Page 43 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“Oh my god.” I sink back into the chair, half-mortified that my dad still thinks he’s rock-and-roll and half-relieved that he’s still alive. “I thought he pawned that guitar.”

“Me too,” says Len. A scowl crosses his face. I wouldn’t want to be in the same zip code when Len finally confronts my dad about stealing the guitar from his living room.

“Are you going to his show?” I ask, looking again at the dates the dragon show is in town.

“Not even if you paid me,” says Len. He takes a small copper flask out from his desk drawer and takes a long sip. “But if you see him hanging around here, let me know. I don’t want him bothering you and Chris.”

It’s an unusually paternal sentiment that brings tears to my eyes. Which is way more emotion than I can deal with before a double shift.

“Whatever you say, boss.” I knock my paper coffee cup against his flask. Now’s not the time to tell him about my conversation with Mom and the divorce. And that’s none of his business anyway.

He starts to say more, but I stand up and hurry out the door before we can discuss my fame, my father, or my feelings any further.

19

MY SECTION IS FULL TONIGHT. BETWEEN THE FRAT BOYS demanding more pitchers of beer while ogling my cleavage and the soccer moms asking for gluten-free versions of everything, I’ve been pretty much jogging since the first trumpet blast. I’m working in the Red Knight’s cheering section as usual, and every time Chris strikes a blow or wins a favor, I holler along with my customers. He throws a rose into our section and shoots me a grin as he rides away.

All of me wishes I was out there riding with him and the other Knights, not hauling a bin of turkey scraps up slippery concrete stairs. I pause in the hallway between the arena and the kitchen, trying to catch my breath. Sweat soaks my armpits, leaving half-moons on my dress.

Eddy Jackson and four of his buddies—two enormous linebacker types and two very fit-looking women—are in my section again tonight. They’re sitting in the front row, right beside the arena floor. As I’m bringing them a plate of turkey legs (their fourth serving since dinner started), Eddy holds his phone up and shines the light on my face.

“I knew it! You’re Kit Sweetly! The Girl Knight!”

I blink in the glare from the phone but shoot him a wry smile. “In the flesh. Though tonight I’m just a Serving Wench.”

“You all need to see her video!” says Eddy, pulling it up on his phone. “This is the girl I was telling you about.” His friends lean in closer, watching as I vanquish Dalton (all of them groan as my mace makes contact) and then deliver my “I am no man!” line.

“Why aren’t you out there tonight?” asks one of the women. Her long dark hair is twisted into a high ponytail, and she looks vaguely familiar. “I’d love to see something other than dudes beating each other up when Eddy drags us here.”

“You know you love the food!” Eddy teases, raising his mug of ale at her and grinning.

The woman rolls her eyes. “That’s got to be it.”

He laughs and reaches for another turkey leg. “I love the food. Makes me feel alive to eat turkey legs in a communal setting. Like I’m part of something greater. Some Viking shit or something.”

I blink, trying not to laugh. Absolutely nothing comes to mind in reply to that statement. The food at the Castle is mass-produced and it hasn’t changed in like a decade. But to each their own.

“Ignore this barbarian,” says the woman. She slaps Eddy’s shoulder affectionately. There’s a loud cheer from the section as Chris almost unhorses the Blue Knight.

I cheer with them, watching Chris move through the on-ground fighting routine he’s been teaching us all week. He’s slower than usual, and his steps are off. Like he’s distracted. I must’ve been mirroring him because I feel a hand on my shoulder as I mimic a sword thrust.

“When are you out there again?” Eddy calls over the noise.

I shake my head and lean in close enough so he can hear me. “Sadly, that fight the other night might be my one and only.”

“They’re not going to let you fight again?”

“Company policy is that only cis men can be Knights.” I make a face. “The other night I snuck in and took my brother’s place.” I point toward Chris.

“That’s some bullshit,” says the dark-haired woman beside him.

“Tell me about it,” I reply. “Especially since reservations are up by like two hundred percent thanks to me. I’ve got an online petition going around and my video’s gotten a lot of attention. My friends and I are training, and we’re determined to stage our own tournament next Friday.”

A tournament that’s already been vetoed by Corporate. Not that my friends know that yet. Or that I’m going to tell them anytime soon.

“Do you think it’ll really change things?” Eddy asks.

“I’m hoping it’ll at least make things more fair. We want to remove gender restrictions for all the jobs around here. And I want to work as a Knight so I can pay for school.”