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\hypertarget{chapter-21-fall}{%
\chapter{Fall}\label{chapter-21-fall}}



\epigraph{``Victory, most fickle of friends.''}{Taghreb saying}



Gods, even her voice was gorgeous. How was that fair in any way? I knew
taking a Name could change your appearance, over time, but somehow I got
the feeling that wasn't the case with Malicia. \emph{I suppose once in a
while someone does get born that outrageously good-looking}. With an
effort, I forced myself to look away -- I certainly wasn't going to get
my head back in the game as long as I was gawping at the Empress like a
dumbstruck fool.

``It's good to be home, Malicia,'' Black replied mildly. ``If I may
introduce Catherine Foundling, formerly of Laure.''

The direct mention was enough to jolt me back into a semblance of
attention. I kept my face as blank as I could manage and inclined my
head as the Dread Empress' dark eyes turned to me.

``My dear Knight has long been delaying the taking of an apprentice,''
she mused. ``I look forward to finding out how you changed his mind. I
must confess I have great hopes for you, Squire.''

Smiling in that heartbreaking manner of hers, she cast a warmly fond
look at the Court.

``We \emph{all} have great hopes for you,'' she asserted, and the nobles
effortlessly painted polite agreement over their faces.

I imagine they would have done much the same, if she'd opened me from
crotch to throat with a sacrificial knife. One did not openly disagree
with the ruler of Praes without consequence -- and who would even want
to, while she was smiling at them like that?

``I will try to live up to them, Your Majesty,'' I replied, and had to
force down a cringe when I heard how hesitant my voice sounded.

I might as well have been throwing a barrel of blood in a pond full of
sharks. Malicia's expression was kindly, but I was beginning to have a
handle on how striking she was. I was, nominally at least, on Black's
side. That more or less meant I was on hers considering that Black was
her staunchest supporter, but I'd been given to understand that there
were nuances at play. My teacher had made it clear from the beginning
that while he deferred to the Empress he didn't agree with her every
decision. Already I was beginning to regret I hadn't spent more time
asking questions about the current state of Imperial factions at Court
-- this was a battlefield like any other, but I had no idea who my
enemies actually were. Malicia lightly tread around us, forcing us to
turn as the kneeling nobles rose to their feet. They were still silent,
though, so I got the feeling that the show wasn't over yet.

``How go the provinces, Black Knight?'' the Empress asked, voice
carrying clearly across the enormous throne room.

\emph{Provinces}. My face turned properly expressionless for the first
time since I'd stepped into this mess. That was how they thought of
Callow here, wasn't it? Uncivilized provinces good only for shaking
until gold and other useful materials came out.

``Settled,'' my teacher replied calmly. ``For now.''

Malicia cast a soulful look at the nobles.

``It is,'' she spoke with genteel regret, ``a great shame that Governor
Mazus forced our hand in such a way. I do dislike ending old
bloodlines.''

The Tyrant was the very picture of an aggrieved young woman. Black
turned to face the crowd too, and there was no such regret on his face.
A hint of the\ldots{} thing I'd glimpsed in Summerholm was peering out
through those unsettling green eyes, offering the aristocrats a smile
that bared too many teeth to be anything of the sort.

``That is the ever the way, with those who overreach,'' he told them.
``It should be remembered that unsightly ambition so often lead to an
unsightly end.''

He ran a pale thumb across his throat in a seemingly casual gesture and
I saw several silhouettes go still as stone. The casual reminder that in
the end Mazus had been robbed of the easy death all those colourfully
plumaged vultures thought was their birthright was unsettling them.
\emph{None of this is spontaneous,} I instinctively grasped. The easy
repartee between the two most powerful individuals in the Empire was too
fluid to have been rehearsed, perhaps, but there was still something
almost practiced about it. Like they'd been in their respective roles
for so long that they no longer needed to plan out the dance, only be
who they were supposed to be and let the music lead them.

\emph{So that's how it is}, I frowned. Malicia was gentle and soft and
regretful, respected the importance of the old families and their place
in the halls of power -- and all the while my teacher stood there
reminding them with a smile that if he had his way all of their heads
would be in the Hall of Screams. The Empress smiled and casually laid a
hand on Black's arm, four hundred eyes following the gesture. \emph{Look
at my monster}, she seemed to be saying. \emph{Isn't he dangerous?
Remember, I'm the only thing standing between you and him. So why don't
you all behave, my darlings? Leashes are such slippery things.}

``Now that the inevitable politics are out of the way,'' Malicia
announced cheerfully, ``we can get back to the part of the evening
you're all actually here for.''

Chuckles and smiles ripped through the crowd, though she hadn't been
being particularly funny. The Empress idly clapped her hands, and
immediately the music started playing again. In a heartbeat the court
split into a hundred smaller clusters, conversing among themselves and
calling over servants carrying trays full of cups. With a last smile at
us, the Empress trailed away to mingle.

``You did passably well, for you first time at Court,'' Black assessed
quietly. ``They'll think you weaker than you are, but that can be
useful.''

``I really need some etiquette classes,'' I grunted back. ``The stuff I
learned at the orphanage is useless here.''

``I'll work it into your schedule,'' the dark-haired man murmured. ``But
don't forget you have a Name, Catherine. Rudeness is one of the many
privileges that affords you.''

I raised an eyebrow. ``If I'm gonna be rude to one of them, I want to be
on purpose,'' I retorted.

He conceded the point with a mild inclination of the head. ``You'll have
to mingle on your own,'' he said. ``Captain will be keeping an eye on
you, but she'll be remaining at a distance.''

``Got an assignment of your own, have you?'' I guessed.

Black smiled thinly.

``The High Lady of Kahtan has been making noises about revising the
legal number of household troops,'' he replied. ``She seems to need a
reminder as to why she inherited her seat so young.''

``You have fun with that,'' I snorted. ``Anybody in particular I should
talk to?''

``There might we some well-connected cadets from the College in
attendance,'' Black murmured. ``Allies are a useful thing.''

I acknowledged the hint with a nod and turned to face the crowd as he
strode away. Where to start? Gods, I'd never been all that good at the
social butterfly thing. \emph{All right, let's get a drink first. Should
make the rest of this easier.} I gestured for one of the drinks-carrying
servants to come closer and snatched a golden goblet with wine in it.
Something fruity, from the smell of it.

``Don't drink that,'' Scribe murmured.

I nearly dropped the cup, cursing under my breath. The plain-faced woman
was standing at my side like she'd always been there -- and for all I
know she'd been. There was a ring of empty space around me for at least
twenty feet, which made it all the more ridiculous I hadn't seen or
heard her coming.

``You \emph{really} need to stop doing that,'' I complained.

A flicker of amusement went through her eyes, gone in a heartbeat.

``Haven't seen you since the Blackguards picked me up,'' I observed
after composing myself. ``Where did you go?''

``I had other duties,'' she replied, and didn't elaborate even after I
raised an eyebrow.

I sighed and eye the cup of wine wistfully.

``It's poisoned, isn't it?'' I said with resignation.

``All the drinks are,'' she said. ``A mild poison, with embarrassing
side-effects. Attendees find out what antidote they'll need in advance:
not drinking is seen as a sign of incompetence.''

``Fucking Praesi,'' I grunted under my breath. ``No offence, Scribe.''

``None taken. I was not born in Praes,'' she replied without inflection.

That was the first bit of personal information I'd ever learned about
Black's shadow, and I filed it away for mulling over later. Very little
was known about Scribe, given how rarely she made it into the stories.
The Empress passed at the edge of my field of vision, laughing throatily
at a richly dressed young boy's jest. From the poleaxed look on his
face, he seemed as unable to deal with her as I'd been not too long ago.
The Named woman followed my gaze, clicking her tongue against the roof
of her mouth.

``Be careful with her,'' Scribe said.

I kept my surprise off of my face. She wasn't usually one to bother with
warnings, and to be honest I was a little surprised we were still
talking at all: this might very well be the longest conversation the two
of us had had since the first time we'd met. I'd never gotten the
feeling that Scribe disliked me, per se, she just didn't seem
particularly invested in my general existence.

``I know she'd dangerous,'' I replied quietly. ``It'll take more than
few smiles to make me forget that.''

``You don't understand \emph{how} dangerous she is,'' the plain-faced
woman murmured. ``Not even Black does, and he's known her the longest.''

``They knew each other before she took the throne?'' I asked, openly
surprised.

I'd heard next to nothing about Dread Empress Malicia before she claimed
the Tower. Even how she'd managed that was rather vague: I knew she'd
been opposed and a civil war had ensued where Black had served has her
general, but details were scarce in the books I'd been provided.

``They met before he claimed his first Name in full,'' Scribe said.
``When she was still a waitress at her father's inn in Satus.''

I blinked. ``A \emph{waitress}?'' I hissed out in disbelief. ``The Dread
Empress of Praes used to be a \emph{waitress}?''

The other Named folded her ink-stained fingers into her sleeves.

``What do you know about Dread Emperor Nefarious?'' she finally asked.

I frowned. ``He ruled before Malicia. Went a little cuckoo in the head
after he failed to invade Callow and got whipped by the Wizard of the
West.''

Scribe's face was unreadable. ``The nature of his fall was less charming
than your expression might imply. Nefarious never again left the Tower
after he returned, leaving matters of ruling to the Chancellor. He spent
his time expanding the ranks of his seraglio.''

Just the word made my skin crawl. I'd known that some of the Dread
Emperors -- and Empresses -- had kept consorts, but from the way Scribe
was talking about it Nefarious hadn't been looking for volunteers.

``Her beauty has little to do with her Name,'' she murmured. ``The
Emperor had his Sentinels scouring the breadth of Praes for beauties and
word of her looks had spread beyond the town. Her father protested, so
they nailed him to the floor of his own inn.''

I grimaced. I sometimes forgot that the bastards that held the Tower
were just as brutal towards their own people as they were towards the
other kingdoms.

``So they met when she was taken to Nefarious?'' I guessed.

Scribe shook her head. ``A few days beforehand. He and Wekesa were still
claimants to Squire and Apprentice, back then. They met again when he
became the Black Knight and Chancellor summoned him to the Tower.''

``From concubine to Empress,'' I muttered. ``Weeping Heavens, how did
she manage that?''

``Patience,'' Scribe said. ``Patience, poison and making the right
promises.''

That certainly got my attention. ``And what did she promise him?''

``What she needed to,'' Scribe replied flatly. ``Not as much as she
should have. They are, after all, friends.''

Her face had remained impassive, but there was no hiding the thick
distaste in the way she pronounced the last word.

``You don't sound very fond of the Empress,'' I said very, very quietly.

``Amadeus is a loyal man, in his own way,'' Scribe replied. ``It's why
we follow him -- he'd break the world, for one of us. In some ways he
already has. But the blade bites from both sides.''

I cast a shifty look around us, which probably made us look twice as
guilty.

``We are not being overheard,'' the plain-faced woman said, and the
utter certitude in her voice gave me pause. Something related to her
Name? ``Ranger and I disagreed on many matters, Catherine, but there was
one thing we always agreed on.''

``And what's that?''

Scribe leaned closer.

``We should have an Emperor, not an Empress,'' she whispered into my
ear.

Without another word, she stepped into the crowd. A drunken noble passed
in front of her, tittering with a companion whose hair was shaped like a
roaring dragon, and by the time they cleared my field of vision there
was no sign of Scribe. She might as well have vanished into thing air,
and if I hadn't know how hilariously disproportionate the amount of
magic needed for even the smallest transportation spells was I would
have thought she'd teleported. \emph{Well, wasn't that the most ominous
conversation I've had all week. If you don't count the fucking demon
doorman, anyways.} It wasn't every day I got spoken treason to, and
there was no way this was anything but treason. Coming from the Named
who worked closest with my teacher, to boot.

Scribe's mention of Ranger had come as something of a surprise,
considering the woman in question had left the Empire early into the
Conquest -- if the stories were true, anyway. So there were Praesi who'd
wanted Black to claim the Tower. That wasn't all that surprising,
considering he'd been the face of the Empire's latest victories.
\emph{But he doesn't seem to want the Tower.} \emph{And I'm not sure he
could actually take it, considering he's pale-skinned.} There were three
ethnicities, in the Wasteland. The two largest were the Soninke and the
Taghreb, often overshadowing the less-known Duni. Most dark and
olive-skinned people who lived in the Green Stretch still considered
themselves of the associated culture, but the pale-skinned people who'd
trickled into the Stretch from Callow as well as those who had much more
ancient Miezan roots were branded with the name of Duni.

The Soninke had some kind of religious grounds for despising them, I'd
read -- it was associated with the same reason they thought of the
Taghreb as a lesser people -- but the Taghreb simply hated them for
being a visible reminder of the Miezan occupation. Over a thousand years
later no living Taghreb had been actually seen a Miezan and the blood of
the original settlers who'd remained in Stretch was so diluted as to
have nothing in common with their ancestors, but the hatred remained.
There had been Black Knights of Duni blood before my teacher and a few
Chancellors. But no Warlock, and no one of those roots had ever held the
Tower. The very idea was anathema to the beliefs of most of the old
nobility.

I wasn't sure what Black actually wanted, when it came down to it. I'd
grown to know the person he presented himself at and even looked the
monster he could be in the eye, but his intentions were still a mystery
to me. With every passing day I felt more like the only dancer in the
ballroom who didn't know the tune or the steps, and there was only so
long I was willing to allow that. I could still hear rope creak and
necks break whenever I closed my eyes: those were the consequences, when
I took a swing in the dark instead of planning out my actions carefully.
\emph{Gods, I really wish I could have a bloody cup of wine at the
moment.} There seemed to be food displayed on a table by one of the
cloth pillars, and I made my way towards it. Odds were it was just as
poisoned as the wine, but I figured I'd at least look whether some
people helped themselves to it before writing it off. There was already
someone there sniffing around pork cutlets, as it happened. I recognized
the silhouette even from a distance: I didn't know a lot of orcs as tall
as Juniper, aside from Hakram.

``Hellhound,'' I greeted her, pleasantly surprised. ``Didn't think you'd
go for this sort of thing.''

Juniper turned to eye me and then stabbed a cutlet with a fork, dropping
it on an ornate gold plate.

``Someone from the family needs to show up at the important stuff,'' she
grunted. ``Mom's in Summerholm and Dad is taking care of my sisters up
north so I got stuck doing it.''

I eyed the cutlet enviously as she took a bite.

``I don't suppose those are safe?'' I asked hopefully.

``Bishara told me what the antidote for tonight was,'' Juniper replied
with a smirk, flashing her fangs. ``Only brought enough for one, I'm
afraid. Should have planned this one better, Squire.''

``A common failure of hers, I've found,'' a female voice casually butted
in from behind me.

``The density of smugness in this room has suddenly intensified,'' I
announced without turning. ``I wonder why that is?''

I turned towards the source of the comment and saw a pretty dark-skinned
girl smiling at me in a way that never quite reached her eyes.

``Oh, Heiress,'' I added cheerfully. ``Hadn't seen you there. Did you
say something?''

Juniper snorted.

``It's rather astonishing what passes as a sense of humour in the
provinces,'' someone else commented.

My eyes flicked to the pair of girls and the single boy my nemesis --
one of them, anyway, and Gods when had I gotten to a point in my life
where I'd need to look up the plural for the word nemesis? -- had
decided to bring along with her. The girls were Soninke, the boy
Taghreb. Richly dressed, all of them, in shades of red and gold.
Heiress' long red dress brought a pang of envy from me, if only because
of the way it fit around her curves perfectly. I'd yet to grow in any of
those to speak of myself, much to my dismay. \emph{At least I don't have
to bind my breasts too hard under plate. Must be Hells on her, when she
does.} After a heartbeat to take them in, I addressed Heiress.

``You brought bookends,'' I said amusedly. ``I didn't think that was
something people actually did. Did you train them to say snappy phrases
whenever you signal them? Go on, tug at your earlobe. I'm hoping it'll
make one of them strike a pose.''

``I suppose allowances need to be made for poor breeding,'' one of the
Soninke girls sighed. ``I am Barika Unonti, heiress to the Ladyship of
Unonti. You may kiss my hand, Wallerspawn.''

She extended a slender dark-skinned arm, palm facing downward. I eye her
dubiously and she sneered. I sighed and my hand snapped out, closing
around her little finger. Her eyes widened and she had to bite down a
scream when I twisted sharply, breaking the bone without much effort.
Soft hands, this one. I let go and smiled pleasantly at the lot of them.

``That's your first warning,'' I said. ``You say another thing about
breeding of any kind, or reference the fact I'm Callowan, and I'll take
something more drastic. An eye, maybe, since you little shits don't see
to be using them to recognize I am \emph{not somebody to fuck with}.''

Unonti eyed me like I'd turned into a raving madwoman and something
arcane in nature flickered around the other girl's fingers -- it felt
like lightning, but she did not strike out. The boy's hand dipped to the
bastard sword at his hip and I made eye contact with him, still smiling.

``Draw it,'' I said softly. ``See where that gets you.''

His hand returned to his side, his face flushed with anger. I returned
my attention to Heiress and something I couldn't quite identify passed
through her eyes.

``Barbarity,'' she spoke calmly, ``is all you are good for. I'm told you
couldn't even manage a win at the College without using your Name.''

``She used all the tools at her disposal,'' a gravelly voice
interjected. Juniper was onto a second cutlet, eyeing us with mild
amusement. ``That's the purpose of the games: training for war. She'd
have been an idiot not to use it.''

Well now, an unexpected display of support from the Hellhound. Hadn't
seen that coming.

``Is defeat all it takes to cow one of the Knightsbane's blood?''
Heiress spoke softly.

Juniper's eyes turned hard and she bared her teeth, pushing herself up
to her full height.

``The likes of you don't get to say shit about my blood, Soninke. We
still remember the Night of Red Winds,'' she snarled. She rounded up on
me immediately afterwards. ``And you, don't you look so pleased. I'm not
taking sides in your little pissing contest -- I just want you both to
to leave your fucking politics out of my Legions. There's more to this
Empire than humans bickering over who gets to be in charge.''

And with that she dropped her plate on the table, walking away with a
growl. Heiress smiled and met my eyes. \emph{Ah, she did that on
purpose. Burned the bridge for me. But that means\ldots{}}

``You have now slighted me twice, Catherine Foundling,'' the Soninke
called out, and her voice carried.

It got the attention of people around us, and they watched with interest
-- a loose circle of watchers formed.

``Well,'' I replied blandly, ``you do take things so personally.''

``You have assaulted a guest under my protection,'' Heiress announced.
``Do you deny this?''

Mhm, how to qualify the feeling in my bones at that moment? \emph{Like a
rabbit seeing the noose tighten around its throat.} I could hardly deny
breaking Unonti's finger when it was still, in fact, broken. Besides
Heiress had witnesses. Had I been baited? It was starting to look like I
had been. \emph{Now time to see for what.}

``Sometimes I see something particularly breakable and I just can't help
myself,'' I shrugged, noting the girl in question was still cradling her
finger and glaring at me.

``Talk like that will cost you your tongue, \emph{uchaffe},'' the boy
snarled.

It meant filth, in Mthethwa. I ignored him anyway. He was just Heiress'
mouthpiece, allowing him to distract me would just let her gain more
ground.

``You comport yourself like a thug and still expect to rack up honours
and commands,'' my rival spoke, gracefully circling around me in a
stalk. ``You have not proved worthy of the promotion you are being
given.''

``And what promotion would that be?'' I replied flatly. ``The one where
my company in the College named me captain by acclaim?''

Heiress dismissed that with a contemptuous flick of the wrist.

``I speak, of course, of the request made for your commission as the
head of the Fifteenth Legion,'' she said.

I kept my face carefully blank. That was the first I was hearing about
that. As far as I knew, there was no Fifteenth Legion existing at the
moment, or even a Fourteenth. More than that, there was only one person
I knew who could have made that request. I resisted the urge to scan the
crowd for Black.

``Think you're the one who deserves it, do you?'' I mocked.

Heiress' smile widened.

``As a matter of fact, I do,'' she purred. ``What have you done, to
deserve such an appointment?''

I felt the crowd move more than I saw it, the sea of aristocrats parting
for the bigger fish. Dread Empress Malicia sauntered into the scene,
elegance personified.

``My, my,'' she murmured. ``Such spirited youths we have in attendance
tonight. What seems to be the problem, my dears?''

Heiress knelt, and for a heartbeat I almost regretted I couldn't --
wouldn't -- do the same. The display of deference might have been
useful, and I could only envy how my rival was turning a mark of lower
status into a useful tool.

``Your Majesty,'' the Soninke girl spoke before rising back to her feet.
``I was merely questioning the fitness of this\ldots{} Callowan to
command Praesi legionaries.''

There was a murmur of approval among the nobles. She really was going to
milk my origins for all they was worth, wasn't she? I'd never been more
painfully aware that I had no friends in that crowd.

``The Callowan actually attends the War College, unlike you,'' I noted
flatly.

``An attendance that has not been marked by successes justifying such a
rise in authority,'' Heiress retorted smoothly.

``The contrary, if anything,'' her Taghreb from earlier contributed with
a sneer.

``Captain?''

The voice came from far behind me, to my left, but even at that distance
Black's voice was pitched perfectly to carry across the room.

``Lord?'' Captain replied.

``If the boy interrupts again, snap his neck.''

``With pleasure.''

The boy went pale as a ghost, taking a half-step back. Times like these
were when I was glad to have the Black Knight in my corner, cryptic
jackass or not. Malicia laughed, and the entire world held its breath at
the sight of it -- it defused the tension that had risen in the crowd
easy as snapping your fingers.

``You have a solution in mind, Heiress,'' the Empress smiled. ``I can
see it in your eyes.''

``I do,'' my rival agreed. ``To keep things interesting, I would propose
a wager.''

The Empress cast her an interested look. ``You have my attention.''

``Another war game,'' Heiress announced. ``The College once held grand
five-way melees, in older times. Better times. If Squire is to command,
I would have her prove her worth. Isn't that the way of our Legions,
Your Majesty?''

My rival's smile turned sardonic.

``One sin, one grace,'' she quoted softly.

I felt my fingers clench around the pommel of my sword.

``And should, Gods forbid,'' the Empress prompted, ``our Squire lose?''

``I would ask that for the slights she has given me, Catherine
Foundling's appointment be made mine,'' she replied, and triumph glinted
in her eyes.

\emph{Oh, that bitch. She knows Rat Company is ranked last.} And if
Summerholm was any indication, she wouldn't be above bribing my
opponents to make sure I failed.

``That does sound interesting,'' Malicia mused, tapping her chin with a
slender finger as her eyes raked the crowd.

I could see the intellect behind the beautiful face weighing the
advantages and disadvantages, what the throne could gain and lose by
allowing this to proceed. A moment later, she returned her attention to
us.

``It will be so,'' the Empress spoke, and this time there was iron in
her voice. ``In two days hence, with the outlined stakes.''

``I thank Your Majesty for her wisdom, as always,'' my rival said with a
low bow.

And just like that, it was done. Malicia drifted away and I felt the
eyes of the entire wretched flock on me, mocking. A few splatters of
laughter came from different corners of the room. Heiress passed me by,
pausing to lean into my ear.

``And all it cost me was a broken finger,'' she murmured.

The grip on my sword strengthened until my knuckles were white, my face
flushed with humiliation. She'd played me like a fiddle, and everybody
in the room knew it. Some of them weren't even bothering to be subtle
about it, eyeing me like I was wearing a fool's motley. \emph{I suppose
I might as well have been, falling for it so easily.} I strode out of
the crowd, heading for the closest door I could see. It led straight
into an antechamber much like the one I'd come in through, though night
had fallen in the lapse of time since I'd first come in. The beginnings
of a storm were whipping at the stone with ropes of water. I tightened
my cloak around my shoulders and stepped into the rain.

I stood and let the water run down my face, unsure of why I'd thought it
would make me feel better. Lightning struck in the distance, streaking
the night sky for the barest fraction of a moment. I didn't feel soothed
by the beat of the rain on my head: just wet and cold and still so very
humiliated. Ater was sprawled out in the distance around me, the
labyrinth of stone dotted by torches all the way to those enormous walls
and the famous nine black gates the City of Gates had been named for.
I'm not sure how I knew Black had joined me up out on the balcony, but I
knew it as sure as I knew my own breath. My Name, probably -- the more I
learned how to use it the more it changed me, broadened my perceptions
in some indescribable way. My teacher came to stand by my side on the
edge, standing still and silent like he hadn't even noticed we were in
the middle of a storm.

``They're always going to get in my way, aren't they?'' I spoke into the
silence. ``Because I'm from Callow, because I'm a commoner, because I'm
not one of them. They're going to fight me on everything just because
they can. Because every time I win when they think I should lose, it
insults them.''

Black was silent for a long time.

``Yes,'' he agreed, and there was a world of weariness in that single
word.

``She beat me,'' I said, knowing it to be the truth. ``Without lifting a
finger. A handful of sentences and she managed to make my every success
meaningless in less time than it takes to boil a cup of tea.''

He didn't move and lay his hand on my shoulder the way I'd seen some
fathers do with their daughters. It had never been this way with the two
of us, and it never would be. He would not prop me up when I fell, but
I'd never expected that from him. I was the Squire and he was the Black
Knight, and so instead of comforting me he stood by my side in the
pouring rain, waiting for me to rise back up on my own the way I always
had. I closed my eyes and raised my head, letting the water flow against
my cheeks as I let out a shaky laugh. Lightning struck again and I
screamed at the night sky, screamed until my throat was sore and my
stomach hurt.

``How do I do it,'' I panted afterwards, ``how do I beat them?''

And I didn't mean the other companies. I meant all those dagger-eyed
nobles inside, just waiting for me to step wrong so I could be buried in
a shallow grave. Black turned towards me and smiled the same wicked
smile he had what seemed so long ago, when he'd walked into the palace
in Laure and turned a man's death sentence into a lesson for me.
Lighting struck again, casting his pale face in a madman's light.

``How does a villain deal with enemies? It's the simplest thing in the
world, Catherine. When they get in your way\ldots{} \emph{step on
them}.''