Valiant Valerie (the Ballad of Valerie of Mor Book 1)

Chapter Four

True to Jonathan's word, he made her go to training the next day. It was not nearly as bad as Valerie had expected. Stupid deWynstryngham had complimented the technique of her punch and, though they seemed to smile behind her back, there was no other mention of the night before. After a few days of training, Valerie fell back into a routine and eventually began to forget the potential implications of her actions.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and, before she knew it, the first snow had begun to fall. They were not quite into winter yet, but they were higher than a lot of the country, so the snow started falling early.

She looked out the window, rubbing her arms for warmth. She had woken strangely early – at least, early for her – and was wasting as much time as she could before she had to dress and get to breakfast.

There was a fine dusting of white on all the surfaces below her. At first, she thought it was frost again. But she reached out to the windowsill and found it powdery to the touch. She smiled, thinking of all the exciting things that snow season brought. Then her smile fell as she thought of training in the cold and snow, especially when that snow turned to sleet and slush.

It was bad enough training during autumn, when the rains wet them to the skin and the weapons needed extra tending to stave off rust. At least then, the rains were refreshing not freezing, and your muscles did not lock up after being chilled and warmed so often.

She heard the sounds of stupid deWynstryngham and the others laughing outside her door as they went to breakfast and resolved to get herself dressed. She pulled her hair into a neater plait and rummaged around in her chest for her warmer clothes and an extra pair of socks; her boots might feel tighter but she would be thankful for the warmth soon.

On her way out the door, she glanced wistfully at her own blade and, not for the first time, relished the day she could wield it properly. She sighed, there was still almost five months until her eighteenth birthday and then another three or so until the graduate trainees entered the Senior Corps. Still, next July when she graduated, she would be able to wear her blade with pride befitting her station.

Valerie opened her door and found the corridor full of people rushing about. She walked out, pulling her jacket on as she closed the door behind her. She looked around, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

"Valerie!" she heard Jonathan call and turned towards his voice.

He was pushing his way through the throng towards her. He was dressed in plain, woollen gear today, rugged up against the cold. She noted he already wore gloves, though it seemed early in the season, but she supposed a lute player with frozen fingers would not be much use. She started to make her way towards him as well, looking around. It seemed trainees and soldiers of all ranks and ages were milling around, and she saw more servants than was usual for the barracks.

"What's going on?" Valerie asked when they met.

"It's bad, Val. There have been rumours for weeks, but we never though it would reach us."

"What rumours? What's happened?"

Jonathan gripped her arm strongly and pulled her through the crowd. She did not know how he managed it, but the people around them seemed to part at their passing, allowing them to slip through easily. If Valerie had not been so worried about whatever was going on, she would have complained at the strength of his grip – she had not known he had that much strength.

"So many. Just so many..." Jonathan was saying.

"Just so many what, Jon?" Valerie asked, trying not to fall over in his haste.

But he said nothing, merely pulled her out of the barracks, across the chilled courtyard and through to Edmond's meeting chamber. Where the king and queen, her father, and the rest of the Privy Council were standing as close to the fire and each other that propriety allowed. She even saw Sir Gillam, his hand wrapped around a steaming mug.