Chapter 17: Royal Missive

“This has to be fake,” Joan said, trying to keep her voice as level as possible while she read over the royal missive for what had to be the third time. She couldn’t imagine why in the world had the queen agreed to this. No, worse. She suspected she knew exactly why and she absolutely loathed the insinuation.

“It is not,” Bauteut said in response, staring down at the younger girl. She kept her arms crossed and a knowing grin that Joan wished she could slap off.

“I don’t need a personal healer,” Joan said through gritted teeth. Even if she did, she certainly didn’t want Bauteut to be it. While it was not unheard of for the children of nobles to have personal healers, usually apprentices as their final bit of training, she still had not been officially confirmed as Hardwin’s daughter. More importantly, if she really needed a healer either Neia or Korgron would be her first choices. But, most important of all, she really didn’t WANT a healer. It implied she didn’t know how to take care of herself. That she needed a healer to watch over her at all times to ensure she didn’t get herself killed. Yet the missive stated, clear as day, that she be assigned a healer-in-training for the time being.

Regardless of Joan’s own wants. She wondered what the penalty was for destroying a royal missive.

“It has already been decided,” Bauteut said again, her voice so smug that Joan couldn’t help tensing up and wrinkling the letter.

“Searle?” she asked, glancing to the chosen. “You can’t be okay with this.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Searle said while he pretended to be inspecting the saddle of his mount. “Either way, it looks as if it has already been decided. Everyone is waiting for us, we should probably go. Your horse is ready.”

“But I can take care of myself,” Joan said, struggling to come up with any excuse to leave the healer behind. She scanned the missive once more, looking for some weakness to it. But there was none she could find.

The queen had designated that, until Hardwin’s return, Joan would be held in the safety of the castle under her tutelage. She couldn’t help but feel more annoyance at the mere thought. Even if she was a child, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Worse, she suspected Hardwin had requested it to be done so there was no way for her to try and wiggle out of it, claiming a desire to retire to the Dusklam estate and await the return of her ‘father’. The worst part was that the queen had ‘requested’ that a healer-in-training from the academy be assigned to keep Joan safe for the time being, as the last step of their apprenticeship. There was no doubt in Joan’s mind that Bauteut had specifically requested the addition, even if her name was nowhere on the missive. How the healer had gotten the queen to agree to it she couldn’t fathom, but it now meant there was another complication in her plans. She had been taking care of herself longer than anyone in this world had been alive, she did NOT need a healer to babysit her. How was she supposed to save the world if every move she made was likely to be blocked by the people around her? Even worse, Searle seemed to be enjoying this new complication, so she doubted he’d be any help in her attempts to sidestep the restrictions.

“I loathe you both,” Joan finally said before folding up the missive and handing it to Searle. “You’re both evil, conniving and--”

“You’re a seer, you had to see this coming,” Bauteut said calmly, before turning to her own mount and adjusting the saddle. “Searle, would you mind giving me a hand?” she asked. After a moment he walked to her side and offered her a small boost into the saddle.

Searle then glanced back towards the swordswoman. “Would you like a boost as well?”

“I know how to get into a saddle by myself, Searle. I never could have graduated from here if I couldn’t even do that. Bauteut, my abilities only apply to the chosen, not myself. Had I known about this I would have pushed you down the stairs or something,” Joan said, her voice dripping with venom. She then turned to her own mount, ignoring Searle’s offer. She checked the straps but, as expected, they were adjusted perfectly. She gave a soft sigh before sliding a foot up into the stirrup and jumping up herself, landing on the saddle with a light oof. She felt small echoes of pain from her last ride, but they quickly faded. It wouldn’t be nearly that rough this time. The skies were clear and if they did start to pour again they could merely rest in a town until the weather calmed. “Fine. I don’t care, let’s just get going.”

Bauteut gave a sigh. “It’s not about if you can, Joan. You really are such a child in all the wrong ways and none of the right ones.”

Joan bit back a small growl before glancing back to Searle. He slid into his own saddle with ease, she didn’t understand why she should expect anything less from herself. He was only a few years older than her, physically. Chosen or not. “What are the right ways?”

“Children should ask for help when they aren’t able to do things,” Bauteut said firmly.

“I do.” Joan flicked the reins, causing the horse to go into a small trot towards the main gate of the grounds. She was already dreading this trip, but not just because of the healer. They’d have an escort consisting of a dozen guards. Even if she wanted to slip off alone and try to go after another of the chosen by herself, it would be impossible. Granted, without Searle to carry one of their weapons, she imagined she couldn’t get them to listen to her claims anyway.

That was another thing she was finding she missed about her past life. She had demanded respect as the hero. Everyone knew her name, all of the kingdoms would trust and defer to her. None had desired to make her an enemy except for Queen Emeline, and even the king had been wary of opposing the hero. She couldn’t help but see the irony that the only place she hadn’t been truly welcomed was her own home. She wondered if the other kingdoms would even allow her entry without one of the chosen. After all, she was just a small child without business there.

She leaned forward and rested her face against her mount’s mane, smelling the soft, earthy scent. Maybe Neia would listen to her, the elf had always been the one who most desired praise. She’d always been so needy and wanting of some proof that she was worthy amongst them, some sign that she had value after all of the sick and vile rumors that had been spread about her. Rumors that, so often, Joan had fallen for.

She felt a hand on her back and glanced back at Bauteut, who was now riding besides her. “Joan?” the girl asked softly.

“What?” Joan asked, her voice cracking. She quickly sat back up straight, looking away. “I don’t need any help.”

“You’re crying,” Bauteut whispered.

Joan reached an arm up and wiped her eyes, trying to drown out those dark thoughts. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just--”

“Another vision?” Bauteut asked.

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“Something like that,” Joan said.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bauteut asked.

“Not with you,” Joan said bitterly.

“I am a healer, you know. That means more than just the physical wounds. Searle, could you give us girls some space?” Bauteut asked, glancing ahead.

“I’ll go and wait with the escort,” Searle said quickly, before flicking his wrists and causing the horse to trot ahead faster, heading down the street and away from them.

Joan glared at his back, trying to suppress her annoyance and wishing her gaze could turn him to ice. She then turned the full harshness of her gaze on Bauteut, who seemed unfazed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know, when you glare like that you look more like a pouting child than some great, scary swordsman,” Bauteut said in a soft, teasing tone.

“I do not!” Joan yelled, before flushing at the realization she likely just proved the healer’s point.

“Like it or not, I am your personal healer for the time being. It is my duty to keep you in optimum shape and prevent you from being hurt. Illness of the mind can be even more destructive than illness of the body.”

“Illness of the mind? I’m not going mad,” Joan said.

“No, but you are distraught. Reckless. Very--”

“Stop it,” Joan said before closing her eyes. “Just stop it. Please. I don’t have the energy right now to play games with you. I--”

“Then don’t argue and just let me help you. What did you see that made you cry?” Bauteut asked once more.

Joan shook her head and stared down the path ahead. Try as she might, she suspected Bauteut would continue to pry until she gave in to the demands ordered. She didn’t have the energy to keep arguing it, either. So instead she tried to imagine how a seer would explain their vision. “I saw a gem covered bow that was more beautiful than any other. It was covered in filth and mud by those around it out of petty jealousy until it was left as nothing more than a simple husk of its former glory. I saw even its closest friends abandon it and accuse it of becoming a demon, mixing its blood and power with that of those tainted lands. I then watched their accusations become a reality because when the bow’s friends were needed most, they abandoned her. It. I watched it fall and become a foul, dark creation...” Joan felt a heavy knot of grief forming in her chest, tears once more welling up in her eyes. “I watched this happen to another. I watched so many mistakes, so many times when good, beautiful, radiant weapons were torn apart and left as husks because of the foolishness of those who should have known them best.” Because of her foolishness. Her own pride and desire for glory. If only she could have warned her past lives about their lies and deceits.

“That’s the fate of the chosen of the bow?” Bauteut asked softly.

“The bow and the crown. It’s one of them, at least. A possibility,” Joan said.

“Will that be their future this time?” Bauteut asked.

“No,” Joan said quickly, her voice turning harsh and firm. She’d be damned if she’d let her friends go through that again. She’d made so many mistakes, allowed so much pain and torment to enter the hearts of the people who were supposed to be her friends. She would never allow it to happen again.

“Then don’t cry. It is a future that could have happened, perhaps. But if it’s a future that you can stop from ever happening, then do you really need to feel grief over it?” Bauteut asked. “It is a shame that it might have happened, that it was a future that had any possibility to begin with. But the future is only what can happen. With your abilities, you can make the future a good one. Right?”

Joan nodded and couldn’t help but feel slightly comforted by the words. “Right. I just have to make sure things don’t turn out badly this time.”

“Exactly. Now, try not to cry too much on the trip.”

“Oh? Why?” Joan asked with a cocked eye. “Can’t bear to see a girl cry?”

“I’ve seen more than enough kids crying. But the soldiers won’t. Some of them likely have little kids of their own about your age. In my experience, nothing can break the resolve of a soldier as quickly as watching a child break down into tears.”

Joan opened her mouth to object, before stopping. Now that she thought about it, Hardwin’s resolve had crumbled rather quickly to her tears as well. There had been quite a bit of objection to her graduation as well, at the time. Plenty of people who thought she was still too young. The only reason she’d been allowed to graduate when she did was because there had been no way to justify keeping her there any longer. There were still those who could teach her, but not at the academy. Even after joining the company, there were plenty who wanted almost nothing to do with her. She’d always assumed they’d just looked down on her, but she wondered if that was part of the reason.

“You know, it never struck me as strange,” Joan said softly.

“Huh? What didn’t?” Bauteut asked, glancing back to her.

“I’ve never seen anyone like me out on the field. I think before me, the youngest graduate had been like fifteen, right?” she asked. Then again, she supposed that person hadn’t had thousands of years of experience and training to help them learn and develop.

“I believe so, though there were a few who’d done that. I suppose Searle is one of them now, as well,” Bauteut said with a small smile. “Assuming being a chosen counts as enough to grant him a full graduation. Then again, not many people are born prodigies who can master an advanced spell or technique in seconds as if they had been using it for a lifetime or two. Or pick up a weapon and have near perfect form that even the weaponmaster can’t find fault in.”

Joan nodded, once more that frown forming on her lips. Her past lives had been like that as well, though. She’d been the hero and destroying dangerous monsters as a child. Trained under some of the greatest warriors and mages in the world. If people objected then, she hadn’t noticed. She’d been more powerful and durable than most adults, though. She reached a hand up and clenched her fist. “Are you sure you want to be my personal healer? I’m likely going to get hurt again. After all, I--”

“Broke half your bones fighting the Troll of Reflections? Oh, trust me, I know. Everyone knows.”

Joan’s head shot up and she stared at the woman. “What? How? I never told--”

“Half the kingdom knows by now. Rumors spread quickly. Though, I’ll admit, that part only came to me in the last few days. Lord Hardwin slaying the troll was something we’d all heard. But the fact his long lost daughter was there by his side and had nearly been killed in the scuffle? Oh, there’s already a song being sung about it. Haven’t you heard?”

The blood slowly drained from Joan’s face. “A song. A bard? You mean to tell me that a bard has picked up the tale?” she asked, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. In all of her lives there was no better way to ensure information spread throughout all the kingdoms than as a bard’s song. Unfortunately, when it came to a bard’s tale there was just as much chance as you looking a fool as looking a hero.

“Oh, indeed. ‘As his little child’s bones did snap upon the troll’s wicked hide, the great rage of Lord Hardwin Dusklam did rise!’ It’s really quite sweet. Aside from the whole maiming and near death part. According to the song, you threw yourself at the beast in an attempt to ensure your dear, wonderful father would have the courage to face it.”

Joan let out another groan. If the song was making Hardwin sounding like a cowardly fool who needed her to drive him it would only cause a greater rift between the two. “That isn’t at all what happened. I was an idiot. I thought I could kill it by myself. I could only barely damage its hide, though,” she said before clenching her fists even tighter. She wondered if she ever would be strong enough to kill such a beast. “That’s the only song about me, right?”

“Oh, our escort!” Bauteut said quickly, flicking her reins and making the horse go a little faster, past Joan.

“Huh? Hey! Answer my question!”

“No!” Bauteut yelled back, ignoring the angry girl pursuing her.