When I awoke I tried to sit up, but a heavy arm curled around me was irrefutable evidence of Tristan's… move.
Oh crap.
I stretched and yawned loudly, then grabbed his wrist and tore his arm away, flinging it back with the blankets and jumping to my feet.
"Wha—?!" Tristan yelped, flailing about and looking around in confusion (a panic). He glared at me and I threw him an evil grin over my shoulder as I got dressed under the modest cover of my cloak. "You bitch," he growled, flopping back onto the pillows with a heavy sigh.
"Not my fault you decided I was some sort of pillow," I retorted. "And get up, I want to spar after breakfast."
That got a reaction. He leapt up, throwing off the blankets and swaying slightly as he recalibrated his brain around this new information.
"What kind of sparring?" he asked looking at me keenly as I flung off the cloak and started wrapping my sash around my waist. Then I laid in my throwing knives and trusty tent peg before clipping the kidney belt in place. I bounced on my toes to make sure nothing rattled or made a noise before hiding the tiny knife in my right boot and settling two dirks on my back. All ready to go. "See you at breakfast," I added as I walked out, leaving Tristan to his own morning routine.
Once at the tavern, I was once again engulfed in a group hug by Verica and Brenna before being ushered upstairs to see Vanora. "At least get me some breakfast!" I exclaimed, trying not to laugh as they propelled me up the stairs.
"Of course, how does bread and cheese sound?"
"Add a hot sweet drink to that and I'll sing your praises from the rooftops."
And then I was shoved through a door and was faced with a scene of… horror.
Vanora was glowing with maternal pride and—upon seeing me—incandescent fury.
"Where," she said in wrathful accents. "Have you been?"
"Um…" my eyes darted around, desperate to find something to distract her… and then I saw it—a tiny bundle on the bed. "Baby!" I exclaimed, pointing at it.
Caught off guard, Vanora's eyes snapped to her son in concern. "What about him?" she asked sharply.
"Congratulations?" I offered cautiously, edging closer.
Vanora seemed to relax—weird—and then smiled at me. "Oh Kat, he's the most precious thing in the world, you've no idea—"
"Yeah, and I don't want one either," I said, holding my hands out in front of me defensively. "Keep it away."
"He," Vanora said coldly, "is called Gilly." And with that she scooped up the infant and walked round the room to place him in my arms. Some latent cavewoman part of me apparently knew how to hold newborn babies, because my arms were moving without instruction from my brain. He was tiny, truly ugly (I'm not sorry, I happen to think all babies look like goblins) and staring up at me gormlessly.
"Um…" I stared down at this tiny life that I was wholly responsible for in that one—seemingly infinite—moment. "Gosh." I really couldn't think of anything to say. So I just entered into the most ill-advised staring contest of my life with the baby and tried to figure out how to escape.
Eventually, Vanora broke the silence. "So, what's with all the new weapons?"
"I'm not just a clerk, Van'," I replied, not looking up. "I also kill people."
"I've known that for ages," Vanora replied dismissively. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice? You move like Tristan and you've got the eyes of a wolf in your skull, girl." She smiled at me. "Which is precisely why I know you'll the perfect woman for him."
"Huh?" My brain was not working properly now that the majority of my attention was riveted on Not Dropping The Goddamned Baby.
"I'm saying that you two are well-suited to each other." She reiterated, finally relieving me of the mini-goblin child. "Here, help me with the sling, would you?" she laid the little monster on the bed and then picked up one of her shawls. After a little effort and much sniping comments, we got Gilly strapped to Vanora, snuggled against her chest. As we were about to leave Verica reappeared with my breakfast, mercifully sparing me any further nonsense about Tristan.
"Late," I muttered, snatching the plate before anyone could take it away from me.
"Stop whining, brat," Verica said with a sharp smile. I stuck my tongue out at her and then took a ridiculously large bite of the still-hot roll. Oh god, that was too hot! Eyes watering, I sucked in an agonised breath and started chewing furiously, hoping to destroy the lava-crouton that was trying affix itself to my hard palate.
"Kation, eat with your mouth closed, that is absolutely disturbing," said a voice from below. Swallowing quickly and wincing at the dough's scorching journey to my unsuspecting stomach, I looked down to see Cador staring up at me with a grin.
I held out the steaming bun. "If you're so brave and tough let's see you take a big bite of this thing then," I challenged.
"Verica, we need more buns," Cador announced. "I'm sensing a competition."
"Good grief," Verica laughed and looped an arm through mine and dragged me downstairs, Vanora on our heels. We were met with the sight of Galahad, Lancelot, Bors, Dagonet, Gaheris and Dinadan sitting together at a long table. They were drinking something that looked hot. Definitely not caffeinated, but I'd take what I could get. Maybe coffee's near-magical powers were psychosomatic after all.
Yeah, right. And squadrons of flying pigs did V-formations over the fort.
I sat down across from Cador at one end of the table, with Bors beside me. I clapped him on the back as I put my plate on the table. "Congratulations on the son," I said.
"It seems human enough, although I didn't check for a tail," was what I didn't add. But by all the gods it was tempting. Babies were a big deal to most people—especially their parents—so I had to bow to the trend if I wanted to avoid being killed violently and all over the place.
"He's going to be a good fighter," Bors said proudly. "Got his mother's eyes."
"And your lungs," Lancelot said, eliciting a collective chuckle from everyone else. Then Tristan appeared with Gawain, who looked a little grey. Brenna immediately offered him a large bowl of porridge which was attacked with every sign of relish—Gawain was the hungry kind, rather than nauseous—including little grunts of satisfaction.
Oh yes, they'd be very happy together.
Just as I had finished my first bun, Verica returned with a whole platter of them. Cador smiled evilly at me through the rising steam and picked one up. "Everyone, I propose a challenge of strength," he announced loudly, silencing all other conversations. "We must all eat one of these delicious buns in as few bites as possible. Other rules are that you aren't allowed to spit anything out, or drink any liquid until the bun is gone."
Everyone took a bun and eyed each other warily, but with much masculine pride and determination. I grabbed one too and wondered if the nerve endings in my mouth had been sufficiently cauterised already.
Only one way to find out…
"Ready?" Cador said. Everyone nodded. I was surprised to see that Tristan was also holding a bun and was giving me a hard stare. He knew something was up… and somehow he knew I was responsible for it.
"Go!"
In a fit of suicidal desperation I took a big bite and once again volcanic levels of agony tore through my head. It was like brain-freeze in reverse. Everything in my skull clenched, but I had to force my jaw to work harder. All around me were little whimpers and gasps of pain as the others also experienced the agony. Not waiting to recover, I swallowed the half-chewed mass and immediately stuffed the next third into my mouth. Peering through a veil of unshed tears, I saw that the rest of the table were suffering just as much as me: their faces a beautiful kaleidoscope of varying hues of pink and red, eyes bulging or screwed up and all jaws working furiously like little machines.
Needless to say I didn't win, but I didn't lose either. I'd probably burned the roof of my mouth right off, leaving only charred bone and other sooty signs of a fire, but I'd managed to beat Dagonet, Galahad and (most importantly in this case) Cador.
"There," I panted, taking a large gulp of the milk offered to me by an exasperated looking Vanora. "Now that I've toughened myself up, I'm off. Ta-ra," I winked at Cador and nodded to everyone else as I got to my feet. Tristan drained his own mug of tea and stood too. As we walked back to our room to fetch our weapons, I eyed him up.
Over six feet of highly trained muscle and raw battle instincts, tempered by a razor-sharp mind.
But despite being a foot shorter and much, much lighter than him, I had studied martial arts in an alternate (and supposedly fictional) universe for two hundred years. That rather took size out of the equation.