Note: this book is not currently on the market due to needing a rewrite for the second half of the book.
Chapter One
Kitya swore roundly when she spotted the flags waving from the rooftops of the village she was riding towards. Still a league away, the flags were small but still visible. Kitya reined in and swore some more.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” her brown robed companion asked, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind a blunt tipped ear with a calloused hand.
“A tourney,” Kitya has distaste written all over her pretty face. “Father is hosting one of his blasted tournaments.” She gathered up the reins of her warhorse and started turning his head away. “Let’s go back to Elmwood until this madness is over.”
“Nay,” her companion said, shaking his head. “We must go on to your home.”
Kitya glared at the half elf darkly as he sat astride a bay gelding. She didn’t care if he was one of the most powerful mages in all the land, he was making her mad.
“Are you serious, Sandel?” she demanded and flipped a gloved hand at the town. “That’s sheer lunacy going on over there! Men in armor are going after each other with swords or lances, or both, some of the crazier ones, and for what! Some bit of gold and a reputation? Hah! The ones who die or get grievously wounded ought to be lauded for their stupidity in joining a tourney in the first place!”
Sandel regarded her with calm blue eyes full of wisdom beyond his seeming youth until the young woman finished her tirade.
“The tourney serves other purposes, as you well know. An alliance between two kingdoms was once negotiated and signed during a tourney,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “We must go on.”
Kitya, grumbling, guided her mount back around, glanced sourly at Sandel, and urged her huge roan into a gallop.
“Come, Shadow,” she called.
A giant black cat answered her call, emerging from the thick bushes lining the road. He paced beside the warhorse’s front left leg, easily keeping up. He was a sight to see with his graceful movements and his big head coming up to the horse’s belly.
Thus, Kitya rode through the village of Angweiss and started the approach to her ancestral home – a stone fortress rising four stories into the air. It had towers on all four corners and was properly manned and fortified.
Kitya glowered at the colorful banners draped over the gray stonewall of her home and at the flags flying from the ramparts and windows. All of them proclaimed the tourney and indicated who was competing. One banner in particular made Kitya’s blood run cold, and she considered turning around to ride off despite Sandel. The banner was one depicting a pair of crossed swords behind a rampart lion on a field of royal blue.
“I see the Crimson Ravens are represented this time,” Sandel spoke up, drawing her attention from the offensive banner.
Kitya scanned the fortress walls until she caught sight of the blood red pennant rippling in the breeze. The emblem was of an extended black wing with a shackled, sword-wielding claw emerging from it. The emblem was well known by nearly the entire land. They were a highly respected order of knights, and to be a member was a prize sought out by many, gained by few.
“Should make for a predictable outcome then,” the warrioress smirked. “I really doubt anyone here even comes close to the skill level of a Raven, but we shall see.”
“Indeed, we shall,” Sandel said, hiding a smile.
Chapter Two
Going around to the stables, the pair of travelers was greeted by several grooms. One of them, a tow headed boy of eleven years, grinned up at Kitya as he came to assist her with her horse.
“Welcome home, Lady Kitya!” he greeted her. “’Tis a tourney going on!”
“So I see, Tobu,” Kitya said, groaning inwardly at the use of her title, and she dismounted, swinging down from the saddle in one fluid motion as her warhorse knelt. She handed the boy the reins as the horse stood up again. “Be sure to get Alex to help you rub Blood Thorne down and don’t miss a spot.”
“Aye, M’Lady!” he said and then, he blurted. “I’ve been made a squire!”
Kitya blinked in surprise and then, she arched a brow at him, cocking her head to one side.
“Oh?” she drawled, pretending to be skeptical. “And just who might have the pleasure of your services then?”
“Sir Kitan, your brother, M’Lady,” Toby said, his eyes glowing with pride. “He was knighted not long ago an’ since he has no need of me today, he said I could ‘elp out in the stables for a bit. To stay out of trouble, says he.”
Kitya’s teeth ground at his continued use of her title, but she couldn’t gainsay him because he wouldn’t understand how much she loathed it. Therefore, she just smiled and dealt with it.
“A wise decision,” Sandel said, stepping away from the groom taking possession on his bay. “See to your duties then, Boy, whilst we see to ours.”
Toby, wide-eyed at the sight of the half-elf mage, bobbed several bows to both of them while moving backwards. He kept a tight hold on Blood Thorn’s reins as he went, and the stallion followed him willingly enough.
“Aye, I certainly shall!” Toby promised and turning around, he practically ran into the stable.
“You certainly have an interesting effect on the boy,” Kitya observed, a bemused smile on her face as she followed Sandel to the fortress proper. “You scared him.”
Sandel shrugged his shoulders.
“I can’t help it if my reputation as a grouch precedes me,” he said, his tone dry. “Besides, the boy would have talked your ears off if I hadn’t stepped in, and I’m hungry.”
Kitya rolled her eyes and laughed, clapping her friend on the back.
“You’re something else, Sandel,” she told him.
Sandel nodded in agreement, relishing the sound of her laughter; she rarely laughed any more and she was still so young.
After a brief exchange with the guards at the main gate, Kitya and Sandel entered the fortress proper. Once inside, Kitya led the way towards the kitchens, feeling a little hungry herself. They were in sight of the stairs leading down to the kitchens when the young woman heard her name being called in a strident, demanding tone. Visibly stiffening and setting her jaw, Kitya slowly turned to see an older woman bearing down on her, a frown marring the other woman’s rather pretty face.
“You aren’t going to the kitchens to ear, are you?” the woman demanded, drawing up short not far from the pair, and her hands went to her ample hips.
Kitya bit back a smart remark about eating being one reason to be in the kitchens, her mother not being known for her brains or her wit. Sandel bowed to the noblewoman who was clearly ignoring him.
“Actually, Mother, we were going to do just that,” Kitya said, forcing herself to smile and sound pleasant.
Kitya’s mother raked her eyes over Kitya’s dust covered leathers, taking special note of the young woman’s long, single braid whose hair escaped in tiny wisps all down it, and her frown deepened at the sight of the sheathed sword hanging from its belt around her daughter’s trim waist.
“Go clean up instead,” she ordered, still ignoring Sandel. “The last two matches of the tourney will be over in an hour’s time. After all that’s over, we’ll have dinner in honor of the victor. You will be there.”
Before Kitya could retort, her mother turned around and stomped away, disapproval in every line of her plump body as she left. Kitya pulled a face at her back.
“Lady Keela seems to be in a rather good mood today,” Sandel observed. “Usually, her face is nearly purple when she sees you after one of your absences.”
Kitya snickered, still watching her mother walk away.
“Come on,” she said, finally turning away. “Let’s not make Lady Dragon any madder than she already is.”
The warrior noblewoman led the way up another set of stairs close by that led to the sleeping chambers on the third floor. She found an empty room for Sandel to sleep in, and she sent a passing chambermaid to fetch fresh linens for the bed. Kitya waited around for the woman to return, noting all the boots lined up in front of doors, waiting to be polished.
“So fortunate you are to have found an open room, M’lord,” the servant said as she returned and started changing the bed linens. “So many have come to the tourney this time.”
“Oh? So who’s winning?” Sandel asked.
“That would be Sir Angarde a doin’ that, M’lord,” the young woman said. “He’s a fightin’ Sir Berek here shortly.” Her eyes lit up as she looked over the half elf. “An’ n’er two finer warriors I e’er met, tis true.”
Sandel merely nodded. Kitya sniggered, making the girl blush. The warrioress pushed away from the doorframe she had been leaning against, and she gave Sandel a jaunty salute.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit,” she said and headed for her own rooms in the west tower.
Chapter Three
Up until her thirteenth year, Kitya had had her rooms in the private family area of the fortress. She’d been the perfect little lady, though still prone to do her own thing at times, but she had still been the apple of her mother’s eye. Then, her birthday had come, and things changed. A few days after that fateful day, without a word of warning to anyone, she and Shadow, then only six months old, had moved her things to the west tower, She’d magically sealed every entry to the rooms she’d claimed as her own, and she’d left the fortress, never saying why. When she returned, a couple of years later, she was not only wearing the soft green leathers favored by elves, she was also wearing a sword, which she used with considerable skill. There was also a cold look in her blue eyes that had not been there before her birthday. She refused to wear a dress and sparred with her many brothers who were delighted in this change in her because it was something they could finally relate to. The rest of the family, the women any way, who were dismayed.
Now, once again in her old bedroom, she merely dropped her things on the bed and went out again.
She headed down to the kitchens where she found Sandel talking to the cooks and enjoying some bread and cheese.
“Save some room for dinner M’Lady,” one of the cooks warned Kitya as she grabbed some sugared nuts, “else your mother will be very angry.”
Kitya shrugged her shoulders, but she did follow Sandel back out without grabbing anything else to eat. The pair headed up into the stands where the family had their box set off from the rest of the town. Keela glared at Kitya’s clothing, but she said nothing. Kitya made her way over to a column where she could see, and Sandel perched himself next to a pair of the girl’s brothers where he could chat without disturbing anyone.
A herald came out now, and everyone fell silent as he introduced his master. Kitya, recognizing the livery the herald work, ignored the man to look for the master, her eyes cold and narrowed. She spotted him riding in on a young black stallion, a Rothgar warhorse, far inferior to her own Blood Thorne. She sneered at both horse and rider. It horse of poor breeding for a man of even worse breeding. Outwardly, Sir Berek was a handsome, silver-tongued devil every mother thought she wanted for her daughter while inside, he was the vile, perverted creature every father hated for his daughter. Kitya knew him all too well.
Now, he rode to his place on the field, mailed hand raised in salute to those who cheered for him. Arrogance radiated from him like a vile stench. Kitya’s stomach clenched with hate, and she thought she would vomit. She turned away even as her youngest sister, Kitma, squealed and clapped her hands in delight.
“A favorite have you, Sister Mine?” the warrioress managed to drawl, looking bemused instead of sick.
Indeed, Kitma held a favor in her hand, a lovely embroidered piece weighted with gold tips.
“She favors Sir Berek,” Kitan said, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“He’s far more handsome than Sir Angarde,” the little girl shot back. “Just look at him!”
Kitya followed her sister’s pointing hand with her eyes to the other side of the field. A man dressed in plate mail with black and red silks rode in on a large dun colored charger, also draped in red and black silk. The emblem of the Crimson Ravens graced his breastplate.
Kitya’s breath caught in her throat as he removed his crested helm and tucked it under one arm. Chestnut hair laced with gold fell in shining waves past his shoulders, a marked contrast to Berek’s close-cropped blonde hair. The man had the heavy brows of a Lisnin but the rounder chin and fuller mouth of a Southern Prisian. His skin was the dusky brown of many days spent out in the sun rather than the nearly milk white skin of courtly Berek. He lifted golden brown eyes to meet her grey ones, and Kitya felt as if lightning had struck her. She leaned against the post as her knees went weak, and things low in her belly got tight. She hoped nobody noticed as she forced herself to look away from him.
“Well, don’t you think Sir Berek is much more handsome than Sir Angarde?” Kitma demanded, looking up at her sister.
Kitya pretended to be bored by it all.
“They’re both ugly,” she said.
Kitan laughed at Kitma’s gasp of dismay and outrage.
“You’re impossible!” the younger girl cried and moved over to where her other sisters were sitting.
“That’ll teach her,” Kitan said, nodding as he looked after the girl.
“I hear congratulations are in order SIR Kitan,” Kitya said, waving her sister off, and she grinned at her older brother with pride.
Kitan blushed, but he beamed with pride as well.
“Hush, here come our champions,” one of their sisters, hissed at them.
Seeing the arrogant smirk on Berek’s face as he headed for the family’s box, his eyes on Kitma where she’d moved to the railing, Kitya made a decision. She always wore an emerald leaf pendant on a leather thong around her neck – a gift from a very old friend. Now, as she removed it, she knew her friend would understand what she was about to do with it.
She made her way down to Kitma as the two jousters reined in before the family. Kitma, blushing, rose as Berek saluted her with one mailed hand and presented her with the tip of his lance. The young girl carefully draped her favor over the lance, as far towards him as she could reach, and Berek lifted it so the favor slid down to his hand. He took the favor, kissed it and tucked it into the stylized rose protecting his armpit, the usual place for such things.
Eyes challenging, Kitya displace another sister, Katmi, and looked Sir Angarde in the face, the pendant in one hand. The charger bowed as the knight touched his heart with a fist in salute to her. He then presented her with his own lance’s tip, and she placed the necklace on the wooden shaft. It rode safely down and after kissing it, as was custom, his eyes never leaving hers; Sir Angarde put it around his own neck.
The two combatants rode back to their places while murmuring arose amongst the gathering. Earl Asric rose to his feet, arms opened wide, and everyone fell silent.
“Let the final joust begin!” he ordered, and the crowd went wild.
Inwardly smirking at the shocked looks most of her family was giving her, Kitya sauntered back to her place and leaned against the column, arms crossed over her chest. She was the epitome of casual indifference. She eyed Sandel who moved up beside her with a small smile pulling at his lips. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he watched Sir Angarde take his mark.
“Seems you’ve changed your mind about tourneys,” he murmured, pitching his voice so only she could hear him.
Kitya watched the knight a moment and shrugged.
“Not at all,” she drawled, watching the Raven charge, lance lowered, “anyone’s who’s against Berek deserves a gift of thanks.”
Sandel snorted softly.
“You gave a perfect stranger a favor,” he told her. “People are going to talk.”
Kitya’s eyes went cold, and she stiffened.
“They always have,” she muttered, her tone dark.
The joust ended with a great clashing noise as Sir Angarde unhorsed Sire Berek. The hapless nobleman fell over backwards, landing in a very ungraceful heap, and he didn’t rise. A court physician with two helpers and a tourney official hurried over to check on him. Sir Angarde gave his broken lance to his squire and waited, still mounted, to see what the physician would say. If Berek got up, the match would end with a sword fight. Berek stayed down, and it was the official who got up from kneeling beside the downed jouster.
“Sir Angarde is the winner!” he called out to Earl Asric. “Sir Berek is out cold.”
The crowd roared, stomping their feet and jeering as much as they cheered. Many threw things as Berek as he was carried off the field on a litter.
In the family viewing box, Kitma was beside herself, crying and acting as if Berek had been killed. She jumped up in a fit of passion and rushed over to Kitya who was simply watching her.
“Your ugly knight hurt Berek!” she accused, clutching her lace kerchief now damp with tears. “I hate you!”
She ran out of the box, two sisters following her while Kitya arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. Inside, she was full of dread. The younger girl was obviously smitten, and Berek took advantage of girls like that, for his own amusement.
“Well, it was an interesting joust,” Sandel drawled as the rest of the family filed out; the winners of the tourney would be presented with their awards at the feast later that evening.
“It was the inevitable outcome,” Kitya told him, turning away when she saw her mother coming over. “I told you nobody can match the skill of a Raven.”
“I didn’t mean that,” the mage said, nodding before he too turned away.
Kitya turned to find her father at her elbow. Looking tired, he smiled at her.
“You chose well tonight,” he said, tucking one of her hands into the crook of one of his arms so they could walk together.
“I chose with my head, not my heart,” she told him, her free hand resting on his arm as well. “I should have wagered, but it was a sure thing.”
“Berek is a favorite while the Raven was the underdog this day. You would’ve gotten great odds,” Asric told her, winking and chuckling as he patted her hands.
Kitya grinned and shrugged.
“Maybe next time,” she said.
Keela called sharply to Asric from somewhere behind them, and he released Kitya with a sigh.
“Try not to hurt anyone tonight,” he bade the warrioress. “Kita and Katmi have suitors amongst the visiting nobles, and Kiton and Kitan are wooing some fine ladies from other visitors.”
Kitya grinned at the thought of her older brothers settling down.
“I promise to try not to mess up any wedding plans, Father,” she assured him.
Kitya went up to her rooms and reluctantly, she put on one of the gowns she kept in the wardrobe. It was two years out of season, but its rich burgundy color always complimented her light auburn hair and pale gold skin so, she didn’t care. With only five small toggles cleverly hidden in the lay of the dress, Kitya could forgive the low curving neckline that showed a great deal of her bosom. A tucked in waist and gently falling skirts flattered her flat belly and full hips. Ignoring court styles regarding hair, she did her hair up into a series of looped braids favored by the Intari Elves. Using a garter to help hold close the dirk she strapped to her calf, she put on some black slippers. The sleeveless gown required she wear black elbow length gloves, and she was only glad they were made of rough silk and not slick satin as she pulled them on; she hated dropping her wine.
Dressed, she headed downstairs, ignoring the looks she was getting from people she passed, servants and nobles alike.
