give, tell me and I’ll handle it. You’re my page. Your safety and comfort is my responsibility.”

Mothers, what exactly did he think Kit was capable of? 

Jade knows they can be a lot, borderline murderous when they’re angry, but they’re also not… they wouldn’t. Also, they’re eleven? The fallback plan is still good to have, if anything similar comes up with other nobility. Still, it throws her for a spark of fear, “Is there a reason you think they’d…”

“No,” Ballantine admits. The anxiety gives way to relief that she’s read Kit right. “Not really. Her Highness is known for many things, first among them being a spiteful little hellion.” Correct. “But she’s young, and people change. Sometimes into monsters when they’re never told no.”

Jade runs it back through in her head. Kit needles, whines, pushes constantly, oversteps, invades, never asks first, generally assumes the world is theirs to reshape as they please and rankles when they’re told otherwise. But outside of that first day in the bushes, and even then really, they’ve never once failed to respect a no.

Some of it could be the unusual nature of their arrangement. Jade is willing to tell them truths without flinching, given the level of dirt she has on them. No real fear that the only consequences will be for her. Perhaps that was naive, but it’s gotten her this far. 

She’s gripped by the compulsion to defend Kit and their horrible personality, because as bad as they can be, they’re not like this. Except she can’t explain any of it to Ballantine. 

“You said you talked to them,” Jade recalls, “what did you say?”

Ballantine’s eyes go hard. “What Her Highness needed to hear.” His tone tells her that’s all the explanation she’s going to get. “Don’t worry, I think she understood.”

Jade… finds herself curiously afraid of what this means. For herself and for Kit. It’s out of her control now, though, so she’ll only be able to address it if they ever let her pry it out of them. Kit — liar and prevaricator extraordinaire — plays their most important cards shockingly close to their chest for how much they otherwise burst at the seams with every emotion. 

“I’ll be careful,” she promises. Lies, maybe, because with Kit she’s always atypically reckless and stupid. 

She’s never been pond poisoned while alone. Even when she and Timmie got up to their worst, they’d always meticulously planned it first. Kit belies and defies any strategy, relying first and foremost on blunt bullheaded determination to get them through. It’s why a part of Jade secretly thinks they might succeed in bringing the King Consort back when they’re older. If there’s anything worth saving to bring back. 

She can never tell Kit this, because they’ll take it as endorsement enough to run off tomorrow. So she hides her belief same as the rest of it, deep in her chest where no one else can see. 

“I hope so,” Ballantine sees right through her once again. “Just remember, the consequences are different for her than for you.” 

/-:-:-:-:-/  

Chapter Text

Kit is out with the stomach flu for a week, locked in their chambers, presumably spewing their guts out. Jade doesn’t see them for two more, because they’re actively avoiding the stables. And the kitchens. And the halls. Anywhere there might be people. 

She doesn’t quite understand what’s happening at first, because the princess going into a sulk is such a normal occurrence that none of the staff find it noteworthy enough to mention. The real aberrance was Her Highness’s brief exeunt from their chambers at all. Jade naturally assumes they’re still sick, since this stomach flu really beat the life out of the portly porter and the pretty scullery maid with the previously perfect poof. Jade is extremely grateful she avoided it by nature of already being locked in the stables. Kit’s constant exposure thankfully wasn’t enough.  

What tips her off is the resurgence of the castle phantom, once more terrorizing the halls. 

Jade has long since recovered and gone back to her pre-Kitpocalypse routine. She’s had a whole week of blessed extra winks. She’s getting actual solitary time with Pickles. Her new clothes fit well with room enough to last for ages no matter how growing treats her. She gets sincere not-snide compliments on them constantly. No one has tried to jump her from the water barrels or sprung out of the pile in the hayloft and nearly broken both their necks. Her bedroom window is no longer a door, something which is both an incredible relief and an oddly hollow absence. 

She thinks maybe she’s gotten too used to Kit being around constantly. Besides, this is only a temporary reprieve. She shouldn’t get too accustomed to having her life back when it’s only going to explode again as soon as Kit’s done puking. 

She thinks about taking them some stew from the market stalls, in thanks for all the nursing and life-bursting they did while she was sick, welcome or not. Except Kit has soup for days plus company better than stablehands. And Jade has no way to get into the princess’s wing to see them. If she asked Ballantine to take her, he’d think she’d lost her mind or was planning to take full cutthroat advantage of association with the heir. 

She’s got a note written on some paper Kit carelessly left behind from their schooling, but it’s only been a few days. No one’s said that Kit is in a particularly bad way. Jade hasn’t asked Ballantine to take it yet, preferring to thank them in person. She found another one of their stupid lacy embroidered hankies, fallen forgotten beneath her bed. She needs to return that to them too, so for now it stays in her pocket in case she finally sees them.  

She’s not worried about them. She relishes her free time with the gratitude of someone who thought she’d lost it forever. Just. She doesn’t like the idea of them hurting like that. Not being there to make sure they’re fine, especially with the near stabbing thing. It sits wrong. 

Halfway through Jade’s second week of fretful luxury, when she’s finally off bed rest and back to training with Ballantine, Brunella arrives. She’s got a basket of apples, a shit-eating grin that speaks of juicy news, and an extra muffin with Jade’s rations. Jade’s been taste-testing them. It’s an honor and a privilege, Brunella’s really getting very good. 

“Gurky got horsedung stuffed in all his shoes while you were laid up,” Brunella announces with no shortness of glee, passing over the muffin. “Jopplim, too, but hers was in her hats.”

Jade’s so surprised she nearly chokes on her first delicious bite. Gurky and Jopplim are no favorites of hers. One the nasty townie merchant’s kid from Galladoorn, who always threw salt at foundlings while managing his mother’s market stall. Whose family of disgraced minor nobles refused to sell Timmie any fruits or vegetables after Gurky and his gang of assholes did one of their humiliating ‘Elora Danan neck checks’ on orphans too slow to escape. Jopplim is just as bad in different ways, a fellow foundling whose entire ego was based on at least not being as bad as anyone her lesser, and odd marks were weird enough to count.  

Jade and Timmie scrapped with Jopplim constantly, or otherwise silently weathered her insults like every other foundling in the home. Gurky, Jade avoided like the plague. Except for the time she and two other older marked foundlings tracked his routes, cornered him alone in an alley on his way home from the schoolhouse while scarved up to hide their faces, and kicked the shit out of him for messing with Timmie. She can’t imagine either tormentor has improved much since.

“Really? Who did it?” Jade’s far too eager to play it cool. 

“Nobody knows,” Brunella replies with relish. “But the thing is, they’re both also getting reprimanded.”

“Reprimanded?” Jade’s eyebrows shoot up. That’s serious business. “For what?”

Jade, personally, can think of a million and one things to toss them out on the streets for, but that doesn’t mean anyone else would care. 

“Jopplim for improperly handling the meals, and leaving raw meat in Prince Airk’s dinner twice in a row.” Brunella’s eyes narrow. “She’s probably just jealous he doesn’t talk to her anymore.”

Brunella’s attention to Prince Airk frankly frightens Jade. She’s so glad Timmie’s wrong about Brunella being soft on her as well. Jade takes another bite of muffin and makes a note to tell Brunella to add more cinnamon next time. 

“Gurky for accidentally setting fire to Prince Airk’s cloaks,” Brunella goes on, fury rising. “All of them. They say he was smoking a pipe on the job and left it smoldering in his pocket when he hung his own coat on the rack.”

“Why’s it all happening to Prince Airk?” Jade asks, bemused. 

“It’d better be bad luck,” Brunella hisses. “Or I’m going to have to set some clear expectations around castle grounds.”

Utterly terrifying. Brunella is so sweet, has a real impossibly awkward charm to her, but there’s a true willingness for violence there that Jade never expects. Pretty much the opposite of Kit, who’s always violent, confoundingly smooth in their repulsiveness, and secretly quite capable of being sweet. 

“So are they being relieved of their posts or just getting a slap on the wrist?” Jade presses. The first would be more dire for Jopplim, who has no family to fall back on. Jade would feel bad for her except Jopplim’s such a raging asshole it’s hard to be anything but pleased. 

“Gurky’s getting relieved and banned from palace grounds, since that fire very nearly burnt down the hall.” Yes! Jade barely suppresses her joy. If she’s too obvious about Gurky, people might connect her back to why his nose is smeared across his face. “Jopplim’s on probation, under strict supervision by the matron.” 

An acceptable outcome. Jopplim was prone to mouthing off and might get herself fired anyway. 

“There’s a rumor it’s also actually because they were, you know, being horrible in the halls and talking loud about, um,” Brunella lowers her voice, “marks.” What? “Since that’s Elora Danan-related, and spreading falsehoods about her return is illegal and all.”

Elora Danan was both a heroic figure that hung over the entire kingdom like a benevolent, beatific cloud and an absolute shitstorm waiting to happen for Queen Sorsha. After all, it was hard to establish dynastic authority when everyone knew you were going to be deposed by the True Empress as soon as she came out of hiding. 

Honestly, maybe that’s what would save them from Sovereign Kit. 

However, Jade suspects in this instance it was a different kind of mark. As Gurky and Jopplim are atrocious like that. 

“Hm,” is all Jade says, because her neck is well hidden and she’s not about to stick it out on the line for this. “Interesting. Your muffins need more cinnamon.”

“Really?” Brunella makes the face she does when she’s furiously committing recipe tweaks to memory, thoroughly distracted. “Okay, that’s easy, maybe I can add some nutmeg too…”

Jade returns to her stables brimming with glee and treats herself to extra time brushing down Pickles. She finds an hour the next day to drop by the barn and tell Timmie the good news. He’s equally ecstatic, still with a twinge in his shoulder from when Gurky got to him. 

The castle phantom continues to strike at instances of Elora Dananism. It’s really creating more of a hush on the subject than any of Queen Sorsha’s edicts. Several staff members are let go, usually for offenses against Prince Airk who must’ve done something to draw everyone’s ire. It escalates to highborns — pages, squires, knights, visiting nobles, even privy council members. Terrorized by odd sounds in their walls, misbehaving lanterns, doors slamming, un-latchable windows in the cold wind, smelly fireplaces, scratches on their silver, ink in their books, worms in their meals, and shit in their shoes. No one gets injured but the campaign of mental warfare is clearly taking a toll.  

“I don’t get it,” Fryst — Furst? — the courier tells Jade when they drop by to pick up Nimbus for an emergency missive from Queen Sorsha. “Do you think it’s Bavmorda’s ghost? It’s like it has a vendetta against the True Empress.”

They’re not supposed to call her that, but Fryst always was a little loose with their words. They’re at least smart enough not to say the quiet part out loud, which is, why would anyone other than Bavmorda resent Elora Danan more than Queen Sorsha?  

It’s not that Queen Sorsha is bad or elsewise a violent despot. If you ignore the suppression campaigns against religious expression and magic, she’s really been quite reasonable. They’ve got the schoolhouse and the foundling home now, war orphans are no longer freezing in the streets, and literacy is higher than it’s ever been. Taxes are generally favorable, harvests are up. They’ve been at peace her entire reign. For all there are constant rumblings about Bavmorda’s line, there’s a reason no one is willing to truly rock the boat. 

But Queen Sorsha is also their boss, and everyone’s boss, and tends to be a bit cold and removed in absence of her — presumed late — husband. And everyone knows that she only deserted her mother, the Demon Queen of Nockmaar, for love, even as the tales try to spin it otherwise. So no one was truly predisposed to like her. In the increasingly long absence of her redeeming great love, things are starting to rumble worse. 

Jade has considered the fact that maybe this is all a subtle suppression operation conducted via proxy by Queen Sorsha herself. However. 

Jade recognizes many of these names. Not all, by far, but enough to see a pattern here that might not be obvious at a glance. Here or there, from the warnings of older foundlings on who to avoid. Sometimes from her own passing interactions. More rarely from full on brawling. 

“It’s got to be a foundling, right?” Timmie concludes when she explains it to him. “I mean, who else would know? Or care?”

Timmie’s usually right, but what marked foundling would risk it? Unless they’d truly been pushed to the end of their rope, and even then there were other avenues of recourse. 

The castle phantom maintains its campaign of fear for the full two weeks — first actions dating back to around Jade’s pond poisoning — while Jade retains her unexpected free time. Rumblings escalate in general but the ones Jade specifically tracks the closest die down dramatically. People are learning to keep their thoughts to themselves, and better yet, their actions. 

It’s the end of week two of Jade’s wellness, and Kit still hasn’t shown up. She finds herself distracted during training with Ballantine. The embroidered silk doily is getting a thin patch from where she’s worrying it so much. Anxiety dogs her whenever she sees Kit’s beleaguered banner — for their health or otherwise, she’s not sure. The absence has gone from an enjoyable break to a miserable one. She wakes every dawn expecting to find them crawling through her window. They never do. It leaves her mornings entirely… empty. 

The note burns a hole in her pocket. Jade works up the courage to ask Ballantine to take it. He stares at her for a long time, conflicted. “Are you sure?”

“You can read it if you want, it’s just a thank you note,” Jade explains anxiously, shifting from foot to foot in the round pen. “And well wishes, since they’re still sick.”

“Alright, I’ll see that she gets it.” Ballantine relents. He lets her know he delivered it when they spar the next day. But he hasn’t got anything in his pockets for her, not even a kind word relayed.  

A few days pass. Kit never responds.  

Jade actually buys the stew this time with a couple of her precious pennies, but she’s got no way to bring it to them. She ends up eating it herself, alone in her room, like always. It didn’t bother her before. 

The wheelbarrow, ladder, and pitchforks gall her and there’s no one to complain to about them. The new crockery mocks her from the trunk she elected to keep despite Ballantine’s severely concerned look, and there’s no one to thank for it. Ballantine returns the table, its disappearance from, apparently, an extremely conspicuous spot in the great hall now the work of a collective flu-driven hallucination or else the castle phantom back at it again. There’s no one to goad endlessly about somehow walking off with it in broad daylight. 

She wonders what Kit would think of this iteration of the castle phantom. She’s not sure they know about the odd marks at all. The crown princess has no reason to interact much with war orphans and most are judicious about who they show — tips and warnings passed down in the home, starting with the nuns. No one voluntarily tells people to go ahead and accuse them of Nockmaarian witchcraft or Elora Dananism. It’s possible Kit isn’t even aware they exist. They’ve never mentioned seeing Jade’s, and she’s gone to great lengths to make sure they don’t. 

Even now, the going explanation is the castle phantom is trying to violently cull any talk of the True Empress’s return, whether it’s desirous or derisive. If Kit’s well enough to be getting the gossip, they’re probably not hearing what Jade is. 

She doesn’t know if they’re well or not, is the thing. The uncertainty eats away at her. The only evidence one way or another about Kit’s health is their continued absence and the fact that they were seen dropping by the kitchen and the infirmary for supplies to maintain their appearance of wellness while she was ill. Ballantine says they’re in seclusion, taking all lessons and meals in their room. So either they’re dying and Queen Sorsha is keeping it locked down tighter than a coal warmer in a stable full of hay, or they’re — maybe, possibly — not sick anymore at all. 

If they’re not sick, why aren’t they here?

Jade’s beginning to think she said or did something beyond the obvious. Kit didn’t seem upset about the near stabbing before. Perhaps time has thrown the crime into new light.   

The long days alone start to ache more than her muscles did from all the running about. Jade works back up to the extra laps at the arena, just in case Kit shows. She gives Moonlight more carrots to try to draw her out of her depressive slump. She still hasn’t stashed the doily in the trunk. 

The nights are growing longer, the days colder. Jade breaks out her brand new overshirt and wonders why she doesn’t feel more excited about finally looking like a page. The delayed equinox banquet arrives at the end of week three. 

Kit attends.

“Her Highness is not looking great, to be honest,” Brunella shares, splitting her leftover mincepie with Jade. “I mean, I don’t think she’s got the plague any longer because she was eating and there was to be no eating with that plague. But she seems…” Brunella bites her lip. Jade’s heart stops. “Thin. Didn’t even try to call me Miss Muffin or anything.” Brunella chews on her mincepie. Jade’s turns to ash in her mouth. “I don’t think she talked to anyone, actually. Not even Prince Airk, and he was trying to make her laugh all night. There’s no word that she’s grounded. Did something happen with her horse?”

“No,” Jade answers honestly, heart sunk low in her gut. “I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

This is what Jade wanted — driving Kit off. Not being involved anymore if they decided to run away. Not being responsible for them, not being associated with them, not needing to worry about being discovered with them. Just, going back to her life, exactly as she had it before, which was already the way she wanted. 

She didn’t want to win this way. She wanted them to fight back, to keep fighting back the way they always had. This silent surrender without warning or explanation isn’t fair. They walked out of her room needling about finally sparring with her and disappeared from her life entirely, like she always knew they would. 

There’s just a lockbox full of gold buried in Pickles’s stall. A trunk with her holeless clothes, the hourglass, crockery, tea set, hankies, and the throwing stars. Knives up her sleeves. A floorboard hiding an old boot with a bomb. Blankets and a pillow on her bed. Boots that finally fit. New muscles from extra training, noticeable despite the lengthy bedrest. A fine embroidered handkerchief of a lady’s favor given as a joke. Her continued survival from the bad bout with pond plague, facilitated with secret snatched palace physicks. Tools that don’t creak and splinter. The damned tapestry on her wall, peppered with growing holes. 

It’s all coming to a turbulent head, Jade ready to burst with it. The fear that Kit’s given up, turned snitch, run away without telling her, or — worse — simply decided to be done with Jade. The aimless shame at having done something wrong even though she got exactly what she wanted. Regret she’s angry for feeling, fury that’s more familiar for being left alone like this. Like always, because no one really gives a shit about foundlings, no matter how much they briefly need them.

Screw them. Jade’s better off alone.  

She’s going to burn the hanky. She’s getting ready to, when Prince Airk blows the top on the whole thing.    

/-:-:-/  

It’s actually the first time she’s seen the prince in more than distant passing in years, despite their many brief introductions and his constant chatting with anyone in the castle. He’s fresh from another ‘accident’ with pissed off palace staff, leading Julipee into Jade’s stables by the reins and looking wild around the eyes. 

At first glance, she thinks it’s Kit and almost shouts the lengthy insult she’s been planning for weeks, heart leaping in her chest. Then she recognizes his horse. That gives her pause just long enough for him to start off with a word Kit avoids like the plague. 

“Please,” the Kit-like stranger begs, “you have to hide her.”

Jade freezes with a pitchfork of hay, so surprised she almost falls out of the loft. This is Kit, but also clearly not Kit, so it must be, “Prince Airk…?”

Prince Airk’s eyes are watery and pleading even from this high up. “Please, Jade, I need your help.”  

Jade drops the pitchfork and scrambles down the new study smooth ladder, dipping into a perfunctory bow as soon as her feet hit the floor. Prince Airk knows her name? “Of course, what can I do?”

Prince Airk checks his corners, drags easy Julipee through the door and shoves it shut behind them. He presses his back to the wall, Julipee happily chewing on his hair, Prince Airk breathing hard. When he turns to her, he looks like Kit in a crisis of their own making.  “Someone’s after me.”

Jade slips the knife down her sleeve so she can palm the hilt. “Right now?” He really should’ve called for the Pacalcade, but it was good he went for cover and a half-page is better than nothing—

“No,” Prince Airk exhales shakily. “I don’t think so. I did everything I could to make sure no one followed me.” 

Jade relaxes slightly. Good that he was taking precautions, and to know her stable wasn’t about to be invaded by assassins. “What’s happening?”

Prince Airk straightens and runs a hand through his unusually disheveled hair, brushing Julipee’s nose. His honey-brown locks are lighter than Kit’s but just as long, touching well below his shoulders. Unlike Kit, his are meticulously cared for, same as his clothes. Otherwise they could be mirrors of each other, still at ages where they’re almost impossible to tell apart when they want to be. It hurts to look at him. 

But Prince Airk smiles where Kit scowls, and Prince Airk builds friendships where Kit willfully torches them. They’re more like perfect mirrors than the same person split in two. Even from a distance the difference is clear, up close it’s unbearable. 

Today, though, Prince Airk’s got a frantic edge to him that reminds her of Kit right before they’re about to do something insane out of desperation. Like throw a knife at her face. She gets ready to dodge.

“Someone’s been after me for weeks,” Prince Airk explains, voice cracking. “They’re paying off the palace staff to poison me, starching my sheets with stinging nertle—” Good stars, it’s a wonder he isn’t covered in itching rash, “—cutting holes in my clothes, and ruining all my things. It started four weeks ago with my favorite night clothes—”

Wait. 

“—but now it’s everything!” Prince Airk’s close to tears. “I don’t know what I did! I’ve tried apologizing to everyone for anything I can think of, but I can’t get them to stop!” He buries his face in his horse’s neck. She snorts softly above his head. “I’m scared they’re gonna hurt Julipee.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. He really thought they were going to come after his horse? Jade’s been getting regular seething updates from Brunella. The bullying campaign from various disgraced — universally mark maligning — staff members shows no signs of stopping. Why anyone bold enough to go after royalty would target charming Prince Airk when Princess Kit the horrible heir was right there has been a mystery the whole time. 

Of course, this would make total sense if Kit was the one doing it. 

His favorite night clothes?! The ones in Jade’s trunk?! 

Maybe it’s unrelated. That could be Kit up to their usual former nonsense, apparently only a noble’s passing fancy. The rest might be someone else on a concentrated harassment campaign with coincidental timing. 

Except a concentrated harassment campaign also sounds exactly like Kit, so. 

“Okay,” she says slowly, trying to sooth him like she would Sancitiminius in a crisis while her own mind whirls a mile a minute. “Let’s get Julipee in a stall. And then maybe you can sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

Prince Airk sniffles but doesn’t argue. So much easier than Kit. Kit, who Jade increasingly fears she might have to drown in the manure barrels for scaring their much sweeter brother so bad he thinks someone’s gonna murder his beloved horse. What the hell did Prince Airk do to tick them off?

Jade gets Julipee situated in no time. The visitor stalls are always kept fresh in case of unexpected diplomatic calls. Pickles is out at the paddock so there’s no immediate threat of violence. Jade’ll keep her boxed in with the remaining visitor’s stall so she can’t get to happy-go-lucky Julipee. 

Jade puts Prince Airk on the wobbly stool in front of Julipee’s stall, so Julipee can lip at his hair. Then she sets a feedsack down across from him and sits with her feet as firmly on the floor as she can. She’s going to need the extra grounding for this. 

Ackleyacking Kit. This has better not be them. “Alright, what’s been going on?” 

Prince Airk’s eyes are red-rimmed and he can barely meet her gaze. “I don’t know. A month ago, things just started happening. First my night clothes and my pillows disappeared—” The pillows too? Really, Kit?! Jade still has one of those! “—and then raw meat in my meals. All my cloaks caught fire. Skulljaw moths got into my wardrobe.” Devious. There’d been an outbreak at the home once that left holes in all their linens for years. “The stinging nertle in the laundry. My shampoo got mixed up with scouring powder. Someone cut the heels off my boots. Candles were swapped for the consumption curing kind.” Ouch. Those smelled like death. “I went out for a ride and when I came back my second favorite tapestry was tossed by mistake. Then my third and my fourth. Until the matron was sure they were being nicked on purpose.” 

All… relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things, but clearly building up. Jade can see the shape of how Prince Airk is less of a target and more collateral damage for convenient excuses to get rid of the real prey. 

“Someone has to be behind it,” Prince Airk sniffles and wipes his eyes. Oh, someone was definitely behind it, alright. “Or else I’m cursed.”

This had Kit all over it. Their particular flavor of nastiness in pranking, just bad enough to make you want to bash them but not so borderline they had to be outright strung up for it. The question in this case being why. They had plenty of opportunity to torment their brother without getting staff let go or inciting revolt among the nobility. By all their stories, they did it constantly. 

The coincidence with the marks is baffling. Maybe it was about Elora Dananism and Kit was trying to protect Queen Sorsha’s reign while accidentally destabilizing it further? Or it was in the name of fun and they had an eerie sense for targeting people Jade specifically hated? While also avoiding Jade like the plague. 

“Have you talked to Her Majesty about it?” she prompts. Queen Sorsha would recognize Kit’s work, right? 

“Yeah,” Prince Airk huffs, sounding and scowling just like Kit. “She says she’s taking care of it, but all she’s doing is firing people left and right. Like, if you’re from Galladoorn, you basically can’t work here any longer.”

The Galladoornish expats had always been the worst about marks of Nockmaar, particularly the highborns current or former like Gurky. Something to do with actually remembering life under Bavmorda. As opposed to the pure blooded Tir Asleeners who bragged about sleeping through the whole thing as stone statues and waking up halfway into the war. 

On the other hand, some of the folks from Galladoorn are nice. Go out of their way to be kinder to the war orphans because they know what it’s like. There’s a baker in the market who gives extra and a wink to the ones he spots with red hair or marks. Firing them just for being from out of the country feels like heading down a bad road to an international incident. 

“Is that the only reason?” Jade asks. 

Prince Airk checks the shadows for snoopers. Lowers his voice, “Well, there’s also the Elora Dananism.”

The two things are related once more because Galladoorn actually lived through Nockmaar while Tir Asleen spent the whole thing safely trapped in quartz inside the Canyon Maze that now protects them from invasion along the Nockmaar border. People from Galladoorn are a lot more about the True Empress than the average Tir Asleener, although Jade thinks the citizens of Tir Asleen could stand to be a little more grateful for not being turned to stone any longer. 

“Lots of talk of marks,” Prince Airk adds conspiratorially, as if it is not his own neck on the line. “They say she might be coming back soon.”

Kit — if responsible — was really the dumbest person in the realm for this. They were about to get their own damn family deposed, over… marks, and the talk that surrounded them. 

It strikes Jade that she was laid up in bed for a long four days, blathering on about who knew what with her neck exposed. Doing this while Kit sat by her bedside or otherwise hung out with Timmie — who is not quiet about his opinions when he really gets on a tear and was heated enough to cuss the crown princess out. Four days where Kit could’ve made a meticulous list of future victims. Or the hit list might’ve come later, off the cuff as Kit suddenly paid more mind to the nastier chat around the palace. They’re smart enough to put the thing together sufficiently for vengeance even if they don’t know what it’s for, and vicious enough to go after people without understanding the grounds for offense. 

‘Stray dog like that? You’d better hope their bite is as good as their bark.’

Flipping hell, is this Jade’s fault? Well, no, it’s Kit’s fault like usual. But also like usual, Jade is involved down to the core. 

She didn’t ask them to do this. She doesn’t want them doing this. She was really hoping it was another foundling who’d finally snapped and gone full vengeful vigilante within the palace grounds. The idea of it being Kit is a lot less hypothetical and a lot more terrifying. 

Kit, who she hasn’t seen in three weeks, while they’ve been off on a terror campaign possibly due to Jade. Without asking, or explanation, or even a word in passing. Just gone. What the hell do they think they’re doing? 

“What’s Her Highness think of this?” Jade just barely keeps the question calm, as if she’s deflecting from illegal Elora Danan talk rather than being driven by the boiling pot of emotions in her stomach. 

“Kit?” Prince Airk seems genuinely surprised. “They’ve promised to kill anyone who actually lays a hand on me, and I know they’d do it, too. Nearly lost an ear defending my good name in the streets.” So that’s the going story? Sounds wildly embellished, typical Kit. “But they’re also refusing to leave their room so that’s kind of a bust.” 

How nice, he has such faith in the person who’s slowly destroying his sense of safety. Except, maybe it wasn’t Kit. Brunella had said they looked unwell. 

Jade frowns. “They aren’t still sick, are they?” Prince Airk eyes her with interest, clearly unsure why she knows or cares. “I, uh, heard from the baker’s apprentice.”

Prince Airk lights up the same as Brunella when there’s really great gossip to be had. It chases away the wet fear glimmer in his eyes. He faux whispers, “Wanna know a secret?” 

Jade truly doesn’t. She’s got enough secrets to last her a lifetime and a half. She nods anyway. 

“I don’t think they were ever sick at all,” Prince Airk leans back smugly on the wobbly stool as her entire sense of the world shatters. Thud. The stool and Jade’s stomach slam into Julipee’s stall door. “Pretty sure they were faking the whole week just to get out of lessons.”

What! WHAT?! 

The room might be spinning. Kit’s been gone for almost three weeks, hiding in their chambers, abandoning her without a word of warning, ignoring her note, leaving her alone, silently terrorizing the people Jade hates, and they weren’t even sick?! 

“No, I heard they threw up in a bush,” Jade argues, because she’s an idiot. “Ti— my friend saw them do it.” 

“Really? Huh,” Prince Airk chews on this. “They weren’t sick at all after that. I mean, they never get the pox, they’re basically immortal. It’s so flipping annoying I could die.”

Jade too. But not before she kills them first. 

“So if they’re not sick, why hasn’t anyone seen them?” Jade demands. Why hasn’t Jade seen them?!”

Prince Airk turns troubled once more. “I don’t know. They did it after—” Prince Airk clears his throat, “—after Dad left.” There’s a despair to the statement that suggests he doesn’t share Kit’s hope for their father’s survival. “Locked themself in their chambers and refused to talk to anyone. Wouldn’t even get out of bed half the time. I kept having to drag them to lessons in their night clothes.”

Stars . Jade heard the rumors but she had no idea it got that bad. It shifts her sense of the last two years and ensuing four months, which really isn’t helping her reeling world view. 

Why is Prince Airk telling the stablehand this? She has a sudden sense of why some of the royal gossip is so damn accurate. Thank stars Kit never told their twin anything. He’d have spilled to the whole castle. 

“You think that’s happening again?” she probes. She might have to go drag them out of their chambers herself. 

Prince Airk frowns at her and his own thoughts. “I…” his gaze sharpens in a snap, “…do you two know each other?”

Shit. 

Jade wracks her brains for a good excuse. There’s the usual one about the horses, and the more recent one Ballantine can corroborate. But Ballantine has been extremely clear that the exact circumstances of the feverish collision incident cannot come out without permanent damage to her reputation and chances for knighthood. “They haven’t been by lately. They’re usually here at least twice a week to visit Pickles or Moonlight. We talk a little.” 

“Really?” Prince Airk’s sudden inexplicable leer is exactly like Kit’s. “How’s that?”

Jade cringes back into her feedsack. “Uh, fine? They’re… you know. The princess. Or whatever.” Great work, Jade, really stuck the landing on that one. “Good to their horses.” 

Prince Airk has a knowing look in his eye Jade really doesn’t like. For all that he’s a rumored flounce even at not-quite twelve, there’s something shrewd about him. Not as conniving clever as Kit, who would’ve come in here wailing about assassins as a set up for some sort of trick. Yet there’s a similar knack for people that in Kit only expresses when they’re lying. “I see. Shocked you tolerate them.”

Barely. Jade shrugs, not willing to badmouth the Kit to their brother. 

“Well, since you are personally invested in my sibling’s tale of woe—” Prince Airk winks in a way that suggests a much longer history to both this tale and his knowledge of Jade. What the hell has Kit said? “—I’ll loop you in.” His easy smile settles into something serious. “They’re definitely in another one of their moods. But it’s also weird, because they haven’t told me what happened. Do you know if anything’s wrong with Pickles or Moonlight?”

Jade studies the empty stalls. “Beyond Pickles being the meanest horse in the world and wanting them dead? No.”

“So glad Dad got me a sword not a horse,” Prince Airk mutters. “Avarice was terrifying.”

‘Was’ is a giveaway he doesn’t catch. Even Kit’s own family thinks the King Consort is gone. That’s… worse, in a lot of ways. That they’re the only one with hope, and Kit feels the need to sneak around to follow it. 

Avarice was flipping horrific though, Jade still avoids that stall. 

“I hear Pickles lets you ride her,” Prince Airk tells her. “Kit whinges about it constantly.”

Did they? Great. Still, there’s a certain amount of pride to it because it’s true. “Yeah, Pickles loves me. I’m trying to get her to tolerate the princess.”

“Unlikely,” Prince Airk sighs. “No one likes Kit.”

Harsh, coming from their brother. Although they had probably been torturing him for a month without his knowledge. The timing of the castle phantom’s return lines up too exactly with Jade’s exposed convalescence and Kit’s disappearance. The willingness to take on nobility, too, only makes sense if the perpetrator is presumed untouchable. 

The flipping crown princess is waging war against anyone who shits on foundlings with marks. What the hell is happening?

“The princess isn’t that bad,” Jade retorts with more heat than she intends. “They’re just… difficult to get to know.” 

And impulsive. Reckless. Absent. Mean. Careless with themself and others — even the people they claimed were dear, like their brother. But also generous, sweet, and obsessively loyal, despite the great lengths they went to hide it. 

Prince Airk studies her with renewed interest. “You interested in knowing them better?”

Jade scuffs her new boot along the floor. It’s only been three months — four, if you count this absence — but she already knows them far too well. “Maybe.”

“Wow,” Prince Airk thumps forward on the stool in gleeful shock. “Kit’s going to lose their damn mind.”

Wait, what?

“Do you know they made me—” Prince Airk starts to rant. Thinks better of it abruptly and switches gears, “You should talk to them, if you want to.” Bugs his eyes out in warning, “But, like, only if you really want to .” 

What is that supposed to mean? Jade’s not sure what Prince Airk’s heard about her but it is doing nothing for her antsy head. She’s been talking to Kit for months and now they’ve gone and made themself a ghost in the castle to avoid her. She doesn’t even know what she did.  

She shoves down the bleeding and says, “I never see them anymore. It’s been like three weeks.”

Prince Airk gets a deeply thoughtful look that’s completely alien on Kit’s face. “Hm. Is that…” Something comes together, he boils into sad fury. “Oh, they did not. ”

Jade jumps, terrified he’s somehow seen her pillow. She spins to check, but her door is, as always these days, closed and latched. “What?”

“Did they say something to you?” Prince Airk demands. What? “Or like, do anything?”

Stars, what? Like, obviously a ton of things, from trying to tackle her out the hayloft, to leaving a bomb in her house, to replacing most of her house while she was ill, and then disappearing directly afterwards. But somehow that didn’t feel like what anyone was implying. 

“No?” Jade’s actually offended on Kit’s behalf at this point. Ballantine was looking out for her, but she doesn’t know Prince Airk and he should think better of his twin than that. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

Prince Airk nods, vindicated. “I knew it. I flipping knew it. Someone said something to them, and then they tore into me, and now they’re freaking out and not talking to anybody.”

Good fires in heaven, what did Ballantine say?!  

Kit, not ill, had apparently thrown up in a bush after. And was now refusing to acknowledge Jade’s existence. While seemingly still obsessively defending her honor in the most backwards way possible from afar. So whatever it was had been, at best, extremely bad. 

“What did they say to you?” Jade presses, too panicked to hold her tongue even though she knows that as far as Prince Airk’s concerned she’s got no business at all asking. 

Prince Airk’s pissed enough to answer, righteous in his fury, “They said I had to stop harassing people around the castle. And I told them I wasn’t harassing anybody around the castle, I was chatting and being friendly, and if those people were cute and wanted to flirt, that was nice too.” He glowers, dangerously near tears again. “Except they said that it wasn’t okay, because being a prince means it’s not on equal terms. So it’s too easy to pressure someone into something they don’t want to do. And you can’t really know if they actually wanted to say no to you, but felt like they just couldn’t.”

Holy flipping hell. 

Jade can’t remember an instance in her life where she’s been truly angry at Ballantine. Frustrated with him, yeah, upset, yeah. Sometimes even heated. But not, like, angry. 

She is pretty flipping pissed now. 

She can see where he was coming from, when she distances herself from her emotions — something she’s always defaulted to in a crisis. He saw the heir to the throne, known for being an absolute terrorizing asshole to everyone — not wrong, they were still doing it now in an even more concentrated way — actively harassing his page while she was too sick to know it was happening. Who had apparently only gotten interested while she was incapacitated. And then had immediately tried to take over her life and lay claim with extravagant expressions of favor. Which, given they weren’t even twelve yet, was a lot of things to be worried about for the future. It was the least generous interpretation possible, but Kit had intentionally driven him into that too. 

Ballantine was cautious with his speech but always firm with his reprimands. She can guess at what he said from being in the receiving end of some lectures of her own. Here he almost certainly told Kit all of this in the harshest terms possible, trying to hammer the point home in a way that might change their course in time to save Jade, anyone else unlucky enough to draw Kit’s attention, and the kingdom. 

Kit — who obviously knew about all the other shit they’d heckled Jade into, and was not actually monstrous no matter how much they actively tried to take their natural levels of being an irritating little shit to truly blind-rage inducing levels — had turned around and told their brother he wasn’t allowed to make friends anymore. So that cleared up exactly what they’d gotten out of that lecture.   

Kit then apparently responded to the situation they’d created the only way they knew how, which was removing themself from it entirely. The situation also being Jade’s life. 

What the ducktuthering bristling circles of hell. They don’t get to just do that! Not without giving Jade a say in it too! 

The worst of it being, Ballantine wasn’t wrong, really. They weren’t on equal terms, it was hard to envision how they ever would be. Jade had been navigating this since the start while Kit didn’t have to. The whims of royalty were to be feared exactly because they could tromp into your life, destroy it utterly, and you’d have no recourse after unless you wanted to overthrow the kingdom yourself. She’s been playing with fire, and Kit just realized the fire is them. 

Their arrangement only worked because of the upsidedown crazy circumstances under which it started. Which Jade cannot tell Ballantine and Kit apparently doesn’t feel are relevant any longer. Mutually assured destruction doesn’t work when one party decides to disarm and drop out of the war entirely. Jade’s free to go whenever she likes, explode Kit’s life if she wants to, and she’s never been more mad about it. 

“Have you talked to the Queen?” Jade hears herself ask, trying to think of anyone who would have relevant experience with being royalty. 

“Mom?” Prince Airk rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but she said people are naturally impertinent and prone to disobedience. They’re only going to say yes if they’re trying to take advantage of your favor. If you’re too friendly so they don’t have to please you to get what they want, they’ll always default to no. Then they’ll walk all over you, taking whatever they can, while you beg them for approval. And then she told me I was undermining my own authority around the kingdom.”

Well, that’s the worst advice Jade’s ever heard. 

“Uh,” Jade feels suddenly responsible for salvaging this despite having not the best track record with people herself, “you know that’s…” she can’t call the Queen a liar or an idiot, “…not…always the whole of it, right?”

“Unlike Kit, I have friends,” Prince Airk informs her sarcastically, “so yes. I told Prill Puccner that and she laughed so hard her tea came out her nose. Then she said it’s no wonder the kingdom’s got so much dissent and Elora Dananism.”

Prince Airk is the kingdom’s biggest information leak, but at least he’s got his head on straight. The opposite of Kit, whose whole life is secrets and is so screwed up about them they can’t figure out how to talk to people. 

Okay. What are her options? Jade can’t beat sense into Kit while they’re avoiding her like the plague they didn’t actually catch. She can’t go clambering through their window the way they can hers, because the Pacalcade will assume she’s an assassin and shoot her on the spot. She can’t hunt them down in the halls the way they can her in the arena, because she’s got no real reason to be there and if she’s seen making friendly with the princess that’ll be the talk of the castle. 

She does, however, have direct access to their twin brother right now. But anything she says to him she can assume she’s telling the entirety of Tir Asleen. It’s already going to be a nightmare when people hear she’s interested in ‘getting to know’ Princess Kit, but that horse is long gone. 

“Have you suggested the princess take Moonlight out for a spin?” Jade tries first. Neutral. Mild. Well within her authority. Would get Kit into the stables where she could throw them in a hay pile and yell at them for a bit. 

“Yeah,” Prince Airk sighs heavily, “didn’t work. They’re going to lessons because Mom will have their hide if they skip, but that’s about it.”

“What about Pickles?” A last ditch effort that will end in blood but they’re already in a hole. Might as well keep digging. 

Prince Airk shakes his head. “They’re not allowed to ride Pickles. Ever. Mom says they can try when they’re older maybe.”

Way smarter than the Queen’s advice on people. Good stars, was that where Kit got it from? If they’d gotten that speech from Queen Sorsha and the other from Ballantine, Jade can see where Kit concluded they should just stay in their room for life. 

Jade puts her head in her hands. She could send another more strongly-worded note via Prince Airk, but then Prince Airk will know there’s a note. Even if he’s not so nosey he’ll read it, its existence is pretty incriminating. Stablehand pages should not be swapping notes with the princess. Or they could, if the princess ever got any other notes. 

This would be so much easier if Kit had literally any friends. Then it wouldn’t be notable for people to talk to them and they’d have someone other than Queen Sorsha to go to for advice. 

“It’s nice that you care so much,” Prince Airk says sincerely. “Kit doesn’t have… most people really don’t like them.”

No wonder why, with the war they’re waging on the whole castle. If anyone found out the crown princess was driving out Nockmaarian mark-maligning staff and nobles, that would be the end. Kit could get accused of pitting themself against the True Empress, associating with Nockmaarian rituals themself — already a risk given their bloodline — or end the alliance with Galladoorn given that country’s over-representation in the victim pool. Any marked foundlings would get it a thousand times worse when the connection was made. From the Queen as well if she figured one of them — Jade — had intentionally put Kit up to it. So that also has to stop, yesterday, and it never will if Jade can’t sit Kit down and scream at them. 

“Pickles is dying,” Jade says into her palms. “I lied before. You have to tell them.”

It’s not a Kit level lie. Jade’s never been a good liar, not even at the home where lying is a survival skill. When the Pacalcade came calling for their broadsword, Timmie was the one who handled it. Kit’s been handling all of this nonsense for months. But it’s up to Jade now, and this is all she can think of. 

She peeks through her fingers. Prince Airk is snow white with shock. 

“What?” he gasps, barely a word. He’s so rigid on the stool, she thinks he might not be breathing. Julipee snorts anxiously into his hair. 

“I just found out,” Jade adds layers to the fib, trying to avoid anything verifiably false, pushing all the sincere grief and rage she’s been feeling over the course of this week into her words, “this month. I was hoping they’d visit, and I could—” Kit always adds a lot of truth to their lies, “—tell them in person. Talk them through it, maybe. I couldn’t go find them because I don’t have a lot of reasons to be in the castle proper, especially around the princess’s chambers.”

“Mothers,” Prince Airk covers his face with his hands, trembling. Julipee noses his head. “How — how bad is it?”

“She’s not got long,” Jade needs a timeline on this before Kit gets caught playing phantom, “maybe a week? A few days? It’s her leg, I noticed her favoring it when we were riding. I took her to the paddock today and she could barely walk. Came back to get a cart to help her home. That’s when you walked in with Julipee.”

This has way too many details to it already. Kit always keeps it vague, plausible, and honest, twisting the specifics. Like a different version of the world where it could’ve happened. Jade’s going to have a hell of a time explaining to the castle in a week why Pickles didn’t die. 

You know what, flipping Kit can do that. 

“I want to make sure they see her, you know?” Jade lays it on as thick as she can. “Before she…”

“Oh no,” Prince Airk moans, fisting his hands in his hair and staring at the floor with red-rimmed eyes. Julipee anxiously lips at his white knuckles. “Oh no, oh no… this is going to destroy them…”

Uh, shit, well—

“I’ll tell them,” Prince Airk sniffles and straightens, looking fiery determined. He pats Julipee firmly on the cheek. “I’ll get them down here. Make sure they have some alone time with her first.”

Thank. Stars. Jade catches herself before she sags in relief. 

“Thank you, Prince Airk,” she says and really, really means it. “I’m really glad you dropped by.”

/-:-:-/  

By noon the next day, everyone knows Kit’s horse is dying. Including Kit, who sneaks in through Jade’s hayloft hatch at midnight, tears streaming down their face. 

The front door is padlocked and Jade figured her bedroom window is still off limits, so she’d predicted this or the ground level windows across from the stalls. She’s waiting in the shadows behind the bottom of the ladder when Kit creeps down it, shaking so hard they nearly fall. She holds her breath until they’ve got both feet on the floor, their shoulders heaving, breath hitching, hand stuffed in their mouth to muffle the sobs. 

Kit is a wreck. Their eyes are so swollen and weepy she’s surprised they can see. There’s snot streaming from their nose. Their clothes are all over the place, like they barely remembered to get them on, and their hair is even worse. 

Okay. So maybe there were other ways. This is fine, Pickles isn’t actually dying, Jade is going to fix it. 

She steps out of the shadows. “Hey.”

Kit startles so violently they fall on their ass before Jade can catch them. They thump down hard, eyes wide with shock, staring at her with tears still steaming down their face. They choke out, “P-Pickles…?”

Oh stars. Yeah, okay, Jade might’ve gone too far with this one. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Kit cry before. Maybe on that first night, but even then they were hiding it. Certainly never like this, full on bawling like the wellspring inside them just broke.   

“Pickles isn’t dying,” she promises them, walking forward in a hurry. She crouches down with a sugar cube since it worked before. “I lied.”

Kit frantically checks for Pickles’s stall to verify Pickles is fine, too panicked to hear her. “Pickles—?!”

“Pickles is fine,” Jade repeats, trying to catch their attention with the sugarcube. Kit’s weepy stare pings between her and Pickles, watching over her stall door at the very end, blocked in by the wall and vistor’s stall. Pickles’s got flaming murder in her eyes. Thank stars there’s still an empty stall, Julipee would not survive. “She’s right there. Totally healthy, still hates you.” Kit stares at Pickles in shock. Jade offers them the sugarcube again. “I promise, she’s not dying. I lied.” 

Kit slaps the sugar cube out of her hand. “You lied about Pickles?!” 

“Uh.” Jade retracts her smarting fingers, scooting away from Kit’s horrified rage. “Look—”

“You told me my horse was dying!” Kit roars, lunging for her in a full body tackle. Shit— Jade’s back hits the floor hard, Kit is on top of her with their fists in her collar before she can blink. They’re as frothing mad as she’s ever seen them, and she’s seen them pretty flipping mad before. They’re also still crying. “ My dad’s flipping horse and you said she was dying!”

Put that way, Jade definitely went too far. “I needed to talk to you—”

“Talk to me? Talk to me?!” Kit shakes her by the collar but doesn’t pound her the way they clearly want to. “Well, you’re talking to me now, Jade!” 

Jade flips them — it’s not hard, Kit’s tiny and left her hands free. They’ve practiced enough pins for Kit to know better, but rage has clearly won out. She gets Kit under her with their wrists above their head. “You’ve been avoiding me for a month! You just left and locked yourself in your room without a word to me—”

“So you lied about my horse dying?!” Kit slams her right in the stomach with a knee. When the air whooshes out of her and she drops one of their hands, they throw a haymaker. 

Jade rolls away just in time. It’s a lucky thing, the punch is wide. She gets her knees under her, making for her feet. “I was trying to get you down here to — shit—!”

Kit throws their whole body at her, aiming for a headlock. The impact knocks the air out of her, she barely bats away their arms before they lock around her throat. “Why didn’t you send a ducktunthering note?!” 

Jade ducks her shoulder to lever them over it, tossing them off with both hands. “I did send one! You never responded!”

Wham! Kit hits Pickles’s stall door, already rolling to their feet. Pickles stomps her foot, snorting furiously. Kit charges forward before she can bite them. “I would’ve flipping come if you asked, Jade!”

Jade scurries back, “I couldn’t risk Prince Airk leaking it, he told the whole damn castle about the horse—”

“My dying horse!” Kit’s still crying furiously, which is probably helping since their wild punches are flying way off target. “My dad’s dying horse, the one you lied about!”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you!” Jade sends one swing that actually gets close to her face skidding off her forearm. Twists and grabs Kit’s arm on the next one, yanking them forward towards the floor. “I just couldn’t think of anything else!”

Except Kit’s wilier now, even enraged, and hooks their ankle around hers, gets an arm around her waist, dragging her down with them as they fall. Oof—! “That’s the stupidest flipping shit I have ever heard in my life!” 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay—” Jade is pushing to her feet, but Kit scrambles onto her back, fueled by clawing spite. 

“Shut up! Shut up!” They lock an arm around her neck, pounding on her shoulder and chest with their fist. There’s no precision to it, a lot of the force is lost because they’re so haphazard. But the intent is clear, “I’m going to kill you for this!”

Jade’s more than a foot taller now, and a lot stronger than before. She staggers up with Kit clinging to her back, hands locked on their arms around her throat to keep them from actually choking her out, and blindly slams them backwards into the nearest wall. Which is also right beside Pickles’s stall. Pickles shrieks in rage. 

“We need to talk!” Jade shouts. Wham! Kit’s grip tightens. “And you flipping refuse to talk to me—”

Kit snarls and bites her shoulder, because they’re an animal. Wham! Jade rears into the wall harder, trying to shake them off. Keeps yelling, “You disappeared!” Jade might be crying now too. She’s not sure, everything’s very blurry and awful. “You said you were going to come back to try sword fighting, and then you disappeared!”

Wham! Kit finally loses their grip. Falls off, hitting the floor hard. Jade stumbles forward with the weight suddenly off her back. She blindly kicks at them as she retreats, mostly catching dirt. “You don’t get to do that!” she shouts. “You don’t get to just leave like that! Not after everything!” 

She’s standing there, chest heaving, shoulder throbbing, fists clenched, and she’s crying like she hasn’t in years. Not since that day with Ballantine. The world is smearing into heat down her cheeks, and her voice is cracking, and everything hurts so much she can’t hold it in anymore, “I needed you and you weren’t there! You were just gone!”

Kit’s sitting on the floor in the corner of Pickles’s new stall, just low enough that Pickles can’t get to them the way she’s viciously trying to. Teeth snapping above their head instead of on it. Kit looks stunned, not just by the scrapping.

Jade swipes away the tears and pretends she’s punching herself instead. “What the hell, Kit? You just walked out the door and never — never came back. I didn’t deserve that—!”

Kit’s face crumples. “I—” Kit folds in on themself, shielding their whole head with their arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I—” Kit’s shoulders heave. “I’m sorry, Jade. I’m so sorry. I thought—”

“When did I tell you I wanted you to leave?!” Jade demands, shaking all over. “When did I say I was done?! I flipping hate you for this, Kit, and I’m still not done with you!” 

It shocks her because it’s true. It hurts so much it feels like she’s cracking in two, but she still wants them around. Which hurts even worse, because they don’t want to be around. 

A part of her thinks maybe she’s never going to be done with Kit. That this is just how it’s going to work, since that first day they broke into her life and tried to steal her favorite flipping horse. That she’s already gotten so twisted up around them there’s no untangling it and no matter what dumbassery they get up to, she’s going to be stuck with that Kit shaped-knot forever. 

“Do you want to be done?” Jade asks, feeling empty for it. Maybe the Kit-shaped knot is just a Kit-shaped hole she’s forcing them back into. 

Kit cries harder. “N-no.” They shake their head as hard as they can in their own arm prison. “Not with you. Never.” Kit tries to curl up tighter. “But that’s what makes it wrong. Because you didn’t want to, and I still—”

“You know what you didn’t do, Kit?” Jade yanks at her hair, trying to force her head back into functioning. “You didn’t ask me before you decided things. You just did them. Like replacing my boots, and my wheelbarrow, and leaving my flipping life.” Jade’s eyes burn. “You have to ask me. Sure, I’m gonna say no, but not always. Not giving me the option to say yes is still making choices for me.”

“Do you—” Kit’s really choking on their own snot in a disgusting way, “—do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” Jade says simply. It’s how it is. She didn’t lie about their not-dying horse because she didn’t want them around. “I want you to stop crawling through my window at all hours without knocking. I want you to stop replacing my stuff without asking. I want you to stop torturing people in the palace on my account even if they are flipping nundies—” Kit glances up in open shock, “—yes, I know about that. You are not nearly as subtle as you think.” She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes. “I don’t want you to—” she shouldn’t say this part, “—to run away. But no, I don’t want you to leave me alone.” 

And it’s true. Jade thought she did. She tried her hardest to make it happen. Except after they left, she hated it even more. 

Lonely is like breathing, she only noticed its presence in its absence. 

Maybe it’s the same for Kit. 

Kit’s barely whispering when it comes out, “I’m sorry. I’d promise I won’t, but— I have to find Dad. Mom thinks he’s not coming back. Airk too. They haven’t said, but—” Kit shrugs, voice cracking, “—I know.”

Jade stares long and hard at the scuffed floor by Pickles’s stall. “What do you think, Kit?” 

“I think maybe he’s stuck,” Kit shatters. “Or hurt. So bad he can’t get home. And if I don’t go get him, he’s never gonna be able to. The longer I wait—” Kit chokes it down, all sharp pieces on the floor, “—the less likely he’ll still be there.”

There was nothing left for Jade to go back to. Sometimes that’s just how things were. The world took and took, until you were nothing but the holes where people used to be. 

The odds of the King Consort returning shrank every day. As did the odds of Kit making it back from their quest, and then there’d be another hole in Jade. 

“You can’t save him yourself,” she finally says. “If he can come back and wants to, he will. But if you run off after him, you’re just going to die.” Maybe someday, but… “You’re a kid, Kit. Anything that can hurt your dad is going to kill you.” 

Kit goes very still. So quiet she almost misses it, “What if I don’t care?” 

“Then that’s what you have to fight.” Jade clenches her own fists, scarred up from all the fights she couldn’t win. “Whatever it takes to beat it back.” She looks at the ceiling where there used to be stars. “Do you know why I want to be a knight?”

Kit shakes their head. Yeah. She never did say. 

“I didn’t either, at first,” Jade admits. “Ballantine said he’d take me on when I figured it out, but I didn’t want to wait. Swore I’d come up with it later, but I never did.” Jade rubs the back of her neck where the sun is. “Except I guess one day in there, I woke up and I already knew.” She firms herself up, can feel the sword at her hip, where it’s supposed to be. Facing the future she’s going to forge. “I want to be a knight so me, or you, or anybody else never has to feel like that again. I want to protect people. To help build a world where everyone’s safe and shit like this doesn’t happen anymore.”

Jade shrugs. “So that’s what I’m gonna do. Whatever it takes, even when it’s miserably flipping hard. Even when I want to give up and let the assholes win.” She waits until they glance up and she can meet their bloodshot eyes. “I think you need to find what that thing is for you.”

Kit looks between her and snarling Pickles. Settles on something that puts a little iron back in their spine. “Yeah. Okay.” They glance at her. “I won’t leave yet. Gotta get bigger and stronger first.”

Jade grins, thinks there might be blood on her teeth from all the smacks she’s taken inside and out today. “Then I guess you’ll have to learn how to sword fight.”

/-:-:-:-:-/

Chapter Text

Pickles makes a miraculous recovery. So too the palace exorcist and the crown princess, who’s finally emerged from their chambers. 

Jade convinces Kit to stagger their efforts so the connection isn’t blatantly obvious. They keep their sparring to the pre-dawn under the pretense of Kit being in their room a week longer. They’re doing every other day now so Jade’s not worn so thin. Pickles ‘limps’ her way back to health over another two weeks. The castle at large is fed regular updates through Prince Airk via Kit, or Prince Airk via Jade via Kit. Prince Airk is subject to one more cruel prank from perpetrators unknown after Kit leaves their chambers. Against Jade’s arguments but technically following her advice, the castle phantom continues tormenting a couple of the nastier nobles for another month, until it can fade away back into the netherworld as mysteriously as it came.  

“You can’t make me tolerate assholes in my castle,” Kit complains, twirling and feinting for her side with their wooden practice sword. “I’m driving them bonkers because I’m sick of their shit. I’d do it to anyone. I’ve done it before!”

This excuse might’ve worked a month ago, but Jade’s smart to their tricks now. She side steps the real blow aimed for her gut and smacks the flat of her blade on their shoulder. The last dregs of moonlight mix with the start of sunrise on the pond water. There’s a bad taste here but she couldn’t think of anywhere else with enough space and privacy for proper sparring. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me! I can handle myself!”

“Why do you think this has anything to do with you at all?” Kit slashes high with too much of a windmilling arc.

She lets it skitter off her solid stance, doesn’t try for a retort. That’s not even worth humoring with a response. “If anyone finds out, that’s it for you and the rest of us.”

“No one’s going to find out!” Kit tries for another lunge. 

“Someone’s going to know it’s not Bavmorda’s ghost!” She trips them into the dirt, sword tip to the back of their neck. “Who do you think they’ll assume is behind it, when they realize it’s not about Elora Dananism? You’re going to make things a thousand times worse for any foundling they can spot. Not everyone has the Pacalcade defending them, Kit!”

Kit apparently learned about the marks from Timmie during her convalescence. This Jade hears from Timmie, when she finishes ranting over his protests about not wanting to know who the phantom is. 

“I didn’t say nothing! They were just asking me about strange scars on foundlings all of a sudden!” he hollers, running across the barn at full tilt. Jade speeds up behind him, but Timmie’s fast and has a stride on her. “Trying to be all subtle about it, but I could see through their tricks! So I told them if they were one of those narmies who was going to give people shit over their marks, I’d have to—”

Timmie, smartly, shuts up before either of them can hear the end of that sentence. He dashes out the door and skids around the corner for the fields. 

“What else did you say, Timmie?” Jade hops the fence after him and nearly breaks her ankle in a vole hole. “Because I’m pretty sure they poisoned a baron!”

“Lord Yorkun deserved it!” Timmie races across the field, more familiar with the pits and traps of this one than she is. “After what he did to Tralia—! They kept pestering me about what it was like to be a foundling, so I told them what it’s like to be a foundling! It’s not my fault that’s the only time they listened to me!” 

Thanks to the prairie voles, Timmie escapes to torment her another day. Kit does not because they walk right into it. And her sword, repeatedly.

“If someone puts it together, I’ll just tell them it’s me,” Kit declares, slithering out of the dewy grass to reset for their next match. Jade’s won every one so far and shows no signs of stopping. Kit whirls their sword again, something Jade is determined to break them of. “The whole kingdom knows I’ve got every reason to hate Elora Danan. They’ll think I was hunting down any mark talk at all.” 

Jade puts them on their ass again in the first move, when they stab too far and overbalance on their front foot. “How do you think that ends for you, huh? Crown princess going after the True Empress?” 

Whoops, well. 

Kit doesn’t seem bothered by the treasonous title. They’re already running away from the throne, they can’t have ever been very attached to it. They get to their hands and knees in the dirt, covered in it by now. “Uh, I don’t know. Fine? Like you said, I’ve got the Pacalcade, so.”

Jade hits them between the shoulder blades, knocking them flat. “They’re going to say you’re the second coming of Bavmorda. Not even the Queen can protect you from that.”

Kit growls and rolls away, grabbing their sword for a wild swing at her knees. “It’ll be fine! I’ve been doing this for years! No one even suspects!”

“It’s not worth the risk!” She blocks easily. Slashes for their head, slow enough for them to duck. “Not to me and not to you! You can put your neck on the line, but not everyone else’s. What do you think would happen to me and Prince Airk, if they came after you?” 

This, finally, gives Kit pause. They get to their feet and set their stance properly this time. “Fine. But I’m not going to tolerate people mouthing off to my face. Not about this, or anything else.”

Jade’s fairly sure Kit still doesn’t know most of the details, beyond what they’ve picked up from castle frackarass and their campaign against it. Some rumors only circulate between foundlings. She doesn’t know what they think the marks are for and she’s too afraid to ask. But anyone who’s blowing smoke about them is going to mention Nockmaar, and Kit’s family is neck deep in Nockmaar no matter how much they refuse to admit it. 

“Good,” Jade gets ready to launch another flurry of attacks. “Now let me show you how to really feint.”

However the point gets through, the castle phantom disappears. Much to everyone’s relief. None more so than Prince Airk. 

“Thank stars it’s finally over ,” he sighs, finishing brushing down Julipee in the middle of Jade’s stables as has become his way. “No one’s tried to mess with me now that Kit’s around to scare the shit out of them.” A generous interpretation of events. Prince Airk has such faith in his horrible sibling. “I guess I can move Julipee back now.” 

Jade finishes getting Yonder situated after his free day in the pasture. “Why? These are the royal family’s stables. You can keep your horse here.”

That was kind of the entire point of Jade’s stables. The continued absence of Julipee had never stopped smarting her pride. 

“Can I…?” Prince Airk ponders this. He takes a collection of fresh-picked flowers from his pocket and offers them to Julipee to sniff. “Maybe I can now? You said you’re still talking to Kit, right?”

Jade’s going to have to start keeping a notebook to track who knows what about her and Kit. She picked one and some charcoal up from the market last week, the first time she’s used anything but a scratch slate for such frivolousness. 

“When they’re by, yeah,” Jade hedges. “Mostly to visit Pickles. She’s much better now.”

Kit is still piping mad about that lie, but Jade’s never going to forgive them for disappearing for a month either, so they’re even. Kit has, at least, taken over the public management of Pickles’s ‘health.’ 

Prince Airk starts braiding little flowers into Julipee’s mane. “Hm… it is like a billion times more convenient. Yeah, okay. It’s probably fine now.”

“Why’d you move her?” Jade tries to keep her posture casual despite the burning anxiety in her gut. She turns her back to hang the tack for extra cover. 

“Used to have riding lessons with the Pacalcade,” Prince Airk blatantly lies, because if he’d learned cavalry tactics from the Pacalcade so had Kit, and Kit practically started drooling every time mounted combat came up. One day Jade will figure this out. 

Prince Airk, much better with people than Kit, spots her suspicion and smoothly changes the subject, “Hey, what happened to your coat of arms?”

Jade nearly drops the tack . Her gaze locks onto the tapestry in question, riddled with holes hiding chips in the wood. Basically in tatters as she’s practiced aiming for increasingly small targets. Defacing the royal emblem still being, of course, a crime against the crown. 

“Skulljaw moths,” she says immediately. Kit must be rubbing off on her. “Had a really nasty case of them. Barely saved my clothes long enough to buy new ones.”

Prince Airk shudders in sympathy. “I’ve been wearing Kit’s.” So that’s what it was. They’ve been looking even more similar lately. “I can get you a new one, if you’d like?”

Damn it all. Jade’ll need a strong justification to say no to royal heraldry in the royal stables. But she also doesn’t want Kit’s colors crowding her perfectly nice walls. It’s not like Kit has to live here. 

“Uh…” Jade scrambles for any excuse, “wouldn’t the expense be too much? It’s just me here at the stables, after all.”

“We’ve got extra,” Prince Airk waves her off. He finishes the last of Julipee’s braids and appraises his work. Both he and Julipee preen with pride. “Mom just ordered a bunch more from the weavers. Besides, you’re important, Jade!”

Prince Airk really is too sweet and she’s going to have to dump Kit in the pond if they screw with him again. So much for keeping her walls clean. “Thank you, Prince Airk.”

“Please, just call me Airk,” Prince Airk says with a wink, leading Julipee back to her stall. He’s got three flowers left in his hand. One goes behind his ear, another behind Moonlight’s. The third he tucks into her hand on his way out the door. “It’s the least I can do, with all the trouble you’re taking for my worse half.”

Jade gapes after him. Is he seriously—?

The flower in her hand feels like a bomb, given the prince’s reputation. But then again, Kit’s is ever so slightly exaggerated. Prince Airk’s probably is too. He’s been nothing but friendly so far, and he is eleven. 

The flower also is quite pretty, blue and delicate like things she rarely gets to hold.  She tucks the flower into her braid and finds herself stroking the petals for the rest of the day. Julipee and Moonlight look equally pleased. 

When Kit crawls in her window the next morning, they must see the little flower in a cup on her trunk because two more silently replace it when it wilts. It’s almost as nice as getting to bash them with a sword. 

/-:-:-/  

Word of Pickles’s narrowly avoided demise is enough to draw Queen Sorsha into the stables despite Avarice’s empty stall. Jade nearly has a heart attack. 

She comes back from rare late training with Ballantine one evening — still nursing an extra bruise on her arm from where Kit actually managed to whack her this morning — to find the Queen standing by the stalls, locked in a stare down with Pickles. 

Queen Sorsha is always an intimidating figure despite her small stature. Her back is ramrod straight, her carefully cultivated gentleness covers the steel arms of a woman who took down the armies of both Tir Asleen and Galladoorn before turning right around and toppling Nockmaar too. Today, she seems worn. More tired than Jade has ever seen her, like the weight of holding up a kingdom has finally come to bear. 

She spots Jade in the doorway immediately. Nods in greeting before Jade can complete her bow. 

Jade tries not to look too much like she’s pissing her pants, since if the Queen sees what’s in her quarters, Jade might literally die. She bows deeper to hide her face. “Your Majesty!” 

“Jade Claymore,” Queen Sorsha greets, as easily as if she says it every day instead of treating Jade like scenery. Why does the entire royal family know Jade’s name?! “At ease.”

Jade straightens up, but doesn’t leave the doorway. Clasps her hands behind her back to hide the shaking. This stretches her bruise from Kit. The Queen doesn’t know, right?  

Jade checks the corners. There’s no signs of the Pacalcade and Queen Sorsha herself doesn’t appear to be armed. Which means nothing, Jade’s heard Her Majesty can kill with a glance. Believes it, based on prior interactions and a snide courier who disappeared her first year. 

“What’s your opinion of… Pickles?” the Queen asks, as if Jade’s thoughts matter. The name sounds even sillier on the Queen’s tongue. Maybe Jade should’ve thought longer on that one. “I hear she’s been in poor health lately.”

Oh, well. Of course the Queen knew that. Given the state Kit was in by the time they crawled through her hayloft, they must’ve been losing their mind for hours. Jade can’t envision they looked much better the next morning, since they and Jade had spent the night brutally brawling. 

Jade checked Kit over before she sent them home and found no obvious bleeding or head knocks, but they were definitely both sporting bruises for the rest of the week. Does Queen Sorsha know that, too? 

Jade’s been silent too long, soaking in her own fear sweat, shaking in her boots. Pickles. Her Majesty asked about Pickles. “Pickles is a beautiful charger, Your Majesty. I’ve never seen a more powerful horse. I’m very glad she’s healing so well.”

For all she was a mare, Pickles had the bloodlust and balls of a stallion thrice her size. Cold, calculating, never flinched in a crisis. Jade would choose Pickles in a fight any day. 

“Mm,” Queen Sorsha looks surly Pickles up and down. Pickles, with equal self-preservation instinct to Kit, snorts derisively. Pickles, shut up! “I’ve also heard she’s difficult to handle, and that you ride her well.”

It’s not that Jade isn’t supposed to do that — Pickles needs to be ready should Kit ever claim her — but she isn’t supposed to love it as much as she does. “Yes. She’s not the easiest, but she’s a real joy once she comes to trust you.”

Queen Sorsha fixes her with a dissecting stare. Takes Jade apart from head to toe. From the tips of her not-new-anymore boots, to her almost-page uniform, to the hair down her neck and the pinned braid at the side where the flower used to be. Jade tries not to shiver too obviously. 

Whatever the Queen finds there she must approve of, because she turns away without dropping Jade dead. Studies Pickles for another long moment. “And you’ve met my daughter.”

It’s not a question. Jade’s heart skips a beat. 

“Airk has mentioned you’re assisting her with Pickles’s recovery,” Queen Sorsha continues, addressing Jade through Pickles. Jade exhales and adds another line to her notebook of lies. Also a curse on Airk’s terminally loose lips. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” What’s one more lie to the Queen?

Treason, treason, treason and more treason. Jade seriously thought she’d make it through her whole life without committing it even once. And yet here she was! Up to a personal best of ten times a day! 

“Do you think they are well-matched?” Queen Sorsha asks, still considering Pickles. 

Stars. That is a loaded question that lands like a knife to Jade’s throat. If she answers honestly, Kit will likely never be allowed to ride Pickles. That would save Kit major injury to their body as Pickles virulently hates them. The emotional blow of being denied their — dead, missing — father’s last gift might be just as bad. 

It’s also not really Kit’s fault Pickles despises them this much. Jade thought it might be at first. That Pickles was sensing danger where Jade couldn’t see it yet. Their long neglect made this suspicion sharper. Only she’s seen how Kit is with Moonlight. How much persistent time they put into trying to win Pickles’s favor despite constant injury and insult. How gentle they can be even when they default to demanding, inconsiderate, and obnoxious. 

Sometimes Kit acts like they think Pickles’s continued loathing is a reflection on them. The whole castle certainly thinks so. Jade fears the Queen might too. 

“Her Highness has been working really hard,” Jade tells Queen Sorsha, instead of answering. They both know the answer is no. Kit is far too impulsive and abrasive for such an irritable horse, no matter how unusually patient they are with her ire. “I often find them attending to Pickles.”

“Yes,” the Queen huffs, it might be a laugh. “I saw the bite on her ear and heard from Handler Yoshew about the accident in the round pen.”

So Queen Sorsha knows the torn ear wasn’t from defending Prince Airk’s good name? What else has she noticed? Jade’s pulse kicks in her throat but she holds herself still, attempting easy parade rest. 

“Do you think it’s salvageable?” Queen Sorsha sounds resigned. Like she, too, knows that any way this goes, Kit is going to get hurt. 

“I think they deserve the opportunity to try,” Jade answers honestly. 

Queen Sorsha gives her a curious look, clearly reevaluating something about Jade. “I’ll take it into consideration.” 

Well, at least Jade hadn’t irreparably screwed that up for Kit. There’d truly be no forgiving it if she got them banned from Pickles. Even though a teeny tiny part of her thinks that if she did, Jade could claim Pickles solely for herself. 

That isn’t how this works, though. Pickles is important to both of them. Jade can’t just take her away from Kit. The same way deep down she hopes that Kit won’t try to steal Pickles from her, no matter how within selfish rights Kit may be to do so. 

Kit hasn't made a whisper of a suggestion that Jade stop riding Pickles. Not even when they’re at their stormiest envy. They’re showing up to the arena more often these days, smiles more frequent than scowls. 

Jade’s started leading Pickles through some jumps and difficult tricks, initially as much to piss Kit off as it was for training. Kit’s taken to whooping and cheering whenever Jade and Pickles pull off something particularly cool. Begging Jade to teach them how to do it later, or show them the same thing on Moonlight. Jade thinks maybe she’s beginning to like this part just as much as the feeling of flying on Pickles. 

“And you, Jade Claymore,” Queen Sorsha observes, stopping Jade’s train of thought and her heart at once. “You are also Captain Ballantine’s page.”

Jade straightens, proud almost-uniform reds on display. The Queen knew that? She doesn’t know whether to be tickled or terrified. “Yes, Your Majesty. For three years now.”

“So you are proficient in swordplay.” Queen Sorsha’s hand flexes automatically, too used to holding one. “As well as a deft hand with… difficult personalities.”

Where the hell is she going with this? Jade tries not to fidget. “I suppose it could be said, Your Majesty?” 

“Mm,” Queen Sorsha considers her for a long moment. Long enough for Jade’s head to really start to throb from holding her breath. Finally the Queen comes to a decision, “Between page training and the stables, there must be many demands on your time. I won’t take up any more of it today.” 

Queen Sorsha sweeps past Jade out of the stables as imperiously as she came, sparing a quick pat for her retired old warhorse Ravager. “Good day, Jade Claymore. Thank you for your counsel.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It’s an honor.” Jade holds the bow until Queen Sorsha is out of sight. Then she sags against the wall in relief, staring desperately at Pickles. They were both lucky to be alive. 

What the hell just happened?

/-:-:-/  

The week does not bring more word from Queen Sorsha other than passing greetings when she needs to pick up Yonder or Sanctiminius at the post. It does, however, provide the promised banner. 

Kit clocks the new heraldry on Jade’s wall immediately. They waltz through her window into the main room the following morning only to cycle through shock, horror, jealousy, and fear, landing on murder. 

“Who did this?” they demand, eyes flashing. Kit yanks on the tapestry but it’s well-affixed, much sturdier than their quick pitchfork-interrupted install. “Was it Airk?!”

“Yeah.” Jade studies the weave from over their shoulder. This does seem slightly nicer than the one Kit brought. It’s still useless royal bullshit taking up space on her wall. Hopefully Kit can get it down, since that’d be illegal for Jade. “Couldn’t really stop him.”

“Oh, so it’s okay if Airk gives you stuff, but it’s not okay if I do it?!” Kit’s really rankled. They’re precariously balanced on the wobbly stool to get high enough to reach the bottom tassels, basically hanging off those. Jade’s acting as casual spotter for when this ends badly. 

Kit must be this mad thanks to the ongoing ban on replacing her shit. 

True to their word, they’re always asking her first. This means constant overtures ranging from flippant offhand comments they’re hoping she’ll miss, to harsh insults so that she gives in, to egregious exaggerations about the state of her things or the ease of amending them. 

Only Jade’s got her own pennies to spend now, no matter how much she still loathes to touch the royal hush money. She doesn’t need Kit loosening their purse strings all the time and she doesn’t want to be their charity case. Besides, she’s basically rich. Jade’s buying herself frivolous things like a new comb, a pocket diary, extra mincepies after training, and chapbooks for the maid circuit. If her home’s not up to Kit’s expensive taste, they can stay in their damn castle. 

“I don’t want any shield on my wall unless it’s mine,” Jade tells them bluntly. Royal stables or no, this is also her house. Other people putting their names up on the walls is extremely irritating. “But Airk asked nicely and I didn’t have a good excuse not to replace your tattered bullshit tapestry, so I said yes.”

Kit whips around so fast the stool tips. “It’s Airk now?!”

Jade catches them before they can hit the ground. She hasn’t used her stool for its intended purpose since her first growth spurt. Might be time for a less wobbly one. “He comes by a few times a week to see Julipee, so we chat. Your brother is very sweet.” 

Jade wasn’t aware a face could look so appalled. Kit splutters, “You—! You can’t—!” Jade steadies them by the shoulder as the stool wobbles violently. “You’re my sparring partner, not Airk’s!”

“How remarkable, I’m capable of talking to both of you.” Jade drags Kit off the stool, ensuring they land on their feet. “You don’t actually have sole claim to my time.” No matter how much Kit liked to pretend. 

“Talk to Timmie!” Kit urges with increasing desperation. “Or those kitchen maids you like! The chapman’s daughter who always gives you a discount! Literally anyone else!”

“I already do.” Never more than a few words, but Jade’s chatting with more people than she has in years. Ballantine, Brunella, the ferrier, the couriers, the chapman’s beautiful daughter who keeps making eyes, Timmie, Airk, Kit, and chillingly Queen Sorsha. Honestly, it’s exhausting. “Airk is nice. You need to stop terrorizing him.”

Kit rears back, slamming into the wall below the banner, as offended as she’s ever seen them. “You’re not allowed to like Airk!”

“I can like whomsoever I choose.” Jade crosses her arms. This has officially crossed over into irritating. “You don’t get to boss me around, remember?”

Not that Kit has held to any of the original terms of their agreement besides secrecy — bossing, whinging, and not-listening all abound. Their father's sword must be rolling in its scabbard by now.  

“Did Airk give you that flower?” Kit hisses. “Is that where you got it? I’ve never seen you look at a flower a day in your life.”

“You’ve only known me for a few months! I  could pick flowers all the time when I’m not being hounded by whiny princesses!” She did use to when she was little, on the hill by the knight’s cavalry training grounds. A solid excuse to watch them spar. 

“He did,” Kit growls. “Oh, that son of a bitch. You made me toss my flowers out as soon as you saw them!”

“You only brought me those to needle Ballantine!”

“They were a sincere gesture wishing for your improved health and they ticked off Ballantine.” Kit settles into their seething scheming look. “If you want flowers so bad, I’ll bring you flowers. I’ll bring you a whole cart full of—” 

“Do not!” Jade is not going to get in the middle of a floral arrangement and heraldry war between the royal twins. “Keep that shit out of my house!”

“Take Airk’s banner off your wall!” 

“I’m not allowed! It’s literally a crime!” 

Kit glares at the banner like they’re seriously considering setting it on fire in this very flammable stable full of hay. 

“It’s also your colors,” Jade reminds them, not sure why she’s bothering other than to save her house from burning down in the night. “You have the exact same flipping family crest. This one doesn’t have holes in it.”

“Yet,” Kit mutters. “Wanna practice throwing knives?”

There are only so many times Jade can claim skulljaw moths while still owning the same clothes. “Not unless it’s at a post. I’m going to have to keep this one intact. Flipping thanks for that, asshole, hanging your shield all over my walls.”

There was a time, before she actually knew Kit, when Jade would’ve been proud to display the royal shield or even bear it on her own tabernacle. That time went out the window when an obnoxious eleven year old nailed it into her walls without warning.  

“Fine! But if I beat you at sparring this morning, you have to stop talking to Airk!” Kit’s completely red-faced. Jade would laugh if it wasn’t so annoying. “Forever! Today!”

“Sure,” Jade agrees, totally confident she’s going to be talking to Airk even more after this. “But if I win, you have to stop slandering my bed so that I’ll let you replace it.” Her bed is great, far more than Timmie’s got in his hayloft, and there’d be no explaining that one to Ballantine.  

“Done!” Kit flips up their peasant hood and storms out the window for their morning run to the pond. It’s a good distance, even longer than she was getting in with the arena, so it makes for a nice warmup. They each still leave separately, but now they meet up just outside the wall in a small alleyway of castle town. “Prepare to never speak to Airk again!”

Kit loses horribly every time, increasingly furious after each bout. Impressive given how sore a loser they are to start with. Jade has to call it quits for the day when the morning bells ring, but Kit eggs her into a footrace back to castle town on the same terms. They sulk the whole rest of the week after losing that too. 

The next time Airk brings flowers, he’s got an entire saddlebag full. Jade’s won some free hours that evening in absence of Kit, so she sits with him on the feedsacks and quietly weaves flower crowns for all the horses. Kit nearly busts a vein when they see Pickles wearing hers the next morning, which really makes the whole thing worth it. 

/-:-:-/  

It’s getting towards that part of autumn where winter threatens to make swimming impossible and Kit wants to go one last time. Airk’s refusing on account of not being invincible to catching chills. Kit’s got no one else to take them besides the Pacalcade — ‘You think I want to go swimming with Ballantine?!’ — and they’re threatening to do it alone, so Jade tags along to prevent drowning. 

It’s the rare afternoon they spend together. Ballantine canceled training yesterday thanks to unexpected Pacalcade business and Kit begged — snuck — out of lessons as soon as they heard. When they meet up at the river, Jade finds herself unnerved. It’s wrong to see Kit in the daylight, outside, not from a distance or in their finery. They look like any other kid out playing hooky from the schoolhouse. 

It’s too exposed. Like sharing something with the world that’s supposed to just be Jade’s. No one’s at the river this time of year except for washing, and that’s easy to avoid. This far from the castle it’s still okay to be Jade and Kit, not the stablehand page and the princess. Something about it just… bothers her. Like the feeling that she could have this all the time if things were different. 

Kit picked the river, since when Jade suggested a different pond Kit accused her of attempting regicide. Which, whatever, it’s not like all of Jade’s ponds are poisoned! She didn’t know that pond was abandoned because it gets all the fertilizer run-off! It was just a quiet place to swim and bathe!

“How about here?” Kit suggests, pointing to a series of borderline rapids right before a short waterfall and proving immediately why Jade needed to come. 

“I’m not dragging back your waterlogged corpse.” Jade continues hiking along the riverbank, looking for a suitably calm portion. Maybe round the bend, where the stream slows down. 

“It’s fun, you should try it!” Kit complains. “I’ve done it with Dad! You tumble around and then you go whoosh splash off the waterfall! There aren’t any big rocks at the bottom.”

The King Consort is a source of constant anxiety for Jade. Either because his absence is hurting Kit, or thanks to the horrifying habits he taught them while he was here. 

“You can try that with the Pacalcade,” Jade gripes. “I’m not dealing with it.” 

They hit a portion Jade deems appropriately calm and Kit agrees is deep enough. She sets up on the banks with her new chapbook while Kit goes diving for sparkly rocks and generally splashing around everywhere. Jade’s on a boulder with her back to the water, keeping watch for anyone passing by who might accidentally get themself executed for happening upon the princess in their smalls. Jade’s a lost cause. She’s simply not willing to risk freezing the way Kit is. 

It’s a clear day, warm in the sun despite the season’s chill. The leaves are turning beautifully, the river is burbling softly behind her. She can hear the birds, the trees, and the rustling of forest creatures. Kit laughing when they find something particularly exciting. All of this, more than anything, feels like home. 

The sensation is extremely precarious. Her life rests on a knife’s edge. But as long as it stays there, Jade fears maybe she could get used to it. 

She’s well into this latest installment of Lady Lenora’s woes in love when Kit bursts out of the water, hollering. “Look!”

Jade, practiced by now, does not look. “What is it?”

Another fish dropped in her lap and she’s going to dunk them, princess or no. They don’t go swimming together often thanks to the last scraps of Jade’s self-preservation instinct, but Kit is really efficient at making themself as annoying as possible and has heckled her into keeping watch or racing once or twice. The mucky pond taunting Kit every other morning is probably not helping. 

“No! Jade, you have to look!” Splashing behind her as Kit marches forward. Jade tucks her chapbook beneath her overshirt to shield it from ruin. 

Kit stops beside the rock, grinning wide as the crescent moon. Absolutely sopping wet and not shivering in the slightest because something about Bavmorda’s blood is wrong and it hit them worse than it did Airk. “Come on! Here.”

Jade reluctantly holds out a hand and lets Kit dump a dripping something into it. Ah, grand, another rock. It’s at least a pretty one this time. Sharply green, smooth, shaped into a rounded point like a blunted blade without a hilt. A little clear, like glass, so it catches the light when she holds it up to the sun. 

“It’s jade,” Kit announces, bursting with pride. “Like your name.”

What? She vaguely knew jade was a gem, but she’s never seen it before. She studies it more closely. “Jadestone is green?”

“And, like, every other color.” Kit, expert on rocks who complains constantly about the Queen making them turn out their pockets whenever they come inside so the collection on their mantle doesn’t grow, plucks the jadestone back from her and shows off how the whorls inside catch the light. “But this one’s kind of like your eyes in the sun! Jade is a great stone. Highly coveted among jewelers. It’s durable, beautiful, and when you strike it sounds like music. They say it’s the sign of a pure and noble heart, and it’s also good for luck!”

Huh. Kit offers the jade back to her, pressing it into her palm with icy pruney fingers, “It’s yours if you want it.”

Jade is out of the business of accepting princess gifts, but this one feels different. She lets her fingers curl around the cold stone. Her name is one of the only things her family gave to her. She’s never quite known what it meant. Children who asked too many questions around the jeweler’s shop drew suspicion quick. “Thanks.”

“‘Course!” Kit sloshes happily back into the river. “I’ll let you know if I find any more!” 

Kit uncovers a ton more sparkly rocks but none of them jade. They give Jade her pick of the litter as always. She only keeps the jadestone. The rest return to Kit’s pockets, to be tossed out by the Queen as soon as Kit dries out enough to go home without suspicion. 

The jadestone is too precious to leave lying out on Jade’s trunk where it might get knocked between loose floorboards. She wraps it in the embroidered hanky she’s yet to return and stows it inside next to the hourglass. She can’t make Kit take the doily back, because then she’d have to explain why it’s got a worn spot in it and stains like it’s been used. 

A few days later, the jade makes its way into her pocket, to be worried even smoother by her constant touch. Whenever she runs her thumb along its sloping edge, she thinks about names. 

/-:-:-/  

“You should come to my birthday party,” Kit proclaims, executing a smart feint towards her side with their wooden practice sword. 

They’re still adding flourishes, but their guard is good enough to avoid most of her scolding smacks on the wrist. She supposes if they can pull it off that well, they can keep doing it so long as it’s not in actual combat. 

“What business would I have being at your birthday party?” Jade deflects easily and sends them into another series of blocks, not pressing nearly as hard as she could. 

“My business, because I want you there,” Kit lunges, overstepping. She thwacks them in the back with the flat edge of her blade. “It’s my birthday, I can invite whoever I want.”

Jade’s not sure that’s true. The twins’ annual party seems more for the sake of relations with nobility than their personal enjoyment. Otherwise Kit wouldn’t have legendarily stormed out last year. 

“I guess I would like to see Airk,” Jade goads them. The subject of Airk and Jade’s continuing association with him — easy, non-combative, and not a secret — is about as sore of a spot as Kit has. “He’ll be there, right?”

Kit strikes furiously at her guard. “He’ll be busy! There’s always, like, a bajillion girls who want to talk to him!” 

And none who wished to speak to Kit, presumably. Also a sore spot. 

“When is it?” she teases, drawing them into a dupe so they expose their side. She bops them lightly in the ribs, another killing blow. “I have a very busy schedule.” 

The whole country knows when it is. Jade gets the week off from training every year because Ballantine has to guard the palace, too many nobles concentrated in one place to spare even a single Pacalcade member. Jade should be on duty with the other pages. Instead, she waits it out in the stables, listening to the festivities from the castle proper and consoling herself with left-over sweetbread from Brunella the next morning. 

“End of the first week of Monvember,” Kit answers eagerly, they reset and open with a swing at her side. 

Right at the beginning of winter, just after Witch’s Night, at the height of evil’s rise, when the stars align with the thirteenth night. No one thought it was a good omen when the twins were born then. 

It’s also not that far off now, Witch’s Night itself looming at the end of the month. The foundlings typically run around town with the other children, playing tricks and shaking down victims for treats while the adults drink, light candles, attend the festivals, and smear chicken blood on the doors to scare away spirits. All wear masks to ward off curses and consequences. Jade hears it was a different kind of bacchanal in Nockmaar. 

Has it really been that long? She and Kit started sneaking around early summer. They're at the front of the second month of fall now according to Jade’s newly acquired almanac. Kit’s finally gained an inch by their own reckoning, although Jade has yet to see evidence of that. 

“When’s your birthday, Jade?” Kit demands, thrusting when she dodges. 

“Still none of your business,” Jade mumbles, deflecting with half her usual attention as she tries to work out how much of her recent life has been spent on Kit.  

“You should come to mine,” Kit says again, almost landing a hit during her distraction. “Witch’s Night, too! There’s always a big banquet, and the party’s not as stuffy as usual.”

The thing is, there’s absolutely no justification for Jade to be there. Not as a page or as a guest. She knocks them back.  “I’m not invited.”

“I’m inviting you!” Kit’s persistent with their strikes if nowhere near precise. “I’ll get Airk to do it so no one suspects. Witch’s Night isn’t just nobles, he always invites some of the staff he likes.” 

Kit must be really desperate to be bringing Airk into it. They also need to improve their guard, so she sends them into a set of blocks. “What’re they going to say when I spend the whole night having my steps dogged by you?”

“That’s easy,” Kit scoffs, working a spin into an otherwise functional block. This is why they’re never going to graduate from wooden swords. “Airk and I always go as each other. The whole point is no one can tell us apart, not even Mom.”

That could work. Assuming Jade’s willing to be associated with Prince Airk and his budding reputation. What would Ballantine say, if he caught her running around with both royal brats?

“Nope,” Jade slips through their guard and pokes them right above their heart. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be known as one of Airk’s favorites.”

Kit smirks. “Really? Good.” They try a sloppy twirl during reset and get thwacked in the wrist for it. It stopped making them drop their sword two weeks ago. “Then I’ll just swap costumes with one of the staff partway through. People always mistake me for Pimsel out by the well.” So that’s how they were doing it. “It’s Witch’s Night, anything goes.”

There’s still no good reason for Jade to attend. The two of them have hit an easy equilibrium lately. No one suspects, despite Ballantine watching Kit like a hawk whenever they’re round the stables during waking hours. If anyone finds out, Jade is going to be out on the streets at best. This is a huge risk for essentially no gain. 

“What if I already have plans?” she says instead of ‘no’ like she should. She lets Kit enter an attack pattern they’ve practiced in forms. Kit’s slowly getting better at it. 

“Plans with who?” Kit adds some force to their hits. “Ballantine’s going to be guarding the party and you never talk to anyone.”

“Brunella,” Jade dodges a swipe that comes too close. “Or Timmie. Or the chapman’s daughter!”

“You don’t even know her name!” Kit swings high enough she has to actually block. “And I’ve yet to see evidence of Brunella.”

Because Jade isn’t sharing any details about her associations, given how thoroughly Kit terrorized Timmie. He still refuses to come anywhere near the castle. 

“I know the chapman’s daughter’s name!” Jade blusters, almost letting a stab towards her ribs slide through. She twists away at the last moment. It’s always embarrassing when Kit lands a hit on her, worse when they win first-touch. 

“What’s her name, Jade?” Kit presses forward, backing her up against the pond. 

“Lindy!” Jade guesses. Lindy sounds right? The chapman’s daughter definitely told her before. Jade skitters sideways to avoid getting her boots wet. 

“The chapman down at the market center, right?” Kit swings hard, Jade blocks a hit, sweating. “Yeah, her name’s not Lindy. You’re not even close.”

Shit. Jade’s foot skids in the dew-slick grass. “How do you know her name?” 

“Airk used to have a crush on her, when he went to pick up the latest romantic ballads,” Kit lunges, taking the advantage for what it is. Jade barely recovers in time. “But she said he’s too young and boyish for her, so now he’s got a maid to do it for him.”

“What’s her name?” Jade demands, swinging hard. She cannot handle another Brunella situation. 

Kit blocks, but the force shakes their arms. “Rylinsa.” Stars, not even in grazing distance. Kit slips past her guard, leering. “Don’t you see this girl, like, every other week? How do you not know this?”

“Look—!” Jade’s too flustered to dodge and Kit actually manages to whap her in the shoulder. Not a killing blow, she slides her blade to their heart in retaliation. “I just — everyone acts like names and faces are easy and they’re not —”

“This is why you didn’t recognize me,” Kit realizes, ending their attack and not bothering to reset. The glee of this overwhelms their usual raucous celebration after an unexpected first-touch win. They cackle victoriously. “Wow. That’s incredible. You know my portrait is literally on the walls, right? Labeled.” Kit spreads their hand in the air to indicate the plaque. “‘Her Royal Highness Princess Kit Tanthalos of Tir Asleen.’”

Jade knows her cheeks must be flaming by now. “I never walk past your portrait—!”

“If you come to Witch’s Night, I won’t tell Rylinsa you didn’t know her name,” Kit offers smugly. “You know, when you finally work up the courage to ask her about town, and then I have to meet her because you’re getting married.”

It’s really just an excuse. They both know Jade wants to go, otherwise she would’ve said no immediately. If Jade ever takes up with this girl — Rylinsa. Rylinsa. Rylinsa — Kit will probably tease Jade endlessly behind Rylinda’s back and be perfectly normal levels of terror to her face. Which they should never see, because Jade explaining to any of her other regular acquaintances how she knows the princess is more of a nightmare than Rylinda realizing Jade didn’t know her name. 

“What if Ballantine sees me?” she says, which is still not no. She doesn’t bother resetting for the next match either. It’s already light out, well into early morning. They should hide the swords and start their jog back to the palace before the bells ring and everyone begins their days. 

“Wear a disguise. That’s the whole point!” Kit’s characteristically flippant. “I’ll get you a nice one so people think you’re a noble. If he does spot you anyway, I’ll say I ordered you to come.”

That’ll earn Kit another cutting rebuke and even more careful watch around the stables. But it does cover Jade’s ass, and Ballantine’s as driven as Jade is to keep the association quiet. It’s her reputation on the line as well as the princess’s if anyone finds out how they ‘met.’ 

Met being the second time Jade didn’t recognize Kit, when she was so feverish she bowled them over at full tilt. Not the first time when she was totally lucid and tossed them in a shitpile twice. Timmie doesn’t know about either event, but he’s the only one with the full story of Kit’s attendance to her convalescence and clearly guessed their involvement predates that. The palace at large thinks they’re passingly familiar from years of Jade stabling Kit’s horses and the handler’s heavily embellished version of the very public round pen incident. Which should’ve been how it worked, if Jade wasn’t shit with names and faces.  

The layers of lies are legitimately hard to track. 

What does Airk think again? Oh, yeah, that they’re talking in the stables during Pickles’s recovery. Which if Ballantine’s heard, he’s probably losing his mind about. Jade’s shocked neither of them has gotten another lecture. Maybe it’s too hard to fault Kit for visiting their dying horse?

Kit’s dying horse no one except Kit and Jade knows has never been dying. Including Queen Sorsha. 

“How do you keep track of all your lies?” Jade groans, kneading her aching head. 

“Never been honest a day in my life,” Kit brags. “Mom says when I was little I’d lie about the color of the shirt I was wearing.”

Disturbing. At least it’s working out in Jade’s favor. “Alright. Don’t tell Rylinda, and I’ll let you sneak me into Witch’s Night.”

“Perfect,” Kit’s as smug as she’s ever seen them. “Also, it’s Rylinsa. Don’t worry if you decide to back out later— she’s never going to let you court her if you keep getting her name wrong.”

/-:-:-/  

Jade’s riding Pickles handless today, getting their commands right with legs only. Anyone taking Pickles into combat will need to be able to have their arms free for weapons. Pickles was well-trained in Cashmere, but she’s young and will grow rusty without practice. 

Jade’s no horse-trainer. Her main responsibility is just to keep Pickles used enough to being saddled that she doesn’t skitter when someone tries. Accustomed to riders for the future. 

This is justifiable, though. And more than that, it’s fun. 

They start out with turns, speeding up, slowing down. It’s exhilarating, doing this with her hands free. Training for Jade too should she ever get her squireship and a charger to take into battle. None will compare to the thunderstorm of Pickles, but Jade can hope for a horse. 

Pickles is close to full gallop. With Kit nearby, supervising Pickles’s ‘recovery,’ Jade’s got the option to take her out to the fields for a real run. She thought about using the excuse to be at the arena when the other pages are and show off the charger. Except Pickles is just for her and maybe sometimes Kit. The shock on their smarmy faces wouldn’t be worth the explanations afterwards. 

Kit’s hanging around the edge of the meadow with a leather bound book from the castle library, pretending to pay attention to their studies. Jade has to keep Pickles far away and turn her around when the charger tries to sidle closer. More than one run gets aborted when Pickles tries to swerve to mow Kit down. 

Pickles and Jade soar around the field, faster than they ever have in the arena. Jade thinks the ground’s ceased to exist. There’s only the pounding as she stands in the stirrups, her own breathing, and the way the wind pulls her entire body from the world. 

She slows down to a trot for the next lap, giving Pickles a breather. When she’s sure Kit’s watching, she taps Pickles’s side and clicks her teeth for capriole. They haven’t tried this mounted outside the round pen before, but today is special, and she’s sure Pickles knows the command. 

Pickles takes two rocking steps to warm up, then launches herself into the air almost straight up, kicking out with her hind hooves to knock a man dead at head height. 

Kit’s whooping chases them on their next lap around the fields. Jade feels lighter than the wind or the sun beating down on her. 

They don’t talk during these hours. As far as anyone else who sees is concerned, the princess is watching out of worry or stewing in jealousy over Jade’s command of their horse. They always leave separately. Kit usually goes first to give Jade some privacy at the arena, but today Jade technically needs their permission to be in the fields. When she leads Pickles away, she thinks the expression she catches on their face might be equally dreamy. 

/-:-:-/  

“You’re getting stronger,” Ballantine observes, blocking a blow from her staff. Not hard enough to shake his guard, but he clearly has to put a little effort into it this time. “Have you been squeezing in extra practice?”

Jade’s stepped her schedule down from the overload that drove her into pond plague bedrest for weeks. But she’s still working much harder than before, practicing forms with Kit, sparring, and going for runs to the muck pond every other day. 

“Yeah. Getting up earlier,” Jade admits, deflecting a slash at her middle. It’s easier than it used to be. 

“Hm.” Ballantine unleashes another flurry of blows, she blocks every one. “It’s paying off.” He attempts a slide under her guard, telegraphing so she can catch it. “Make sure you’re sleeping.”

Jade realizes suddenly that she actually is. Deeper than before, usually, worn out but in a good way. Not plagued by nightmares about Bone Reavers or the Pacalcade dragging her away to take her head. She twists and lets his blade glide off her staff. “I am.”

“And the princess isn’t bothering you?” Ballantine feints with far more precision than Kit. “I hear Pickles has recovered well.”

Jade takes the offered opening at his side, but dodges the blow that follows. “Pickles is at full health. The princess has been perfectly respectful.”

A lie, but also true. Kit is always a rude hellion but they’ve been very cautious about asking first. Sometimes to the point of extreme anxiety. Jade’s still not sure what to do about that bit.   

“Good.” Ballantine relents. He hands her his practice sword to polish for tomorrow. “Ask the kitchens to up your portions. You’re growing again and you’re working harder, you’re going to need it. Exhibition matches are next week.” 

Exhibition matches? Ugh. Jade’s least favorite time of the year, when she has to spar with all the other pages and inevitably get her ass kicked in front of all the knights and whoever’s watching at the castle courtyards. 

The pages’ tourney comes around twice in fall and spring. It’s one of the only times Jade’s allowed on the Pacalcade training grounds, although she suspects even that was a battle. The knights use it to evaluate for squireship and identify weaknesses in the pages’ forms. Sometimes pages who don’t improve are relieved of their posts. Its mere mention always fills Jade with dread. 

She’s not sure why Ballantine insists she attend. Everyone knows she’s not really one of the pages. It’s a very public reminder of the same for her and anyone in the crowd round the castle windows. Jade’s always feared it might include the little princess. Knowing Kit and Airk might see is even worse. If she tells Kit not to watch, are they more or less likely to come? 

Jade nods, trudging for the round pen gate. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

Almost trips over her own boots when Ballantine adds, “Good work, Jade. I’m excited to see how you do.”

/-:-:-:-:-:-/  

Chapter Text

Today’s tourney day. Jade’s been working herself into a frenzy about it all week. Practicing all her forms at night until she’s ready to drop. Adding more push-ups and pull-ups. Going faster and longer on runs. Making sure her clothes are freshly laundered only to get more mussed than ever before at the tourney.

She called off training with Kit this morning to keep her muscles fresh and get her hair exactly right. Must’ve repinned it all a million times until she was sure the tight low bun was sitting just so on her neck. Fussed with her collar to pull it higher than usual. Buffed her new boots. Refilled her waterskin twice. Shined her fancy knives and stars before she realized she couldn’t bring them. Considered sneaking the bomb back to the armory while she’s nearby but decided against the risk. Went to Pickles for an approving nod and a panicked hug before allowing herself out the door. 

She ran Kit extra hard in their preceding meets to try to prepare. Every time, Kit loudly assured her Jade was going to destroy all the other pages because, ‘Only the best of the best can trounce me — the greatest knight to ever live — and you’re the strongest fighter in all the realms.’ Then they went after all the other pages’ honor, Ballantine’s credentials for not telling her that she’s the best sooner, and the whole Pacalcade for not letting her show off in the sparring ring more often since, ‘it’s always super fun to watch you pound the snoots into the dirt.’

So that had been a horror of its own. 

“You watched?!” Jade shrieked, so shocked she missed her footing entirely and let Kit land a solid hit to her side, knocking her into the grass. 

Kit reset above her, twirling their sword, smug as could be. They chivalrously offered her their free hand, with a flourish like a bow. “Of course I watch. Airk and I love the pages’ tourney. We go up to the watchtower, because Mom doesn’t like us right at the front and the knights are too tall to see over. Mom says it’s dangerous and distracting for the fighters if we’re there.” They hauled her up, her sweaty palm almost slipping out of theirs. “Also, eat shit, loser. Looks like I could destroy all of you.”

When Jade was done recovering from that panic — Kit saw her lose horribly for two and a half years?! ‘Yeah, duh, that’s how I knew it’d be good to ask you to train me,’ — she’d thwacked Kit into the dirt twice in the next three rounds and sprinted all the way back to the stables to clear her head. 

Kit didn’t seem to understand the problem. Jade wasn’t sure she did either. The little princess watching her fail was an excruciating fear that plagued her for years. Kit seeing was plain old embarrassing. She’d expect them to heckle her endlessly about it, except they already have seen and never even bothered to mention.

“You didn’t know?” Kit looked genuinely confused. “Tourneys are hot castle goss every time they happen, even if it’s just the pages. Everyone tries to get a spot at the windows. You have a whole fan club. Hurlighu and Luklas’s are bigger, obviously, but a lot of the staff really likes seeing one of their own compete.”

Likes seeing Jade fail miserably repeatedly?! She nearly drowned herself in the pond right then. Kit had to grab her collar and shake her until she started breathing again. 

Airk drops by to wish her luck and gives her a flower for her hair, which Jade cannot wear today, gushing, ‘One of the only things that got Kit out of their room every year! Excited to see you kick ass.’

This year is, for obvious reasons, even worse than usual. Jade hasn’t slept a wink in the last two nights, spiraling thoughts of what castle gossip says about her squealing in her head. Brunella has never offered anything but good luck and congratulations on her showing, which Jade assumed was perfunctory and also a lie since her showing was invariably awful. 

Oh stars, did Brunella watch too?! 

Jade has never been happier that she doesn’t sleep in the same quarters as most of the staff. Not all of them live in the castle, but the foundlings do, and as of this week the separation is all that’s keeping Jade sane. 

The gold in her new lockbox is so tempting she finds herself digging it up to count the coin. She has enough to leave for Galladoorn. Gives serious thought to doing so, but her reputation’s certainly ruined there too. 

To get to the training grounds, Jade has to cut through the castle halls. Usually the friendly waves from fellow staff are reassuring. Today they feel like threats. Each one another person for her to disappoint as she embarrasses Ballantine yet again. She’s got the lucky jadestone in her pocket and a growing weight in her heart.

The training grounds themselves are at the very back of the castle, right up against the wall before the Queen’s Wood, so Jade’s walk of shame is basically the whole castle. She doesn’t know it well enough to take anything but the main halls. Why didn’t she ask Kit to show her some secret passages? They surely know some, how else are they getting out?

Brunella gives her a warm roll from the kitchens. Kit throws her a wink and a nod from around a corner as they pass by with Airk, who waves cheerfully. The couriers toss her a kind word and a salute. Some of the usual sneers for foundlings are missing thanks to the recent hauntings. 

Horrible, horrible, horrible. Jade’s heart is beating its way out of her chest and the bouts haven’t even started yet. 

This castle-long journey does take her past Kit’s portrait, which is indeed labeled with their name. They look absolutely flipping miserable in it, stuffed into a dress that wears them and with their hair done up in a fancy braid. It’s a brief bright spot in the trudging march to Jade’s humiliation, thinking about what threats must’ve been leveled to get Kit to sit still for that long. 

Jade drifts onto the training grounds in a nervy haze. It’s almost a relief to step out into the sunlight and the unfamiliar dirt. Here she doesn’t have to look anyone but straw dummies in the eye. The sea of Pacalcade reds gathered around the sparring ring always ignores her. 

The other pages are already there, clinging to the fence surrounding the sparring ring. They smirk and chatter amongst themselves when they see her coming. 

Jade thinks it’s fitting that this time exhibition matches are only two weeks before Witch’s Night. The pages are always up to their nastiest tricks during tourney days, brimming with evil whenever she’s around. 

“Jade Claymore!” Luklas calls across the grass. He’s one of the most arrogant despite his ill-portentous name. “Surprised to see you’re still here.”

Beside him, the other pages snicker. Jade bristles but joins a few paces away from the others. Everyone here’s proud in their proper Pacalcade uniforms except Jade, posing in her new overshirt. It must be obvious even from the windows.

She cranes her neck, trying to catch Kit and Airk on the watch tower. Kit hadn’t said which one. There’s no sign of their faces among the tower guards from this far away. It’s a bit reassuring, that they weren’t super blatant before and Jade simply hadn’t noticed. On the other hand, now she can’t see how they react, which is a blessing and a curse. 

Inside the ring, Sir Merrick and Sir Keene are showing-off a warm-up match, swords flashing as casually as ever. Squire Lachlan is getting his pads ready to take next bout. The other knights and their squires are lined up along the fences or mingling nearby. Ballantine oversees it all with Commander Kase, too busy to talk today. He still waves hello. 

“Captain Ballantine hasn’t dropped you yet, huh?” Hurlighu leans over the fence to catch Jade’s eyes around the curve. Hurlighu’s the oldest page, up for her squireship this round. Jade has a fuzzy memory of Hurlighu being from an important barony with ties to the ports, so she’ll certainly get it. “You must sure be good at something, since you’re an embarrassment in the ring.”

Jade gets in maybe half the practice the other pages do as she’s first and foremost responsible for the royal stables. She has none of the family backing propping her up with extra tutelage when she fails. She’s had to fight tooth and nail to start placing middling. Which everyone in the castle apparently saw. 

The words sting worse this year, bolstered by the eyes in the windows and on the towers. Can they all hear too? She really hopes Kit can’t. There’s enough other chatter around to mask any particular voice. 

She keeps her attention on Sir Merrick and Sir Keene, trying to spot the holes in their defenses as they whirl around each other. Attempts to narrow the whole world down to that just like she would if the fight was hers. These two know one another so well their spars are simply the steps of a complicated dance. She thinks they’re using live blades without a single fear of landing a fatal hit. 

“It’s worse to have to watch you,” Hurlighu continues, drawing laughs from Luklas, Young Yorkun, and Grindlewal. “The hope bleeding out of your eyes every time! Makes me weep.” Hurlighu wipes away a fake tear. “Why bother trying? I’m starting to worry you’re a tad mad.”

Maybe Jade is, thinking she can keep up. That they’ll ever let her into the Shining Legion without the sort of family banner armies rally behind. But Ballantine saw something in her, and Jade refuses to disappoint him, even when most of her thinks it was a mistake. 

“She’s determined to marry up,” Luklas drawls, picking his nails. “Though there are easier ways that don’t risk ruining your only assets.”

Jade will not respond to this. It’s not like the other foundlings — she can’t just beat them into submission. If she breaks a noble nose, she’ll be paying for it the rest of her life one way or another. In front of witnesses is a death sentence. 

“Assets?” Grindlewal laughs. They’re a big one. Ugly, vicious, and mean in and out of the ring. “You mean smelling like horse and being covered in dung?”

“Hey, didn’t that happen to the princess a few months ago?” Young Yorkun — son of foundling-infamous Lord Yorkun — chimes in over Grindwal’s shoulder. He’s a spindly spineless thing, never willing to jump into a fight until he’s sure it’s won. “Was that your stables, Claymore?”

Jade flinches before she can stop herself. The others laugh. Shit. 

“It should’ve been Jade’s stables,” Luklas chuckles. Ass-saving has never stung so much. “But the princess didn’t trust Claymore’d been caring for her horses well enough to bother taking one out. She went to the guardhouse instead. Sensical given how Claymore handled her horse at the round pen. Better help, elsewhere.”

Jade grinds her teeth. Firms her shoulders. Seeks weak spots in Sir Merrick’s guard. Ignores the weight of Kit’s gaze, wherever it is. They haven’t shouted any taunts, so she’s fairly sure they can’t hear. 

“Come on, Claymore, take a joke!” Luklas calls over cheerily. “It’s all in good fun.”

Jade’s been ‘taking jokes’ since Ballantine brought her on when she was twelve. Her whole life in the home and the schoolhouse before that was jokes. She’ll be happy if she never hears another joke in her life. 

“Claymore!” Ballantine shouts across the ring. “Arm up! You and Grindlewal are next after Lachlan.”

Grindlewal cracks their knuckles, smiling with all their teeth. “See you in the ring, Claymore.”

Shit. Time to lose horrifically in front of the whole castle. Hopefully Ballantine can forgive her for this.  

Will Kit even want to spar anymore when they see how badly Jade does? She trudges over to the sword rack to arm up. There’s no helping it now. They insisted on coming no matter what she said. She’s just got to pray they never speak of it again. Which is impossible. 

Maybe it is time to flee the country. 

/-:-:-/  

Jade’s sweating through her padded gambeson, tracking Grindlewal’s next bludgeoning swing through the slits in her face guard, when she sees it. 

There’s a gap in their guard same as Kit’s.  

Grindlewal’s had her on the back foot this whole match by nature of size and bloodlust. They never defend when they can attack, always slashing for a killing blow. Their strikes are so hard they shake Jade’s shoulders when she has to take them full on. She’s fast enough to dodge or deflect most, but it’s only a few minutes in and her elbows are already aching. 

The demands of the fight blur everything else out, but at first there was still the prickling sensation on her neck of being watched. Distraction she can’t afford when she’s already at a disadvantage. It was Grindlewal’s first bludgeoning slam to her thigh that shocked her out of it, the pain so bad she had to focus on them. Now there’s only the ground, their swords, the burn in her muscles, and the sound of her breathing inside her metal mask. 

Grindlewal seems offended she’s lasted this long, putting more effort into their attacks and pressing harder to try to pin her against the fence. These matches go to killing blow or first blood, whichever comes quicker. Jade’s already snuck in a touch or two but nothing fatal. Every brush only makes Grindlewal madder. 

Now they’ve got Jade cornered, where they should be able to finish her off. She knows they’re going to make it hurt as much as possible because they always do. Grindlewal relishes taking first blood even through the pads. A completely permissible public beating. 

Except there’s a gap in their guard and now Jade sees it. They’re overextending to swing high, opening up their side. She’s moving before she even realizes. Pushing inside the swing, aiming for the gap between bone where their heart should be, and thrusting her blunted steel practice sword hard enough into their ribs to shake their whole skeleton. 

Grindlewal stumbles back, shocked and winded. Their hand flies to their ribs. Fury contorts their face, they raise their sword again—

“Match to Claymore!” Ballantine calls. “Grindlewal, yield.”

For a second, she thinks Grindlewal won’t. She gets ready to block another crushing blow. Then they throw their sword on the ground and storm over the fence, clutching their side. “Captain’s pet. You got lucky.”

Woah. Jade’s beaten Grindlewal before, but never this fast, and never without them taking their due in bone deep bruises first. She’s not sure what to make of it. The other pages look like they don’t know either. 

Squire Lachlan, Sir Merrick, and Sir Keene clap politely from the sidelines. No one else seems to care. It’s still the first match, no telling how things will go from here. 

There’s a loud abruptly severed whoop from the ramparts. Jade’s head whips around, the other pages frowning in confusion. She can’t see them but the sound echoes off the walls. Kit’s on the western watch tower, then. 

The reminder is incredibly embarrassing. At least Jade did win this time. There’s a rush of joy at the victory, but she can’t savor it. There are five pages to go. Lots of opportunities for humiliating defeat and tons of time for them to attempt permanent injury. 

Victor stays in the ring. Jade’ll be here as long as she keeps winning matches. She’s never lasted more than three in a row.

She puts the next two pages on the ground within four moves. There’s no real pride in that — they’re the youngest, so new they’re barely out of the nursery. Ballantine nods in approval with every call, but that’s about it. No more noise from the watch tower. Losses here would’ve reflected more on Jade than anyone else. 

Then it’s Young Yorkun. Jade hates Yorkun for what his father did to Tralia. There’s all signs the younger is on the same path. He’s also a coward. One good strike and he’ll be running the whole match, too afraid of pain to stand tall and fight. 

Jade sets her stance and waits. Bitter loathing and the wall of red separating her from the castle makes it easier to ignore the windows and tower. 

Young Yorkun is cowardly but he’s also snide. He thinks Jade lower than the scum of the earth, so he moves first. The world zooms to a pinpoint on the blade of his sword. 

Jade lets two solid strikes slide off her guard. Sees her opening on his stab, sidesteps, turns, and slams his extended forearms so hard he almost drops his sword. 

Yorkun stares at her in open shock, eyes wide even through his face guard. 

It’s a bloodbath after that. 

Every time Young Yorkun retreats, Jade presses him, finding the niches and cracks in his defense. Wham! His thigh till he’s unsteady on the left. Crack! His bicep, shaking under the bruise. Thwack! His side, a bashing blow but not a killing one. 

Jade’s halfway done quartering him by the time she realizes she hasn’t taken a single hit. With the exception of the nasty bruise on her leg from Grindlewal, she’s sitting as close to pretty. She shifts, readying herself for a final sets of forms to finish this, and Young Yorkun actually cringes. 

Jade finds herself smiling. He’s weak on the left side after the blow to his leg. He swings for her desperately, overcorrecting. She slaps the blow aside, twists her blade under his hilt when he’s off-balance, and disarms him in a single move. His sword clatters to the ground. Yorkun staggers back until he’s sandwiched between the fence and the tip of her blade pressed to his heart. 

Yorkun raises both his shaking hands before she has to say anything. “I yield!” 

“Match to Claymore!” Ballantine calls. Yes!

The dirt field is stunned silent. Raucous clapping echoes from the castle windows behind them. It masks a similar sound from the ramparts. Ha. Young Yorkun must not be beloved among the staff either. 

Jade’s four wins in now, even if two of them don’t really count. More than she’s ever done before. The knights are starting to take notice. Luklas and Hurlighu share a sharp glance as Grindlewal fumes beside them, still holding their ribs. Yorkun scrambles over the fence to join them, ginger on his left leg. 

Jade’s riding high off the victory, but Young Yorkun is an easy win. Jade usually beats him if less handily than this. A year ago they were about evenly matched, but by last spring she’d already overtaken him. 

She’s done well enough now that any losses won’t be soul-shattering. Jade finally lets herself uncoil slightly. The castle won’t have much to say about this. Kit doesn’t need to be ashamed to have her as a sparring partner. 

The next two matches will be harder. She’s been sparring all day and her opponents are fresh. She’s never beaten Hurlighu before, and Luklas only once, a few years ago on a fluke where he lost his footing. 

“Luklas! You’re next.” 

For a second, Jade thinks Ballantine’s chosen the order to favor her. Then she realizes it’s really for Hurlighu. Luklas will be a better display match to show her readiness for squireship, and if Jade somehow manages to win there’ll still be a certain achievement to it when Hurlighu easily bests her too. 

The knights are watching closely, but there’s no mystery to it. The real question is how and when Jade will lose, not if. The windows and walls are quiet, everyone respecting the rules of the space enough not to cheer for one side or the other. 

Luklas carefully tests all the swords before making his selection, takes his time with his pads. No matter, the more of a show he wants to make of it, the more of a breather Jade gets. She wanders over to the fence for her waterskin. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Hurlighu warns her. “I’d hate to see them crushed again. There’s only so many heartbreaks a girl can take, right?”

Jade ignores her, shoving her face guard up and chugging water. She assesses the ring. There are more scuffs in it than before, a couple freshmade pits and upturned rocks to trip over, but nothing huge. Besides, she’s used to fighting in the round pen or with Kit on the uneven slippery pond bank, where the terrain can switch from grass to pebbles in an instant. Luklas has constant access to the flat fields and the well-groomed grounds where the knights train. He’s the one at risk here. 

Luklas takes up his sword and pulls his face guard down. Hops the fence and sets up in the ring, swinging the blade around a lot like Kit. “Anytime, Claymore!”

Jade’s still buzzing off the victory, feeling the burn in her muscles from fighting back. She looks to the western watchtower. Caps her waterskin and pitches it fast at Young Yorkun’s head. “Hold this for me, will you?”

Young Yorkun startles off the fence, narrowly saving his nose. Grindlewal scoffs in disgust at both her and Yorkun, scoops the waterskin from the ground, and dumps the rest of her water into the dirt. “Water yourself, stablehand.”

That’s fine, this won’t be long. She can wait until she gets home to nurse her bruises. Jade turns towards Luklas, snaps her face guard down. “Feel free to take some, Hurlighu. I am responsible for horses after all.” 

Hurlighu spits something nasty at her back. It’s nothing compared to Kit’s curses. Jade strides into the middle of the ring, limbs loose and a little heavy from so much use. The western watchtower is solid at her back. She sets up across from Luklas, choosing a defensive stance. She’s going to be on the retreat this entire match. 

“Good run, Claymore,” Luklas greets with his usual faux-friendliness. “You’ve made it far against babes and halfwits. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it quick.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Jade retorts, more for the sake of it than any real belief in her words. 

The thing about Luklas is he’s actually got skills to match his confidence. He also has height, muscle mass, and a headstart from a lineage of knights. Jade wants to see how long she can draw this out, but she has no real plans to win. The goal is to not lose so fast it’s disgraceful. 

“Match start!”

Luklas attacks immediately. He’s quick and precise with his strikes, nearly inside her guard before she can blink. Jade twists away, barely dodging a thrust that would’ve taken her right through the stomach. 

Luklas whirls, following her with a wide swing. Jade has to block it as a straight on, gritting her teeth against the rattle down her spine. She shoves him off, trying to make space between them. Luklas follows her smoothly, stalking her steps with fast hits to the body, arms, and legs. Jade deflects most of them, forcing herself to stay focused instead of spiraling into frantic, but takes several good whacks to the arms. 

Luklas makes a solid swing for her head. Jade ducks, his sword screeching up and off her own. There—! She slides under his outstretched arm and lands her first blow — a loud crack to his hip. 

Luklas stumbles back, trying to reset his stance. Jade presses the hole in his guard, landing glancing smacks to his shoulder and side. Nearly slices across his stomach before Luklas knocks her away. 

Jade retreats and firms up her grip on her sword. They circle each other, breathing hard. Jade’s nursing her smarting limbs, Luklas his stiffening hip. They both know they need to end this quickly to have a snowball’s chance in hell against Hurlighu. 

Luklas makes a testing stab towards her guard, she bats him away. Swings at her side, gets sent spiraling off again. She goes for the opening on his torso. He gets his block up in a blink and their swords lock hilt to hilt. 

Steel grinds on steel. She can see the sweat pouring into his eyes through the slit in his face guard. Feels the sting in her own. Leans her whole body weight into the blade, trying to lever for his neck, and forces him a step back. 

Luklas has still got mass and muscle on her. He twists and shoves her off with a massive heave, letting her own overcommit throw her forward as he springs sideways. He swings for her spine, she narrowly spins and bangs it away, skittering backwards. Luklas’s torso is wide open but she’s off-balance. Neither of them can claim advantage without risking the other landing a killing blow. 

They both scramble to reset and make space before the other can take the opportunity. Jade rounds on him with her sword up just as Luklas does the same, both panting raggedly. 

They circle the ring again, slow creeping steps, waiting to catch their breath or the other’s blow. Neither willing to breach the gap. 

Jade can’t beat him full on like this. She’ll never last, let alone with enough energy left for Hurlighu. She has to end this in the next engagement. So does Luklas, even more desperately now. 

Luklas’s weakness has always been his accustomation to luxury. He’s used to fair fights, cleanly groomed terrain, opponents who don’t want him dead or maimed. Jade doesn’t have to meet him on those terms. 

For the first time in five matches, Jade breaks a stand-off by going on the offensive. 

She aims for him like Gurky in that alleyway. Going for the throat, killing blows, strikes intended to hurt bad enough to deter future violence. Luklas takes them on his guard but is clearly shaken by the ferocity. When he tries to shove her back into a proper form pattern, Jade slides away and lands a sharp kick on his shins. Luklas staggers, shocked she would stoop so low. Jade follows it up with a nasty slap of her blade to his forearm, almost enough for him to drop the sword. Then a swiping pummeling of his torso that he struggles to deflect. When he leans too far on his back foot, she presses with her blade and kicks for his shins again. He’s wise enough to skip away this time. 

There’s no honor on a battlefield. Jade’s already learned that. Luklas will too, or he’ll die young. 

“Shameful hack!” Luklas is furious now. He pushes forward, warding her off with a wrathful slash. Jade jumps back. He beats his sword against her guard, aiming for her head. He doesn’t just want to win, he wants her out of the game entirely, possibly dead. That’s good. She needs him distracted for where she’s trying to lead him. 

Blow after blow, every one a quake down her shoulders. Jade wheels backwards as Luklas marches on. Steel grazes her face guard when she’s not quick enough to block and has to duck. Luklas’s sword scrapes hard along her ribs, but it’s not a killing blow. The fence line is rapidly approaching at her back. He’s going to have her pinned soon and then this will be over. 

But this part of the fenceline is also where she sent Young Yorkun into a clumsy mad scramble. Jade holds Luklas off with trembling arms, scouring the ground from the corner of her eye. 

Jade lets him herd her towards it. Feels for the slight shift in the dirt beneath her feet. There. Jade feigns a stagger, opening her chest for Luklas to clobber — too tempting to pass on, but ever so slightly too far away to hit safely. He lunges for her in a furious stab… and his front foot slips on a rock. 

Jade whirls and slams her sword across his back. Crack! Luklas stumbles. Jade hooks her foot around his ankle and shoves into his spine with the pommel of her sword. Luklas topples. “Shit—!”

Thump! Lukas hits the ground on his hands and knees in the shadow of the western watchtower. The point of her blade resting on the nape of his neck. “No…!”

Jade holds the sword still as she can. The tip almost trembles with the effort and battle fervor of it all. The crowd holds its breath. “Yield.”

Luklas stays there, panting, shoulders heaving. His sword is still in hand. Useless where Jade has him. 

“Yield,” she repeats, shoving the blunt tip of her blade into his smooth neck. 

Luklas takes one last shuddering breath. Clenches his fist around his sword like he wishes it was live. Forces his shoulders to relax, so he sounds casual when he says, “I yield. Quite the display, Claymore. Cheap tricks and dumb luck suit you well.”

Jade removes her sword and steps away to let him up. Offers him her hand so it’ll reflect poorly on him when he ignores it. More for the knights’ benefit than his replies, “Watch the terrain next time. You think a Bone Reaver’s going to care if there’s rocks on the ground?”

Luklas seethes but Jade’s made her point. It wasn’t dumb luck, it was foresight to use her surroundings as a weapon. Luklas dismisses her help and hauls himself to his feet using the fence. Jade sets her sword aside and pushes her face guard up, trying to catch her breath. 

Ballantine hooks Jade’s eye and nods in approval, suppressing a smile. “Match to Claymore!”

The windows erupt. Scattered stunned clapping from the knights, more of it this time, as the staff holler over their shoulders. Some of the knights look as offended as Luklas at Jade’s tactics, but Sir Merrick, Sir Keene, and Squire Lachlan are cheering as raucously as the commoner crowd, “Go Claymore! Show them what for!”

The western watchtower isn’t discernible in the noise, but Jade thinks they might be shouting up there too. 

Commander Kase eyes her with renewed interest. Exchanges a considering glance with Ballantine. Jade’s not sure she’s ever seen Ballantine look smug before, but he definitely is now. She tries not to puff up too obviously with pride. Her heart thrums, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt this powerful. 

“Quick break,” Ballantine orders. “Then final match to Hurlighu.”

The break is unusual, but so is a page making it through five consecutive matches. Jade’s grateful for the respite. The sweet nectar of success is carrying her through, but she’s flagging. Her legs are aching, particularly where Luklas got her right over Grindlewal’s deep bruise. There’s a throbbing patch on her ribs that’s at least a scrape. Her arms aren’t quite to the point of shaking with exhaustion, but they’re getting close. Yet as tired as she is, she’s nowhere near as winded as Luklas. 

She can go further. This isn’t over. 

There’s no way Jade would’ve made it through this many back to back duels six months ago. She’d thought of it as attempts to break Kit, but she’s been putting herself through some seriously hellish endurance training too. The other pages aren’t getting up before dawn to run outside the walls and back so they can trounce the princess in secret. They aren’t hauling feed, pushing wheelbarrows, or forking hay before and after. They don’t spend afternoons riding the best, fastest charger in the world. Jade might not have the time to dedicate to training that they do, but she’s gotten stronger than them without realizing it. 

Jade is almost back to her waterskin when she remembers it’s empty. That might’ve been dumb and petty, in retrospect. 

The other pages glare daggers at her, Young Yorkun hiding subtly behind an unexpectedly serious Hurlighu. Luklas spits on the ground, face guard abandoned, fury in his eyes. Grindlewal holds up her offending empty waterskin with a grin. “Looking for something?”

Jade can’t thrash Grindlewal right now for so many reasons, but she really wants to. It’s fine. Their ribs are clearly still going to be hurting for a while. 

She’s gratingly thirsty and long since sweated through her clothes. The sun is starting to make her head pound. She’d ask to borrow from Ballantine, but he can’t be seen favoring her while he’s judging the matches. The trip to the kitchens or fountain would take too long. She’ll just have to go without until she can get home. She turns back to the ring.

“Claymore!” Squire Lachlan hollers from the opposite fence. He waves a waterskin of his own. “For you!” 

Jade drags herself over, slumping with relief. Squire Lachlan has always been nice to her, jolly and friendly with everyone in equal measure. Jade’s lowbornness doesn’t seem to bother him the way it does some of the others. “Thank you, Squire Lachlan.”

“That was quite the match!” Squire Lachlan gushes as Jade chugs as much water as she safely can without throwing up. He’s pale and ruddy flushed beneath his beard, from the sun as well as his own earlier bout. “I was holding my breath. Playing to his expectations for clean grounds was very clever.”

Jade swells happily. Glad someone appreciated it. “Thank you, Squire Lachlan.”

A couple of the stuffier knights from well-established highborn houses are still glaring at her, whispering amongst themselves. Does honor really go that far on the battlefield? She would’ve thought fighting Bavmorda’s army broke them of any standards beyond following the bare minimum rules of engagement. It’s not like Jade actually violated any. Brawling, had she gone that far, would’ve been disdained upon but allowed. 

Then again, these are exhibition matches not battles. Jade’s just shown a cutthroat willingness to scrap rather than a precise control of her blade. 

That’s fine. Ballantine approved and that’s all that matters. It’s not like she’s gunning to be someone else’s squire. Hurlighu and the other pages have to impress the knights to get offers for apprenticeship, but Jade’s path is set in stone. She may not be allowed to shadow everyone like they are but the flip side is she knows exactly whose squire she’d be. 

Besides, the western watchtower liked it, so who cares what the snobbier knights think? Jade’s seen Kit try worse on the daily. 

The autumn chill thankfully keeps her from heatsick, but she’s still overwarm. Jade takes a last gulp. Holds Squire Lachlan’s waterskin over her head and asks, “May I…?” 

“Of course!” Lachlan laughs. 

Jade dumps a short shower over herself before handing it back to him, shaking the droplets out of her eyes. “Thank you, Squire Lachlan. I owe you one.”

“No matter!” Squire Lachlan chirps. “And please, call me Lachlan. I’d like to be on a names-only basis with the next great knight of the realm.”

Jade flushes, softly pleased, hopefully not noticeable given how much exercise she’s had already. “Not hardly.”

“Lachlan’s right,” Sir Merrick chimes in next to him, all dark skin and warm smiles. “This is an impressive run. I don’t think I’ve seen something like it since Ballantine was a squire.”

Scowly Sir Keene slings a lighter arm around Sir Merrick’s shoulders. “That’s not true, darling! You trounced everyone in your class three years in a row before you made squire.”

“Ah, well,” Sir Merrick shrugs in faux humility, smiling softly at Sir Keene, “Ballantine and myself.”

Jade scrubs her hand over her wet hair. The low bun’s still in place but the collar of the gambeson she chose is high just in case. “Thank you, Sir Merrick. And you, Sir Keene. That’s very kind.”

“Thrash her, Claymore,” Sir Keene orders. “Hurlighu could use a little humbling.”

“I’ll try, sir,” Jade quips, fully confident she’s about to lose horribly. There’s no shame in it now, Hurlighu’s two years older and the best of the lot by far when it comes to swordplay. There’s a reason she’s up for squire this round. 

When Jade turns back to the ring, the windows start chanting, “Claymore! Claymore! Claymore!” 

Jade freezes midstep, gaze darting around frantically. She can’t see much through the slit windows facing the courtyard and the western watchtower is still a mystery. Who the hell—

“Hush up!” Ballantine bellows, rounding on the castle. “Quiet on the grounds!”

The staff gallery settles, but murmurs go around the scarlet forest. This, too, is not done. 

Jade rubs her burning cheeks. The cheering is very flattering even if it’s misguided and inappropriate. Jade’s not really a somebody around the castle. Being noticed like this is giddying but also scary. Thankfully there aren’t many windows onto the training grounds, the audience must be small.  

“If they want to treat it like a tourney, they can pay for tourney fees,” Sir Jellininy remarks loudly to a chorus of titters, projecting across the castle courtyard. “Or perhaps a jester’s show, if they want to see play fighting from commoners pretending to be knights.”

Ouch. Jade tightens her fists, smarting. There’s a strange echo from the western watchtower and some discordant murmuring from the windows. 

“I said hush up!” Ballantine barks at the knights. The training grounds settle, but the tension stays, thrumming just beneath the low murmuring silence. Jade heads back to her sword and does her best to ignore everything else. 

Hurlighu’s already set up in the middle of the ring running through a series of stretches and warm up forms when Jade makes her way over. No wasting time on theatrics like Luklas. 

“Claymore,” Hurlighu greets, not bothering to look up. She’s almost as dark as Sir Merrick so it’s hard to tell if she’s flushed with nerves, but there’s no sign of sweat on her brow. “Cheap tricks won’t work on me.”

They’d better not, if Hurlighu actually wants to be a squire soon. Squires follow their knights onto the battlefield. She doesn’t have the luxury of making Luklas’s mistakes. 

“Wouldn’t dare,” Jade agrees. She limbers her arms before collecting her sword again. “Go easy on me.”

Hurlighu scoffs. “I’m going to rip you to shreds.” She rolls her wrist. “I’ve got a lot of shit showings to make up for after being cursed by Bavmorda’s flipping ghost.”

Oh right, Kit did do that. Not because Hurlighu knew or seemed to care about marks, but purely on the grounds that Jade had spent a good chunk of her fever cursing Hurlighu’s name. Grindlewal and Luklas had gotten it far worse for much longer, since Jade hated Luklas most of all and apparently Kit had heard Grindlewal shittalking foundlings with witchsigns of Nockmaar. Not Jade, thank stars — none of them knew about that. Young Yorkun had, of course, seen his father mildly poisoned on Tralia’s behalf. 

Kit’s… done a lot of damage to the pages. Probably not enough to affect their showings here given their month or more relief from the castle phantom, but it still makes Jade doubt if this is all her skill alone. She shoots another glance at the western watchtower, long shadow cooling her half of the sparring ring. 

“What’d you do to summon Bavmorda?” Jade asks casually, stretching her calves. “Ritual gone wrong?”

Hurlighu, less accustomed to treasonous talk than Jade, shuts that down immediately, “Don’t let your inflated ego get to your head — I’d hate to see your hope die again. Your other wins were lucky.”

“Maybe so,” Jade shrugs. She’s still got the jadestone in her pocket after all. “But then it’ll be even more embarrassing for you if you lose.”

Jade’s never drawn a match out long enough with Hurlighu to get a sense of her weaknesses. She’s seen Hurlighu go toe to toe longer with Luklas, where she seems to favor quick darting flurries of attacks and equally fast retreats. 

In the ring, Hurlighu’s slippery, prone to goading through a thousand tiny cutting touches. Sometimes she’ll draw things out past a winning opening so she can find a more humiliating strike. Today she’ll have even more impetus to do so, since a speedy end to the match won’t give her time to show off for the knights. Or play to the crowd, something she clearly enjoys. 

There’s a world where Jade can last long enough to seize an opportunity of her own. That’s probably not on a day when she’s already fought five grueling matches.

Hurlighu surveys the ground, not willing to fall prey to the same traps as Luklas. “If you really want to be a page, you need to learn to control your expectations. Things won’t always work out just because you believe in yourself.”

Jade nearly laughs. Her expectations? Jade has no expectations of ever being a knight. She’s still going to fight with all she has to get as far as she can. “What’s it like to have everything in your life handed to you?”

Hurlighu shoots her a sharp look. “What’s it like to go home to nothing?”

Jade sucks in a short breath as the blow connects. Closes her eyes. Finds her center and the jadestone in her pocket again. 

“You’re no one, Claymore,” Hurlighu continues, taking the opening Jade stupidly offered her. Jade turns to mark any new pits around the battlefield, watching Hurlighu from the corner of her eye. “Captain Ballantine’s hurting his reputation, wasting time on you. How do you think it will reflect on him when you fail?”

“Better than on your family when I take you apart,” Jade snarls and means it. Hurlighu’s gaze goes hard as steel. Jade firms her grip on her sword. 

“Hurlighu, Claymore, to places!”

She and Hurlighu settle in across from each other in the middle of the ring. Their face guards snap down. Hurlighu sets her stance to go on the attack. This time Jade does too. It takes two to put on a show. 

“Match start!”

Jade’s moving before the last word stops echoing in her ears, but Hurlighu’s fresher and faster. Hurlighu slices a long line down Jade’s near arm as she slides past, the sort of cut meant to disable if the blades were live. A display of skill for everyone watching and a taunt for Jade, announcing, I don’t even need to go for the kill. 

Screw that. Hurlighu may beat her, but Jade’s going to make her work for it. There’s a reason the princess picked Jade to spar with, not Hurlighu. 

She spins just in time to catch Hurlighu’s first flurry of blows. They’re quick strikes, even more precise than Luklas’s, never wasting a motion. Hurlighu works her sword almost like a surgeon’s scalpel, short swipes and stabs, switching sides to seek out the weak points in Jade’s guard. 

Jade fends her off with aching arms, barely reacting in time, constantly chasing Hurlighu’s blows. Whenever she’s almost got a handle on Hurlighu’s assault, Hurlighu will whirl around, circling to Jade’s back. Jade’s nearly tripping over her own feet to keep up. Bruising taps break through, glancing along her arms, legs, shoulders. Jade holds her defense as tight as she can and scutters for distance. 

Hurlighu presses forward casually, letting her swings flow wider and stronger. The slight reduction in speed gives Jade a better chance to track where she’s striking next. Hurlighu slashes for her side, Jade actually manages to parry this time, sending the slice skittering away. Hurlighu aims for her neck, Jade whips her sword up into a block. Hurlighu lets the force of it twirl her around Jade, striking for her spine. 

Jade whirls and deflects as best she can, moving faster than she thinks she ever has before, still far too slow. If she can’t get space and she’s no match on speed, she needs a sense of Hurlighu’s tells. Jade lets nasty slashes snake through and glance across her body while she studies Hurlighu’s form. 

When Hurlighu goes for a stab, she dips her shoulder. When she’s about to swing, she turns her hip. She hasn’t bothered with a feint yet, too busy skinning Jade alive. Hurlighu has no need to block. Hurlighu shifts her weight to the left and twists her hips, sword winding around again. 

Jade turns to meet her this time instead of trailing two steps behind. 

Jade catches a skidding blow solidly down the length of her blade. Their hilts lock. Hurlighu stiffens in surprise but doesn’t flinch. Jade heaves and twists, trying to torque under Hurlighu’s hold. Hurlighu might have speed, but Jade thinks she can take her in a pure test of strength. 

Hurlighu relents, disengaging and darting away before Jade can disarm her. Jade follows her with a harsh slash to make more space, no delusions that it’ll connect. 

She’s right. Hurlighu barely even dodges, leaning backwards to let the blow swish past her. 

Jade firms her feet, resets her guard, panting hard. It can’t have been much more than a minute and her whole body is a giant throbbing bruise. The grounds are silent with anticipation, like the whole world’s holding its breath. 

Hurlighu settles her grip on her sword, lifts again into the high stance she’s taken all match. Gives Jade two breaths to collect herself, coldly calculating even through her face guard. 

Jade can just see her teeth glint as she smiles. 

Hurlighu flashes forward and speeds up. Thwap! A light tap to the cheek of Jade’s face guard she’s too slow to catch. Bap! A stinging swing to her side when Jade’s sword shadows the strike to her head. Wham! A harder blow to the bruise on her thigh, sending Jade staggering to the side. 

Hurlighu makes no move to trip her as Jade did Luklas. She barely even follows it up, allowing Jade to parry and gain her balance. The message is clear — Hurlighu can end this at any time. She wants Jade on her feet so that the whole world can watch Hurlighu dissect her blow by blow. 

Fury floods Jade’s chest. She won’t be used as a practice dummy while Hurlighu shows off for squirehood. This is Jade’s match too. 

More than that, there’s a viciousness in Jade that wants to see Hurlighu humiliated for all her cutting meanness. Taken down in front of everyone by someone she’s treated as a pitiable plaything for years, in a match Hurlighu has already made clear she could’ve won in the first strike. 

The problem is how. 

Hurlighu presses the attack effortlessly, varying her rhythm whenever it seems like Jade is too close to catching up or giving in. Jade’s too slow to use any flashes of gaps in her guard. Hurlighu is a whirlwind, predicting her strikes is like trying to keep track of snowflakes in a blizzard. Jade can catch one or two before they land, block several more so long as she sets in specific places, but there’s so many most are bound to get through. 

The first time it happens, she’s not sure she’s actually seeing it. 

Hurlighu twists a bit too far on a swing as she spins round Jade’s side, opening up her ribs for Jade to strike at. Jade is busy resetting her guard so she accidentally lets the moment pass. Hurlighu holds her next thrust a beat too long on full extension, shoulder wide open, waiting for Jade to stab for it. Jade slashes and steps away, choosing to make space instead. 

Hurlighu follows it up with another series of blows, slow enough for Jade to settle her nerves. Speeds up in pursuit when Jade’s got her breath back and steps a half-inch too far on a thrust, leaving her side unguarded. Jade slides into her guard and stabs with all her might. Is shocked when it connects — a glancing blow along Hurlighu’s hip where it should’ve been a straight shot through her kidneys. 

Hurlighu whirls away into another flurry of furious retorts. Jade blocks them — or doesn’t — absently, running the moment over in her head. 

Hurlighu turned before Jade moved. Too quickly to respond to a tell in her stance. Jade hadn’t even decided to strike yet. Hurlighu was already dodging, like she knew a blow could be coming no matter what. Which is impossible, unless…

Hurlighu is playacting that the match is fair. Setting Jade up as a worthy opponent to make whatever winning flourish she’s planning count.

It’s so insulting Jade could scream. 

A jester’s show. Sir Jellininy’s flipping jester’s show. Hurlighu thinks she can spin Jade around like a marionette in front of the windows and watchtowers and Jade won’t notice. That’s Jade’s too common or desperate to see the script beneath. 

Joke’s on Hurlighu. Jade’s no plaything for nobles. 

Rage fuels her as Jade parries another series of strikes. She’s getting used to the pattern by now. Hurlighu tends to start high and work her way down when Jade’s forced to defend her head. There’s still no stopping half of them, but Jade can deflect a few more every time. 

She focuses on her defense. Watches.  Waits for the next offering when Hurlighu ‘overextends’ and opens up her ribs. 

Jade feints for it. Hurlighu shifts just enough to confirm Jade’s suspicion, already whipping around to deflect as if Jade has genuinely found an opportunity and Hurlighu is prescient enough to counter it inside of a blink. Jade swings hard for her stomach instead. 

The blow connects. It’s not enough to end the match — wouldn’t gut an opponent in a real fight — but it slams into the soft part of Hurlighu’s side with sufficient force to make her gasp. 

Hurlighu stumbles sideways, genuinely shocked. She barely turns to get her sword up in time to block off Jade’s battering bash to the head. 

Bang! Their blades clash together with a quake to shake them both. Jade sees Hurlighu’s eyes widen, then narrow in fury beneath her mask. Good. 

She’d damn well better take Jade seriously. 

Jade’s slightly taller, so she grinds down on Hurlighu’s guard with full strength, forcing Hurlighu one trembling step back. Hurlighu sneers even as her arms shake, expression clear through the narrow slits. She eases back to goad Jade into a harder lean. Then ducks and twirls away as simple as please, letting Jade overbalance a step in her absence, leaving Hurlighu free to strike at her back. 

But Jade’s learned from Luklas. When Hurlighu gets there, she’s already running into Jade’s sword. A round-house strike from the opposite direction, slamming right into the same soft spot on Hurlighu’s side. 

Hurlighu’s not the only one who can playact. 

The combined force of Hurlighu’s accidental dash into the blow and Jade throwing her whole body into the swing nearly flings Hurlighu off her feet. Hurlighu’s gasp comes out high and harsh, almost a scream. She staggers sideways, clutching her stomach. Her breath is shuddering out her nose in short stuttering shrieks.

A thrill of fear shoots through Jade, even through the bursting self-satisfaction. She didn’t hit anything vital, right?

Hurlighu stumbles backwards to make space as Jade advances, slow to reset. Jade presses forward quickly, taking the advantage, but her swing’s more cautious when it comes. 

Hurlighu blocks Jade’s fast light slash for her neck with more effort than she’s shown all bout. Jade’s hit would’ve been a demonstrative killing blow to end the match, a brush instead of a bruise. Hurlighu’s strongly favoring her wounded side, almost shaking along that leg. 

Jade bodies towards her throat from the other direction, pressuring the weak link. “You okay—”

“Shut up.” Hurlighu straightens to lock their blades. Her whole stance firms. “I’m fine.”

Jade levers forward, Hurlighu slips but doesn’t give ground. They are wearing pads. As bad as Jade can bruise her, it’s unlikely that anything would actually rupture. Maybe Hurlighu’s just not used to taking a hit. “You sure?”

Hurlighu holds Jade’s blade off her neck so close the edge of her own dips into the high collar of her gambeson. “You only bruised me. Don’t you dare hold back.”

Jade’s uncertain but Hurlighu shows her no such mercy. She pushes forward with her pommel and lifts to bash both their hilts into Jade’s face guard. Clang! Dashes away when Jade reels back, ears ringing, shielded from the broken nose and head knock but not the stunning loudness of it. 

By the time Jade recovers, Hurlighu is on her again. And this time she’s not playacting. 

Blows rain down on Jade from every direction. The same stinging quickness as before and needlepoint precision, but a million times more deadly. Hurlighu isn’t drawing it out any longer. She wants to end this fast, is trying to create a gap in Jade’s guard big enough to land a killing blow through. 

Jade focuses on her vital points and lets the other hits land. If these were live blades, that would be a fool’s strategy, but by exhibition rules she’ll survive so long as there’s no blood. Hurlighu takes chunks out of her arms and shoulders bad enough Jade’s grip on the sword starts to shake. Jade manages to keep her off her gut, head, throat, and heart. 

Hurlighu’s slightly slower now, having to pull her strikes on the wounded side. If she rests too much weight on that foot, she risks a stutter step, so she’s also a bit off-balance. Jade sneaks in a hit or two along Hurlighu’s hip and ribs. One skids too close to Hurlighu’s bruise before Hurlighu can dodge, barely a graze.

Hurlighu flubs her next strike and nearly drops her sword. Jade’s shock shackles her speed — by the time she’s swinging to rap along Hurlighu’s hands for a disarm, Hurlighu is already onto her next windstorm of cuts. 

Hurlighu is a force of nature. Jade’s flagging. Completely ragged from six consecutive duels, more exhausted than she thinks she’s ever been. Jade’s running on reflex and spiteful determination to last as long as possible even though Hurlighu’s clearly won. Her lungs are burning, her bruises pound, she can’t feel her arms anymore. Jade knows she’s blocking solely because their swords keep clanging together. 

The only thing keeping Jade in the match is Hurlighu’s increasingly sloppy clobbering, wild swings missing clear killing blows. Jade’s purely on retreat, trying to steer clear of the fenceline, pits, and rocks. It’s a losing battle. A few more seconds of this and she’ll be pinned. 

Hurlighu overextends, it’s an actual accident this time. The opening is for that same soft spot on her wounded side. 

Jade should take it. This would be over. Jade could win. Hurlighu will be toppled by the shame of losing to a half-bit page who she could’ve beaten inside of a minute. 

The point is to end the match, not Hurlighu. Much as Jade wants not to care, Hurlighu’s reaction to the wound is worrisome. It might not be worth the win. 

Jade debates a second too long. The opportunity passes. 

Jade pays for it immediately. Hurlighu recovers and stabs as hard as she can directly into the abused pull in Jade’s thigh left by Grindlewal and Luklas and worsened by Hurlighu’s constant heckling. White hot pain shoots across her vision. Jade’s knee nearly buckles. 

“Don’t hold back,” Hurlighu hisses, lopping for Jade’s exposed neck. Jade narrowly blocks with shaking arms, staggering sideways from the force of the blow. 

Jade tries to get her feet under her, muscle pulsing so bad it’s hard to think, shaking leg barely able to hold weight. Hurlighu pounds down as she drives Jade to the fenceline. Lands extra glancing teases to Jade’s thigh whenever she can, not hard enough to injure further, but drawing Jade’s guard down away from her head to protect what is surely now a tear. 

Jade’s back thumps into the fence. Hurlighu seizes the opportunity and stabs for her throat. Jade dodges — more of a lucky stumble than anything else. Hurlighu has overextended again on the lunge. Her wounded side is open once more. 

Jade still doesn’t take it. 

Hurlighu is not looking good. There’s an ashen gray pallor to what Jade can see of her skin. She’s sweating bad enough to show through the gambeson and drip down her tight braids. Her arms are shivering slightly and her breath is coming out wrong. 

Jade could end this quickly. One blow to Hurlighu’s bruise would be enough. Or she could try to trip Hurlighu during another one of her genuine mistakes, put her on the ground like Luklas. But that, too, risks injuring her further. Jade’s not sure what’s wrong or how bad it is.

Jade staggers sideways off the fence while Hurlighu’s off-balance. Hurlighu can’t straighten properly, curled over her stomach a beat too long to take a swipe at Jade’s retreat. Jade throws a wild slash at her back that Hurlighu blocks, then limps into the middle of the arena as fast as she can. 

They square off, both too tired to immediately press an opening. Stand there, settling their stances, panting harsh. Barely even circling. 

There’s just enough space for the world to expand past Hurlighu. The ringing in Jade’s ears clarifies into a roar. It’s not only the lingering stun-sound of having her face guard smacked like a bell. There are words to this, crowd noise from all around. 

“Claymore! Claymore! Claymore!” warring against an equally loud, “Lady Hurlighu! Lady Hurlighu! Lady Hurlighu!” until it’s all a torrent of noise. 

Jade finds the western watchtower. Only a glance. The sun’s right behind it, peaking in her eyes. 

She could win this. It would only take one strike. This match will end on the next engagement, one way or another. 

Jade really doesn’t want to lose. Not to flipping Hurlighu. Not when Jade’s actually got a chance at finally proving her worth. 

Hurlighu resets. Gets ready for another series of blinding attacks. She’s still favoring her side, breathing even harder now, whole body shaking. Jade’s thigh feels like it might snap if she steps wrong. Her leg is a flaming pain. It can’t take weight, it might not be able to for weeks. If this draws out, one of them is going to end up permanently injured or dead. 

The stakes are impossibly higher for Hurlighu than for Jade. Hurlighu’s entire knighthood is on the line. Jade’s already got five wins and an unsalvageable reputation. Hurlighu’s old for a page, started training late. This is her best shot at squireship. She won’t stop until she wins or unless forced to by Ballantine and a clear victory on Jade’s part. 

“Claymore! Claymore! Claymore!” 

Jade can’t beat her without going for any available weak point. Hurlighu’s side won’t  take another hit. She’s barely standing as it is. Hurlighu’s deft and honorable enough to win without slicing up Jade’s leg. Jade can’t say the same. 

“Claymore! Claymore! Claymore!” 

Three more of these exchanges and it might be too late for Hurlighu anyway. 

Hurlighu takes one step forward into her offensive. Jade drops her sword and lifts her hands. “I yield.”

Hurlighu freezes. “What?”

The grounds are stunned silent. Jade takes off her faceguard and tosses it aside so Hurlighu can see she’s serious. “I yield.”

“No, you flipping don’t!” Hurlighu snarls. She raises her sword in threat but won’t attack while Jade’s unarmed. “You’d damn well better finish this and face me, Claymore!”

“You won,” Jade informs her. Her voice echoes off the coffin walls. “You’re the superior opponent. I’d rather walk away from this than end up with a lifetime limp.”

Hurlighu flinches. They both know what Jade’s doing and why. Jade may now look like an absolute craven weakling in front of the whole castle, but this way Hurlighu has cover. Won’t seem like she was trying to turn an exhibition display into a death match. 

Premature yielding isn’t unheard of in instances of strategic retreat. Younger pages facing the more experienced ones are encouraged to know their limits. Injuries can also be legitimate grounds depending on how serious they are. But to forfeit in the middle of a fair match out of fear of surmountable pain right after an equally dubious win is a death knell for knighthood. No one like that will ever be allowed in the Pacalcade. 

The western watchtower is a condemnation. Looming above Jade’s head right behind Hurlighu. Jade can’t look at it. She’s giving in, exactly like she told Kit not to.  

“Coward!” Luklas shouts from the fenceline. “Have some honor!”

Jade glances at him and finds the other knights and pages staring on in silent censure. Sir Merrick and Sir Keene are disappointed and thoughtful by turn. Lachlan looks betrayed. Grindlewal and Luklas are furious, Young Yorkun is smug. 

Over their shoulders, the shadows hide the windows. No sound trickles through. 

Whatever, Jade had no chance of becoming a knight anyhow. She’d rather not kill someone in the process. 

“Stand and fight!” Luklas bellows again. “Prove you’re anything but sniveling scum!”

Jade has a lot of practice ignoring Luklas. No one liked her before this anyway, their judgment doesn’t matter. If she thinks her eyes might be burning, that’s just from exhaustion. She turns to Ballantine instead, since he’s made no moves to call it yet. 

Repeats, “I yield.”

Ballantine studies her face. His is long and hard. Completely shuttered, devoid of all the pride from before. For a second, she’s afraid he won’t let her do it. Then he barks, “Match to Hurlighu. Medic, please check over them both.”

Hurlighu throws her sword down in the dirt. Follows it with her faceguard, revealing the sweaty drawn ashen pallor beneath and the red rings around her eyes. Takes a staggering step towards Jade. “This is an insult!”

So’s Jade’s entire life, but no one’s apologizing to her for that. Her pageship is over now. Kit won’t want to spar with a public embarrassment who’s not even almost-a-real-almost-knight. Ballantine will never speak to her again. Brunella and the rest of the staff won’t want to be associated. The whole country’s going to put hell on her name for this. Jade’s failed all of them, proven well and for good why knighthood is kept to the nobility. 

She’ll get to keep Pickles for however long Kit lets her and Timmie might forgive her eventually, but that’s about it. Jade won’t even be able to ride Pickles any time soon with this leg. Might not be able to work at all, which would forfeit her position in the stables too. 

She blinks away the tears, unwilling to cry in front of an audience like this. “You won, get over it.”

Hurlighu lurches over and grabs her by the collar, holding herself upright on Jade as much as she is trying to throttle her. Jade doesn’t shake her off for fear Hurlighu will fall. Hurlighu roars, “We both know I didn’t flipping—” 

Hurlighu folds over her side, gasping, “Shit—” 

Jade catches Hurlighu before she can hit the dirt, staggering under the weight as it hits her bad leg. The pain sends her stomach rolling but she forces it down. Tries to lower them both to the ground on only her other leg while the injured thigh shakes and buckles. “Medic!”

Thump. They hit the dirt mostly in a sit. Hurlighu’s halfway on top of Jade, trying to pry herself upright and jamming elbows into the fine coating of bruises she left all over Jade. Hurlighu wheezes, “Get off me — I’m fine—”

“I don’t flipping care what you think,” Jade snaps. Hurlighu can try to get up if she wants to be a thickhead, Jade is staying put. Where the hell is the damn medic? “Medic!”

Everyone is sincerely staring now, faces stark in open shock. Only Ballantine looks unsurprised, shouting, “Parpler! Get over there, now!” 

Physician Parpler finally gets up off his ass and runs for his healing kit. This breaks the spell of silence. The knights start murmuring amongst themselves. Buzzing from the windows. Jade’s too exhausted to care what they’re saying. Let them flipping talk if they want to, they can’t make this any worse for her.  

Jade flops down into the dirt, staring up at the sky so she doesn’t have to see the watchtower.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Hurlighu gasps, still mostly slumped on top of her. Jade has never wanted to be a pillow less. Everything flipping hurts, why is Hurlighu so damned fast? “To dishonor my name.”

“You did this to yourself,” Jade groans. She thinks her leg might be swelling too big for her pants based on how the fabric is pulling. “I don’t give a shit about your family name. I just don’t want to be responsible for your untimely death.”

“You’re trying to humiliate me,” Hurlighu accuses, up on shaking elbows by Jade’s sides to glare Jade dead in the face. “By throwing the match.”

“You tried to throw the match!” Jade’s almost laughing at the offense of it all. Hurlighu’s expression contorts even further. “You could’ve ended it in the first hit! But you decided to showpony, and then you tried to make me look good to make you look good, so that you could make me look worse when you won! Do you know how insanely insulting that is?!”

“Less than you forfeiting on my behalf!”

“You won!” Jade yells at her, absolutely bone ragged with it now. She thinks she might actually be crying, which would be the single worst thing that’s ever happened to her. “You won in the first three seconds! You won again in the first minute! You only drew it out that long because you’re a cocky asshole and you think I’m an idiot! Well, guess what, I’m not an idiot, and you still win! You’ll have your squireship and I’m gonna lose my pagehood, so you got exactly what you wanted.”

Hurlighu stares at her, stunned. Oh, sure, because now Hurlighu wants to pretend she hasn’t been trying to drive Jade out of the Pacalcade since day one.  

“Pages!” Physician Parpler hollers, hopping the fence and rushing over to join them, Ballantine following close behind. “Please stay calm!”

Calm, Jade’s ass. Nothing is okay right now. She lies in the dirt and stares up at the clouds past Hurlighu’s hovering face, trying not to acknowledge how wet her cheeks are. 

“Are you crying?” Hurlighu demands, even more insulted now. 

“No,” Jade sniffles. If she scowls hard enough maybe the tears will cease to exist. 

“Mothers, at least be a little less obvious about it.” Hurlighu swipes at Jade’s cheeks with her own dirty sleeve while Jade cringes and tries to roll her head away. 

“Hey!” 

“Hold still.” Hurlighu smudges dirt around Jade’s face more vigorously, holding herself up on one trembling arm. “If Grindlewal or Luklas notice, you will never hear the end of this.”

“I’m never going to see those bastards again anyway, I’m allowed to be upset—”

“Hello, pages!” Physician Parpler cheerfully sets down by Jade’s side. Ballantine looms over his shoulder like a pillar of disappointment. Hurlighu spins to glare at them, posturing defensively atop Jade. Jade doesn’t bother. Nothing matters anymore. “Sorry for the delay. I’m here to examine you both. Who’s first?”

/-:-:-:-:-/  

Chapter Text

It turns out that while Hurlighu’s gizzard spleen wasn’t exactly ruptured, it was definitely bleeding and one more solid hit might’ve burst it. Jade’s thigh muscle is also absolutely torn even if it’s minor enough the physician thinks she should be fine to ride within a month or two. 

“Well,” Ballantine says, sitting across from them both as they languish in their side-by-side infirmary beds, refusing to look at one another, “you two really did a number on each other.”

Getting to the Pacalcade barracks sickroom was a trial. Or rather, it was for Jade. Hurlighu had no such issues being carried and took to the stretcher like it was a personal palanquin. 

Jade nearly smashed Lachlan’s nose the same as Ballantine’s when he tried to pick her up, flying into a blind panic. Then she’d gone for a limping hop back towards the castle proper, only to be told off by Ballantine for attempting to cripple herself. 

They’d convinced her to brave the carry gurney sitting up since laying down was so exposed she couldn’t breathe. She’d made it about a minute before the swaying rocking weightlessness of it became too much and she flung herself bodily to the ground seeking cover. 

‘Cheers, Claymore,’ Luklas drawled, draping one of her arms over his shoulders while a fuming Grindlewal took the other, ‘you never cease to astound.’

They’d staggered back through the castle a drunken five-legged beast, Jade mostly hanging between them, trying to keep pace with a peg-legged hop but really achieving an upright drag. Ballantine on ahead to clear the crowd and inform the physicians of the delay. Lachlan, Sir Merrick, and Sir Keene stayed supervising to make sure no funny business occurred with the only two attendees around Jade’s height. 

The size of the group blocked her off from any loitering watchers, which was a relief. Jade still felt the eyes around every corner. 

It worked out rather conveniently upon arrival, when the physician announced Jade had likely broken one of Grindlewal’s ribs. She didn’t feel the least bit sorry about that. They’d been giving her broken ribs worth of grief for three years. 

Grindlewal and Luklas stormed out with brief well wishes to Hurlighu as soon as they got the all-clear. Sir Merrick, Sir Keene, and Lachlan stuck around long enough to confirm no one was dying and congratulate Jade and Hurlighu on their showings. 

“Incredible run,” Sir Merrick told Jade, so sincerely her heart swelled despite the nauseating pain of the physician prodding at her leg. “Impressive wisdom too, knowing when to quit. A shame your squireship is already decided.”

‘Decided’ as in never happening, but the sentiment was nice. Lachlan merrily slapped her on the least wounded shoulder as the physician started placing leeches along all of Jade’s worst bruises. Jade barely withstood the shudders that overtook her when each slug latched on. Lachlan crowed, “Knew you were bound for greatness, Claymore!” 

Which prompted a scowl from Hurlighu across the gap between their beds, where she was receiving her own fleet of leeches on her blackened stomach. Jade stalwartly stared at the ceiling.   

“Best display of hurricane style I’ve seen in years,” Sir Keene complimented Hurlighu with a reproving frown. “Consider refining your judgment to match.”

Lachlan, Sir Merrick, and Sir Keene have all left now, because Ballantine dismissed them to have a ‘talk’ with Jade and Hurlighu about the afternoon’s events.  

“Commander Kase will be glad to hear neither of you is permanently injured,” Ballantine says, when the silence draws out too long. “There were concerns after your collapse.”

Jade, even muzzy from the pain potions, knows what an interrogation looks like. She’s had her fair share with the proctors at the home after foundling scraps or the schoolhouse teachers. She stares at the wall next to Ballantine’s ear and says nothing. 

Hurlighu also keeps mum although her fidgeting is getting distracting in Jade’s periphery. Isn’t she old enough to know better? Hurlighu is seventeen or so by Jade’s memory, she shouldn’t be squirming like she’s in schoolhouse. 

Flipping nobles. Hurlighu’s definitely going to crack. 

Her constant shifting is also drawing Jade’s attention to Hurlighu’s stomach, which she cannot look at without her gorge rising. Not because of the deadly bruising hidden beneath the bandages, although that does rile Jade’s guilt. It’s the growing lump of leeches sucking away at her flesh under her infirmary dressing gown. 

Disgusting. Jade can’t bear to glance at Hurlighu or herself. If she focuses very hard on her breathing, she can pretend not to feel the billion horrible slugs slithering along her skin or the thumbscrews of Ballantine’s judgment. 

“Care to explain what drove you to attempted murder and maiming during a friendly exhibition spar?” Ballantine prompts. No one volunteers. “Jade?”

Jade bores a hole in the wall with her eyes. Something wriggles against her side. Jade barely represses a shiver. She can’t show weakness. There’s nothing on her, nothing on her, nothing on her—

“Alright, Hurlighu, then,” Ballantine accepts, identifying the weaker target. “Explain.”

Hurlighu, of course, spills immediately. Ducktunthering highborns. 

“I don’t think she should be here,” Hurlighu answers honestly, which is way bolder than Jade thought she’d be in front of Ballantine. “Claymore’s not prepared and if she ends up on the battlefield she’s just going to die. Besides, I only went for her leg after she gave me internal bleeding. I let up when I realized she couldn’t walk.”

“Claymore bested all five other pages in their matches this round and arguably you,” Ballantine reminds her. Jade does not let the compliment warm her since it won’t do for soft words to slither under her armor during a scolding. 

“Well, I’m revising my opinion now,” Hurlighu mutters. Wow, how big of her. 

“Adequate. Shows capacity for growth. Jade, what about you?”

Jade says nothing. Fuzzy-headed or no, she’s not so easy as this. Hurlighu gives her an appraising look in the way one might a wild animal that wandered into the infirmary. Jade’s gaze doesn’t waver from the wall. 

“Jade, do not pull this shtick with me again,” Ballantine warns. “This is not the schoolhouse or the foundling home. You are not under arrest. I am not supervising a mess at the stables. If you don’t talk, I’m going to make you run laps until that leg falls off.”

He’d done it too, last time she refused to explain a ‘training accident’ with the other pages. She’d been sore for days after. 

Still, Jade is no rat. She hadn’t cracked then and she won’t now. 

“Jade,” Ballantine threatens. “If you don’t say anything, I’m going to have to assume you were literally trying to kill Hurlighu before you thought better of it.”

Fine. Jade’s heard worse. 

“She wasn’t trying to kill me,” Hurlighu sighs. 

Jade jolts in surprise. What’s Hurlighu’s play here? Jade tries to predict the plan but her thoughts feel sluggish. Always too slow to keep up with flipping Hurlighu.

“They were two solid strikes under normal terms that landed unlucky,” Hurlighu adds when Jade still doesn’t say anything. “Literally the only swipes at me Claymore got. She started pulling her hits after even before she yielded. Really ticked me off. As if I couldn’t still have taken her.”

Hurlighu turns eyes on her. She clearly expects this to act as a jump in point for Jade. Jade won’t walk into such traps. Ballantine raises an expectant eyebrow. Jade stays stonefaced on the wall. 

“Claymore, what is wrong with you?” Hurlighu, an idiot, groans. “Just tell him.”

Ah, permission then. If Hurlighu wants Jade to throw her on the sword, Jade will gladly do so. 

“She’s a self-righteous highborn asshole and I flipping hate her,” Jade rumbles, perhaps a little looser with her words than she would be without the numbing disconnect of pain potions. “She’s made my life a living hell for years. She was toying with me to try to embarrass me in front of the whole castle for her dumb squireship bid. She’s cocky and slipped up so I took the opportunity. It’s not my fault she has a lily-livered spleen. I stopped and called it as soon as I noticed, for much as I have frequently fantasized that one day she might drop dead, I don’t want to be responsible for it.” 

Hurlighu gapes at her. “Wow.”

Ballantine frowns, vaguely concerned. “What did they give you…?”

“Same as they did me, and significantly less of it,” Hurlighu gripes, settling back into her pillows. “Thanks Claymore, tell me how you really feel.”

Jade boils over even through the fog. Her pagehood for Hurlighu’s squireship and Hurlighu still wants to rub it in? Hurlighu is why Jade is covered in flipping leeches! “You want to know how I really feel—”

“Jade,” Ballantine orders, “stop. Before I’m required to act on whatever you say.”

Jade seethes but shuts up, returning to her post at the wall. Hurlighu is the tattletale, not Jade. Hurlighu gawks at the side of Jade’s clenched jaw where Jade can still see her smarmy mug. Hurlighu looks furious, impressed, and a bit afraid. 

“Clearly there are unresolved issues here.” Ballantine sounds exhausted already. “We’ll return to those. First, I want to clear up some underlying assumptions. Hurlighu.”

Hurlighu straightens at attention as best she can with a busted organ. “Captain Ballantine, sir.”

Suck up. 

“You could’ve ended that match in the first strike,” Ballantine immediately calls her on her bullshit. Jade allows herself a smug glance. Hurlighu’s gone rigid and lost three more shades to her face. “While I can see your reasoning, the purpose of a spar is not to humiliate your opponent. Drawing it out was foolish, cruel, and ultimately almost fatal.” Hurlighu shrinks with every word. “If it were up to me, you would be a page forever.” 

Hurlighu sucks in a sharp gasp. Heh. Jade turns back to the wall to hide her smirk. 

“However…” Ballantine kneads his forehead, Hurlighu and Jade hold their breath, “…your display of swordsmanship was so impressive that I find my hand forced.”

Hurlighu exhales. Damn.

“You shall have your squireship—” Ballantine continues. Ugh. Jade can’t help but watch as Hurlighu puffs up eagerly, “—in six months.” Hurlighu deflates. “Under the condition that there are no reports made against your behavior in the meantime, and you end all your matches next cycle as efficiently as possible. I expect that to be within three moves for you most times.”

Hurlighu nods miserably, tacitly admitting that she could’ve done this all along. Seriously?! Was Hurlighu just toying with Luklas before, too? Jade never even had a chance. 

She did bust Hurlighu’s gizzard spleen and land her squireship on probation, though, so that’s something. 

“If you can demonstrate growth in these areas,” Ballantine concludes to a spark of hope in Hurlighu’s deliciously despairing eyes, “then Sir Keene has agreed to take you on as his squire. You had some other offers but Commander Kase and I have deemed them inappropriate given the circumstances.”

Hurlighu wilts. Tugs at the collar of her plain dressing gown. “Thank you for your generosity and understanding, Captain Ballantine. And to Sir Keene. I won’t disappoint you.”

Hurlighu is obviously not thrilled with the news about Sir Keene. Jade’s impression of him is positive if mildly nerve-wracking. He’s very serious, extremely frowny, and only soft with Sir Merrick. He’s also a well-decorated and respected knight of a lesser noble family who’s always had an approving nod for Jade. He’s got no tolerance for nonsense and isn’t from as snooty a house as some of the others. Doesn’t put much stock in politics. Large parts of why Jade likes him. She would’ve been overjoyed to be his squire. 

She can’t fathom why Hurlighu isn’t. Tries to reason through it and only gets buzzing noise where her brain should be. Maybe it’s just because Hurlighu is awful. 

“See that you don’t,” Ballantine grunts. Hurlighu studies the blanket in her lap, shamed silent and still. Ballantine turns to Jade. Jade whips her stare back to the wall. “Claymore.” Serious knight business if he’s using her last name. This must be the part where Jade officially gets dropped. “I am requiring you to look at me for this.”

Jade would rather do anything but that. Ballantine waits. This feels like an unnecessary part of the torture. The silence draws out. She slides her eyes over until she can focus on the bump on his nose. The one she put there an… indeterminate amount of time she can’t sum up right now ago. 

“You did the right thing,” Ballantine says, and it’s so surprising she slips and sees his whole face. It’s soft and serious. “Hurlighu — you listen to this, too — Hurlighu could’ve died if you hadn’t stopped. When you forfeited that match, you saved her life.”

Jade sighs. Yup. She’d known that, pretty much, but it was nice to hear it all the same. Worth her knighthood and ability to stay in the country, if just barely given the life in question was Hurlighu’s. 

“I’m proud to have such an exemplary knight as my page,” Ballantine says and that makes so little sense Jade’s sure they must have put something in her potion. “You’ve demonstrated outstanding skill and equal restraint today. You’re well on the path to becoming a squire, and I’ve received several petitions to transfer your apprenticeship when you’re ready to promote.”

Everything blanks out. What in flipping hell? 

Jade doesn’t realize she’s said that out loud until she catches Ballantine and Hurlighu both staring at her. It takes a second, because she’s busy staring at nothing while her thoughts pop and fizz. 

“Jade?” Ballantine is even more concerned now. “Did you get all that or would you like me to repeat it?” 

Definitely repeat it a million times, what the dintithering thirteen circles of hell, but first—

“Uh,” she splutters. “So I’m not being relieved of my post?”

“Why would you be relieved of your post?” Ballantine demands in confusion. 

At the same time Hurlighu moans, “Good stars, Claymore, are you still on this? It’s becoming offensive, honestly.”

“I—!” Jade scrambles for a defense, which is hard, because thinking through more than a sentence in advance is escaping her right now. This all makes sense in her head, she’s not sure what’s disconnecting in theirs, “I embarrassed you by forfeiting? I saw the looks on their faces. The whole castle saw. And when I tripped Luklas—”

“Claymore,” Hurlighu cuts in before Ballantine can rally from his shocked worry, her own patience long gone. “Did you take a flipping head knock? You won every single other match. You almost bested me and I’m a thousand times your better at swordplay. It came out of ducktunthering nowhere, too! Before this, I would’ve put you equal to Young Yorkun, and he flees as soon as looks at me.”

Jade tries to process this and finds none of the words make sense in that order coming out of Hurlighu’s mouth. “What?”

Hurlighu groans in defeat and throws her head back into her pillow. “I can’t deal with you. I wish you’d let me bleed to death.”

Ballantine clears his throat. “In less colorful terms, Hurlighu is correct.” He shoots a chiding glance at Hurlighu. “Though she could learn to leash her tongue around you.” Hurlighu turns her cheek, admonished but unapologetic. Ballantine catches Jade’s gaze and holds it. “You were the winner of every bout, including the last. Your displays with a sword were impressive, your tactics cleverly adaptable, you had the wisdom to know when to stop to save a comrade, and were honorable enough to spare one you don’t personally like.” 

More fizzing blankness. Jade blinks rapidly, eyes shooting around the room, unable to withstand his sincerity any longer. Put like that, she sounds really good and not at all like a failure. She feels like a failure, though, so she must’ve gone wrong somewhere. “Um, are you certain?”

“Yes. So is Commander Kase. You are not losing your post,” Ballantine promises. Jade sinks into her pillow — not quite as nice as the one on her bed — weight of the world lifting off her shoulders. “That was never in question. I have always been sure of you, and today you proved to everyone why. That’s what the whole castle saw.”

Mothers. 

Jade doesn’t know what this means. Her head’s too fuzzy, but even if it wasn’t this wouldn’t make sense. It’s too much, hearing Ballantine say all that. She can’t apply the description to herself. Jade Claymore — half-a-page, whole-stablehand-war-orphan — isn’t impressive, clever, wise, or honorable. She doesn’t get offers for squireship. Not from Ballantine or anyone else. 

It makes her feel like a person worth knowing. Like someone who deserves to get what they want. Who should have people to be there for them along the way. A knight others could look up to, want to be around, respect. A knight who could shield them in turn. Like maybe she already is all those things. 

It’s not possible though. Jade isn’t that person. Doesn’t have those things, will never get them. Either because she’s a foundling, or oddly marked, or fated to waste away in the stables. Not to mention guilty of truly excessive amounts of treason. 

She’s lied to the Queen. She’s assaulted the crown princess repeatedly. She nearly killed a fellow page. She’s been dishonorable, dishonest, and disgraceful. She’s lying to Ballantine right now by accepting this praise. 

“I’m not—” Jade chokes out, “—I’m not as good as all that. I’m just—”

“Claymore,” Hurlighu interrupts, and that’s easier, because she’s not going to say anything nice, “we both know I despise you—” Jade relaxes, relieved to be seen, “—but, as much as it burns me alive to admit it, you saved my life today. Even after I told you not to. Even given all I’ve said to you. You are all of those things. You belittle me and Captain Ballantine by not admitting it.”

What?

Jade’s not sure she’s living in the same reality anymore. That was Hurlighu’s mouth moving and Hurlihugh’s voice coming out. Maybe Jade did take a head knock. Or died in the ring and this confounding stew is what the afterlife is like. 

She subtly pats herself over to make sure she’s not a ghost. Probably not, she still has limbs. Limbs covered in so many leeches she’d rather be dead, but limbs all the same. 

Perhaps Hurlighu is the one who’s been possessed?   

“I mean, seriously!” Hurlighu rants. No, that sounds like Hurlighu. “You beat me, the singular strongest swordswoman of our generation, and you’re going around like, ‘Oh no, sorry, don’t bother with me, I’m the scum of the earth, barely know how to hold a sword, never won a fight in my life—’” 

That is not what her accent sounds like. Also, Jade’s won fights. She’s won loads of fights! She just beat Luklas and Hurlighu! 

That seems to be the root of Hurlighu’s problem, “—Do you know how that makes me look? When you say you’re an honorless halfwit and you still got more squireship offers than me despite not being up for promotion yet? You’re already a stablehand, at least own being a once in an era genius or any dintithering kitchen maid in the kingdom is going to think she can best me! It’s so flipping insulting I—”

“Okay, thank you, Hurlighu, that’s enough!” Ballantine claps his hands. Hurlighu shuts up, sulking. “Jade, learn to take praise. Hurlighu, figure out how to give some.”

For whatever reason, Hurlighu’s tirade settles easier than Ballantine’s forthright kindness. The truth in the insults sinks deeper. Jade finds herself… believing it. 

Hurlighu has no love for her or wish to spare her feelings. Any backhanded compliments she gives are being torn from her like rotten teeth. Jade can feel safe that these assessments don’t also deliver the sort of treacherous warmth that can rip your heart out of your chest when it’s taken away. Accepting this as truth won’t leave her open to an emotional beating later. Hurlihugh would denounce her for treason in a heartbeat. 

Jade’s not going to lose her pageship. She bested Hurlighu in a sparring match and got more offers for squire than Hurlighu, which makes the competitive part of her sing with joy. The whole flipping castle saw it. Kit saw it, up on the watchtower. 

There’s a secret special pride to it too, since as much as she hates Hurlighu, the other page’s skill with a sword has always been undeniable. A slightly teensy itsy tiny bit admirable, maybe. 

But Jade beat her. Which doesn’t necessarily mean Jade was better, except that Jade was better, because in addition to beating her she also saved Hurlighu’s life. Which is what only a really great knight would do. One that’s noble, not just good with a sword. 

Hm. Jade mulls over the taste, “You think I’m a once in an era genius?” 

“I think you’re my least favorite person in all of Andowyn and I’m including Bavmorda’s ghost,” Hurlighu snaps. 

Ah, Kit. A wave of fondness fills her. 

Oh man, Kit’s got to be flipping out over this. Jade beat every single one of the horrid other pages. Kit must be so excited. 

The thought of that actually drives it home for her. Jade beat every single one of the other pages in a single run. Grindlewal, thoroughly thrashed with a broken rib. Young Yorkun, scared so bad he surrendered outright. Luklas, put on his knees through strategy and skill. Hurlighu, humiliated and owing her life to Jade’s mercy. Jade, standing above them all in her almost-uniform, reputation untarnished. 

Jade starts giggling. It just bubbles up. She can’t stop it. Vicious self-satisfied chuckles, the sort Kit makes when they’ve just achieved great evil. Once in an era genius. She’s going to show them once in an era genius. 

“You’re so flipping high right now it’s unbelievable,” Hurlighu mutters. 

“You l-literally owe me your life.” Jade doubles over in the giggle fit, which hurts terribly and makes the leeches squelch horrendously. “You must hate that s-so much!”

“Do not expect to collect,” Hurlighu grunts, exiting the conversation.

“I think we’ll go over this again later, when you’re not on pain potions,” Ballantine decides, visibly unnerved. “The rest can wait. For now, though, Claymore, Hurlighu, listen up.”

Hurlighu sits at attention. Jade tries to get her giggles under control, wiping away a tear. Is still struck by breathy snickers but manages to keep them down enough to look sort of serious. 

“Both of you are on bedrest for a week, you’ll be re-evaluated at two,” Ballantine declares. Seriously? Jade just got over pond plague. Probably. Time is vague. “Neither of you will be on duty during Witch’s Night. Hurlighu, once you’re sufficiently recovered, you will be spending six months on assignment in the infirmary assisting the physicians and learning what happens when you ignore a major injury. Claymore, you’ll also be here once a week with Hurlighu for field medic training.”

Spending time with Hurlighu?! Jade squawks, “Why am I being punished!”  

“You’re not being punished.” Ballantine rubs his bumpy nose. “You requested to train with the physicians before but schedule and status were prohibitive. Since you’ll be off-duty from the stables anyway, I thought it was a good opportunity.”

It would be, if not for Hurlighu. Jade grumbles, “I don’t want to be on posting with her.” 

“It’s mutual,” Hurlighu sneers. 

“Too bad,” Ballantine tells them both. “You two are going to need to work it out. I cannot have my knights at each other’s throats all the time. It’s unbecoming and a liability for the Pacalcade.”

Both Jade and Hurlighu brighten at the idea of receiving their full knighthood and officially being part of the Pacalcade. The assumption of their success almost makes up for the fact that they’re going to have to talk to each other. 

“I will be asking for regular updates from the physicians as to your conduct,” Ballantine warns them. “So no funny business. Hurlighu, I expect you to treat Claymore with the same respect you would give any other page. If I hear otherwise, your position will be under review. Claymore, I know you two have a history, but I need you to continue to show the sort of judgment you demonstrated today.”

You’re not allowed to thrash Hurlighu even if she’s a prick, comes through loud as day. Luckily, Ballantine doesn’t know Kit already extracted vengeance from Hurlighu and Jade can always sicc them on her again as a last resort. Jade’ll likely have to warn them off her already after this.  

“I will be having similar talks with Luklas, Grindlewal, and Yorkun,” Ballantine goes on. “Since it’s come to my attention today that there is some lingering tension among the pages.”

Jade can’t figure who told him that since she certainly hasn’t said anything. Ballantine’s sharp enough to have picked up on her discomfort with the other pages and adjusted their training regiment accordingly, but Jade’s never shared the details. She knows better than to rat to authority even on bullies. Foundlings learn quickly to handle themselves. 

Hurlighu seems mildly surprised. At being caught or getting away with it for this long, who can say?

“You’ll be released from the infirmary as soon as the physicians approve,” Ballantine informs them. “I would stay, but I have to assist Commander Kase with cleanup and preparations for Witch’s Night. Jade, you already have a replacement covering for you at the stables.” Phew. Jade was not looking forward to trying to climb into the hayloft tomorrow. “Hurlighu, your family will be sending someone to assume responsibility for your care until you’re recovered.”

Hurlighu groans, “Really? Just tell them I’m fine!”

“You’re welcome to send your father a missive,” Ballantine snarks, or as close to as he ever gets. “I believe it was Sir Jellininy who was kind enough to run word over before Commander Kase or I could.”  

“How!” Hurlighu whinges just like Kit. What a trial, to have a family who wants to hire a personal caretaker for you. “I don’t even live there anymore! The family holdings are at the port!”

“Far be it from me to meddle in the affairs of House Hurlighu,” Ballantine says. Wow, he is miffed. “Lord Hurlighu also requested Claymore’s immediate discharge and suggested execution as a reasonable response.”

Execution? This is not what Jade expected to be executed for. There’re so many better things she could be executed for. Accidentally nearly killing Hurlighu, some random noble from a high house Jade’s barely heard of? Practically nothing. Jade’s intentionally attempted murder against the crown princess at least half a dozen times. It’s too flipping funny, she can’t handle it. 

“Why are you laughing?” Hurlighu demands, rounding on Jade. “My dad is literally trying to have you killed! He has a visiting seat on the privy council whenever he’s in the capital!” 

The privy council? The privy council?! Jade’s playing games with the damn queen. Hurlighu’s dad is no one. Tears pool in her eyes, Jade’s wheezing from the force of her giggles. Ballantine cycles through concern to amusement. 

Hurlighu addresses Ballantine, “I’m going to write to him. He can’t be coming after Claymore like this. She’s too pathetic.”

“I’m going to request they lower her dose,” Ballantine agrees. “Thank you for your endorsement, Hurlighu.” He stands up, brushes down his pants. “I’m sorry to leave like this. I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can.” He catches Jade’s eye. “Jade, send for me if you need anything, here or at the stables. I mean it. If anyone tries to bother you, I will take care of it.”

Jade has no idea who the hell he could be talking about other than Lord Hurlighu, whose apparent hatred might be the greatest joke ever told. Stars forbid Queen Sorsha ever hears about Lord Hurlighu. It’ll be a fight for rights to Jade’s head. She salutes sloppily, snickering, “Will do, sir!”

“If Grindlewal or Luklas try to mess with her while you’re gone, I’ll run them off,” Hurlighu reluctantly swears. “It’s not a fair fight when she’s out her head.”

“Much appreciated, Hurlighu,” Ballantine says. He gives Jade a pat on the head as he passes, which sends her into further giggles. “Looking forward to reading the reports on your improved conduct soon.”

/-:-:-/

Jade learns which visitor Ballantine was afraid of when they show up an hour or two later. More or less. The physicians just gave her a second dose of pain potions over Hurlighu’s protests so Jade’s sense of time right now is drifty. The rampant roaring throb of seven thousand bruises all over her body is also gone so she’ll take the win. 

The physicians are on break, Jade neither knows nor cares where they wandered off to although Hurlighu seems to find their absence offensive. 

“What if one of us starts dying?” Hurlighu complains. “What then?” 

“Scream,” Jade explains, engrossed with a particularly interesting crack in the ceiling that wiggles when she stares at it long enough, “that always worked in the sickroom at the home.”

Jade’s not sure what Hurlighu’s so worried about. The Pacalcade infirmary is much nicer — more than two beds, clean, cool stone walls, windows, actual physicians, has a full apothecary and everything — but she can’t imagine it’s much different. Neither of them is having difficulty breathing, screaming is easy. 

“The home?” Hurlighu echoes. “Isn’t that for— how old are you?” 

“At least fourteen,” Jade ponders. The ceiling crack is well and wiggly now. “I said I was fifteen last time, so I think that means I’m fifteen now.”

“Stars, you’re so depressing.”

Hurlighu is kept sweaty quiet after that by the presumably horrible pain in her belly. Jade is enjoying her pleasant floaty doze in relative peace so long as she never ever glances beneath the blankets at the leeches on all of her limbs. Her nap is shattered when the door slams open. She’s too foggy to be afraid but the sound is irritating. 

She’s about ready to tell someone off when Kit bursts in the doorway in full finery with two steaming bowls, a massive grin, and a large satchel over their shoulder, hollering, “How’s my favorite—” their eyes widen as they spot Hurlighu, “—brother.” Kit makes a big show of checking the other empty beds. Jade searches too. Is Airk around? “Woah, weird, Airk’s not here? Well, guess it’s good to see you, too, Lady Wurley Hurlighu and Page Jade Claymore.”

Hurlighu’s frozen like she’s seen Bavmorda’s ghost, which she has. Jade’s heart leaps for joy. Kit is here! 

“Kit!” Jade shouts happily. She waves as big as she can, covered in leeches and stiff at every joint as she is. Kit beams at her. 

“Claymore, shut up. That is the princess,” Hurlighu hisses, frantic gaze whipping to her, aghast, then back to Kit, terrified. “Please excuse her, Your Highness, Claymore is extremely fuddled on pain potions right now—”

Kit hip checks the door open and swaggers over to Jade’s bedside, dropping a bowl of stew on her lap. It smells delicious. “Don’t worry, Lady Hurlighu, Page Claymore and I are on a names-basis thanks to her helping me with my poor dying horse.” Jade is so preoccupied with the savory steam coming out of the bowl in her lap that the thought about that being wrong slips away from her. “I brought these for Airk since infirmary food’s shit, but I guess he’s convalescing somewhere else. So the stew’s yours, Jade, if you’re hungry you can have at it.”

Yes…! Jade nearly digs in right there, Kit shoves a spoon into her hand to facilitate the exercise. Hurlighu looks shocked, appalled, outraged. It’s so funny Jade nearly laughs, but food is more important. 

Kit glances down at the other bowl, still in their hands. Holds it up in offer, sighing, “Yours, Lady Hurlighu.” 

Hurlighu shies away from the stew like it’s an arrow aimed at her head. 

“It’s good,” Jade tells her, shoving her second spoonful in her mouth. She is so hungry. Like, she’s usually hungry, but she’s been running around all day and having her blood sucked by leeches, and she didn’t realize she was starving until just now. The stew is hot, chunky, spiced, and perfect. Kit’s the best for this. How’d they know?

“Thank you, Princess, but I’m not sure I’m allowed to eat yet,” Hurlighu hedges. Dang, that sucks. “The offer is very kind.”

Kit shrugs and flops down on the stool by Jade’s bedside. Too tall for their feet to touch the ground and not at all wobbly — therefore inferior to Jade’s stool, which is basically built for Kit. They dig into the stew bowl themself. “As you like it, Lady Hurlighu.”

“You can—” Hurlighu wavers somewhere between boiling jealousy, ice cold fear, and raging insult as she watches Jade and Kit tear into their portions, “—you can call me Wurley, if you prefer, Princess.” 

Jade drops her spoon in shock. “Your name’s Wurley?”

“Yes, Claymore, I have told you a million—” Hurlighu cuts herself off, gaze locking onto Kit, who is eying her sharply despite their apparent total preoccupation with the dinner. Clears her throat, “Yes, my first name is Wurley.”

Huh. Jade chases her fallen spoon around her bowl. It’s a slippery thing. “Since when?”

“Since we met,” Hurlighu grinds out, “including the first five months when you got my family name wrong.”

“Sounds like you weren’t clear enough about it, Wurley,” Kit remarks, allowing no argument. They take another prim bite. “Might want to work on your introductions. Also your swordplay, since I hear Jade completely trounced you and busted your gizzard spleen.”

Jade glows. Her belly’s warm full now and heart’s nearly bursting. “I did.”

Hurlighu fumes but hides it well. “I am always seeking self-betterment, Your Highness. Thank you for your wise advice. I will endeavor to improve in the future.”

“See that you do, Wurley,” Kit agrees solemnly. “Would hate to see you in here again with more internal bleeding.”

There’s an underlying threat in that. Jade finds herself following a thread of worry, but she gets lost when it reminds her of a different anxiety. “Prince Airk’s sick?” 

“He’ll be fine,” Kit winks at her. They take Jade’s bowl, fish out the spoon, and hand both back to her. “Sends his regards on your match since he’s too ill to deliver them himself. Nowhere near as cool a story as I’m sure you have. Seeing as you bested all the other pages, proved yourself the noblest knight in the realm, and saved the very important Duke of Hurlinham’s beloved youngest daughter. It’s the talk of the castle!”

The very important Duke of Hurlinham’s beloved youngest daughter seethes in her infirmary cot. “It could be said that Claymore is also why I’m here in the first place.”

“Sure could be!” Kit accepts with a too-big grin. Jade chews on her latest bite, squinting at them. They’re playing at something but she doesn’t know what. “Wishing you the speediest and smoothest of recoveries, Lady Hurlighu. You will be missed on banquet nights.”

Jade gasps as the realization hits her, “You two know each other!”

“We’ve met,” Kit allows, at the same time Hurlighu says, “The princess and I are well acquainted, yes.”

Jade’s gaze bounces between the two of them. Kit never said they knew Hurlighu. Especially not when Jade was telling them off for torturing Hurlighu with weeks of mind games on Jade’s account. “How…!”

“I’m more interested in how you came to know the princess,” Hurlighu retorts, drawing Kit’s glare, “but I’ve sometimes had the pleasure of their company when the Queen is hosting. We have hoped to be honored with their presence at the duchy, but Her Majesty has yet to find time to visit.”

“Wurley’s dad is super important,” Kit explains. Thank stars they’re being straightforward. “Controls, like, all the inland ocean port access and half the trade in the kingdom. Big deal sort of guy. Her mom was a countess in Galladoorn, so they’ve got ties to the Hasturs too, and now her brother’s married into the Cashmeri royal line. There was talk of Wurley becoming engaged to Airk or I, but she’s chosen to follow her uncle’s path and try to place as a knight in the Pacalcade. She and I are often seated near each other at banquets.”

Jade had no idea Hurlighu was that well-connected. She swallows her spoonful like a lump of coal. Breaks out in a cold sweat, stomach turning. “He really could’ve had me hung…”

Kit’s eyebrows shoot up, then furiously down. A frosty gargoyle replaces them on the stool at her side. “Lord Hurlighu threatened to execute you?”

“I’m handling it,” Hurlighu quickly assures them. “I already sent a letter by courier.”

So that’s what she was writing. Jade blurts out, “I thought that was your will.” 

“Why would that have been my will?!” Hurlighu reels, insulted and concerned. “You realize I’m not dying, right? You did not even get close to killing me.”

“I dunno, I’ve got one.” Jade scrapes another bite out of her bowl. It’s running tragically low now. “You know, just in case.”

“Who’s in it?” Kit asks, over-eager. 

“Timmie.” Jade pops the spoon out of her mouth. “He gets pretty much everything. Him and Brunella.”

Kit deflates in disappointment. What, like they needed any of Jade’s things? 

“What do you even have to bequeath?” Hurlighu mutters, clearly still bristling from the implication that Jade could’ve killed her. Which Jade could’ve and very nearly did. 

Besides, Jade has so much stuff now. Like, thirty-three gold and a bomb’s worth of stuff. Jade opens her mouth to tell Hurlighu so and that she can shove her smug where the sun doesn’t shine, but Kit beats her to it. 

“What business is that of yours, Lady Hurlighu?” Kit snarls with a smile. “Meddling in the affairs of your fellow pages?”

“No more than you, Princess,” Hurlighu shoots back with a smirk like a sword. “I’m sure Her Majesty will be overjoyed to hear you’re doting on the stablehands.”

Kit glares, as coldly furious as Jade’s ever seen them. A chill runs down her spine. “I’m sure she won’t hear.” They twirl their spoon around their fingers. “Same as your father hasn’t heard that you’re stepping out with Lady Binnisun’s daughter, despite her betrothal to the recently widowed Countess Luklas.”

Hurlighu is enraged. It’s only Jade’s long familiarity with her more dangerous moods that makes this clear on Hurlighu’s stony face. Which, of course, means Kit is right. 

“You’re sleeping with Luklas’s mom?” Jade gasps, full spoonful stalled hovering by her mouth. 

“She’s sleeping with Luklas’s mom’s fiancée,” Kit amends, still spinning their own spoon. “Who Luklas’s mom was so besotted with she couldn’t even wait the customary year after her husband’s death to begin courting.” Hurlighu’s face grows stormier with every word. “I hear Luklas’s mom sent extravagant gifts, serenaded her, hired a whole band of troubadours to help with the proposal. A real love story, the whole castle’s obsessed with it. They’ve even invited House Hurlighu and the royals to their wedding!”

Hurlighu looks as close to murder as Jade’s ever seen. Her wounded gut may be the only thing stopping her. 

“Not that you or I are going to say anything about it so long as Wurley holds her tongue, are we, Jade?” Kit concludes, prompting Jade with a smile and a flick of their spoon. 

Jade wasn’t going to say anything about it anyway because Jade’s no rat. But Kit clearly expects her to nod, so she does. Her mouth’s too full for anything else. 

“See?” Kit spreads their hands wide. “Sounds like no one needs to hear anything about any of our associations.”

“Of course, Princess,” Hurlighu relents, more flipping furious than Jade thought she could get. And she’s seen Hurlighu awfully flipping mad today. “You were just introducing yourself to the next great knight of the realm.”

Hurlighu manages to make this sound like an insult. Jade peacocks anyway. Once in an era genius. 

“I was visiting my brother, who is miraculously recovered from his bout with food poisoning,” Kit corrects her, tapping the spoon on their chin. “So I left as soon as I saw he wasn’t here.”

Hurlighu’s face does something incredibly complicated. There’s an element of surprised victory there, but it’s overwhelmed by outrage at not being able to slip this trap. Jade studies her intensely, engrossed. Hurlighu’s very pretty when she’s not trying to do murder. 

“The wedding is next month,” Kit remarks casually, “have you picked out your gown yet?”

Hurlighu slides back into friendly civility almost as easily as Kit. If Jade didn’t know they’d almost gone to blows, she never could’ve guessed. “Yes, I commissioned the seamstress Prince Airk recommended.”

“He does have impeccable taste,” Kit agrees. “I’m sure anything she makes will look very fine on you. You’ll be a beauty to rival the brides.”

Jade blindly tries to take another bite, fascinated by this riposte, and finds her spoon scraping against wood. There’s only dregs left in her bowl. Damn. Jade stares into the emptiness. 

“There’s also fresh buttered muffins from the kitchen.” Kit swiftly steals Jade’s empty bowl and sets it down with theirs beneath the stool. They rifle through their satchel and produce a cloth-wrapped bundle. “Whole castle’s heard the story about the pages’ tourney by now and half of them came to watch, so the baker’s apprentice sent them as soon as I mentioned I was visiting the infirmary. I think she’s very sweet on Airk.”

Kit over-emphasizes the last word, which is silly because Jade already knows Brunella is sweet on Airk. Kit hands over the parcel. It’s still warm in her hands. Jade unwraps it, revealing a whole three fresh mouthwatering muffins. “I’m helping her test the recipe.”

“How wise of her, to get the next great knight of the realm’s advice,” Kit hums happily as Jade hands them a muffin of their own. “I, for one, am delighted to be in the next great knight of the realm’s company. And the company of another future presumably okay knight of the realm.”

Jade holds up a muffin to Hurlighu. Hurlighu’s scowling egregiously, maybe this will cheer her up. “Want one? They’re really good.” 

Hurlighu looks like she’s going to say no, but her stomach growls loudly. Jade tosses the muffin onto Hurlighu’s legs. Ow. Jade probably should not be moving that much. Rallies for a smile since Hurlighu is still so upset, “For when the physicians say you can eat it,” Jade offers. “They keep well.”

Hurlighu stares at the muffin. At Jade. At Kit, merrily munching on theirs. Inexplicably says, “So this is why you weren’t afraid of my father coming after you…”

Jade frowns in confusion. Turns her own muffin over in her hands just in case. “This is a muffin?”

“I’m sure no one would have cause to come after the next great knight of the realm, whose generosity and nobility has saved your own life,” Kit adds smoothly, tearing little chunks off their muffin to make a muffin pile on their pantsleg. “And that anyone who did could expect to face some resistance from those who have heard tales of the next great knight of the realm’s stunning exploits, unimpeachable honor, and dedication to the crown.”

Jade’s, like, mostly sure she’s not that dedicated to the crown. If she was that dedicated to the crown, she probably wouldn’t be sneaking out with Kit all the time behind the crown’s back and lying to the crown’s face about the crown’s not-dying horse. She definitely wouldn’t have body slammed the heir to the crown into a wall repeatedly when they were trying to choke her out a month ago. 

She shouldn’t say that in front of Hurlighu though, so she tucks into her muffin instead. It is delectable. Perfect amount of cinnamon this time. Jade hums happily, Kit shoots her a pleased glance. 

“How fortuitous, then, that no one is,” Hurlighu agrees, prying a crumb off the top of her muffin and nibbling on it. “Since I’m sure all can agree that the next great knight of the realm — while hailing from unusual circumstances — will be an exemplary addition to the Pacalcade or the Shining Legion. One who might expect to find a posting with House Hurlighu, if ever they should run averse of the crown.”

Now Kit’s the one scowling. They chew on the remaining half of their muffin like they’re trying to grind something else down with their teeth. “They won’t. But I’m glad to hear they’ll have options.”

Sounds like the next great knight of the realm’s doing pretty well for themself. Jade, meanwhile, is satisfied with her muffin. More than she ever thought she’d get. 

“Water,” Kit orders, handing her a water skin. Jade takes it and chugs half in one go. “When are the physicians coming back to check on you?”

“End of the hour, to change out the leeches,” Hurlighu answers since Jade has no flipping clue. Leeches. Jade and Kit both shudder at the reminder. Hurlighu plucks another tiny nibble from her muffin. “No more pain potions for Claymore, I hope.”

“How much did they give you?” Kit asks curiously, collecting the waterskin. Jade shrugs. 

“Nary a third of what they gave me and then they halved it,” Hurlighu gripes, licking the top of her muffin. Not being allowed to eat seems hard. “Claymore’s just reactive. It’s pitiful.”

“Fascinating,” Kit mutters. A deep sense of foreboding overtakes Jade. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Jade answers honestly. She polishes off the last of her muffin and licks her fingers. “This muffin is also great. And the stew was great. You’re pretty great. Beating everyone was especially great. Ballantine said I was really great, which is amazing. Even Hurlighu is great at swords and being mean.” Hurlighu glowers. “If not for the leeches, full-body bruises, and messed up leg, this would be the best day of my life.”

“Aw, how lovely,” Kit coos. “When’s your birthday, Jade?”

Jade narrows her eyes. “Not telling you, you conniving little—”

“Hey, Claymore!” Hurlighu calls over desperately. “Why don’t you tell the princess about some of your bouts?”

Oh! Jade could do that. “Which do you want to hear first? Grindlewal?” 

“Regale me later,” Kit brushes them both off. “I want the full story when you’re sober.” They slip the bowls back into their bag, slide off the stool, and sling the satchel back over their shoulder. “I’ve got to get going now, anyway. Tutors are bound to be wondering where I’ve been.” They shoot a soft smile to Jade and a sharper one at Hurlighu. “See you two around! Mind your recoveries, please. I expect to hear grand tales of your exploits in the future, so it wouldn’t do to have both next great knights of the realm permanently injured.”

Hurlighu stares stunned, stammers, “Thank you, Princess?” 

“Bye!” Jade waves at Kit as they flounce out the door. She’s sad to see Kit go but really happy they came by. “Thanks for visiting! And for dinner!”

“Any time,” Kit promises, glancing back over their shoulder and twiddling their fingers. “Get well soon.”

The door swings shut behind them. Hurlighu stares at it. Eyes the muffin in her hands. Looks at Jade, equally wary. “You’re pretty flipping terrifying, you know that, Claymore?”

Jade hums happily. It’s good to be appreciated. 

/-:-:-:-:-/

Chapter Text

“Tell me again what you did to little Lord Luklas,” Timmie begs, forking hay down from the loft. 

Jade rocks on the stool below him. Her leg is tightly wrapped and she can mostly walk on it now, but ladder climbing is out of the question. Timmie’s been brave enough to cover her chores the last two weeks. The least she can offer is her favorite story. 

She wields her crutch like a sword to demonstrate. “Okay, so first I got him on the back foot like this—” she replicates the block that ended in her initial whack to Luklas’s hip and the series of swipes that followed, “—but he’s a wily bastard, so he fought me off.” Jade mimes the exchange, rocking back for the retreat. “He broke the stand-off, I closed in on him again. Almost had him, but then our swords locked. Bang!”

She holds off the air with both bruised arms,  muscles tensed as if struggling against a huge weight. The rain of hay slows, Timmie enraptured. “But he’s bigger and stronger!” 

“Not anymore,” Jade gloats. “I pushed him back a whole step. Could see him sweating.” She shoves the sky off with heaving effort, still leaning back. “Except he’s slick. He slid away and let my own effort nearly topple me.” Jade falls forward on the stool so the legs hit the ground hard. Thump. Timmie gasps. “Could’ve ended it right then, but I held him off.” Jade swings wildly to bat away Luklas’s phantom sword. “Put us both on the retreat, waiting for the other to strike first.”

“What then?” Timmie’s heard this story a dozen times over the last two weeks, but he’s still captivated every time, just like Kit. Even though Kit was, of course, also there. 

‘Tried to go running down as soon as I saw you were hurt, but Airk said I had to wait,’ Kit told her as soon as they were alone. ‘Since we weren’t supposed to be there and all. He sends his best too, says he’s sorry he couldn’t drop by but he didn’t want to be too conspicuous.’

Kit, apparently, having no such qualms. Something they’d had a long talk about once Jade was off pain potions. 

“Well, I knew Luklas was a spoiled highborn brat,” Jade shares it all again with relish. The story might’ve grown embellishments over the recountings, but the core’s the same, “so I figured he wouldn’t know how to scrap like a foundling.”

“No way,” Timmie agrees, nodding vigorously. “Wouldn’t last two seconds.”

“Exactly, so I go for him full tilt, getting a couple good ones in at his legs same as I’m pummeling him with the sword.” Jade kicks with her good leg and slashes with her crutch. “And he’s real hopping mad now, so when he goes for my throat, he doesn’t notice me leading him towards the rockier section of the ring.”

“Where sniveling young Lord Yorkun has already torn it up scrambling around on his hands and knees, crying like a newborn babe,” Timmie pitches in, throwing hay like he’s the one putting a sword through Young Yorkun’s throat. 

“His tears all over the dirt, muddying it up. Luklas is coming for me, I’m barely holding him off, he almost has me pinned now.” Jade blocks the flurry of hits with her crutch. “But he’s a noble used to finery and I know he’s sure to slip.” Jade slides her foot around the ground by the stool. “So I feel for the pits I know Young Yorkun left behind in his terror, and when I find one—”

Jade wobbles sideways and fakes a fall, “—I feint. He lunges forward—” Jade twists in her seat, dodging the hit, “—and he trips on a rock and nearly falls flat on his face.”

Timmie cackles, “Clumsy cudglemugin! Nose so high in the air he can’t see his feet!” 

“He’s off-balance but not done, so I spin and crack him across the back—” Jade whirls her crutch in a circle, Timmie mirrors her motion with the pitchfork, “— wham! But he’s a stubborn son of a bitch and still not down. So I trip him and shove him between the shoulders with the pommel,” Jade and Timmie replicate the move, “and he finally tips.” Jade waffles one hand in the air then slaps it against her uninjured thigh. Clap! “Hits the ground on his hands and knees, like he’s bowing low.” 

Timmie cheers, raising the pitchfork high. 

“Being a snoot and a half, he hates this, and he’s got his sword in his hand still, thinking maybe he can get me,” Jade drops her voice low. “So I put my blade to the back of his neck—” she holds the crutch out at full extension, tip hovering an inch above the dirt, “—and while he’s stuck groveling at my boots, I say, ‘Yield.’”

“But the bastard won’t,” Timmie shakes his head. 

“He won’t.” Jade shoves the point of her crutch into the dirt, scraping up a pit. “So I poke him a little, and say ‘yield’ again.”

“And he says, ‘Jade Claymore, most magnificent swordswoman ever born, once in an era genius, next great knight of the realm, you have bested me in battle and in life,’” Timmie recites with relish. “‘I owe you my neck and my first born, my father’s trying to kill you but you’ve so impressed me I’m offering you a post instead.’”

“No, that was Hurlighu.” The details of that conversation are blurry but she remembers that much. “Though she denies it.”

Kit says it was all true and then some. Jade still can’t believe they were bold and dumb enough to visit the infirmary, but apparently they’ve got enough dirt on Hurlighu to keep her quiet for the rest of her years. 

“For someone so intolerably proper, she really gets up to a lot,” Kit explained when Jade finished chewing them out for their carelessness. “Airk and I’ve been keeping tabs on Wurley since Mom said marriage was on the table. The affair’s only brushing the surface. She’s already on thin ice for tanking the engagement, if any of this comes out her parents will pull her from the Pacalcade.”

Jade’s coming to realize that the twins have a terrifying amount of blackmail material on almost everyone in the palace. Kit said they’re still working on Galladoorn and Cashmere. Harder since news from there is slow and limited. 

“Every time we discover something new, Airk and I add a rock to the mantle,” Kit told her. “That’s how we remember. House Hurlighu has a whole pile.”

Jade’s still carrying her own jadestone around for luck. It’s serving her so far. 

Her leg’s healing okay if a tad unsteadily. Hurlighu’s held her secrets. Jade’s getting kind words from all the palace staff and approving glances from the knights. Brunella brought a whole boatload of muffins and the world’s biggest hug once Jade was back at the stables.

“I got there ages early this year and I still couldn’t see well enough from the windows!” The first time she swung by, Brunella flopped down on a feedsack immediately, bouncing eager. “Tell me everything! You looked positively heroic out there.”

Whenever Brunella drops in she demands the story again. Pickles stays antsy for lack of riding but hasn’t done anyone permanent major injury yet. Airk keeps giving Jade get-well flowers, now set up in a simple wooden vase Kit throws knives at. Their aim’s still too shit to knock it over. 

Even the Queen had a kind word about Jade’s showing when she popped her head in picking up Yonder at the post. Nearly stopped Jade’s heart when it happened, but she’ll never forget it. 

“An impressive knight in the making,” Queen Sorsha said with a nod. Thankfully the last Jade’s seen of her this week. 

Timmie’s been round the stables constantly the last thirteen days, covering her chores while she’s too held up by her torn muscle. Kit is also a staple, practically part of the furniture by now. Their visits overlap more often than not, much to Timmie’s dismay. He’s coming later to try to dodge them, except now Kit is too. Jade’s certain Kit’s doing it on purpose. 

“The princess has Lady Hurlighu handled, right?” Timmie frets now that the story’s done. “Because she seems like the vengeful type.” 

“Hurlighu’s been weird.” Jade rocks back on the stool with the crutch as a lever. “I don’t know what’s up with her. Ran into her at the infirmary for check-up and she was practically cordial.”

Timmie shivers. He sets the pitchfork aside and scrambles down the ladder. “Don’t trust it.”

“I mean, she’s still Hurlighu,” Jade admits, “so bitter as lemons and polite in only the nastiest ways possible. But her squireship’s on the line, so I don’t think she’ll try anything unless she’s sure she won’t get caught.”

An impossibility with Kit and Ballantine watching. Sir Keene’s been by the infirmary too, to chat with her. Jade hasn’t seen much of Grindlewal, Young Yorkun, or Luklas since exhibition day, so that alone is a clear sign they’ve been thoroughly cowed. She would’ve expected them to try to jump her by now. 

“Maybe she’s working on a curse,” Timmie suggests, gathering up the feedsack. 

Jade’s considered this too. “No, she’s really skittish about treasonous talk. Won’t touch magic. Much too scared after her haunting by Bavmorda’s ghost.”

Timmie snickers, distributing everyone’s portions far more precisely than Kit does on the rare occasion they beat him to it. “Have to hand it to the princess for that one.”

“Hand it to me for what?” Kit asks, strolling in through Jade’s bedroom door. Jade has no idea how no one’s spotted them crawling through her window post-dawn, even if it is pre-morning bells. Witchcraft, probably, with Kit’s bad blood. 

Timmie startles so violently he nearly drops the feedsack into Nimbus’s trough. “You—!”

“Me,” Kit parrots happily, squatting in the dirt next to Jade. “Morning, Jade. Jimmy.”

“Morning,” Jade greets them with a pat on the back. Kit does the strange full-body-willies shake they get whenever she slips up and touches them like she might Timmie. Whoops. Jade returns her hand to her knee.  “You’re late, what kept you?”

“Crisis among the baronies,” Kit lies shamelessly, still wiggling their shoulders out like a wet dog. “Kept me up all night, slept straight through dawn.”

“Then don’t you have treaties to write?” Timmie hisses in harmony with the oats pouring into Moonlight’s trough. 

“Eh, probably.” Kit doodles in the dirt with a finger. “I’m sure Mom’s advisors will handle it.”

“Cheers to continued peacetime.” Jade peers over their shoulder. “May we avoid war with Cashmere yet.”

She’s pretty sure she recognizes the general battalion motions of Reignard’s Pincher in Kit’s sketch. The subject of Kit’s lessons and how much they retain from them remains confounding.   

“It’s Galladoorn we need to worry about,” Kit mumbles, adding tactical flourishes Jade hasn’t seen before. “They’ve been making noise about the border and the barrier. Say we stole too many knights from the Shining Legion during the war and now they want them back.”

Really? First Jade’s heard of that. “Are we going to do it?” 

“‘Course not.” Kit turns the battle map into a bearded frowny face. “I mean, the knights all moved of their own accord. Swore oaths and shit. We’re already allied. King Hastur probably just wants more manpower to go after the Bone Reavers.”

Jade’s surprised he can’t simply do it himself with the full force of the Shining Legion. Restoring the Galladoornish capital after the Bone Reavers ransacked it must have been tough. She’d definitely go, if anyone asked. Ballantine too, she thinks. 

“Why don’t we?” Timmie asks first. He drops the feedsack in the corner, back turned to hide his face.

Kit chews their cheek. Adds a skull mask to the drawing. “I mean, they’re not doing anything. They’ve been keeping to themselves outside the barrier. The gate garrisons are solid so it’s not like they could get through, but they’re also not trying. Why poke the bear?”

Because the bear murdered her mother. Jade and Timmie exchange a glance over Kit’s head, but neither of them say anything. 

Kit’s flippancy about the issue burns. Explaining it to them would mean going back to that day outside Mother’s Gate and Jade hasn’t been able to bring herself to talk about it. She lets the moment pass. Timmie follows her lead, fetching the wheelbarrow and tack to start mucking the stalls. 

Kit erases the whole image with a swipe of their palm. “Everyone’s just riling lately. Cashmere, the baronies, House Hurlighu, Lord Libbiliny, Galladoorn. Typical Witch’s Night tomfoolery, must be the stars all in alignment with the thirteenth night.”

Jade doubts it. They’re approaching the third anniversary of the King Consort’s departure and the second year of his disappearance. He left right around the twins’ ninth birthday, one of his last public appearances at the party. The whispers have grown bolder that he’s never coming back. Queen Sorsha is going to have to make an official announcement about it sooner or later. Timmie locks eyes with Jade again as he buckles Yonder’s bitless bridle. 

“What’re you doing for Witch’s Night, Jimmy?” Kit asks suddenly. Timmie freezes halfway to the tie stall with Yonder’s lead in hand. Yonder snorts and noses his shoulder. 

“Witch’s Night?” Timmie fumbles hitching Yonder between the two standing posts. 

“Yeah, you know, the big holiday tomorrow.” Kit starts scribbling an impressively lifelike witch in the dirt. “Since you aren’t coming to the party with me and Jade.”

Good flipping stars. They’re only mentioning this to get his goat. Kit’s been locking horns with Timmie the whole two weeks, both of them posturing over who knows Jade better. Timmie’s slightly more subtle about it thanks to personality and a lingering fear of the crown. Despite nearly crushing the crown with a wheelbarrow and never once apologizing for it. 

“I have plans.” Timmie flings shit out of Yonder’s stall with more force than strictly necessary. “With my friends. Jade was invited and she said she really wished she could come but that she was sorry she’d yes to you first.”

It’s half-true, Jade couldn’t have got up to mischief with Timmie and the others anyway. She’s to be a knight now. Nicking liquor from the distillery and sweets from the baker’s stall is definitely against the rules. Sneaking into the taverns might not be, she’s no idea what Luklas and the others get up to in their luxurious free time. 

“I like both of you,” Jade attempts to cull this spat before it starts. “I’d like to spend Witch’s Night with both of you.”

“You have friends, Jimmy?” Kit feigns surprise. Mothers, they’re really on one today. “Who’s willing to put up with you?” 

“Loads of people,” Timmie snarls. “Unlike you. Don’t you have anyone other than Jade to bother?”

As near as Jade can tell, no. Exempting Airk, who they bother constantly. “I’m not bothered—”

“Yes,” Kit spits, ears red. “I’ve got, like, a billion friends.”

Timmie finishes forking out Yonder’s stall. “Oh, sure, name three.” 

“Let’s not!” Jade clasps her hands around her crutch. “I know you both have buckets more friends than me. No need to list them all, you’re going to make me jealous.”

Kit and Timmie glare at her. Kit speaks for both of them, “You have a lot of friends, Jade.”

Not true. Jade has the horses, a royal sparring partner, Timmie, and a few odd associations like Airk and Brunella. 

“Been fighting this battle for a decade,” Timmie gripes, returning Yonder to his stall and slipping his bridle off. “There’s no winning.”

“What’re you going as for Witch’s Night, Timmie?” Jade drills her crutch into the dirt and hopes her desperation to change the subject doesn’t show. “Have a costume ready?”

“The Billyclub Bandit.” Timmie swaps Yonder for Nimbus, working his way down the line from the empty visitor’s stall and conveniently ignoring Pickles. “Same as always.”

“Perfect for robbing people,” Kit mutters. Absolutely the point. 

“What about you, Princess?” Timmie demands, flinging shit past Nimbus’s legs while Nimbus patiently waits in her stall. Unlike Yonder, she’ll never try to kick during cleaning. “Commission anything cool with your endless coffers?” 

“Not really, except…” Kit brightens considerably. “Oh, Jade! Your costume’s ready. I brought it with me, it’s on your bed.”

Ooh! Now that is news. She rocks forward on the stool. “What is it?”

“A surprise.” Kit grins up at her. “Don’t open it until tomorrow night.”

This will be a test of will and trust. If it turns out to be some kind of awful prank, Jade’s going to be stuck with it or her plain clothes. 

“Probably gonna make you go naked or covered in frills,” Timmie grunts, giving voice to Jade’s suspicions. 

“No!” Kit reddens in genuine outrage. “It’s sick! She’s really gonna like it!”

Still dubious coming from Kit, but it settles some of Jade’s worst fears. She scratches palace bomber, Bone Reaver, Bavmorda, and nun of the empirical cults and covens off the list. 

“I still can’t believe you’re going to this froo-froo noble shit,” Timmie complains, as he has all month. “You’re gonna get caught over some fancy wine and meatpies. I could get you fancy wine and meatpies.”

Timmie has probably the best understanding of the precarious mechanics of Jade and Kit’s association out of anyone. That only encompasses maybe half of it and none of the physical fighting. He’s also extremely judgmental about the whole thing. Jade deserves it, sure, but it still stings worse coming from outside her own head. 

“I have fancier wine and the kingdom’s best meatpies,” Kit sneers. They’d better at this rate. “Besides, Jade’s officially invited, courtesy of Prince Airk being so impressed by his favorite stablehand demolishing absolutely everyone during the pages’ tourney.” 

“So Prince Airk’s going to have her hand all night?” Timmie leers. Even he knows that Airk is a sore spot for Kit. It’s pretty obvious on their face whenever they see his heraldry. Which is also their own damn heraldry . “Good for you, Jade. Moving up in the world.”

“I guess.” Jade frowns. She likes Airk, but she doesn’t actually want to hang out with him all night. Especially not with the entire room vying for his attention. That sounds hellish. 

“Don’t worry, I already sorted it with Pimsel,” Kit tells her, bouncing on their heels. “I’ll meet you there after the feast.”

“Idiocy,” Timmie condemns. He’s all the way to Julipee now, the only one left is Moonlight. “You two are far too obvious. Beats me how you’ve gotten away with it for so long.”

“Infinite money and no adult supervision,” Kit answers easily. True and also deeply worrying as they’re the heir. Timmie and Jade have spent many a whinge session ranting about the minding capabilities of the Pacalcade. “Kept you quiet, didn’t it? Plus I’m an outstanding liar.”

“Only flipping thing you’re good at,” Timmie snipes. Horseapples pile high in the wheelbarrow. 

“Sucks for you, living in the kingdom I’m gonna be running,” Kit fires back. 

“It’ll be fine,” Jade reassures herself more than anyone else. “The party will be fun. No one will notice. You’re going to be a good monarch. We’re not at war. It’ll be fine.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Kit and Timmie drawl simultaneously and instantly shoot glares at each other. 

“Abdicate to Prince Airk,” Timmie orders.

“I’m trying.” Kit picks a pebble off the ground and flings it at the wall. “Mom won’t listen to me.”

“More pity all of us.” Timmie leaves jolly Julipee to her mucked stall. 

Jade puts her head in her hands. “What did Airk do, that she’s so dead set against him?”

Kit goes very quiet. Studies the dirt. “Dunno. Dunderhead who can’t read, probably.”

Obvious lie. Airk started rambling at her about his favorite romances as soon as he spied the chapbook Jade left lying out on her stool. Kit’s the one with debatable reading ability. 

Kit’s been bringing their schooling with them when they come to visit on longer free afternoons during her lay-up. Stars know where people think the crown princess has been disappearing for two weeks, but it’s kept Jade sane while her entire normal life’s out the window. She’s not well enough to shadow at the infirmary yet. They mostly sit in her room together since the walk to the pond is still too far and anywhere closer is too exposed. Kit turns up with their tomes and the latest chapbooks from Airk’s collection. He’s got some expensive bound and illustrated editions that are the highlight of her bedrest. 

It’s a necessary balance to Kit picking their way through their piles of leather bound study books, which is nearly as torturous to watch as it seems to be for Kit to do. Jade’s taken to helping them with the harder words. This is, objectively, a third of, and in Kit’s opinion, almost all of the words. Kit’s also extremely distractible, so it has to be done in spurts. The sort of kid whose seat she would’ve kicked in the schoolhouse for chattering and squirming too much. 

Kit has a lot more dedication to but equal difficulty with her adventure tale chapbooks, so sometimes Jade reads those out loud. Kit especially enjoys the swordfights. Sometimes they’ll act those out together as best they can with Jade on one leg. 

None of this has given Jade a ton of faith in Kit running the kingdom. Worse, Kit seems to agree. Jade also can’t fathom why Queen Sorsha hasn’t assigned someone to read things to Kit if they’re having so much trouble with it, but she doesn’t understand why Queen Sorsha does most things. 

“When the kingdom is in ruin, maybe Her Majesty will let Prince Airk salvage it,” Timmie quips, opening Moonlight’s stall. 

Jade can tell by the sharp lines of Kit’s shoulders that this is a tease too far. She wishes she sounded more confident when she says, “I think Kit will be a fine ruler…”

“I think you and Jimmy should shove your—” Kit starts. 

Moonlight saves them all from the explosion by bodying past Timmie as soon as the door is swung and trotting straight to Kit, headbutting them over with a happy whinny. 

“Oof!” Kit lands on their tailbone and is immediately accosted by Moonlight blowing their hair and licking it into wilder shapes than usual. “Moonlight!” Kit tries to shove her face away, smiling again. She gets their cheek. “Stop, that tickles!” 

Timmie rolls his eyes and leaves the mare to it, mucking down her stall while she’s preoccupied. “You and that horse. Worse than Jade and Pickles.”

Jade suspects how much Moonlight adores them might be the only thing saving Timmie’s opinion of Kit. It’s also a good reminder. She shoves up from her stool with the one crutch, Kit warding Moonlight off enough to hand her the other from the floor. Jade doesn’t need them both all the time now, but it’s better to spare her leg as much as possible before the festivities. 

Jade limps her way over to Pickles’s stall. “Hello, Pickles.”

Pickles nudges her and nickers then nips sharply, a clear demand for riding time. Jade rubs her nose. “Sorry, still can’t. Who lost the coin toss today?”

Moonlight chews on the ribbon of Kit’s ponytail. Kit and Timmie look at each other. Point simultaneously, “He did.”

Jade leans against Pickles’s stall door and lets Pickle hook her chin over her shoulder to glare murderously at the whole room. “Come on, now. This is your horse, Kit.”

“My not-dying horse,” Kit mutters as Moonlight tries her best to roll them over in the dirt. She gets incredibly jealous and needy whenever they so much as glance at Pickles. “The one you said was dying.”

Another lie only Timmie knows about, thanks to Kit’s constant bitching. 

“Still a low blow, Jade,” Timmie agrees, mucking Moonlight's stall. Sometimes Kit helps him in the mornings, but he tore into them about proper pitchforking technique last time so he’s on his own today. 

“Get over it.” Jade scratches Pickles’s cheek. She would add, ‘Learn to answer a note,’ but Kit’s already edgy and Timmie hasn’t heard most of the details. If he had, he probably would’ve cracked Kit over the head. Jade’s already taken care of that bit so no need to do it twice. “Who’s on Pickles duty?”

Pickles duty is a joint exercise. Her stall cannot be mucked with her inside it for fear of deaths. Jade holds the lead on the way to the tie stall, but her leg is such that she can’t keep a leash on Pickles if the charger really thrashes. Pickles is so agitated from lack of attention that she’s trying to maim any non-Jade animal in reach. If Jade walks her past the stalls alone, Pickles will break free and kill somebody. It’s increasingly a three man job. 

Pickles duty is such a mess that it’s impacting the horse’s ability to get time down at the paddock. Which, in turn, makes her even more aggravated. Kit and Timmie tag teamed to walk her alone only once. Timmie described the exercise as, ‘the most harrowing moment of my life besides the wheelbarrow, thought I was about to be accomplice to regicide twice .’ They returned to the stables early with Pickles and several missing toenails between them.  

The best they can do is get Jade up onto Pickles — also a multi-man exercise and a massive strain on her leg — and then have Timmie lead her while Kit wards off unsuspecting passersby and stays out of range. And preferably sight. 

This is not achievable every day. Kit attempted to put a lifetime royal ban on it after the first time Jade’s thigh swelled up like a melon, but got overruled by Jade on the basis of violence mitigation. There is also the matter of getting Jade back from the paddock after, since her leg’s inevitably a mess and she can’t abide by being carried. So it requires several free hours, rapidly waning courage from all involved, days of rest for Jade’s leg, a solid disguise for Kit, trips to the infirmary, and the variable cooperation of Pickles. 

Most days Pickles stays in her stall or the much closer — just barely within crutching range — Pacalcade-only pen by the eastern guardhouse stables. This is not improving the situation. 

“Are we taking her to the stall or Pacalcade pen…?” Kit asks nervously, hugging Moonlight's face to their chest. Timmie busies himself with the wheelbarrow, avoiding eye contact. “Because you need to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Pen,” Jade decides. “She’s staying in the stall tomorrow.”

Pacalcade pen formation is a lot like paddock protocol, except that Kit has to be in full princess mode and the pace is set slower by Jade crutching along beside Pickles instead of testing her leg atop her. 

“I think we should wait for Captain Ballantine,” Timmie pleads, heaving the wheelbarrow up and excusing himself from stables and the whole conversation. “When’s he free?”

The only days this is even remotely easy are when Ballantine comes to help. He’s able to mostly force Pickles under control all the way to the pasture so long as Jade follows them as far as she can. Unfortunately Witch’s Night has kept this from happening more than twice. 

“Maybe we could get Merrick and Keene…” Kit absently scrubs both Moonlight's cheeks at once. Moonlight headbutts them again, rocking them in their seat. “Or Lachlan? He likes you, right?”

“Witch’s Night,” Jade reminds them. “Everyone’s on duty.”

“Wurley’s not,” Kit catches the spark of a terrible idea, Moonlight licks their nose in approval, “I could probably get her to do it.”

It takes Jade her customary minute of furious brain wracking and a lot of context clues to figure out who Kit is talking about. Possibly the point in this case. 

“Hurlighu’s shorter than me, and she’s got a bruised gizzard spleen.” Pickles shoves her nose under Jade’s chin, Jade scratches her faster to deflect attempts at her throat. “Pickles would kill her for sure.”

“Luklas and Grindlewal!” Kit exclaims from where they’re cowering behind Moonlight. “They're both big and they’re on suspension for bullying and nastiness, no Witch’s Night duty for them.”

It’s a horrible flipping idea, and Jade’s about to tell them so when Timmie walks in with the empty wheelbarrow. “Seconded!” he shouts. “Make Lord Luklas and Loav Grindlewal do it.” 

“Pickles is your horse,” Jade snaps at Kit. 

“Which is why I am wise enough to call in backup,” Kit says, Timmie nodding along sagely, both hiding behind Moonlight’s bulk. “I mean, who cares if Luklas and Grindlewal bleed?”

/-:-:-/

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I’m not sure I’m understanding,” Luklas repeats, standing at attention outside Jade’s stables with Grindlewal skulking by his side. Kit managed to summon the pair just after morning bells, having returned in their full princess regalia with the Queen’s actual permission to ‘check on their recently dying horse’s continuing care during the royal stablehand’s convalescence.’ Or something. “What is it you want us to do?”

“I, the crown princess, am ordering you to help me take my horse out,” Kit decrees with as much authority as they can muster. Timmie looms at their back, arms crossed, glaring imperiously. “To the Pacalcade ready-pen. Or the paddock, if you think you can make it that far.”

“Isn’t that Claymore’s job, Princess?” Grindlewal grunts. Jade, sitting inside on her stool in front of Pickles’s stall while Kit and Timmie block the open door, cheerfully flips them off. 

“Page Claymore is injured,” Kit sniffs. They flick their tidy braid over their shoulder for effect. “Thanks to you, Captain Ballantine tells me. So I was thinking you could step in and help me with her usual duties.”

“What’s keeping her replacement from doing it?” Grindlewal asks. For all they look like they’ve got bricks for brains, they can actually be quite sharp. “Your Highness.”

Kit and Timmie glance at each other. So do Luklas and Grindlewal, as soon as they catch it. When the two pages look over Kit’s shoulder to Jade, she and Pickles bare their teeth. 

“Pickles is an impressive horse, requiring the strong grip of a knight,” Kit resorts right to flattery. “Not the sort of charger just anyone can handle. I would do it, but I’m busy this morning. So I thought two formidable knights in training such as yourselves might be able to step in where Mister Timmie has struggled.”

Timmie actively startles at the proper use of his name. Jade flipping knew Kit knew it. Thankfully Kit’s prudent enough not to tease him in front of types like Luklas and Grindlewal. These two learning his face is bad enough. 

“Pickles…” Luklas mumbles, like he’s heard the name before, “…wasn’t that the dying one…?”

“Yes!” Kit latches onto that immediately. “She’s been very ill, so she needs her outdoor time more than ever. Unfortunately there’s no one else who can help us.”

Tragically true. Kit went ahead and asked the queen for additional stable help last week, but it’s all hands on deck all the way down for Witch’s Night. Queen Sorsha, presumably familiar with Kit spoiling Moonlight, did not grasp how dire the situation is. Jade’s endorsement didn’t help since Kit is a known liar and Jade couldn’t exactly go tell the queen herself. Timmie was too terrified to complain and Ballantine too busy. 

Grindlewal and Luklas eye each other. They know something’s up, but clearly not the whole of it or they’d be sprinting for the hills already. Luklas speaks for them, “And you just need us to take her to the pen, Princess?”

“Or the paddock,” Kit agrees. “I mean, if you can get her to the paddock, that’d be awesome.”

The ‘if’ is carrying a lot of weight there and both Grindlewal and Luklas spot it. Luklas asks, “Do you foresee difficulty with us getting her to pasture, Your Highness?”

Luklas always was too damned clever. Kit and Timmie turn to Jade. Jade locks gazes with Pickles. Pickles takes one glance at Luklas and decides right then and there that she’s going to break bones. 

Jade shoots Kit and Timmie a meaningful look and subtly shakes her head. Kit and Timmie have a silent debate on how immensely to lie about this. Prevention of actual horse-related murder wins out. 

“She is not the easiest horse, my lord,” Timmie edges around the issue. “She’s a trained charger and a magnificent one at that. She’s been cooped up for too long, irritable from her illness—” Oh, great addition, “—and is known to attempt mischief when provoked.”

Grindlewal and Luklas hold their own silent council over what might be included in ‘mischief.’ Grindlewal gives up and throws the glove down, “What kind of mischief?”

Timmie shifts from foot to foot. Kit studies the sky. Finally Kit rucks up their pants leg to reveal the truly horrifying four-day-old bruise on their shin. Jade was certain they’d broken it, forced Timmie to rush them all the way down to the infirmary only for Hurlighu to apparently declare them fine. 

“She’s a shockingly good physician,” Kit reported the next morning, limping in post leeches with a cooling stone wrapped to their leg. They’d had enough difficulty making it through the window that Jade had to reach through and haul them up herself. “I mean, her bedside manner’s shit, but it’s only her first week and they’re already letting her do exams. I think Wurley might’ve found a second calling.”

Kit’s been very blasé about the whole thing otherwise — broken bones and bruises bother them not at all but as soon as there’s a drop of blood or a splinter they might swoon on the spot. Jade’s watching them like a hawk for signs of it being worse than they let on but as of today they’ve been walking fine. 

“Like I said, I tried to take Pickles myself,” Kit explains the rainbow on their leg to Grindlewal and Luklas’s bloodless faces. “But I’m busy today and kind of required to dance during Witch’s Night.”

Luklas and Grindlewal see the exact shape of the sacrifice they’ve been selected for. Timmie winces, whether in sympathy or at being caught, Jade can’t tell. 

“Did Claymore recommend us to you, Your Highness?” Luklas grinds out, fuming. Grindlewal is a furious fortress next to him. 

“No,” Kit answers honestly, Timmie nodding behind. “She was really against it, when I consulted her. Thought you wouldn’t be gentle enough with dear Pickles.”

There’s a warning in that too. 

Grindlewal and Luklas mull over the plausibility of this claim. Luklas tries to search Jade for answers, but Timmie steps into his line of sight. Grindlewal seems to buy it. Probably based on how Jade is defensively stationed in front of Pickles and glaring every time Grindlewal so much as looks at the horse. 

“I know I can trust you, though,” Kit lays the puffery on thick . “Page Claymore may be skeptical you can match her, but I’ve heard many stories of your achievements from the knights. They say you’re a great swordsman, Lord Luklas, and you an amazing rider, Loav Grindlewal. You’ll do honor on your houses.”

Jade has no idea if this is true about Grindlewal. She can’t envision them being kind to a horse. Timmie and Kit had to dogpile her to win calling the massive page over for Pickles. It was only a full accounting of all the many injuries between them that tipped the scales in the end. Jade started these two weeks a mess of bruises, but Kit and Timmie have almost overtaken her thanks to Pickles. 

Grindlewal studies Jade on her stool, beady eyes sharp and hard. Jade meets their gaze evenly, trying to telegraph just how willing she’d be to finish what she started in the ring were her hand on a sword instead of a crutch. Grindlewal turns their cold gaze on Pickles. Pickles sets her chin on top of Jade’s head and grinds her teeth. 

Pickles and Grindlewal stare down, Grindlewal’s spotty cheeks turning ruddier as they try not to blink. Jade raises an eyebrow. Are they seriously dumb enough to do this?

Grindlewal sees her and goes even redder, splotchy along their paleness just like Timmie. Okay, yeah, maybe they are. 

Luklas spots them boiling over and turns to interject, cheeks pallid brown, “Actually, Your Highness, we’re quite busy—”

“I can handle a charger,” Grindlewal declares. Was it the simpering, passive aggressive dares, or sheer hubris that got to them? “Don’t worry, Princess. We’ll take care of it. She’ll have a full day down at pasture.”

Luklas, who had obviously thought himself the leader and is far less sold on this idea, stares at them in outright betrayal. “Are you sure? Your rib is broken.”

“Yeah.” Grindlewal sets their jaw and glares Pickles into submission. “We’ll get Young Yorkun to help if we have to. I mean, she’s a horse. How hard could it be?”

“Thank you so much,” Kit sags in relief while Timmie slumps into the doorframe. “Seriously, you have no idea.”

“That hard,” Luklas curses, but he rolls up his silk sleeves and follows Kit into the stables anyway.  

/-:-:-/  

Grindlewal, Young Yorkun, and Luklas also end up at Hurlighu’s medicinal mercy, but they’re back the next morning to collect Pickles again. The overall undercurrent of barely contained violence in Jade’s stables decreases in the equine sense and escalates from the bipeds. 

Kit and Timmie sequester Jade in her quarters ‘on bedrest’ or send her ‘out on errands’ whenever the three assholes have to come inside. This does nothing for Pickles’s ire. Kit, who is doing a shockingly good job for once at pretending not to know or hold any interest in Jade Claymore, handles most of it. According to Timmie, any mentions of her name get shot down faster than you can blink. 

It’s still an affront having the pages in her home. Like, okay fine, her home is also a relatively public space. But she sleeps there!

The initial blinding terror was reduced somewhat by Kit’s visit to the locksmith yesterday afternoon, when they dragged him in on emergency order a day before Witch’s Night and got Jade a key-latch for her bedroom door. Her windows received removable bars and the hayloft another padlock. 

Jade’s not totally sure how this is going to work with Kit crawling through her bedroom window all the time. The crossbow they handed her also feels like a risk. Still, it does make her less panicked about Luklas, Grindlewal, and Young Yorkun knowing where she lives. Not that they didn’t already since royal stablehand is pretty self-explanatory, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

There’s also a whole slew of very carefully worded royal threats about it per Timmie. 

“Didn’t know the princess had it in them,” he relayed after the first afternoon Pickles drop-off Jade was not allowed to be there for, “every time I think I’ve scraped the bottom they reveal new horrific hidden depths.”

“What about you?” Jade demanded, checking Pickles over thoroughly for signs of injury as she brushed her down. Calmest Pickles interaction she’d had in days. “Kit’s keeping them off you, too, right?”

“Oh yeah.” Timmie leaned against the empty visitor stall door. “I mean, you’d think I was the second greatest stablehand in all of Andowyn and the firstborn son of a high house from the way they talk.”

It’s reassuring enough to get Jade through the day to Witch’s Night. She locks up her stables tighter than a dungeon cell along every opening before she leaves. The padlock ends up on the outside of the front doors which makes her nervy, but it’s the royal stables and defacing them is a crime against the crown so she’s probably safe. Timmie says defacing or defaming Jade is also now a crime against the crown so she’s doubly protected on that front. 

The sun’s long set and raucous music from the many parties in and outside the walls is filtering through her windows before Jade judges it time to head over. Her stables are right by the gates, so she has a bit of a walk through the courtyard before she hits the castle proper, and more still to the great hall and inner courtyard where the festivities are held. 

There’s been a whole river of people flowing through the western gatehouse in costume all evening, sometimes poking their heads in to see if they can stable a horse here — No. — or waving merrily as they pass. The people watching’s choice. Particularly audacious was the entire monastery of drunken dedicants to the world-eating snake. The castle itself is covered in fanficul gourd lanterns, chicken blood wards painted over every portal, and garlands of dried leaves cut into haunting silhouettes strung across the courtyard. 

Since her first year at the stables, Jade’s watched through the windows as half the crowd enters the castle itself. Everyone’s allowed in and out of the front courtyard to collect mead from the barrels and sweets from the tables by the front doors. Jade’s been herself a couple times on years when she felt bolder. But only invited guests can enter the castle proper. 

This time she gets to join them. She scarfs down her meal at sunset and sets her hourglass. Kit said two and something hours past would do. 

The wait is excruciating. 

Jade could’ve gone to the feast, except she wouldn’t have been able to talk to Kit or Airk. The seating’s flexible on Witch’s Night but not like that. Besides, even if she was willing to brave her first time in the great hall and the biggest party she’s ever been to alone, Jade doesn’t want anyone to recognize her costume later. Makes it too risky if someone clocks Kit too. 

Witch’s Night is also a specific kind of holiday. Elora Danan Day has rules, civility to it. Witch’s Night is all about the hedonism that Nockmaar ran on, getting it all out to banish the curses in their midst before the real demons can take hold. People will be on their worst behavior. Not Jade’s ideal time to meet strangers. Naturally it’s Kit’s favorite night of the year. 

Kit’s got a whole game plan for the party, complete with pit stops for pranking and where to get the best post-feast food. Some of it’s been derailed since Jade can’t do much dancing yet, but Kit’s nothing if not improvisational. They’re bound and determined to have a great time. 

Jade’s not sure she’s going to be capable. She’s spent the last hours tortured by visions of all the things that could go wrong. Someone recognizing her or, worse, Kit. The castle putting together the details of their introduction. The Queen’s face as she condemns Jade to the executioner’s block. Timmie blowing himself and Pickles up after because no one warned him about the bomb and it wasn’t like Jade could put that part in the will . Brunella left with nothing but the ashes of the stables and the stain on her reputation from knowing Jade. 

She shouldn’t go. It’s not worth it. 

Jade could still join Timmie. He told her what tavern he and the usuals would be at first. Apparently there’s talk of trying to visit some of the bawdy houses or parlor shows later in the night, when they’re less likely to be booted for being too young. Jade’s not very interested in that, but it could still be a fun story for later. 

Or she could do what she’s done the last two years, and make her way down to the town center to see the players alone. The shows are free if you tip in drink or your best heckling. She has a lot of creative curses to contribute courtesy of Kit. Last year, Jade ran into a girl from the schoolhouse there and won a kiss behind the cobbler’s shop after Jade walked her home. That was barely even lonely. 

She’d pitched it to Kit as an alternate option since Timmie wouldn’t let the princess tagalong. Kit told her next year, they wanted her to see a castle party for herself first. 

Jade’s barely been inside, is the other thing. She lives right outside the front gates, a mere courtyard away, yet she’s never in the halls. Brunella brings her rations out from the kitchens. Besides tourney day, Jade’s not passing through on errands or to get to the training grounds like the other pages. She spends more time outside the walls in town or the fields than she does the castle she technically lives in. 

It’s not a mystery, exactly. A curiosity, more so. Part of her wants to know what the walls around Kit’s days are like. They tromp through her room often enough, it only seems fair. 

A story come to life. The anticipation of it tickles on her tongue. What wouldn’t she do, to spend a night in the pages of tales?

The last of the hourglass trickles down as Jade jiggles her leg so violently her whole bed shakes. She’s forced her way through an entire chapbook, brushed Pickles twice, and reorganized her trunk. Took her costume on and off and on again. Triple-checked on the bomb — this would be the sort of night someone found it. Rehid it temporarily under her trunk, inside her room where there’s more locks. Set up every one of her new door bars and tested them thrice. 

Doing this is stupid. Literally putting her neck on the line for nonsense. She should shuck the costume and go to the square, there’s nothing to be gained from this. 

The last grain drips down. It’s finally time. 

Jade pulls her mask over her head. It’s the full coverage sort, hiding even her distinctive hair. Steps out the doors in costume, crutch in hand, and padlocks her stables. Puts the key on a string around her neck and tucks it down her shirt. 

Taps her hand on her crutch. Shuffles her feet, still in her new boots. Checks the gate. No one’s watching her. The way to the town square is clear.

This will be fun. She’s allowed to have fun. 

“You don’t actually have to come,” Kit said before they left this morning, unusually jumpy in her windowframe. The same sort of anxious they get now whenever they think they’ve pushed too far. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. But I think you’d like it and it’d be really cool to have you there. I’ll wait for you either way.”

Jade settles the too big face guard firmly over her nose. Holds her crutch like it’s a sword. Takes a deep breath and joins the stream of latecomers making their way towards the palace front gates. 

There’s enough space now that she isn’t jostled, another benefit to coming after the revelry is well underway. She slips into the throng behind a tall troll made from furs and facepaint strolling beside an off-color knight of the Pacalcade with a bucket helmet and wooden bowls for pauldrons. 

“Have mercy, Ser!” a tipsy Newylsh eborsisk calls when he sees her, second head dipping and weaving perilously. His costume is masterfully made, reptilian and intricate in tooled black leather, clearly a work of great time and coin. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Jade salutes him with a grin, takes a stutter step to twirl her crutch and feint towards him. The eborsisk staggers backwards, holding his chest. “No! I’m slayn!”

The troll chuckles, slapping their companion on the bowl pauldron. “You’ve been shown up, Ser Knight.” 

“Far be it from me to challenge a dragon,” the Pacalcade knight shrugs, winking at Jade. “I’ll leave it to the Shining Legion.” 

Jade’s smile is splitting her cheeks. She stands a little taller and feels the shift of the armor around her shoulders. 

She’s not sure what all it’s made of — mostly painted paper mache, she thinks, or else something obscenely delicate she doesn’t want to consider — the missing back bits covered by a cape. It’s so light she nearly doesn’t feel it. Large sculpted pauldrons on both shoulders, pinning the long green cape with the emblem of Galladoorn in place. A chest plate and bracers with the same shimmering paint coat, almost like metal. All treated so it doesn’t crackle, hard-soft somewhere between wood and cloth. 

The helmet’s actual steel, polished gleaming. Might even be real Pacalcade issue, though Mothers forbid she ever learn how Kit got it. 

Jade can’t wait until the courtyard fountain so she can have a good look at herself. Got a glimpse or two in the bucket and with the costume laid out on her bed. The intention was clear. 

Jade looks like a real knight of the Shining Legion. 

She feels like it, too. Knows the weight of this armor and the swish of the cape. Can see the ground bend to meet her beneath her boots. There’d be a sword at her hip if even play weapons were allowed on castle grounds.

The expense of it all was a horror but temptation overrode it. And there was a nigh illegible note inside the package warning her not to ding it up too badly, since ‘if you ruin this one I’m not getting you another and I’m going to be needing that helmet back.’

She’s not sure what she expected from Kit. She’s always underestimating them, it seems. Felt her heart and eyes well up when she saw the whole thing unpackaged.  

Jade twirls her cane sword on the path up to the gates and wonders if there’s anything she can give Kit in return that comes close to a dream realized.

The troll and knight stop at the tables for refreshments. Jade strides past them right up to the gates this time. The crowd thins as she goes, only her and the eborsisk left. 

Lachlan stops them at the door, perfunctory, no recognition. He’s wearing the same sculpted leather pig-snout as the rest of the Pacalcade. A joking nod to the whole army’s brief time in Bavmorda’s swine pen. “Name and business.”

“Erm.” Jade scratches the back of her neck, hidden by the low hang of her helmet. Pulls the letter with the royal seal from her pocket. Leans in close, drops her voice, tries for a classic Tir Asleen accent, and whispers, “I’m here on invitation from Prince Airk.”

Lachlan’s eyebrows quirk when he sees the seal. He grins and winks. “Oh yes! The hero of the hour. We were told to await your arrival.”

Shit, really? What did Airk say? Does Lachlan know it’s her? Sweat pools beneath her shirt. This was a bad idea—

“Already slayed an eborsisk,” the Nelwyn throws in behind her. He leans around Jade and bobs both heads to Lachlan. “On track to save the whole kingdom by dawn. Elmer, traveling merchant, no relation to the High Aldwyn. Requested by Baronness Binnisun.”

“Go on in, she’s expecting you.” Lachlan waves him aside easily. Are they even checking anything? Jade’s not seeing a list. “And you, Ser Knight.” Lachlan motions Jade in. She takes a tentative step inside the castle. He nods, half a bow. “Have a lovely night.” 

The helmet hides any of her fluster. Jade puts her head down and hurries into the castle as fast as she can on her crutch. “Thank you, Sir Knight.”

The eborsisk ambles on ahead, off on a well worn path to what Jade hopes is the great hall. She’s not completely sure where she’s supposed to meet Kit, but that seems like the right direction. Zesty music and a wall of riotous celebration filter in louder, echoing off the stone. The halls are lit by flickering torches all around. Masked guests and staff in purple vestments mill about the shadows, chatting, drinking, shirking any business. 

Jade rounds the first corner and immediately loses sight of the eborsisk in the growing crowd. Damn, where did he go?

Jade’s so busy looking for him, she doesn’t spot the blonde kitchen maid in a simple white eye-mask pop out from behind a pillar until it’s too late. The girl slams directly into Jade’s chest plate, nearly toppling them both. “Shit!”

“Sugar on a stick—!” The maid stumbles backwards, fumbling her tray full of muffins, tall ears of her cloth mask waving. 

“Sorry!” Jade wobbles on her crutch, healing leg protesting. The kitchen maid tries to help her and almost loses the tray. Jade grabs the other side before it can drop. They stagger awkwardly into the pillar, Jade catching herself on the stone with arm above the kitchen maid’s head and the muffin tray sandwiched between them. 

“Whew, that was a close one.” The maid gasps in relief when the muffins stop shaking, “Ser Knight, you saved me—” She stops and stares up at Jade, who’s trying to catch her balance so she doesn’t squish the maid. “Jade?!”

Ducktunthering ditherers. How the hell…?! Jade recognizes the blue eyes under the bunny mask with a shock. Brunella! Jade pushes off the pillar, glancing around for any curious crowd members, and shushes her desperately. “Not tonight!”

Brunella gapes at her. “How are you here?” Her eyes widen, she stands up on her tiptoes whisper to helmet by Jade’s ear, “Oh! Did you sneak in?”

How did Brunella recognize her?! Jade’s whole face is covered! The armor’s big enough to change her entire silhouette! There’s a flipping cape on it! 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Brunella offers with a sly smile. She settles back against the pillar, resting the tray on her hip and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It’s in a crown braid and bun today which suits her well. With the bunny ears and painted button nose it’s spectacularly cute. “You look great. Super dashing. Would you like a muffin?”

Jade would but she needs to know how Brunella spotted her first. Jade steadies herself on her crutch, staying close to keep their voices hushed. “How’d you know it was me?”

Brunella tugs her deeper into the shadows behind the pillar by the door she must’ve come through. “I mean, I don’t know that anyone else would. It’s a really cool costume. I just, um—” Brunella turns bright pink at the edges of her mask, “—you know, am pretty familiar. With what you look like.” 

Jade slumps against the cool stone. “Thank stars. No one can know I’m here.”

“My lips are sealed. Muffin?” Brunella prompts her with the tray. 

Jade takes one, nibbling on it through the exposed chin of her helmet. Delicious, Brunella’s really nailing the recipe these days. “Thank you. It’s good to see you.”

“And you! Merry Witch’s Night.” Brunella’s nose wrinkles when she smiles, which only adds to the adorable bunny rabbit effect. “How’d you get past the guards? I didn’t see you at the servant’s entrance.”

In retrospect, that would’ve been the smarter way to sneak in. Why the hell didn’t they do that? Jade could’ve picked the costume up from Kit inside, changed later, and left no evidence at the door. Kit’d better have a damn good reason for not telling her to do that. 

Too late now. Jade chews on a bite of muffin. Searches for a solid enough excuse but can’t think of any other than the overarching lie for the night. Probably better to keep the story consistent anyway, in case Brunella checks with anyone else. “I actually have an invitation. On account of the page’s tourney. It’s a secret, since they’ve never done it for the winner before.” Never had to, either, since nobility was all invited by default. 

“Really?” Brunella lights up, even her padded ears perking. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You were so awesome out there, I can still hardly believe it. What you did for Lady Hurlighu—!” Brunella gasps, free hand flying to her chest. “I thought my heart stopped!”

What? Weird, but okay, sure. Jade rocks on her heels, twisting her hand in the edge of her cape. Brunella’s always glowing when the page’s tourney comes up, which is very flattering, but Jade’s never sure how to handle it. “Thanks? Uh. Hurlighu’s fine now, so.”

Jade munches on the muffin. Brunella checks their corners and leans in close again, whispering, “Did Lady Hurlighu invite you?”

Jade chokes. Coughs up crumbs, spluttering and slapping her chest plate with the flat of her hand, “What?! No—!”

Damn, wait, that was actually a perfect excuse. Why didn’t Jade lie? Kit would’ve lied! It was so easy!

Brunella’s thrown for a loop, nose scrunched and ears waggling. “Really? Huh. Then who…” She looks Jade up and down appreciatively. Runs her fingers over one of Jade’s pauldrons. That’s extremely distracting. “The armor’s really nice, your mysterious patron got that for you, right? Very different than last year’s.”

Last year, like usual, Jade also went as a knight. That time she had a bucket helmet, a pitchfork, an old neckerchief over her mouth, and a horse blanket for a cape. It was her backup plan for this year, should Kit’s costume have been a cruel prank, except without the pitchfork and maybe the bucket. Brunella obviously knows this extravagance is out of reach of her pittance. Jade fails to summon a single thought other than, there is a cute girl touching my armor right now. “Um!” 

“An anonymous benefactor, but not Lady Hurlighu…” Brunella taps her lips. “Captain Ballantine…?”

Another easy out, but one Jade can’t take lest compliments on the costume get back to him and reveal her attendance. She stuffs the rest of the muffin into her mouth and numbly shakes her head. 

Brunella’s fascinated. “How many nobles do you know?” Too many, by far. “I thought you didn’t get on with the other pages. I mean, I guess you are the royal stablehand—” Brunella draws up short, eyes gleaming. “No…!”

Flipping hell. Seriously? She guessed it just like that?! Jade should not have come, there’s no way she’ll survive the night. 

Even without a clear view of her face to give her away, Brunella can read her like a book. 

“Jade Claymore,” Brunella savors her name, voice low, cat grin curling up her cheeks, “you did not secure a royal invitation.”

Brunella’s way too close to the truth now. She’s a dog with a bone when a really good mystery is waved in under her nose. Won’t stop sniffing around until she figures it out. It’s why she makes for such an avid gossip. The other half of the story is in the hands of an even more spurious gossip, so Jade might as well consider this part a lost cause. Sacrificing the almost truth is far safer than letting Brunella dig to the actual potentially fatal underpinnings. 

“Prince Airk invited me,” Jade rushes out all in one breath. “In passing. We’re here separately, you can’t tell anyone—”

“Prince Airk!” Brunella reels back, bright red with shock. “You’re on secret rendezvous with Prince Airk?!”

Oh ducktunthering hell, Brunella’s got that raging crush on him . “As a guest!” Jade waves her free hand around in surrender. “Only a guest! We’ve just briefly met, we talk a little sometimes when he’s stabling Julipee—”

“You talk to Prince Airk?!” Brunella is boiling over somewhere between betrayal, jealousy, and bloodthirsty yearning. 

“Barely!” Jade stammers. “I mean we’re — I’m—” Brunella’s face turns stormier, there’s no clear way out of this except, “—I’m not interested in boys!”

Brunella draws up short at the whiplash of that statement. “What?”

Jade pushes on regardless. She’s really dug this grave for herself. “I prefer the company of women—” with a few exceptions that weren’t notable here, “—I have no designs on Prince Airk.”

“Oh.” Brunella blinks rapidly, bunny ears flapping. “Um. Cool?” 

“Yes.” Jade nods equally stupidly. “Cool.”

They stand there for a second in flustered awkward silence, both staring at the stone floor. 

Brunella resettles the muffins on her hip. Adjusts her mask. Twists a lock of hair around her finger. “Sorry, I wasn’t…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Jade studies the ceiling. She thought it’d be higher here, but it’s almost the same as the stables sans hayloft. “I can see where you’d…”

“No, that’s my bad.” Brunella shifts from foot to foot. Jade glances at her, catches Brunella blushing and chewing her lip. “Um. What’re your… what’re your plans for the night? Are you meeting someone?”

A jolt of fear goes down Jade’s spine. She shakes her head so quickly the loose helmet slides around. “No! No, no, just wanted to see the party. Maybe dance a little if my leg holds up?” 

“Oh!” Brunella rubs her flushed cheek. “Well, um. I’m off in a few hours. If you aren’t here on Lady Hurlighu’s invitation, and you aren’t taken with Prince Airk, would you maybe want to—”

“Ser Knight!” A tiny hooded masked bandit lunges out from around the other side of the pillar. Both Jade and Brunella whirl to stare at them in shock. “I’m so glad I found you, we need your help! There’s a dragon on the loose—”

“Pimsel!” Brunella flushes an impossible red all the way down her neck. “Gosh! Golly! Wow! Didn’t expect to see you here! Weren’t you just in the great hall?” 

Pimsel swirls their short blue cape and raises a leather gloved hand. They sound a lot like Timmie telling tipsy tall tales, “I ran to find help because there’s a dragon destroying the great hall. Eating all the kitchen maids!”

“Sounds bad,” Jade agrees in her fake Kit-accent, happy to humor this strangely chipper presumably drunk newcomer. “Maybe I should go check it out.” 

“Okay, yep, sure!” Brunella clears her throat compulsively. Straightens her bunny ears. “Great. Good. Sounds great. Um. See you around, Ser Knight. Pimsel. I’d better go deliver these.” She hefts the muffin tray, holding it between her and Jade like a shield. “I hope you both have a lovely rest of the night.”

“See you!” Jade waves cheerily at her. Always a joy to chat with Brunella, however harrowing the circumstances. “Have a great Witch’s Night!”

“You too!” Brunella hustles off like there’s death dogs on her heels. 

The hooded stranger lingers behind the pillar as Brunella disappears into the crowd. They tug at the blue kerchief covering their mouth and the simple black leather half-mask over their blue eyes. Their voice is muffled when they ask rudely, “What the hell was that? You ‘taste-testing’ her muffins again?”

“Um, no. We were just talking.” Jade frowns at the small bandit, shuffling away. “Er. Have we met?”

“Are you serious?” the accent instantly drops into classic highborn Tir Asleener. The bandit pulls their hood down, revealing familiar rowdy hair in a messy tail and a faintly scarred notch in one ear. “Come on!” 

Jade startles so badly she almost loses hold of her crutch. “K— mmph!” 

Kit shoves both their hands over Jade’s mouth before she can shout the castle walls down. “Shh! It’s Pimsel or the Blue Brigand tonight, Ser Knight. ” Jade pries their palms away, Kit eyes her with some combination of pity and disgust. “Masks are going to be a damn problem for you, aren’t they?”

Yes, Jade is rapidly realizing, they definitely flipping will be. They weren’t an issue in town because it didn’t really matter if she recognized whoever was waving at her there. Before that, she stuck close to Timmie and ran or threw clods of mud and wet leaves when he told her. Thank stars she’d never been put on door duty with the other pages at the castle and expected to track the nobility. 

Kit pulls their hood back up and knuckles their eyes. “Okay, just — bow when I do, never talk first, call everyone by their costume, and it’ll probably be fine.”

Exactly what Jade was planning to do but she still resents the implication. “I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t think you’d come up to me in front of Brunella!” Jade gestures at the crowd. “She already recognized me! What if she realized it was you?!”

Kit’s jaw hits the floor. They point in the direction Brunella disappeared. “That’s Brunella?!” 

Jade glares, twisting her crutch in righteous insult. “Yes. Which you’d know, if you ever bothered to learn the staff’s names—”

“No…!” Kit stares at her, eyes crinkling with glee. “You’re flipping kidding me! You did not just say that!” They double over, cackling. Jade’s face flames beneath her helmet. “Oh my stars, I think I’m dying—” 

Jade stomps her crutch. “What! What’s so flipping funny!”

“Her name is not Brunella,” Kit howls, thumping their fist on their thigh.  

Bavmorda’s flipping bits. Jade should’ve known it wasn’t Brunella. This was why she’d never called her Brunella to her face . But Brunella seemed close and it wasn’t like anyone else was saying!

Years. She’s known this girl for almost ten years. Jade cannot keep doing this. She covers the opening of her face guard with her hand so neither of them have to look at her. “Just flipping kill me.”

“Nope!” Kit slaps her on the back, giggling hysterically. “Only Miss Muffin can grant you that mercy. Oh Mothers, she’s going to be so upset—!” 

Jade grabs them by the shoulders and pins them against the pillar. “You can’t tell her!”

Kit laughs even harder, curling over so her hold is all that has them upright. “How long have you known her? Forever? And you still don’t know her name?!” 

“What’s her name, then?!” Jade shakes them, too overwrought to consider the possibility of anyone seeing. “What’s her flipping name, asshole?!”

“I’m not gonna tell you!” Kit wheezes through the tears pooling beneath their mask, head bobbling back and forth as she tries to get an answer out of them. “This is t-too good. Poor Miss Muffin…!”

While a nickname Brun — not-ella! — clearly resents, Miss Muffin is probably as close as Jade’s ever going to get. She drops her forehead against the pillar over Kit’s shoulder with a defeated clank. “Do you think she’d kill me if I called her Brunny Rabbit?”

Kit whaps at her chest plate, sent over the edge into another fit of giggles. “I think she’d propose!” 

Miss Muffin it is. Hopefully someday Brun… whatever-the-hell can forgive Jade for this. Jade clinks her helmet into the stone, lightly so she doesn’t dent it. “I hate you.”

“This is better than Airk face planting in front of Fryst,” Kit gasps, straightening up with difficulty. “Zudderpickings, my ribs hurt.” They shove her off them and the pillar. Jade sways away on her crutch, will to live long gone. “Get it together, Ser Rusty Broadsword.”

“I think I’m gonna go take another swim in the pond,” Jade decides, turning for the servant’s door. Kit grabs her by the cape and hauls her back. 

“Poison yourself later!” They spin her around and sling an arm through hers, dragging her deadweight forward like a horse hitched to a cart. “Come on, loser! We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. Loads more people to offend.” 

Jade finds herself smiling again despite the horrific embarrassment. She matches their stride. Kit grins right back, eyes twinkling beneath their mask, leading her out of the shadows towards the great hall.

“Fine, I won’t throw myself at the mercy of muck pond on Witch’s Night if you tell me Miss Muffin’s real name.” Jade taps their shin with her crutch. She sidesteps a passing staff member with a tray full of empty goblets. 

Kit dances away, flitting through the much taller crowd like a fish in water. “There’s no way in hell I’m ever doing that. Not even for your birthday. You’ve had, like, a bajillion years to figure this out.”

“No one else knows her name either! I’ve asked!” Jade catches up with difficulty, larger and less used to masses of people in this space than Kit. 

“That makes it worse, actually.” Kit dinks the nose guard of her helmet. Jade scowls at them, bats their hand away when they try to flick it again. 

It’s very strange, being out in public with them like this. When they’re alone, in the stables, fields, or the pond, it’s Jade and Kit. Around other people there’s always an undercurrent of princess and peasant, even when their company is only Timmie. Yet here, in the halls of the castle itself, they’re Jade and Kit again. No one looks at either of them twice. 

Jade keeps expecting someone to stop her for acting so casual with the princess. Feels like they should be sticking to the shadows where it’s safer. There’s the security-minded part of her that also prickles at the idea of the princess wandering around unguarded. 

Except Kit isn’t unguarded. There’s a thick layer of anonymity protecting them tonight, and if that fails, there’s Jade. She just trounced all the pages including Hurlighu, she can take a lousy assassin or two. She’s got the armor for it and everything.

“Put it on my headstone. ‘Never knew anyone’s name, not even her own.’” Jade finds her way blocked by a warbling group of nobles in fancy gowns and feathered half-masks. “What are we doing first?”

Kit steps on toes until the nobles clear away, grumbling about uppity children. Kit shoots them a rude gesture. Thank stars their face is covered. “Killing a dragon. And I was thinking we could try to start an international incident, if Pimsel hasn’t beat me to it.”

Jade looks around the increasingly crowded halls. “Where is Pimsel?”

“Living it up on the throne, I think,” Kit grabs two rolls from a passing platter and tosses one to her, heading for the loudest brightly lit archway. “The brother and I went with matching gowns this year, so she gets to wear the dress she’s always dreamed of. I told her she could be as mean as she liked to anyone she wanted and to boss all the nobles around.”

Kit is really gunning for a revolution. It’ll be Queen Sorsha’s fault for not letting them abdicate when they asked. Jade sniffs her roll. Honeyed, and with a jam inside. Yum . “Tell me you gave her a writ for this.”

“‘Course.” Kit takes a big bite of their roll. “Sealed and everything. My better half knows too, but he never saw Pimsel’s costume. Threw in a payoff in case she sees anything.”

Bribes weren’t going to work on everyone forever. Jade tears a piece off her roll, struck with sudden nerves. Kit pauses in the archway, looking back at her. A canoodling couple of nobles pass them by without a glance. The guards posted on either side stay scanning the crowd for threats, unbothered by a couple of youngsters running around unattended.  

Kit waves at the archway decorated by a spirit-scaring strand of hanging dried herbs. Jaunty strings and pipes blast over their shoulders. Flickering torch light drapes Kit in shadow, the same horsethieving vagrant she met that first night, on their way to make kingdom-destroying mischief. “Ready?”

Jade straightens her cape around her shoulders. Brushes down her armor in case Kit’s mussed it. Locks in her Pacalcade posture, earning an amused glance from one of the guards. Jade sweeps her cape with a bow. “Lead on, Loav Rogue.”

Kit jerks with surprise. Their expression is hard to read beneath the layers of masks. She thinks they’re smiling. They grab her sleeve and sprint into the great hall, her pulse thrumming almost as loud as the throng of people.  

“Alright, Ser Rusty Broadsword, let’s go!”

/-:-:-/

Dancing is difficult with the crutch but not impossible. So long as Jade tweaks half the steps to favor her leg and skips the jumps, she can just about manage it. The joy of the music makes up for the rest. 

The footwork is thankfully simple. Familiar to forms she practices endlessly. She doesn’t get to dance much — too young for the taverns before, no time or will now that she’d be let in — but she’s always sought it out at festivals if only just to watch. A perfect partnered dance feels like swordplay, back and forth energy in a rhythm that pounds the ground and burns in her chest. 

It’s hot in the cape, but the hem flares when she spins which is too grand to abandon. The music’s so loud it drowns any other cares, leading a bouncy jig. The pipes blare a high note, the fiddles singing all across the spectrum. 

Across from her, Kit claps their hands in perfect mirrored time. They both stomp a foot forward, Jade swinging out with her crutch for the next kick. Kit grabs her arm and they manage a hopping twirl, careful of her leg. 

This is their first time dancing together, but they might as well have been doing it forever. Months of brawling have taught them each other’s motions. It’s easy to predict when Kit will throw in an extra twist, their footwork exactly as unnecessarily fanciful as when they’re fighting. 

Kit gives dancing the same whole body attention they throw their sword. They showed her the steps with snarky jibes and the ease of long practice. She can’t envision them in the stuffier gowns or slower paces she’s heard tales of from their despised etiquette classes, but here they look as natural as breathing. 

The lines step in closer, so that the two chains touch palm to palm. Kit’s eyes are shining through the mask. Jade knows she’s grinning wide as can be. A quick exchange of winding steps. Spin and then away again, caught on the arm of the next stranger down the chain as the line shifts them in opposite directions. 

They’ve done this twice now, and Jade’s leg is nearing its limit, so thinks this round might be their last. She’s been on the arm of what must be half the castle, nobles and townsfolk alike, all tucked away behind masks and careless as the winds on Witch’s Night. She’s fairly certain one of them was Airk or Pimsel, beautiful and poised in an embroidered gown Jade knows Kit wouldn’t be caught dead in, glittering mask across their nose. 

She dances with a gangly winged blizzardbird and a clumsy someone with a full bear’s head, Kit growing distant down the line. The song draws to an end. Everyone takes a moment to catch their breath, a swig of wine, or the eye of a notable partner. Jade accepts a cup of bitter juice from a porter passing down the chain and downs it in a gulp. Sees Kit wheedling a full goblet off a perturbed chambermaid and shakes her head when they hold it up in offer. 

The juice already has enough of a buzz to it. Jade’s not looking to get trashed tonight. If she wanted to do that, she could’ve gone with Timmie. Kit has no such qualms and takes a big swig. 

They’d better pace themself. Jade will not be hauling them to chambers if they’re too zooted to walk. The Pacalcade can deal with that.  

There’s a slight lull as the musicians reset. Jade’s readying herself across from a masked faerie she’s had a turn with before when a newcomer cuts into the chain with a curtsy. “May I?”

Jade bows happily as the faerie steps aside. “Of course.”

The new girl is stunning in an eyemask made of seashells, face painted in shimmering scales like a mermaid, glowing greengold against her warm dark skin. Her hair’s done up in an intricate sculpture of braids, winding up and back in a spiral like a conch shell. There are more small shells and beads woven into it and in chains around her neck and ears. Her gown’s embroidered in the colors and waves of the sea itself, flowing in froth around her legs. Jade doesn’t know if she’s ever seen a sight as pretty. 

This girl’s as much the princess as Airk or Pimsel. She can’t be much older than Jade, but she holds herself with the same effortless command of space as Queen Sorsha. Strikingly gorgeous and completely untouchable. 

Jade wipes her sweaty palms on her pants and tries not to stare too obviously. She has really great or truly horrible luck, only time will tell which. 

Jade’s shocked speechless when the Sea Queen smiles with friendly ease. “Well met, Ser Knight.”

Jade sweeps her cape and hopes it looks cool. Prays her leg still has one last gasp in it. “And you, Lady Lakesea.”

The girl smiles wider at the name. Did something right. Her voice sounds familiar, same sort of pompous lilt Jade’s heard among the nobility and the knights from the coasts. Maybe she’s visiting for the festivities. 

“How’re you liking our humble landlocked castle?” Jade asks, waiting for the musicians to finish their drinks and return to their posts. She’s surprised to find herself so bold, but it’s a special sort of night. She’s already danced with the princess three times. There aren’t the same consequences behind masks. 

“Well, it’s hard to compare to the blue caves of the inland sea,” Lady Lakesea plays along, waving flippantly at the opulence all around. “Winding like diamonds in the deep, flush with rainbow fish and monsters like you’ve never seen. Or the waterweed fields, flowing out from the shore like tall grass in constant wind, with the silver scales flitting in and out like star flashes. But I guess it’ll do for now.” 

Jade’s never seen the inland sea, but she can envision it now, and it’s beautiful. “Wish I could see it. I’m sure it’s stunning, if it can hold a candle to you.”

Stars, did she actually just flipping say that—?! Jade sounds like one of Lady Lenora’s dintithering suitors from the stories. Lady Lakesea also seems surprised, almost taken aback. 

Yeah, that was so bad. Jade doesn’t even know this girl, she should leave—

“Maybe I’ll show you sometime,” Lady Lakesea offers, ducking her chin. She glances up and swishes her skirts in challenge. “If you can dance like you can talk.”

Woah. Jade’s heart races. Okay then. Sure. Yep. Gonna do this. She’s already tempting death with the highest highborn in the realm, what’s another for the executioner’s list? This time isn’t treason. 

Jade can be an idiot with a noble who’s not the literal heir to Tir Asleen. She’s pretty sure there aren’t any princesses in Galladoorn and Cashmere’s too far for casual travel, so the odds of this girl being actual royalty are low. Jade’s not aiming to throw her into a haybale or shitpile any time soon either. Pretty much the opposite. 

Would Lady Lakesea actually be interested in… No, that might be a step too far. A dance, Jade can get away with. 

Jade’s planning a properly flirty response — might as well fall back on the ballads, they’re working for her so far — when her attention is yanked down the chain at the sound of familiar scratchy squeaking curses. 

Kit’s locked in battle with their next partner, a kid the same size as them who’s trying to score a drink off their goblet. The torture-masked goblin grabs for Kit’s goblet, shoving a fistful of sweets in their face. Kit smacks the candy to the floor. Negotiations have apparently fallen through.  

The goblin pushes Kit in retaliation. Wine spills all over them both. Kit shrieks and yanks on the grimace carved into the goblin’s wooden mask. They both go down in a slapping pile. 

Oh, come on! Is Jade actually going to have to abandon Lady Lakesea for this?! 

Nearby adult dancers in the chain haul the little assholes off each other before Jade can move. Kit and the goblin are handily evicted from the dance floor. A large tree-spirit in leaves and a bark mask follows to herd them over to the wall and arbitrate the dispute. Onlookers roll their eyes, this by far not the greatest nonsense Witch’s Night has to offer. 

Jade catches Kit’s gaze as they’re marched away, You flipping idiot, do you need help?

Kit pulls at their dripping shirt in exaggerated disgust —  Yeah, Jade sure saw it and Kit definitely started it — but shrugs her off with a flip of their wrist. Okay then, Kit can handle their own. They, their victim, and the would-be judge disappear into the crowd, no one the wiser that assault against the crown just happened on the dance floor.  

Lady Lakesea watches, amused. “You know them?”

“No,” Jade answers immediately, squaring herself up for the dance of her days. “Never seen that kid before in my life.” 

Lady Lakesea laughs, not buying that for a second. She glows brighter than the torchlight. Even her laugh is pretty. Any further interrogation is cut short by the music taking up again after the violent delay. 

Lady Lakesea picks up her skirts and nods to Jade, smiling sharp as a dagger. “The floor is yours, Ser Knight.”

A thrill runs through Jade. Timmie’s gonna tear her a new one for this. Only because he’s gonna be so jealous.

The steps are the same but the tempo is slower. It turns what was a race between partners into a jaunty flirting back and forth. Lady Lakesea’s steps are fast and sure, so precise she could be carving pictures into the smooth stone with her feet. Her skirts swirl around her ankles like water when she moves. She flows like the waves, twisting and bending around the music. 

Jade feels horrifically clumsy and stiff in comparison, especially on the crutch. Seriously considers dropping it and testing her luck on her abused thigh. 

But Lady Lakesea adapts to that too, drawing her out into a different kind of dance. When Jade’s boot clomps down, Lady Lakesea meets it with a quick click of her heels, twirling and taking Jade’s free hand. Whirls around her until it’s not clear who’s spinning who. Kicks up so their shoes clap in the air, then does the same with Jade’s crutch on the opposite side. Leads her into a series of back and forth steps that favor Jade’s leg, adding double time flourishes of her own. 

It’s like dancing with the wind. Lady Lakesea is all around, a flash of a grin or a twist of her arm. A clap here and a step there, palms brushing like the breeze. Setting them up as equals when Jade’s pretty sure she couldn’t show someone the steps herself with a dagger to her throat. It’s still great fun, letting herself be led in the dizzying spin. 

The rhythm runs faster. Jade feels like she’s finally got a sense of it. Steps to meet Lady Lakesea’s palms when the lines close in, and takes her on a spin of her own they part again, holding her wrist at full extension. Sets her crutch under arm and pulls Lady Lakesea back in for a twisting dip. Not much of one, still well within the bounds of propriety. 

Lady Lakesea smiles wide. Pats Jade’s pauldron and whirls away again. The strings sing in time to Jade’s jumping heart. 

The crowd’s taking notice now. Chain breaking reform in a circle around them as the other dancers keep time to Lady Lakesea. Jade’s cape and Lady Lakesea’s skirts fanning out behind them as they spin, stepping in and out in a teasing challenge. 

Lady Lakesea plays coy but forceful. Always too far to touch except when she allows it, compensating for Jade’s lagging leg with extra circling. Jade settles her weight on her good foot and spins the crutch like Kit with the flagstaff. Lady Lakesea laughs, twirling in time, like the crutch is a wand and she under its spell. 

She waits for Jade to rebalance, slides in close with a swish of her skirts, pausing for Jade to mirror her with the cape. Circles palm to palm before drawing Jade’s hand down to her waist. Jade shores the crutch under the arm and meets Lady Lakesea’s hop with a twisting lift. Barely a drift above the ground before she’s setting down again.

The growing circle around them cheers and claps in rhythm. The song crescendos. Lady Lakesea twirls away one last time, with Jade’s arm as the rope between them. Spins back in heartstoppingly close, wrapping Jade’s arm around her, and leans into a low dip, planned so that Jade can take the lunge on her stronger leg. 

The last note rings out. The dance is over. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

Jade’s frozen for a second, eyes locked on Lady Lakesea. Both smiling wide, breathless with the effort of it. Lady Lakesea is a warm weight in her arms, close to too much on Jade’s trembling leg. She doesn’t want to let go. 

“Quite the dance, Ser Knight,” Lady Lakesea runs a hand over the edge of Jade’s cape, hanging around her, smile still sharp like they’ve gone to first blood. 

“Nothing compared to you,” Jade answers truthfully. 

Lady Lakesea’s bemused but pleased. Her smile softens slightly. She taps Jade’s pauldron, breaking the spell. Jade helps her up, shuffling back. 

The crowd around them claps, jolting Jade back to her own full-body embarrassment. It’s all the dancers and many of the minglers now. Everyone was watching that?!

Lady Lakesea takes her hand at her side, whispering low, “This is the part where you bow.”

Lady Lakesea curtsies perfectly, Jade bowing next to her. Their audience laughs and breaks away, off to their own as the next song starts. A couple toss them sweets. “To the lady and her knight!” 

The next song takes life. Jade steps back from the lines, spent for the night. She nods to Lady Lakesea, not wanting to keep her from a next partner. “Thank you for the dance.”

Lady Lakesea lingers. The spell is gone, the charge between them tenser and more tentative than before. “Sure. It was… fun.” 

That’s good. Jade awkwardly adjusts her cape. “Sorry, I’d ask you again but I don’t think I can do another on this…” She motions to her leg. “Probably need to call it a night.”

Lady Lakesea smiles wryly, like they’re sharing a joke. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to run you into the ground twice.” Jade scoffs. Sure, this girl was a great dancer but she wasn’t that good. “I should probably rest too. Not supposed to be pushing myself so hard yet.”

Oh, was Lady Lakesea ill? Jade frowns in concern. “Do you need to sit? I could get you something.”

“How about some fresh air?” Lady Lakesea motions to the archways out of the great hall. “I know a place we could talk.”

Like actually?! Damn. Yes, please. However, Jade did come here with Kit. She surveys the room but sees no sign of them. She rocks on her heels, torn between loyalty and the sharp want to follow this thread further. “I need to ask my friend…”

“Oh, are you with someone?” Lady Lakesea looks disappointed and irritated with herself for allowing it. Must not get turned down often, no wonder why. 

“Just a friend!” Jade assures her. “I’m sure they’re fine, I just need to make sure they haven’t gotten themself thrown in the dungeons yet.”

“Ah.” Lady Lakesea has a knowing cant to her eye. “The scrappy wine-soaked bandit from before.”

“Yeah, that one,” Jade sighs. She searches the walls of people for signs of Kit and finds none. “I’d say they’re not usually like this, but I’d be lying.”

Lady Lakesea smirks. Perhaps a little approving. “You keep interesting company. Go on, find me once you’ve word on your friend. I’ll be by the entrance.”

Lady Lakesea points out an archway towards the far wall, shielded from the worst of the mob. Jade nods eagerly and darts into the crowd, neck craned over her shoulder to watch Lady Lakesea as she runs. “I’ll be back! Promise!”

The throng is dense and Kit’s nowhere to be seen. Jade plows towards the nearest staff member in purple, determined to keep this quick. “Hey, have you seen a kid in a blue bandit costume with a cape?” She wracks her brains, touches the notebook in her pocket. “Um, I think their name is Pimsel?”

“Pimsel?” the boy’s brow furrows in confusion, painted cloth wolf mask wrinkling around his mouth. His broom slows where he’s sweeping up someone’s mess. “Is she here? I thought she was off today?”

“Oh yeah, she’s here,” his fellow in a salamander mask whisks over with a tray of candied fruit. “She got a special invite from the prince. Wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Damn, really?” The wolf leans on his broom. “Good for her.”

“Have you seen them?” Jade asks the salamander. “It’s urgent.”

“Heh, yeah.” The salamander samples her own candied fruit platter. “Last I saw, she was having her ears boxed for scrapping. Going to get herself kicked out at this rate, on the prince’s personal invitation, too.”

Awesome, more unwitting traitors to the crown. If anyone realized who Kit was, more lives were going to be ruined than just Jade’s for missing out on Lady Lakesea. And Jade’s for being executed. But more importantly, Lady Lakesea. 

“Do you know where Pimsel went?” Jade presses. She sees no sign of the tree that took Kit and their goblin victim off either. Only happy revelers growing progressively drunker as the night wears on. 

“I think the guards dragged her off to the crow cages,” the salamander smirks. She pops another candied orange slice into her smile. “They were a pain and a half to set up, might as well get some mileage out of them.”

“The crow cages?!” Jade’s heart skips a beat. Public punishment is still a threat for those who get too unruly on Witch’s Night, but Kit’s scrap didn’t seem near bad enough to warrant that harsh a response.  

“Out in the courtyard for those who grow too lush,” the wolf chimes in. A highborn guest passes by and plucks a treat from the salamander’s tray without a glance at the woman holding it. “Only for an hour or so each, and they say the guards will let you loose if you can guess the secret password.”

“Why the crow cages?” Jade’s grip grows tight on her crutch. She’d prefer an actual sword for this but a stick will have to do. 

“Why not?” The salamander offers her platter to another set of guests who seem not to see her. “We’ve still got them from old Nockmaar. Not exactly using them for anything else.”

Queen Sorsha does purportedly have a sick sense of humor. Perhaps she thought the return of the crow cages would be a funny joke, not a terror on the populace. 

Jade straightens her cape and sets her shoulders. All she has to do is guess the password faster than Lady Lakesea can get bored of her and move onto someone more interesting and less weighed down by churlish acquaintances. “Which courtyard?” 

/-:-:-:-:-/

Chapter Text

The crow cages dangle low over the courtyard garden, punctuating the rose bushes as masked guests and staff wander nearby. The music and mingling is quieter outside, more a gentle backdrop than an overwhelming call to arms. The lanterns are fewer and further between. There’s not much decoration beyond the cages themselves although they set enough of a tone alone. Jade’s not old enough to remember Bavmorda’s version, but she wonders about the reaction from those who are. Thankfully it took her not a minute to find them once she was out in the chill night air. 

The cages hang at exactly the right height for passersby to bump their heads on the bottoms. Also the perfect level for people to pelt with rotten fruit, conveniently made available in barrels by the poles hoisting the cages. 

Jade selects a mushy tomato and considers how hard she wants to throw it at Kit’s face. 

“Don’t you dare—!” Kit threatens, tucking their legs back in from where they were hanging between the bars and scrambling to the back of the cage. Their goblin victim scooches over to make room. The prison would be much too small for two adults, but fits the two tiny terrors with ease. “I’m warning you!”

Jade squishes the tomato. It’s blackened and rancid smelling. Arches her arm back. “I had plans tonight, you know? A pretty girl is making eyes at me, but instead I’m here, stuck with you and your tomfoolery.”

“I’m not telling you to be here!” Kit’s cage swings back and forth with the force of their scurrying. The goblin grabs desperately at the bars. “Go away!”

“Hey!” The goblin kicks at Kit as their cage tilts precariously. “Stop that!”

“Go find your lady love!” Kit pleads as Jade aims. They and the goblin get into a shoving match to see who will take the tomato to the nose. “Get married! Leave me alone!”

The prison guard smothers a laugh. He’s clearly not doing a close job of watching the cages. On the far side of the line, a drunken severed donkey ass jiggles their door open and tumbles out into the rose bushes. 

“Tragically I can’t leave you, as I hear you’re to be strung up in the stocks once they let you loose from the cages.” Jade tosses the tomato casually in one hand. “For making several failed escape attempts and dousing a knight in rotted spinach.”

The goblin ducks his head out behind Kit’s shoulder, expression still fully hidden behind his carved mask of warped misery, arguing, “They’re not actually going to string us up. They’re just saying that because it’s Witch’s Night.”

The donkey’s head comes moseying down the path to collect her hind legs from the bush. Kit watches the pair abscond with seething jealousy. “Rolly and I had a plan. It’s not my fault Sir Jellininy was standing right there.”

“Ah, so now you two have made familiar.” Jade juggles her tomato, leaning on her crutch. She remembers young Rolly from the foundling home. A devilish little tyke if there ever was one. He’s definitely not here on invitation. “How lovely.”

“Pimsel’s not so bad,” Rolly the goblin claims while he jostles Kit into the line of fire. “They said we’d kill each other within the first five minutes, yet I still have all my limbs.”

“For now,” Kit mutters, trying to pry Rolly off the bars for use as a human shield. If Jade hits him instead that won’t be such a shame. “You’d better be using them to grab those keys.”

Sounds like another horrible plan liable to have them stuck here longer. On the other hand, the more of the night Kit spends locked away, the more time Jade has to woo Lady Lakesea without being torn between other obligations.

The guard winks at Jade from around his pig snout. No one she recognizes but probably another squire of the Pacalcade. “They’ll be let loose in an hour, Ser Knight,” he assures her. “Her Majesty’s feeling generous this Witch’s Night.”

“If I leave you here, will you promise not to take anyone’s eye out?” Jade demands of Kit. “Woundrot from spoiled vegetables counts too.”

“Of course.” Kit points through the bars at the rose bush below them, just out of reach of children’s hands. “Can you get us that stick?”

Jade glances at the guard who shrugs and rattles his oversized key ring, hoop so big you could fit an arm through it. “If they can nick it off me, they can go free faster,” he says. “Sir Jellininy is just a sore sport.”

“Come on, Ser Rusty Broadsword!” Kit leans towards the front and rattles the bars. Rolly sits at the back and kicks his legs out the side. Together they sway perilously on their hastily installed chain and pole. “I’ll give you whatever you want. A cool sword! New armor! My first born!”

“Go for the sword,” Rolly advises. “Their first born is already promised to me.”

Jade chucks the tomato at them both. It splatters against the cage floor and douses them each in a light misting of rotten juice. The cage bucks harshly on its chain as its two occupants rear back. 

“AUGH! J—” Kit squeals, barely catching themself in time against the bars and their own deep pit of lies, “—Jake! What in ducktunthering hell?!”  

“Screw you, Ser Knight,” Rolly hisses, wiping a small spray of tomato juice from his mask. “Better watch your back. We’ll be coming for it.” 

Jade reaches down and grabs the stick. She shoves it through the cage bars at them. Kit snatches it away. “All speed to you,” she agrees. “If you’ve messed this up for me with my lady love, I will be taking my due in blood.”

“Yeah, okay.” Kit is already completely preoccupied with trying to angle the stick so they can nab the keyring. The guard slides just out of reach again with another subtle nod to Jade. “See you in, like, ten minutes tops.”

It’s going to take them at least an hour to get free. Possibly more if that stick meanders near the guard’s face like it’s wiggling to now. That should be more than enough time to woo Lady Lakesea. Jade’s done her duty, Kit’s perfectly fine if conveniently confined for the next while. 

“Find me when you’re unleashed.” Jade turns and walks back to the castle at as close to a sprint as she can manage on her crutch. “But not if I’m with a girl! If I’m with a girl, stay as far away from me as you can.”

“If you’re with a girl, I’m going to tell her all about how you choked on your own snot when you gave yourself pond poisoning!” Kit hollers over her shoulder. Fair enough. Jade’ll just have to be faster and wilier than Kit. With motivation like this, it won’t be hard. 

/-:-:-/

Lady Lakesea is miraculously still waiting by the assigned archway when Jade arrives. The beautiful noblewoman sits on the closest bench with a goblet in one hand, the other drumming idly on a wooden banquet table that has long since been picked spare of food. 

“Ser Knight,” she says as soon as she lays eyes on Jade. She sets the goblet down with a decisive click. “You came back.”

“All the witches in Nockmaar couldn’t keep me away.” Jade takes the free space on the bench next to her, leg happy for the respite. She adds a wink to the line for good measure. “Sorry for taking so long. I had a bit of an incident in the courtyard.”

“An incident?” Lady Lakesea turns to face her, radiant in her oceanic gown. “With your wayward friend?” 

“Yeah, they’ll be a while.” Jade taps her crutch in emphasis. “Got stuck in the crow cages.”

“Her Majesty does have a particular sense of humor,” Lady Lakesea mutters. Jade nods, unwilling to speak such blasphemy aloud despite her many other sins currently hanging above the rose bushes. “Well, in that case…” Lady Lakesea stands and straightens her skirts. “Would you like to join me for a stroll?”

Jade would really rather sit here and rest her leg, but she’s not about to say no to Lady Lakesea. “If it’s out in the garden, we might be interrupted by caged vagrants.”

“No, nowhere so blasé,” Lady Lakesea promises with a sly grin. “I was thinking of a balcony away from prying eyes.”

Lady Lakesea must visit often to know the castle this well. Still, “Is it up stairs?” Jade motions towards her leg. “I fear I’ve been on this one too much tonight.”

“Oh.” Lady Lakesea eyes Jade’s bum leg with something like guilt. She shouldn’t feel bad, Jade was the one who chose to dance on it. “Maybe we ought to go to the garden after all.”

“I’ll brave the stairs,” Jade decides against her better judgment and abused thigh screaming at her. She doesn’t want to do this within spitting distance of Kit’s heckling. 

Lady Lakesea stands and offers Jade a gallant hand. “It’s not far, don’t worry.”

Jade takes it gladly and lets Lady Lakesea help her up, surprised to notice how calloused Lady Lakesea’s palm is now that she’s not whirling about the dance floor. The rough patches of a hand used to swordwork but not hard work, much like Kit’s. There’s more to this noblewoman than meets the eye.

“Lead on, Lady Lakesea” Jade suggests, giving Lady Lakesea her arm. Lady Lakesea arches an eyebrow, but tucks her hand into the crook of Jade’s elbow.

Lady Lakesea guides her through the archway into the castle halls. The crowd is thinner here, quieter, seeking privacy the same as Jade. She sets the pace slow, kind to Jade’s leg and the ginger way Lady Lakesea holds herself straight. “What mischief brings you here tonight, Ser Knight?”

“Mischief?” They limp up a spiraling staircase shadowed from the other guests. “Nothing more than the typical Witch’s Night trickery. Wanted to see the sights and meet the frights.”

Lady Lakesea is really bringing the poetry out of her. Any longer and Jade will have to forgo her post to become a traveling bard. 

“The frights,” Lady Lakesea snorts. They pass a wooden landing and keep going. This must be one of the high turrets. “Do you mean me or your vandal friend?”

“You’re the opposite of frightful,” Jade assures her. “A touch of magic, maybe.”

Lady Lakesea laughs the line off. She releases Jade’s arm to move ahead, Jade immediately feels the loss. “You’re loose with your words this evening.”

Witch’s Night always makes Jade a tad bolder. Something about playing knight in a way that others will nod to, instead of disparage in whispers behind her back. “Must be the Thirteenth Night so close,” she jokes. “But I’ll still thank the stars for striking me with such a sight.”

Lady Lakesea just shakes her head. “Spare me the poetry.” 

A push too far. Jade kicks herself internally. This isn’t Lady Lenora’s grand tales or the cobbler’s daughter in the dark. Lady Lakesea deserves proper wooing. “Sorry. You’re just really pretty, is all. Makes me tongue-tied.”

Lady Lakesea considers her from a step or two above. “Thank you, Ser Knight. Explains a lot, I suppose.”

Jade takes the excuse. It’s better than Lady Lakesea realizing how inexperienced she is with dalliances like these.  

They round another platform. Three stories up now. Jade strains on her injured leg, long enough for Lady Lakesea to notice. “Not much more,” Lady Lakesea points to the top of the stairs, “It’s just around the bend.” 

The throb of her healing muscle keeps Jade from further flirting. Lady Lakesea steps off the stairs at the next landing, leading Jade out into another hall. Instead of following it into the torchlit depths, she turns off at a high window-like arch. “Here.”

Lady Lakesea pushes aside a curtain and steps through. Jade trails her out onto a high balcony, and loses her breath in an instant. 

The view is beautiful. They can see clear over castle walls, out past town onto the rolling green hillocks below. Here by Jade’s feet, the ant-sized festival merriment lit by bonfires in the town square. There in the distance, the big arena where the knights train. Above them, the stars unobstructed by cloud or sunlight, sparkling like candles. 

Lady Lakesea practically glows in the moonlight. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” Jade gasps. “How did you find it?”

“I’ve been on some handful of adventures in this castle,” Lady Lakesea offers with a sly undertone. “The sort that require privacy.”

Oh boy. Lady Lakesea knows exactly what she’s doing, then. Which bodes very well for Jade other than the part where she knows shit all about how to handle it. 

“This is my first time,” Jade admits. “I’m not allowed in the castle much.”

“No?” Lady Lakesea’s eyes shutter beneath her mask. 

Jade flushes under her helmet. She rubs the back of her neck, hot with shame. “I’m not really a knight.”

“You look the part to me.” Lady Lakesea runs her eyes over Jade’s armor. “Very regal. And you’ve been nothing but noble and honorable, even under trying circumstances. The Shining Legion would be lucky to have you in their ranks.”

Jade’s chest swells. Lady Lakesea doesn’t know what her words mean, but they fill a part of Jade that’s felt shaky ever since swearing apprenticeship to Ballantine. “Thank you. Really. Truth is, I’m a page. Kind of.”

Lady Lakesea’s gaze turns sharp. “Oh?”

“I won the pages’ tourney the other day,” Jade brags. Lady Lakesea rolls her eyes. “Even bested the strongest swordfighter in our generation—”

“I hear that was by forfeit ,” Lady Lakesea cuts in. 

“—by forfeit,” Jade admits with a blush. “But they still don’t let me on the training grounds with the others.”

“Maybe it’s time for that to change,” Lady Lakesea murmurs. It’s a nice thought, not that she has any influence over it. Jade would remember if she’d seen this particular noblewoman around before. 

“I make do.” Jade shrugs and tugs at her cape. “You should know, I’m just a stablehand most nights. Before we…” Do whatever Lady Lakesea has planned.  

“Tonight you’re a knight in shining armor.” Lady Lakesea takes a step forward, hand coming up to brush Jade’s pauldron. “Perhaps even my knight in shining armor.”

A thrill runs through Jade from the tips of her toes up to the rims of her ears. “As you will it, my lady.”

Lady Lakesea lets her touch drift up to the side of Jade’s helmet, where she can only feel the phantom of it through the steel. “May I?”

Jade nods dumbly. Once the helmet is off, Lady Lakesea will know Jade for who she is. The orphaned stablehand for royalty who aspires to knighthood. Fluke winner of the pages’ tourney. A striver reaching above her station. 

That’s fine. They’re strangers to each other now, and they always will be. It’s not as if Jade is likely to see Lady Lakesea again any other night. Witch’s Night is for grand mistakes and even worse misunderstandings.

Lady Lakesea slides Jade’s helmet off and sets it aside on the balcony railing. Jade’s burning cheeks hit the cold night air. She nervously brushes back a sweaty stray curl. Her hair must be a sight after the helmet. 

“Hello,” Jade stammers, smiling despite herself. 

“Hello,” Lady Lakesea echoes with a matching grin. “You’re handsome when you’re smiling.”

Golly. Jade’s brain blips out when she tries to find a reply. Lady Lakesea leans closer, chin tilted high. “May I?”

Jade nods silently, eyes blown wide. Lady Lakesea presses a soft kiss to her lips. Sparks fizz through Jade. The kiss is a questioning thing, as if Lady Lakesea’s unsure of herself. That feels so alien to Jade’s impression of Lady Lakesea that she finds herself frowning. 

“What?” Lady Lakesea asks anxiously, pulling back. 

“Why are you hesitating?” Jade lets her make the space she needs. “It’s unlike you.”

Lady Lakesea’s eyes catch fire, bursting through the rest of her. “So it is.”

Lady Lakesea closes the distance with purpose this time. She kisses like she dances, demanding the lead, pulling Jade through a series of steps that sends her head spinning. Maybe it’s the magic of the night, or maybe it’s the tipsy-making juice from earlier, but Jade’s never felt so drunk. 

Lady Lakesea presses closer, lips parting. Jade tries to fight back, take some measure of the lead, but Lady Lakesea is unyielding. Shivers shoot down Jade’s spine as she’s backed into the balcony railing. Jade feels like she’s drowning, tossed about by the waves Lady Lakesea rules. The stars pop behind her eyelids, to keep her from getting too lost in the midnight dark. 

Finally, Lady Lakesea pulls back, pupils blown, lips swollen, panting. Jade tries to catch her breath, whole body sparking with energy like she’s just been given the run around in the sparring ring. 

“Wurley,” Lady Lakesea sighs, still a breath from Jade’s lips. “You can call me Wurley.”

“Jade,” Jade offers in return. 

Lady Lakesea — Wurley — laughs. It’s a wonderful sound until, “Yeah, Claymore, I know.”

Claymore…? 

It takes a second for Jade to boot her brain up to run through every possible iteration of how they might know each other. Perhaps Lady Wurley heard her name in stories of the pages’ tourney, except she sounds so familiarly derisive, just like—

Everything clicks into place and the whole night shatters. Jade nearly falls off the balcony. “Hurlighu?!”

Hurlighu stares at her in shock, quickly morphing into outrage behind her seashell mask. Oh stars, yup, that’s Hurlighu. “Stop. You’re flipping joking.”

Jade thinks she might be having a heart attack. She staggers backwards, clutching at her chest plate. “Why— what— oh my stars—”

“No.” Hurlighu holds up a hand, pleading for mercy. “Please tell me this is theatrics. I’m begging you.”

“You kissed me!” Jade squeaks, mind racing faster than Pickles in the fields and tripping into every vole hole. “Why! What sort of trickery—?! Why would you—!”

“Claymore, I’m going to shove you off this flipping balcony you absolute ducktunthering idiot.” Hurlighu really looks like she’ll do it too. Definitely flipping Hurlighu. Jade’s seen this side of her before. “You seriously didn’t know it was me?!”

Jade grabs her helmet from the railing and clutches it to her chest like a shield. “No! No I didn’t flipping know it was you! Are you a witch?!”

Hurlighu laughs high and loud, more offended than if Jade had tried to stab her again. “A witch?! A witch?!” 

“Like, a sorcerer!” Jade backtracks as fast as she can. “A really pretty and cool sorcerer! Who can hide her face with magic and—”

“I don’t need illegal magicks!” Hurlighu shouts. “Apparently all I need is my own flipping face and name! Which you cannot be bothered to learn!” 

“I’m trying, okay?!” Jade’s really had it with people coming after her for this tonight. “It’s not exactly ackleyakking easy! I got a notebook and everything—” Jade pulls out her pocket diary and waves it around, “—but now everyone’s wearing masks! You all keep changing your hair! I never used to have to talk to more than three people!”

“Un-flipping-believable,” Hurlighu curses. “You know that’s, like, half of why I hated you so much? You show up, some stablehand no one’s ever heard of, claiming you’re going to be a knight, and you cannot even be assed to get my name right! Was I supposed to assume you weren’t doing it on purpose?! When half the kingdom’s sworn fealty to my house!”

Yeah, well, Jade didn’t recognize the damn princess and they’re literally going to be ruling the kingdom someday so Hurlighu can get in line. Jade switches it back around her, expecting to land a hit, “How’d you know it was me!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that not supposed to be obvious?” Hurlighu sneers. “You’re a knight of the Shining Legion. You’re using a crutch because I busted your leg. Your fake accent is bad and you dropped it after like two minutes. It was not a mystery.” 

Put like that, Jade feels very stupid. Also extremely anxious, since no one’s supposed to know she’s here. 

“Don’t worry,” Hurlighu sarcastically assures her. “If anyone else recognized you, they’ll assume you’re here on my invitation. Since everyone else knows who I am.”

Oh stars. Everyone saw Jade leave with Lady Wurley Hurlighu? Hurlighu, who hates Jade’s guts, probably even more now that Jade’s bruised hers. “Why the hell did you trick me? What’s in this for you?”

Hurlighu stares at Jade like she’s worth less than dirt, which is familiar at least. “Trick you? You flirted with me! I assumed—” Hurlighu cuts herself off, eyes shining wet, “You know what? You’re right. There’s absolutely nothing in this for me.”

Jade has the sudden sense that she’s done wrong, even if she’s not sure how. “Hurlighu—”

“Shut up, Claymore,” Hurlighu snaps, voice thick with some barely restrained emotion. Jade’s never known her to hold back an insult before. “Just, be quiet. Before you make this even worse than it is.”

They stand in heavy silence, both staring at the skyline over the balcony. Jade pulls her helmet back on for a measure of armor around the raw nerve she’s become. The magic of the night’s completely gone, leaving only an icy vacancy behind. 

“I’m sorry,” Hurlighu finally tells the night sky. “For… when you didn’t know it was me. And for how I’ve treated you.”

Jade kicks at one of the pillars of the railing. Twists her hand in her cape to keep from reaching out. “S’fine. All good. Don’t worry about it.”

Hurlighu scoffs and shakes her head. “You confound me, Claymore. Why are you here, if not to make nice with nobles?”

Is that what she’s been doing? It’d be so much easier to be a knight if not for all the highborns. Jade strains to merge her memories of Lady Lakesea and Wurley Hurlighu and still can’t manage it. 

“Invitation,” she mumbles. “Prince Airk sent for me, since I won the tourney and all.”

Hurlighu shuts her eyes like she’s in pain. “Please tell me your vandal friend is not Prince Airk.”

“Nope,” Jade answers completely honestly and far too quickly, “definitely not Prince Airk. Just a foundling I know who wanted to sneak in on my coattails.”

“Thank stars,” Hurlighu mutters. “One royal patron following you about is more than enough.”

How much does Hurlighu know about Jade’s acquaintance with Kit? The thought chills her. “No royal patrons here. Just me, Jade Claymore, stablehand page.”

Hurlighu shakes her head, resigned. “As you say, Claymore.” 

The silence stretches awkward. Jade’s lips are still tingling from kissing. She kind of wants to do it again, if only Lady Lakesea was just a ghost from the coast and not her worst enemy cleaned up in finery. 

Jade kicks the pillar again, feeling the bounce of the stone through her boot. “Um. Do you maybe want to—”

“Not in a million moons, Claymore,” Hurlighu shuts her down before she can even get the question out. “I can’t court someone who couldn’t be bothered to learn my name and won’t recognize me in a dress. It’s too demeaning.” 

Ouch. Well. 

“Sorry,” Jade mumbles. The pace of her kicks picks up. Thunk, thunk, thunk. The drumming sound drags on between them. 

“Alright,” Hurlighu says at last, turning from the balcony and striding back towards the castle. “That was humiliating. Goodnight, Claymore. Thank you for making my last most embarrassing mistake look naught but a small foible. Let’s never speak of this again. Ever.” She pauses in the archway and pins Jade with a searing glare. “If you tell anyone, I’ll beat you to a pulp on the training grounds.”

“Yup, got it.” Jade nods so vigorously her helmet bobs on her head. “Never telling anyone. Thank you. Goodnight.”

Hurlighu leaves in a whirl of skirts and stomping heels, once again a hurricane throwing Jade’s life into chaos. 

Jade stays on the balcony, letting the frosty autumn night cool her down, staring at the tiny flickering torches across the castle and town like they might have the answers. She can’t go inside for fear of running into Lady Wurley Lakesea Hurlighu. 

She can’t believe that just happened. Flipping Hurlighu? Flipping Hurlighu kissed her, knowing it was Jade the whole time? It simply doesn’t line up. Like a fever dream, except this time Jade’s the one who got lightly stabbed. 

Thank stars she doesn’t train in the sparring ring with the rest of the pages, or she’d never again be able to show her face. 

The air is cold, her leg is sore, her heart hurts worse, and her ego smarts most of all. Her only saving grace is no witnesses. Kit, still hostage to the crow cages, crosses her mind. Telling them wouldn’t count, all they have together is secrets of the highest tier. But then she thinks of going down all the stairs she frolicked up at Lady Lakesea’s side. 

Jade sits on the edge and threads her legs through the balcony pillars until they hang over the edge above the castle yards. Her thigh throbs at the stretch. She lets her forehead fall, helmet clanking against one of the pillars to ice her raging thoughts. Kit’s still in chains. She can sit here for a while uninterrupted and wallow in the misery of her mistakes. 

/-:-:-/

Kit, small evil sorcerer that they are, finds her there what feels like hours later but is probably only a blink or two into her sulk. They waltz through the curtain, swinging a carafe of wine and weaving almost as much as the liquid inside it. 

“Jade! Finally! You would not believe what Rolly and I had to do to get free of—” Kit comes up short, seeing Jade’s sorry state. “Stars, what happened to you?”

“How’re you here?” Jade groans, helmeted temple resting against an ice-cold pillar. It’s only slightly helping slow her racing brain. “Why not leave me to my misery?” 

“I know all the best troublemaking spots,” Kit boasts. “And I saw you spiraling from the other wall when I was running round the castle searching for your sorry self. Why do you look like death warmed over?”

Jade snatches the wine from their hand and takes a long swig. It burns bitter all the way down, same as the cheap stuff. She’s never liked wine. “Kissed Hurlighu.”

“You what?!” Kit shrieks so loud the sound echoes off the rooftops below. Jade shushes them desperately. Kit plops down next to her and sticks their legs over the side same as she has, kicking eagerly. “Jade what the hell! Hurlighu as in Lady Wurley Hurlighu?!”

“Yup.” Jade flops onto her back, staring up at the stars and chugging wine. She assumes it’s far finer than any she’s had prior, but it still tastes like sour grapes. “That Lady Wurley Hurlighu.”

“My stars,” Kit gasps, clutching their neckerchief. They fall back next to her, staring like she’s a spirit come to life. “How? What? Why? When? Who?”

“She was my mysterious lady love,” Jade laments. She tips the wine bottle in cheers to the stars who screwed her luck today. “Flipping Hurlighu. I didn’t recognize her beneath all the jewels.”

“Wow.” Kit snatches the wine bottle back and takes a deep swallow. They don’t seem to have nearly as much trouble downing it as she does. “Talk about starcrossed. Did she know it was you?” 

“Yup.” Jade grabs the wine and knocks Kit with an elbow. “Give it, you’ve had enough.”

“No such thing as enough after hearing that news,” Kit grumbles, but lets her steal the drink. “Making moves on my ex-future-ex-fiancée. I thought you hated each other?”

“I don’t know!” Jade throws up her arms and spills a splash of wine. “That’s what I thought! But then she kissed me! I should’ve gone with Timmie. Or kept pelting you at the crow cages.”

“I think maybe you’re screwed.” Kit muses, one hand up like they’re trying to catch the stars. “Like, royally screwed. But not by me or Airk, so only almost-royally.”

“Don’t worry, Hurlighu and I aren’t courting.” Jade takes as big a mouthful of wine as she can stand. “Said she couldn’t step out with someone who didn’t remember her name.”

“Thank stars for that.” Kit rolls over so they’re facing her, chin on their hand. “Isn’t she already sneaking around with Lady Binnisun’s daughter?”

“Dunno.” The word sits sour with the wine in her stomach. “Yet another reason not to take up with me.”

Kit studies her with a squint like they might be seeing double. “What, did you actually want to?”

Jade swills the wine around in her mouth until her tongue goes numb. Finally she swallows hard. “No. Of course not. It’s Hurlighu.” The buzz is warming the tips of her fingers now and making her head light. She sets the wine bottle down, out of Kit’s reach. They’re looking a little worse for wear, a tear in their hood and scuffs all down their blue suit. “What happened to you and Rolly?”

“Nearly killed Squire Foldo by accident when we brought the crow cage down on his head.” Kit reaches over her to try to grab the wine but Jade bats their clumsy hands away. Poor Foldo. “Barely scrammed in time, then stole a whole two bottles from the kitchen. Rolly almost got swatted by the matron for party crashing. I think Pimsel might be in for it tomorrow.”

“You’d better get her off punishment free,” Jade threatens. She foils another attempt at increased drunkenness from Kit. They’re too young to be falling down this hole. “Pimsel doesn’t deserve to go down for your death dealing.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Kit lunges for the wine, Jade knocks them back. “Come on, Jade! I need that more than you do.”

“No way,” Jade pushes the wine bottle to the end of her own reach, “the last thing we want’s a lush sovereign.”

“Ugh!” Kit rolls back over to stare at the sky, already well past sloshed. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“How horrid, to be told no once in your long luxurious life,” Jade rants at the moon. “How awful, to not spend the night sucking face with your sworn nemesis.”

“That was your fault. You did not have to do that. I would’ve warned you not to if I’d actually seen her. Besides, I got thrown in the crow cages with a right cudglemugin for hours and almost brained myself trying to get out.” 

“Witch’s Night,” Jade curses. 

“Witch’s Night,” Kit agrees whole-heartedly. 

They lay there in comfortable silence. Jade counting the stars as they waver down past her nose. Kit trying to catch the same with both hands, empty fists clutching at the air. The air grows warm with companionship even  as the chill settles into Jade’s shoulders through the stone at her back. 

She could get used to this, swinging her legs over the side of the castle. Hanging half in and out of propriety with an… accomplice by her side. Her abused muscle feels like the trappings of victory and she’s bold with the thought of a future where her armor isn’t paper or her kisses born of masks and mistakes. 

“What would you do, if you could do anything at all?” Kit asks suddenly. “Like anything in the world.”

“Be a knight,” Jade answers immediately. 

“Other than that. Anything, Jade. Not just the stuff you’re for sure gonna do.”

Nothing’s for sure, but Kit’s blind confidence bolsters her. Jade’s never had the privilege to indulge ideas like this the way Kit does. She’s genuinely thrown by the thought, not sure what answers are even possible to give. 

“I don’t know. Travel, maybe?” She chews her lip. “I’ve always wanted to slay a dragon. Get married in a fine suit, ride off into the sunset with my lady love.” It’s a nice image. “Not Hurlighu,” she adds quickly. 

“There’s so much world out there,” Kit sighs, as dreamy as she’s ever seen them and completely trashed on pilfered wine. “Someday we’ll see all of it. Have all the adventures.”

“All of them?” Jade chews on this idea, far too tipsy now to really think it through. “Like even the gnarly ones?”

“Especially the gnarly ones.” Kit pumps both fistfuls of stars. “Covered in blood and dragon guts. Sleeping out under the stars every night. Fighting off bandits, and trolls, and evil sorcerers—”

“And Bone Reavers,” Jade adds sloppily. 

“—and Bone Reavers.” Kit slashes an invisible sword across the sky. “Rescuing damsels and making names for ourselves as the greatest knights the world’s ever seen.”

“Sounds grand,” Jade murmurs, letting the vision of it settle over her eyes. 

“Ser Jade Claymore and Ser Kit Tanthalos,” Kit announces like a tourney conductor. “Everyone’s gonna know our names.”

“Even out beyond the Barrier,” Jade ponders. “Where the real monsters are.” 

“Beyond the Barrier,” Kit boasts. “As far as the Wildwood and the Shattered Sea. Kit and Jade, adventurers to rival the biggest ballads.”

“Jade and Kit,” Jade corrects them. “Adventurers for the ages.”

Kit grins at her and Jade can’t help smiling back. Heart lighter than it’s felt in ages, even with the turn the night took on this very balcony. “Jade and Kit. The greatest of all time.” Kit basks until their confidence suddenly sours. Adds with unusual hesitance, “Friends…?”

Friends. It’s a novel concept. Her only friend before this was Timmie, and he’s more family than anything. But acquaintance doesn’t really fit anymore either. You don’t get trashed on a balcony with a sparring partner.

Is it really okay for a stablehand to be friends with the princess? Definitely not. Except for tonight Kit’s not the princess, and Jade’s almost a real knight. In armor like this, she could take the moon in her fists and haul it down from the sky. Give it to Kit’s grasping hands so they stop trying to pick the stars out of the night like a nervous bird pecking up seeds. 

“Friends,” she finds herself agreeing, and knows it’s right when she sees how Kit smiles wider than ever before. Big as when they’re winning, yet soft around the edges like they’ve just found a precious stone to treasure.

Jade and Kit. Jade’s never been part of a pair before, not even during her escapades with Timmie. It’s a strange feeling, not being alone anymore. Knowing that there’s someone at her side who’ll stick by her even when it’s not easy. Who’ll cling to her neck even when she body slams them into a wall. A friend. 

The greatest of all time, knights they sing songs of, adventurers for the ages, friends ‘til the end. One day, Jade’s going to make it true.  

/-:-:-:-:-/