Page 31 of The Searching Songbird

She smirked. “Yeah, that. So? What's the deal with that? How did you end up being Mr. Knight-in-shining-armor, anyway?”

“I told you before, I'm no knight.”

“Ah, yes, that's right. Knights are over-rated, I forgot.”

“More like they're all a bunch of over-stuffed, arrogant, trash donkeys.”

“Trash donkeys? Is that even a thing?”

“Have you ever met a knight?”

“I danced with one just a few weeks ago, actually.”

He could have lived without that knowledge. Just one more reason to dislike the bastards. “Well, then, you know what a trash donkey is.”

“Oookay. So, if you're not training to be a trash donkey, then what's up with the serious combat skills?”

He chuckled. “Trash donkey. Somehow it sounds even more fitting when you say it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Now you're just stalling.” Her eyes softened, and she bumped his knee with her leg. “If you don't want to tell me, that's okay. I'll drop it.”

“No, it's fine.” He sighed. “As you probably know, Antos is a very military-centric kingdom. Each family is required to send their first-born child to train with the Antoski army when they turn eighteen.” He leaned forward, catching the hem of her skirt and twirling it around his finger absentmindedly. A dusting of pink spread over her face, but she didn't pull away.

“I was an indentured soldier for five years, earning nothing for my service aside from food and board. By the time I was finally released from duty, I had nothing to show for it. I was dead broke and had no other skills aside from killing and following orders.”

“That's crazy. Your king doesn't provide you with any kind of stipend to help you get started?”

“Nope. Most soldiers don't leave. After the first five years of required service, anyone who stays receives a salary. It's not much, but it's better than being homeless, and there's always a chance they'll be able to move up the ranks over time and make a real life for themselves.”

He dropped his hand back to his knee, his fingers already missing the feel of her skirt. What was that, anyway? He was pretty sure it wasn't silk, but it sure was soft.

“So, uh, yeah. The army. That's where I learned to fight. The Antoski generals are pretty strict about their training. They don't put up with any slackers. You get good, or you pay the price.” His back still ached sometimes from all the lashes he'd been given that first year, but she didn't need to know that. She'd already seen enough the last few days to last her a lifetime.

“Is that why you dislike knights so much? Because of your time in the army?”

Aaaaand, there was the follow-up. Of course, she wouldn't be satisfied without the whole, sordid story. Stubborn minx.

“It certainly didn't improve my opinion of them. They were arrogant prats who thought they were better than everyone simply because of the families they were born into. But, no, that isn't the only reason I dislike knights. My reasons are more... personal.”

The old anger crept in, the wound too fresh for him to keep an even tone. “When I was finally released from duty, I immediately headed for home. While we weren't in the same class as the nobility, my family had always been fairly well off, by northern standards, anyway. We were the proud owners of Granite Ale, brewers of some of the finest ales in Antos. We'd even begun exporting to Eldour, with plans of building a second brewery there that I would manage.”

He paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Lily seemed to sense that he was struggling, and she slid down off the bed, her delicate hand wrapping around one of his rough ones and giving it a gentle squeeze. She didn't say anything, but he could feel her support just the same. Clearing his throat, he attempted to continue.

“When I got home...” He shook his head, swallowing, and Lily gave his hand another squeeze. He wove his fingers between hers as he stared at their interlocked hands, anything to distract him from the memory of that day.

“When I got home, the first thing I noticed was how much the house had fallen into ill-repair. I worried that something may have happened to my father, that he might have fallen ill and they hadn't had the heart to tell me in a letter.” He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill. His throat closed up, refusing to let him say the words he had long since buried.

A soft hand touched his cheek, cupping the side of his face as a thumb ran slowly over his eyelid, dashing away the moisture that had built in the corner. His chest tightened as he felt her move, pushing her small frame between his knees as she wrapped her arms around him, hands sliding up into his hair as she silently held him.

“It's okay,” she whispered. “You don't have to tell me.”

He took a ragged breath in and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. “A group of knights had taken over the estate... requisitioned it in 'the name of the king' or some such bullshit. They beat my father to death, for sport. They forced my mother and sister to wait on them hand-and-foot, slaves in their own home. Mirabelle... she was only ten when I left home, a mere thirteen when the knights took up residence. She was sweet and pure, on the cusp of blossoming into a beautiful young woman. She said the men were always watching her with hungry eyes, their hands too often finding ways to touch her whenever they were near. My mother...”

He broke off in a sob, his shoulders shaking from pent-up grief. Lily's hands made soothing circles in his hair as she continued to hold him.

“My mother, she saw the way the knights would watch Mirabelle, and she protected her in the only way she could. They passed her around from man-to-man, like some sort of plaything. And she took it without resistance, so long as they stayed away from Mirabelle.”

His hands clenched into fists as he remembered the scene he had walked into that day. His mother, clad in nothing but scraps, serving breakfast to the very bastards who'd taken over their home. Mirabelle, skinny and pale, dressed in filthy rags, polishing their boots. His father, dead and buried two years past. He'd wanted to kill them all. He'd certainly tried to.