"A show of envy is an insult to oneself."- Yevgeny Alexandrovich Yevtushenko

Envy

Lerant hoped that Lord Raoul hadn't heard any of his confrontation with Mindelan over her not ratting him out to Sergeant Osbern about the wine prank. He still couldn't bring himself to feel any gratitude toward her for not snitching on him, because he sensed that put him in her debt, which was just about the most humiliating position he could imagine. He almost wished that she had told Sergeant Osbern about his trick. Then he would have proof that she was a horrible person worthy of his loathing That, in turn, would allow him to wistfully contemplate disemboweling her without any sort of pangs of guilt in his own intestines. Nothing was worse than his jealousy and hatred of her eating his own heart while the shameful knowledge that the object of his detestation seemed to be a nice girl gnawed at his mind. Such was the torture he was enduring at the present, and, as always, happened when he believed that he had hit rock bottom, the boulder he had broken himself against turned into quicksand to suffocate him.

"Lerant," Lord Raoul said, walking toward him with an expression that indicated he had heard the scuffle outside of his bedroom door last night. "I'd like to have a word with you."

"Oh, now you want to talk, sir," mumbled Lerant, the bitter, sarcastic words reflexively spilling from his mouth, but it was only fair if he insulted Lord Raoul with his bluntness since Lord Raoul had slapped him in the face by taking on a squire—obviously implying that Lerant, inferior creature that he was, could not look out for him properly. That hurt far more than the arrow to the shoulder that he had taken to protect his lord. Lerant was willing to give everything in service to his lord, and his everything—his best—still wasn't good enough. That was why Lord Raoul had felt the need to bring in some girl to take Lerant's place.

"Yes, I want to talk now." Raoul arched an eyebrow in reproach. "And if you want to talk to me at any time, I hope you'll just ask for a word, instead of resorting to pranks like a rambunctious toddler to grab my attention."

"You know about me telling Mindelan to serve you wine." The blood pounding through Lerant's veins was blazing hotly enough that he didn't care about concealing his crime. Lord Raoul didn't deserve any loyalty if he couldn't respect all the sacrifices Lerant had already made on his behalf.

"Of course I do." Lord Raoul sighed. "If you want to keep your pranks a secret, you'll have to find a more private location to discuss them than right outside my door in the middle of the night."

"I told Mindelan to keep her voice down, sir." Crossing his arms defiantly, Lerant went on, "It's not my fault she was so cursed loud."

"You have a fiery temper, Lerant, and it's only made worse by your tendency to blame the wrong people for your problems." Lord Raoul shook his head. "I don't think that you're really angry at Kel."

"She's Kel already, is she?" Lerant's jaw clenched around the resentful remark. "Well, sir, you'd better not let her see us talking, or else she might get envious, thinking you haven't dumped me properly."

"I didn't dump you, lad." Lord Raoul's calm, reasonable tone infuriated Lerant more than a shout could have. "You're still my standard-bearer, aren't you?"

"That means less than rabbit dung when you've made it plain that I'm as useless at my job as a lifeboat with a gaping hole in the bottom," scoffed Lerant, unable to restrain himself from offering an accompanying eye roll. "Since you took a squire, everybody will think that I was so awful at serving you that you needed to call in an extra hand, because you never take a squire. That hurts and shames me, because I have always served you as faithfully as I knew how. I've went into battle beside you I've armed you and cleaned your horses. I've defended your honor from the insults of nobles. I've carried your messages. I've taken an arrow in the shoulder for you, and I still have the damn scar as evidence if you can stomach seeing it. I'm ready to die for you, and you don't even have the nerve to tell me to my face that I'm not good enough to serve you. You just stab me in the back by getting a squire to take my place and expect me to smile through the most painful insult to my honor that I've ever had in my life."

"My taking Kel as a squire is not an insult to you." Lord Raoul pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to hold onto his remaining patience. "We've had this conversation before, Lerant. It's not my fault that your ears and mind are too closed to allow you to listen."

"My memory must be going," commented Lerant in a deceptively silky tone, his gaze narrowing menacingly. "I don't remember that conversation at all, sir. What exactly did I say? Was it interesting? Intelligent? Ironic? Impudent?"

"You're certainly being impudent now," Lord Raoul informed him, all crispness.

"We never had this conversation before, sir," hissed Lerant, ignoring the warning that politeness would be appreciated "Never."

"That's because I don't need to explain my decision to take a squire to you," Lord Raoul answered without missing a beat. His eyes were blank, his expression frozen, and his voice so cold that Lerant couldn't prevent himself from shivering.

"I forgot you didn't have to explain decisions that hurt and insult me," retorted Lerant, recovering himself enough to shoot a withering glance at his lord. "I apologize, sir, for thinking that you'd abide by the rules of chivalry by honoring my faithful service, because, after all, I didn't even ask for any advancement—I just wanted to be treated with dignity as your standard-bearer, but, obviously, you didn't believe I deserved even that much honor."

"Not everything is about you." Lord Raoul's manner was as pointed as a honed sword. "I didn't choose to take Kel as my squire to insult you."

"I know that. You don't need to explain that to me." Lerant tried to act as though he couldn't feel the massive cavity in his chest where his heart should have been, where his heart had been ripped out, and where an acid ocean swallowed his whole world in agony. He looked at the man who was supposed to be his savior, and all he could see was what he had lost by placing his trust in Lord Raoul and joining the Own. "I understand that you only took her as squire because you pity her, just as you only asked me to be your standard-bearer because you felt sorry for me. Perhaps I should do her a favor and warn her that she'll be abandoned as soon as you find another outcast to adopt. You don't actually care about us. You only like to pat yourself on the back for all your supposed charity toward us, never mind that your compassion ends up hurting us, and your attempts to bring us honor just disgrace us."

"No." Raoul jerked backward as though he had been punched on the nose. "Lerant, no."

"Don't lie to me," snarled Lerant, more shrilly than he had intended, as the edges of his vision rippled scarlet and black, and the rage that dwelled inside him drew its breath to scream. "Leave me alone."

But Raoul wouldn't. Laying a hand on Lerant's shoulder, he insisted, "I don't pity you or Kel. Far from thinking either of you are pathetic, I believe both of you have a great deal of potential."

Lerant stared down at Raoul's plam on his shoulder as if it were a venomous spider, and shrugged, trying to dislodge it. "Don't lie to me, and don't touch me. Are you deaf, sir? I said 'leave me alone.'"

Still, Lord Raoul ignored him, because that was what he did: he gave orders; he never listened "You have to realize that."

All Lerant had to realize was that this man had betrayed and insulted him. Sickened, trembling on the brink of losing control completely, he reached out to pluck himself free of Raoul's grasping fingers, and then it all came back, a torrent of merciless, excruciating memory. The hills heavy with hidden thieves. The fog filled with flying arrows Raoul, an arrow moving through the mist, a heartbeat from death, and Lerant's shoulder—his wounded shoulder that had shed blood and flesh for his lord. As though the images were a trigger, as though remembering a thng were the same as reliving it, Lerant began to cry, and Lord Raoul held him as he wept.

"Don't do this to yourself, Lerant," Lord Raoul whispered, his words resounding like a battle cry in Lerant's head. "Let go of your envy and injured pride. Tell yourself as often as it takes that nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent, and that jealousy is an insult to yourself—a declaration that you aren't as good as someone else."

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, blaming you, and, well, just everything," muttered Lerant, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and wishing that he could come up with better apologies for his angry, ambitious nature.

"And I'm sorry I didn't think to ask you this before I took Kel as my squire, but will you try to support me in my decision, Lerant, because I will have to deal with a lot of people attacking me about this choice?"

"I'll try," Lerant replied, biting his lip, and wondering what behavior his distinct blend of loyalty, envy, and wounded pride would result in over the course of Mindelan's squireship.