The Sentinel Mage

CHAPTER THIRTEEN





AT MIDNIGHT, KAREL handed Princess Brigitta’s safety into the care of her second armsman, Torven, and went off duty. The corridors of the palace were still brightly lit. He descended the stairs to the armsmen’s barracks, slung his sword belt over a peg in the antechamber, and joined the line of men waiting for food in the mess hall. The air was thick with the smell of mutton and leeks.

Karel took his plate and sat down at one of the long tables. He began to eat, paying no attention to the men sitting around him. The low ceiling echoed with a hundred different conversations.

“Island girls are such whores. They squeal loudly when you take them, but really they want to be rutted.”

Karel chewed stolidly, letting the words pass over his head. They were aimed at him, bait for him to rise to if he was foolish enough.

They’ll try to goad you, to break you. His uncle’s words came back to him. You must resist. You must prove that we are loyal and obedient. That we are worthy of freedom.

He’d done more than that: he’d proven he was among the best. There wasn’t one man in this hall he hadn’t beaten in the training arena, either with his sword or his bare hands.

“...Princess Brigitta.”

Karel’s ears pricked at the words. He stopped chewing.

“Lucky whoreson. I wouldn’t mind rutting her.”

Karel forced himself to swallow. Ignore them, he told himself, but anger bunched in his muscles.

“I bet she squeals like a bondservant when Rikard ruts her,” another man said, provoking laughter.

“I bet she likes it!” someone else said. “I bet she begs for more!”

Karel raised his eyes and gazed at the man, schooling his face into an expression of boredom. Next time we’re on the practice field, I’ll have you. He fixed the armsman in his memory and returned to his meal.

“The islander would know,” a sly voice said to his right. “He’s probably had her already.”

Karel’s grip tightened on his knife and fork. He reached for memory of his uncle’s voice: Your parents suffered in bondservice so that you might have this opportunity. Don’t waste their sacrifice. The words steadied him. The flare of anger died.

“Him!” someone exclaimed. “She’d never want an islander. Little better than animals, they are.”

“I bet the islander dreams of her,” the sly voice said again. “I bet he ruts her in his dreams.”

Guffaws of laughter greeted this sally.

Karel glanced at the sly-voiced speaker, noting his face. I’ll have you, too.

He ate the rest of his meal slowly, imagining what he’d do to the men. Break their elbows first, then their knees—

No, that was too elaborate. Best make it simple. Best just rip off their heads and be done with it. They’re not worth more.

Karel chewed, enjoying the fantasy. When he’d finished the meal he pushed his plate aside and stood, paying no attention to the men around him. He collected his sword belt from the peg and went to bed.