Hold Fast the Knight Read online

  "That's not my business," Edgar said quickly, louder now, to try and speak over the ghost's ranting. His voice came out sharp; he'd never sounded so much like his father. For once, he didn't feel ashamed by that. "Or yours, thanks."

  "They are using you," the ghost said. His voice lowered now, though it remained slurred, still unclear at the edges. "And I am trying to help you."

  "You're doing an awful bad job of it," Edgar said, and he let his irritation push him past fear into challenge. He set his hands on his hips and glared back, as good as he got. He could see the rapid progression of emotion cross the ghost's face: shock and surprise at first, and then a growing understanding which then morphed finally into a full-fledged trembling rage.

  It happened all at once, faster than Edgar could follow: the ghost bared his teeth in a silent challenge before he vanished from where he stood in the chimney's shadow. A second later, before Edgar could figure out what happened, cold, cold hands closed around his neck. He sucked in a single hard breath as long icy bars of pressure closed in a tight squeeze. Edgar managed a single breathless grunt before a tremendous pressure drove into him from behind. He stumbled and there was a moment of odd clarity as he felt his feet slip on the shingles. It felt like his stomach dropped out entirely as he lost his balance and he fell.

  For a few seconds the world spun dizzily―he saw the ghost's staring eyes, the blue sky, the dark green forest, and the ground rushing up to meet him―

  *~*~*

  Edgar woke in the second unfamiliar bed in as many days.

  The mattress under him was soft enough that he could feel the way his body sank into it, heavy, almost trapped. A dark-purple quilt lay pulled halfway up his chest, tucked tightly around his sides. It took him a few seconds to register his hands, lying on top of that quilt, and when he flexed his fingers, he noticed it felt smooth as silk under his touch.

  He started to push himself up onto his elbows and winced at a sharp twinge that started at the base of his skull and ran down the full length of his spine. The breath hissed out from between his teeth in an abrupt whoosh.

  "Edgar!" Ariel said, and he whipped around to look at her. He regretted that move instantly as pain flared up higher and sharper than before. A groan clawed its way out of his throat as he hunched down again, his shoulders tight and his head throbbing.

  Leave me here to die, he thought with hazy misery. What happened to me?

  A moment later, cool hands touched his face and his back, helping him to sit up more comfortably than before. Everything still hurt, but it hurt less, at least, which was an unspeakable relief. When the pain finally faded enough that he could open his eyes again, he turned his head more slowly to look around the room.

  It was roughly the same size as the guest room that had been given to him, though it felt both larger and smaller, the way it was crammed full to bursting. A thin path wound its way around the bed and to the door, leading past a desk piled high with books and precariously balanced plates, a rather impressively hideous gargoyle statue, and three separate wide bookshelves, crammed full to bursting. All the decorations were in varying shades of violet and gold.

  Ariel sat perched on the edge of a wooden chair by his bed. A small tray sat balanced on her knees with a bowl of gently steaming soup. Her plain white dress seemed to glow faintly in the dimness of the room, and for a dizzy moment she looked like the angels Honored Lise liked to preach about. Her eyes were wide, though she seemed more startled than actually surprised.

  "You're up," she said, and then smiled. It warmed her features, and Edgar felt a soft little curl of something warm and happy go through him at the sight. She looked beautiful. "Violette said you would wake up, but I worried."

  "I don't like sleeping that much," he said. He could feel himself smiling in response to the look on her face, warmed through all the way. Then he shifted his weight and winced again at the stab of pain down his spine. It sparked a brief memory of a dizzying moment when everything spun and faded―"Or... I fell off the roof, didn't I?"

  Ariel's expression shuttered again. He missed the smile on her face immediately. She lowered her gaze and turned her head slightly away, and she laced her fingers together, so tightly her knuckles went white.

  "You did," she said at last. "There was some―interference, let's say. I promise you, neither Violette nor I knew something like that could even happen. We just heard you yelling, and she saw what happened." She squared her shoulders and looked at him again, her chin raised and her jaw set. "You don't have to believe me. I know that the situation must seem awful, but―"

  "I believe you," Edgar said. It was half impulse in response to the unease on her face, but it surprised him a little to realize he meant it.

  "―Violette really didn't―what?" She blinked.

  Edgar blinked back. "I believe you," he said again.

  "Just like that?" Surprise softened her face, and the grip of her fingers loosened slightly. She still held herself tense, like she was braced for a blow, but for the moment she was distracted. "After what you heard?"

  There was no mistaking what she meant by that. "The princess tricked me, and she pushed me," the ghost whispered in Edgar's memory, fierce in his resentment. He lowered his head. There was a solid, if dull, line of pain that still ran the whole length of his spine, which throbbed with each breath.

  "Yes?" he said, then shrugged when she made a little incredulous noise. It was almost funny, though he bit his tongue to keep from laughing at the absurdity; even he could tell it sounded odd. "I mean no disrespect to the dead, but it didn't seem he was very trustworthy."

  Ariel drew back in her seat. She didn't quite look him in the eye as she said slowly, "He wouldn't leave me alone. Violette offered him the same challenge you got. He took it. And he wouldn't stay in our home, but he'd follow me around everywhere I went. I tried to warn him Violette wouldn't be happy. I told him no. He wouldn't listen."

  Her voice was sharp and hard, and Edgar would have winced if his body had been cooperative. As it was, he watched silently as she lifted her chin, glaring defiantly into middle distance. "He dragged me to the roof with him, but I didn't push him. He was showing off, and his footing slipped, and he fell." Just like you.

  "But you didn't help him when he did," Edgar said, and Ariel flinched.

  "No, but―"

  "But you helped me," Edgar said to cut her off, as gently as he could. "I mean, if you really wanted to get rid of me, that's a good way to do it, right?"

  Her brows drew together, her mouth pursing into a confused little bow. She leaned forward in her seat, her fingers laced together so tightly that the knuckles went white. "I don't want to 'get rid' of you."

  "I'm glad." After a moment of hesitation, he reached over and patted her hands, just a couple of times, then pulled back. He hoped it seemed friendly rather than condescending; she looked surprised enough that it might not have been either. "But I mean, that's part of it. Why go through the trouble of helping me, if you were responsible for my falling?"

  Ariel's frown deepened. "I don't know why Violette does things," she said, slower now, almost hesitant. She wouldn't meet his eyes again, and he thought that it had to be some sort of excuse. She licked her lips, a quick nervous gesture. "I mean, she's her own person, of course she is, and she doesn't always do the things that I think she should, but she's never―she isn't malicious." Now, finally, she looked at Edgar from under her bangs. She still looked angelic, and Edgar had to grip the blankets to keep himself from reaching out to her again. "She's capricious, but she's never outright deliberately cruel."

  "Witches have reputations," he said at last, quietly. "And that doesn't answer my question."

  "Violette saved my life," she snapped, then recoiled as if she'd shocked herself saying it. A moment later she scowled, rising up out of her chair and staring down at him before he could respond. There was something more under her words, buzzing and frantic, and Edgar wanted to reach out and touch her hands again, perhaps press them
between his own, as if that could comfort her. He tucked his fingers under the edge of the comforter to keep them out of the way.

  When he said nothing, Ariel shook her head, her shoulders hunching as she went on. "And you know, she's a witch. She didn't have to do anything for me. She could have ignored me entirely. It probably would have been better for her if she had; she wouldn't have all these 'knights' coming out here to bother her, and she wouldn't have to worry about me, she could just have continued on as she―but she did. She saved me. My parents had no idea what to do with me; they wanted what they thought they had. But here it's just―me. Ariel."

  She stopped at that, sucking in a hard breath. She wasn't panting, but her breathing was rough enough that Edgar's throat ached in sympathy. He waited, and when it was clear that Ariel had finished, he let himself reach out again, though he didn't make full contact, just let his hand hang there in invitation and supplication.

  "Yeah," he said at last. It felt strange, knowing what he was going to say; his story didn't have nearly the same weight. "Da didn't really know what to do with me, either."

  He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. How did his experiences even compare? It was presumptuous, wasn't it, to try and compare their experiences? Edgar cleared his throat. "I mean, never mind that, why don't you just―"

  Something in Ariel's posture softened minutely. She shook her head and reached out to put her hand gently on his.

  "I don't mind," she said. "Tell me about your father."

  Edgar studied her face for a few seconds, then made himself press on. "He used to be a knight in the King's Guard, I think I've said. He was real proud of it, too. When I was a kid, he told stories all the time. Always like he was so proud of it. 'One time, I saved the king from this,' or 'one time, I fought off a whole bandit troupe singlehandedly.' Like that.

  "So I knew, I decided real early on that I wanted to be a knight, too. But that part, he didn't like that much." Edgar laughed a little. It sounded strained, even to his own ears, and Ariel didn't look like she believed it either. "I never really got why, but he wanted me to stay on the farm to help out. Said if I went off on some shitty quest, I'd be on my own."

  "Edgar..."

  "I thought if I could actually become a knight, maybe he'd be proud enough to take it back." Edgar shrugged. He stared at his hand, still outstretched.

  "You're not meant for the blade, boy; go back to the field where you belong. None of us need that sort of shit."

  "Now that I think about it, he never told me why he left in the first place."

  He'd had his guesses, of course. Between himself and his siblings, they'd considered a whole variety of possibilities based on their father's bad leg and his worse temper. Something must have happened, and the two surely had to be related. It was just a guess of which one had come first: had their father's tongue driven his comrades to abandon him at a crucial moment, or had the bitterness come after, when after an injury so deep he would be slow and awkward for the rest of his life? He'd still had pride in the work for years, and it had only faded when Edgar had begun to express interest.

  Warm fingers closed around Edgar's hand, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up a little too fast, a little too sharp, but the twinge in his neck barely felt like anything when Ariel's face was suddenly so close. He watched her throat work a few seconds before she finally said, "I'm sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For―" She gestured vaguely with her other hand, her brows drawn together. Her gaze dropped away to the side; she looked ashamed for some reason. Her voice was low and rushed, a relentless spill of words. "For fathers, maybe. For all of it. You came here because you thought you'd become a knight, and you asked me if I wanted to be rescued, and I didn't say, but no. I don't. I want to stay here."

  Edgar watched her, and the way she pressed her lips together after the confession. He turned his hand a little in her grip so that he could squeeze her fingers in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "All right."

  She finally glanced back at him, her head lowered and her shoulders hunched. It was vastly different from the confident figure she'd cut the day before, stepping between him and Violette. He thought about what the ghost had told him, and wondered how much of that had been scripted. The thought made him smile faintly, though that only seemed to make her expression crumple further.

  "Really?" she whispered. "Just like that? You're not going to ask why?"

  His smile widened. Laughing would be a bad idea, and so he managed to swallow it back. "I sort of guessed," he said. "You seem really happy here."

  "I am," she said in soft agreement. She tugged her hand from his so she could lace her fingers together again. This time, when she ducked her head, she continued to watch him through her bangs. He half expected her to bite her lip at him, the way girls would at harvest dances, and then he nearly laughed again at the idea. Ariel was a princess; she didn't need to do things like that. He couldn't actually look away from her as she added, like a confession, "I don't want to go back."

  Edgar rubbed the back of his neck. "To be honest, I wouldn't either. Not in your position. Doesn't seem like there's much left there for you."

  Ariel shook her head. "There's not," she said, and there was a note of finality in her words. "I used to wish there was. It's not like I wanted things to get cut off the way they were. But I'm not going to regret the things I can't change, either." She ducked her head for a few seconds, and when she looked up she was smiling again. It was small and tentative and also like the sun coming up. "Violette taught me about accepting that," she said. "She's been teaching me a lot of things. She treats me well. I really―I like her very much." Her face went a little pink as she said it.

  "I kind of guessed that, too," Edgar said. The princess and the witch are lovers. That means in love, too. He was almost relieved at the thought. If anyone asked, he could say with confidence that the princess was in no danger. With a witch by her side, what did she have to fear? "So I'll be on my way after the end of the month."

  The smile dropped off Ariel's face at once. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward in her chair abruptly, so close to him that he could feel her breath on his cheek. His face flushed and he sputtered, though he couldn't look away.

  "You don't have to," she said. She took his hand again, this time with both of hers, holding it close. He could feel what seemed like every individual ridge and line of her calluses, pressed against his skin. He wanted to say something―anything at all―to break the moment, but instead his face went hotter and his voice remained dry as Ariel went on. "I'll explain to Violette. She'll understand. She's just trying to protect me. Us. You wouldn't believe how many people tried to come 'rescue' me, the first couple of years after I left. She won't force you to do anything more after this."

  "We made an agreement, though," Edgar said at last. He could hear the way his voice wavered and cracked, as if he were a young teenager all over again. "I was just here to try and rescue you, and if you don't want it, I don't want to be in the way."

  "You wouldn't be," Ariel said immediately. Her grip on Edgar's hand tightened. "You made the agreement under false pretenses, anyway. That was my fault. You really don't need to do this. That's not the only ghost around here, you know, and if you ran into one of the others―"

  "I don't mind staying for now," Edgar said. He turned his hand so he could squeeze her fingers in return. "It'll give me a bit of time to think about what I want to do next."

  Go home, probably, he didn't add. Take up the ploughshare and commit himself to the farm, as his father had wanted. A princess could defy her fate, and a witch could love her enough to challenge a whole kingdom, but a farmboy who had barely learned anything about the world was better off where he'd started, quiet and unremarkable.

  Ariel's mouth pursed into a deeper frown, as if she'd somehow heard all of that. "Edgar―"

  "You're not going anywhere for a while still, at least," Violette said.

&n
bsp; Ariel twisted in her chair and Edgar looked up, past her shoulder. Violette stood leaning in the doorway; she'd exchanged her previous ridiculous dresses for a sleeved shirt and trousers, with a heavy canvas smock over that. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a tight bun, with only a few wisps pulled free around her face. She looked so different, neat and practical, that Edgar nearly did a double-take.

  "Violette," Ariel said. "You're not really going to make him do it, are you?"

  "I'm not going to stop him if he wants to," Violette said. She met Edgar's eyes and cocked her head. There was a curiously bright spark in her eyes, and for the first time, Edgar felt like she was looking at him, a person, and not just a body. "He's a grown man, and if he knows what the consequences are, that's his decision, isn't it?"

  "I'm really just stalling for time," he admitted. Embarrassment dulled his voice, but it was still the truth, so he swallowed and pressed on. "So whatever it is, I'll do it."

  "There you have it." Violette closed her eyes for a moment, then opened one to stare at Edgar. Her lips pursed into a thoughtful frown. He felt himself start to blush again. "But not immediately. You took a pretty nasty fall, so the first thing you're going to do―call it your task and a half, if you must―is rest and heal up. Got that?"

  Edgar blinked and then finally laughed. It came unexpectedly even to him, welling out of a warm pressure in his chest: relief, maybe. The burden of the future was still there, looming high and dangerous, but for the moment―for now―things were all right. Ariel looked surprised but tentatively pleased; Violette's expression itself didn't change, but her eyes seemed warmer than before.

  How silly, to be laughing about this! But Edgar continued a few moments more, then took a deep breath.

  "All right, I'll be in your care until then," he said. "Thank you."

  *~*~*

  "You didn't have to do that," Ariel said later, after Edgar had been tucked in again and left to sleep. He'd grumbled a little, but he'd eaten without prompting or needing assistance, and he'd drooped before he'd even finished all his soup. Ariel had lingered to fuss over the blankets even after his breathing had evened out, and when she'd finished, Violette had still been there in the doorway, waiting.