“You see what I mean?” Fail grunted. “We’ve been fighting a slow war with Hansa for years. Your father was a casualty of it. But when it comes here, it’s suddenly all talk of fishing rights and who should have been consulted.”
“You disapprove of our governance, Sir Fail?” William asked mildly.
“I disapprove of catfooting around what all of us know,” Sir Fail replied. “But I think Your Majesty was forceful, today. Still, what does it mean? That’s what I want to know. Will you help us drive them from the Sorrows?”
“I would rather they retired,” William replied. “And I will certainly wait until the praifec has made his inquiries.”
“You’d rather they retired? As well await a she-wolf to suckle a fawn!”
“Enough, Sir Fail. We will discuss this matter at length, I assure you. I did not send for you so that we might argue today.”
“Why then?”
“Two reasons. The one, so you would hear Ambassador Aradal and know, from his own lips, what he told me and what I said to him, so you can take it back to Liery when you go. The second—I wanted to see your young apprentice. It’s been ten days since he saved my queen’s life, and I have not properly thanked him.”
Neil dropped to his knee. “Your Majesty, I require no thanks.”
“I think you do, especially after the beating you took at the hands of my Craftsmen. You understand, of course, that they did not at first understand why you attacked Sir Argom.”
Neil glanced briefly at Vargus Farre, one of the knights who stood in the room. He owed Vargus a cracked rib.
“I understand, Your Majesty. Had I been in their place, and known only what they knew, I would have done the same.”
William leaned forward intently. “How did you know? That Argom was attacking the queen?”
“I didn’t, at first. I thought he had seen some danger to her and was rushing to intercept it. But there was no one threatening the queen, and Sir Argom was preparing the reaper— that’s what we call a low, flat stroke of the blade. It’s for dealing with unarmed rabble, and well-bred knights do not care for it. If the queen were threatened by someone nearby her, he wouldn’t have dared used that stroke. The chance of hurting her in the bargain would be too great. So I reckoned that he wasn’t truly a Craftsman, rather some pretender who had donned the livery.”
“All that, and in only a few heartbeats.”
“He’s very quick about such things,” Sir Fail put in.
William leaned back on his throne. “Here is my problem, Neil, son of Fren. There was a day when your reward for saving the queen of Crotheny might well have been a small barony. Unfortunately, with things as they are, I shall require the good will of all my nobles, and to be frank, I cannot afford to anger any of them by giving lands to a man of mean birth.”
“I understand, Majesty,” Neil said. He had been preparing for this, but it still hurt an amazing amount. Much more so than the beating.
“Understand? I don’t understand!” Fail bellowed.
“Come, Sir Fail,” Robert, the king’s brother, said. “I know you are fond of theatrics, but allow the king to finish, will you?”
William himself remained unperturbed. His lips seemed to be moving slightly. Was he praying?
“On the other hand, we were all greatly impressed by you. My wife in particular, as might be expected. You are from her homeland, you have Sir Fail’s trust and good word, which means oceans in itself, and you proved better at keeping her from harm than her own bodyguard. Indeed, since we do not yet know why such a seemingly loyal knight as the late Sir Argom would so violently go renegade, all of our Craftsmen are suspect.
“And so here is what we will do. We will give you the rose, and you will become the captain of the queen’s personal guard, which will henceforth be named the Lier Guard. Like the Craftsmen, you must renounce your lands and possessions. Since you have none to renounce, the matter is already settled. This will make the queen happy, it will make me happy, and will only slightly annoy my more extreme nobles.
“The question is, will it make you happy?”
“Your Majesty?” Neil’s head seemed full of a white-hot light.
“Come here, and kneel.”
Dumbly, Neil did so.
“Praifec, do you bless this young man to be a knight in my service?”
“I do,” the cleric said, “and bless him to the service of the saints. By Saint Michael, Saint Mamres, Saint Anne, and Saint Nod.”
“Very well.” William drew his broadsword, and two of the Craftsmen brought a large wooden block.
“Place your right hand on the block.”
Neil put his palm on the wood, noticing as he did so the deep cuts there.
William lowered his sword until the edge was resting on the bare flesh of Neil’s wrist.
“Do you swear yourself to the kingdom of Crotheny?”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“And to the protection of its king and castle?”
“I do.”
“Most especially, and above all, to the protection of the queen, Muriele Dare née de Liery?”
“I do, Majesty.”
“Do you swear yourself to obedience and to poverty?”
“I do, Sire.”
“Saint Nod gave his hand in sacrifice, so his people might live. Will you do the same?”
“My hand, my head, my life,” Neil answered. “It is all the same to me.”
William nodded and pulled the sword quickly along Neil’s flesh. Blood started; Neil did not wince.
“Keep your hand for now, Sir Neil,” the king told him. “You will have need of it.”
A servant approached with a pillow. On it lay a red rose.
“You may add the rose to your standard, as ornament to your armor, sword, and shield. Rise up.”
Neil did so. His knees were trembling, but his heart was a war drum, loud, fierce, and proud.
He almost didn’t notice when Sir Fail came up and clapped him on the arm.
“That was well done, son. Shall we find a bandage for your wrist?”
“To keep the blood from the floor,” Neil murmured. “But I shall not wrap it. Let it bleed as it wants. Am I really a knight?”
Sir Fail laughed. “You are indeed,” he said, “and in deed.”
A cough from behind summoned their attention. Neil turned to see Vargus Farre towering over him.
“Sir Neil,” Vargus said, bending slightly at the waist. “Let me be the first of the Craftsmen to congratulate you. You are deserving. When we were asleep, you were awake.”
Neil returned the bow. “Thank you, Sir Vargus. I much appreciate it.” From the corner of his eye, Neil saw Sir James Cathmayl approaching.
“So it really is Sir Bumpkin now,” he said. His voice sounded a bit forced.
“By Lier, man!” Fail snapped. “What cause have you to insult my charge? I’ll have you on the field, for this.”
Sir James shrugged. “That’s fine, sir. But I’ve a date with your charge first. He swore that when he took the rose, he would put on spurs and kill me.”
“And I am your charge no longer, Sir Fail,” Neil reminded him. “I can fight my own battles.”
“James, stop this nonsense,” Vargus snapped. “The lad— er, Sir Neil doesn’t know you’re joking. He’s sworn now to protect the queen; would you put your pride against that? You’re a Craftsman! The household guards do not fight in their own ranks.”
“It was his challenge,” Sir James said. “If he wishes to withdraw it, I would not be opposed.”
“I do withdraw it, if you will withdraw your insults, sir,” Neil replied.
For a long, icy moment, Sir James regarded him. “Some insults come from haste and poor judgment,” he said at last. “Some come from knowledge and consideration. Mine were spurious, and I apologize. Still, let me state my position. I remain disapproving of your promotion. Knighthood should be reserved for the gentle of birth. But my king has spoken, and my queen has a protector, and I find that I am unable to lay the blame at your feet—Sir Neil.”