Page 100 of The Sun King's Noon

“And another world, you say? Truly another? Flint, that is extraordinary. Has it a name? Have you been there? Are there?—”

Flint stopped walking and groaned. “Personal space, handsome!” He stuck a finger into the middle of Richard’s collarbones. “You’re invading it.”

Richard blinked over Pip’s hair. His lower lip jutted out. “But I simplymustknow. You summoned a being from another world and stomped a Baba Yaga into the dirt. Be reasonable, Flint. A man cannot be expected to walk quietly through a wood after such a thing.”

“You might well try, you ballsack,” Flint snapped.

Richard gave him an aghast look and cupped Pip’s ear.

“Oh, fuck off.” Flint rolled his eyes. “‘Ballsack’ isn’t going to corrupt their precious little ears.”

He turned past a boulder and quickened his pace. Richard resumed his pursuit. Dimly, he was aware of Kaelen plodding along behind, speaking to Jeya.

“At least tell me,” Richard called to Flint’s back, “does the Tower have to come when summoned, or is it more akin to an invitation? For a being like that must have agency, and?—”

Flint groaned again. He made to turn left, and when Richard followed, spun right and ran. In a blink, the trees had swallowed him whole.

* * *

It wasdusk by the time they reached camp. The troupe descended on the children with predictable theatricality. Talia crushed a mortified-looking Jeya to her chest. The triplets were swept up in much the same fashion by an assortment of performers, including Tilda and Wren, who sobbed into the boys’ shoulders. In a matter of minutes, the boys were freed of their shackles by heavy-cutters, scrubbed about the face, and fed honey-cakes from the cook’s private store. Daisy joined them, legs swinging as she munched on a sugared plum.

Richard stood at the edge of it all, brushing aside Master Clemens’ thanks and accepting the first bowl of dinner. He scanned the crowd for Flint and asked Svetra when he failed to find him. She had laughed.

“Probably drinking milk with Keith if you know what I mean.”

It took Richard a moment to parse the meaning of her wink, and another moment to try to mask his disgust.

“Best leave him to it.” Svetra laughed again. “He’ll be along in his own time.”

With a roll of his eyes, Richard sat on a log with his bowl. Nearby, Master Clemens was discussing travel plans with a few labourers—”We reach Vexmara tomorrow evening instead of morn. Makes no odds. We’re not booked to perform till two nights after, and the city won’t go anywhere in the meantime?—”

Ravenous, Richard tuned him out to focus on the chicken soup. It was only once he finished that he realised.

Kaelen had not spoken a word to him.

The thought was accompanied by unease. Kaelen had spent the entire return journey in discussion with Jeya—about her sword, her dead mother, and her stances she’d memorisedfrom watching tourneys. Then, on reaching camp, he’d passed Richard his lost sword—retrieved from the cottage’s wreckage—and rushed off to check on the horses.

Richard’s eyes narrowed as Kaelen emerged from where the horses had been tethered. The knight ignored calls from some performers to join them for dinner, and instead strode towards Flint’s wagon.

Richard followed. He ducked through the wagon’s flap, letting it fall behind him. Inside, Kaelen was laying out the bedrolls, the lantern’s glow highlighting the stiff line of his shoulders.

“There you are,” Richard said. “I was beginning to think you had been eaten by the horses.”

Kaelen grunted, but did not turn.

Richard crossed to where their packs were bundled in the wagon’s centre. He bent over them, pretending to search for something.

“What a day,” he tried again. “Was it not extraordinary, Kaelen, what Flint did at the end? A summoned entity from another world, drawn through a tarot card. Never have I read anything of the like.”

“Hmm.”

Richard glanced at the bedrolls. Kaelen was plumping the pillows with his back turned.

“Kaelen.” Richard hesitated. “I have found you a squire.”

Kaelen’s back stilled. He looked over his shoulder, brows knitted. “What?”

“Jeya.” Richard gave a tentative smile. “The girl has talent. She executed a perfect Shortman’s Cleave against Yelka with that wooden sword of hers. And she is brave, ready to defend.” He spread his hands. “She needs a teacher. The arm matters not. You can train her to compensate.”