Champion of Fire & Ice - Megan Derr Page 0,7

spare chain, but—"

Lee cut him off with a snorting laugh. "I know what needs to be done better than you!"

Cimar smiled. "Then get to work, knave."

With an elaborate court bow that had Cimar shoving him, Lee laughed and ran off.

Cimar followed more sedately, heading around the keep as he reached it and straight for the temple and the enormous building connected to it by a beautiful hallway of glass and wood—the royal library and archives.

Thankfully, unknown to most, he'd already begun withdrawing from his duties as Master Archivist. The job had grown entirely too political and easy for his taste. He might not be a lad anymore, but he had enough life left in him to want something different. Archivist had suited him once; now he wanted something different.

Something that involved Davrin, if he stood even the slightest chance of making that happen, and stupid, pointless laws be damned. If Sir Grayne could flout every single line of the code, Cimar could ignore the admonitions against intimate relations with a noble.

Once he'd checked in with Theodora that all was well and nothing required his attention, he returned to his rooms to set to work on his clothing. It had been a long time since he'd needed any of his knightly finery. Normally he just wore the robes of the librarians, with a patch to mark his rank and cords to mark his specialties.

The rowan tree surcoat he'd worn earlier that morning was still on the bed where he'd set it. His armor and weapons were all gone, carted off by Leo to be repaired, cleaned, and whatever else Leo decided was required.

Going to one of his clothing trunks, Cimar pulled out his other surcoats, his leathers, and his sewing and repair kits.

The leathers he'd leave for Leo; he was much better at that. The surcoats Cimar would tend to himself. He'd always had a deft hand for sewing and liked the work besides. The youngest of seven boys, his mother had needed someone to help her, and there'd been no daughters or nieces or fosters. So Cimar it had been, and whatever teasing he sometimes got for doing women's work, he'd always vastly preferred it to being in the fields all day. It had also given him an opportunity to learn his letters and more. Without his mother's sewing, he'd probably still be a farm boy.

So he would always be happy to stitch and repair his own clothes.

He hummed some of his favorite hymns as he smoothed out his white tunic. The embroidery along the edges was faded and torn in several places. It took him the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon to cut everything away and pin the new hems.

When he finally made himself stop, it was only because his eyes were sore, and his stomach was on the verge of staging a rebellion.

He slipped down to the kitchen and absconded with a bowl of stew, a plate of additional victuals, and a pitcher of beer before the head cook could catch him, winking at the scullery maids who did spy him, grinning when they muffled giggles and snickers with the backs of their soapy hands.

Back up in his room, it was to find Lee had returned, freshly cleaned and already setting to work on repairing the leathers. "How are my beasts?"

"As bratty as ever," Lee said cheerfully. "I think they know they're finally going to be put to some hard use and are eagerly awaiting it. The castle is positively beside itself with excitement over the latest gossip. Everyone is placing bets, and there's all sorts of theories about why you've stepped forward as champion, everything from you're desperate for money to secretly Lord Dweller's lover."

"Well, that's just the typical sort of rumors. Nothing creative at all?"

"It is only the first day."

"Mm, true enough. Come and eat, Lee, then we'll get back to work for a bit, though it's so dark now, I'm not sure we can work for much longer, even with the fire and these lamps."

They settled at the small square table shoved into one corner of the room, which Lee diligently kept tidy despite Cimar's perpetual attempts to keep it cluttered. Lee poured the beer, and they dug into the meal with gusto. That afternoon's dinner was a hearty venison stew, the gravy thick, the vegetables and meat plentiful, and the seasoning generous. No one ever left King Rorlen's table complaining of the food, that was for certain.

After a lifetime spent