A clank: Kel flinched. Was the door opening? It was. Inness hurried forward to grab Cleon as he tottered into the chapel. Kel bit her lip: Cleon was pale, sweating, and shaky. Inness asked him something—Cleon nodded, and searched the room with his eyes. When he saw Kel, he smiled wearily. He was all right, or as all right as anyone who had survived the Ordeal could be. “It’s a hammer,” her brother Anders had described it. Cleon looked pounded.
Kel smiled back. As others crowded around him, she stayed where she was. Her knees had gone all quivery. Too little sleep, she told herself, though she knew it was relief.
For the second night of Midwinter, Raoul decided he liked parties the size of the one they’d had the night before. At his request palace servants filled a table with food and drink. Invitations went to people throughout the palace, including Third Company. Most of the men stopped in to say hello. Flyn, Lerant, Qasim, and the squad leaders, including Dom, stayed. When Dom saw Kel, he smiled at her. Her stomach did flip-flops. The old worry stirred: was she hopelessly fickle? She liked Cleon, but she still melted like butter when Dom looked her way.
Cleon was knighted at sunset. Kel thought she would burst with pride in him. That pride filled her again when he walked into Raoul’s chambers. Most of her feelings about Dom evaporated.
Everyone who had been there the night before returned, including Buri. She and Raoul talked frequently, leaning against the wall side by side. Kel had to smile, looking at them: Buri stood only as high as Raoul’s shoulder. They made a comical pair.
When Cleon slipped into her dark room, Kel waited a moment, then announced a trip to get more fruit. She left Raoul’s, then eased through her front door into her chambers. The connecting door was ajar: she saw Cleon by the light from the party. He caught her up in a warm, fierce hug, then kissed her as if he thought he might lose her. They were fumbling at one another’s clothes, to what end a sane Kel couldn’t guess, when Jump nudged the connecting door wider. The sudden increase in sound brought them to their senses. They kissed again, then separated, Cleon to return to the party, Kel to get fruit.
They went home at a respectable hour. Kel slept past dawn, exhausted by late nights and relief. A hand shook her rudely awake. It was Raoul’s. The expression in his eyes told her the news was odd.
“Sir?” Kel asked, sitting up.
“It’s that Vinson of Genlith.” Lalasa stood beside Raoul, grim-faced, hands clenched under her embroidered apron. Her friend Tian stood just behind her. “His Ordeal was this morning.”
“He left the Chamber and requested an audience, with Turomot present,” Raoul told Kel. “Get dressed. When they want something after they come out, it’s usually not good.” He left her, closing his door.
“How did you know?” Kel asked Lalasa and Tian as she washed her face.
“We have rooms for the holiday in the royal wing,” Lalasa said. “We are finishing dresses for the princesses and her majesty.”
Kel looked into her former maid’s eyes. “You wanted to be here in case something happened.” Vinson had attacked Lalasa once, trying to kiss her, frightening her half to death. If Peg the sparrow hadn’t fetched Kel, he might have done worse.
Lalasa nodded. “Oh, no,” she said, dark eyes sharp, as Kel buttoned a shirt. “You’ve gone and added more muscle—that shirt doesn’t set right.”
“Worry about my clothes later,” Kel said.
Lalasa held up a pair of breeches. “Look at these pockets. My lady, you are so hard on your clothes!”
“I’ve been hard them for years,” retorted Kel, putting the breeches on. “It’s not like I’ll change now.”
Lalasa fed the birds as Kel finished dressing. Once the animals were tended, the three young women and Jump left. As they passed through the halls they were joined by more sleepy-looking people, nobles and servants alike.
Soon after Kel, Tian, and Lalasa took places between Raoul and Kel’s parents, the door behind the dais in the Great Throne Room opened for the king and queen, Prince Roald, and Princess Kalasin. At another time Kel would have been curious about the princess, who had spent the last four years with the countess at King’s Reach, but not today. Instead Kel looked for Vinson’s cronies. There was Joren with his knight-master, Paxton. Garvey of Runnerspring stood nearby with Jerel. Vinson’s family—his parents, uncle, and grandfather—and his knight-master, Nualt of Rosemark, stood near the throne. All looked like proud folk trying to hide fear.
With the monarchs seated, the Lord Magistrate, Turomot of Wellam, took a place one step down from the thrones and nodded to the guards at the doors. A herald announced, “Vinson of Genlith, squire and—” He fell silent, astonished. Vinson ran past him to drop to his knees before the dais.
Vinson’s eyes were red and swollen—had he been weeping? He trembled visibly, and he still wore his vigil clothes, though surely he’d had time to change. There were marks over his shoulders, as if someone had grabbed him so hard that he’d bled through the cloth. Shadow bruises played over his face and hands, signs of a beating, or beatings. He flinched or twitched as each new one appeared, as if they caused him pain.
“I have a confession.” His voice cracked, as if he’d broken it with screams. “I must—confess. I confess.” He shuddered. “Two years ago, there—there was trouble in the Lower City. Two—two slum wenches, no better than—No!” he cried, raising an arm as if he shielded himself from a blow. “No! I meant, two girls of the Lower City were attacked, beaten. A third was—must I say it?—a third was beaten and raped. I did it. Sir Nualt had no knowledge. None. He’d have denounced me if he’d known. I didn’t—the women made me angry. They’re teases, leading a man—” He screamed then and dropped to the floor, sobbing. One of his hands swelled, turned purple, shrank. A cut opened on his scalp, bled, then faded.
The king reached a hand toward Vinson and twisted his fingers. The blue fire of his magic settled over the weeping squire. It blazed fiercely white, then vanished. “He tells the truth,” King Jonathan said grimly.
“Tell the Chamber I confessed,” Vinson begged, raising his face. “Tell it I did what it wanted me to. Make it let me go! Make it stop hurting me!”
The queen’s face was hard. “The Chamber is commanded by no one, Vinson of Genlith. It will release you as it chooses.”
Duke Turomot came forward, the brass-shod foot of his tall walking stick rapping sharply on the stone floor. “Guards!” he called. “Arrest this man on the charges of assault and rape. Take him to the provost. I want a confession in full.” He looked to Vinson’s family. “Send your advocate,” he ordered. “You may visit him once his confession is witnessed.”
The men bowed, the lady curtsied—to him or to the monarchs, it was hard to say. Then they scurried after the guards who carried Vinson away.
Kel turned to Lalasa. The older girl’s eyes burned with a fierce light; there was a triumphant smile on her lips.
She doesn’t realize it, Kel thought, feeling sick. She hasn’t seen that if we’d reported his attack on her, he might not have hurt those girls. She begged me not to—but I knew it wasn’t right. And I kept my mouth shut anyway.
The royal family walked out. The audience was over.
Kel fled out a side exit and down less-used halls, making for her rooms. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Guilt made her stomach roil; pity for the women Vinson had hurt burned her eyes. Yamani discipline helped defeat tears, as it had done in all the time Kel had been at the palace. It did nothing to lessen her guilt.
Blind with emotion, Kel turned into the hall that ended at her quarters. She didn’t realize someone waited in a niche until an arm shot out and grabbed her shoulder. She reacted instantly, ramming her captor into the wall. Her free hand shoved his head up and back; her fingers touched his eyes.
Joren of Stone Mountain waited. “Are you happy?” he snapped. “You got one of us somehow, you progressives. You can’t even fight your own battles—”
Kel jerked back. “You’ll be a wonderful fath
er someday,” she replied. “You’re good at bedtime tales.”
“Once I’m a knight, you’d best keep an eye behind you, bitch.” His voice was a viper’s hiss, dripping venom. “I’ll be in your shadow, until one day you won’t cast one ever again.”
Kel refused to dignify that with an answer or even a reaction, gazing at him with level eyes until he cursed her and walked off. No doubt she would have to keep an eye on him once he was knighted, Kel thought, but it wasn’t precisely a new idea for her since his trial.
She went into her room, shutting the door firmly. A maid sweeping the floor jumped and began to babble apologies. Kel shook her head and entered Raoul’s rooms. Two maids were there, talking as they cleaned.
Kel tried other refuges. No matter where she went, knots of people discussed the scandal. At last she returned to her room, dressed warmly, grabbed a Yamani bow and quiver, and went out. Servants’ paths and the main road to the stables were cleared, but the practice yards that served the pages and squires were two feet deep in snow. Kel stamped her way through to the archery yard and chose a target. She cleared a space for herself, tamping down snow furiously, then stuffed her gloves into her quilted coat pockets. She strung the long Yamani bow with a grunt of effort and chose an arrow. Bitterly she began to shoot, concentrating on the half-remembered weapon, which she hadn’t used for six years, and the target. Her arms and shoulders began to ache. This bow was drawn differently, the arrow held to the string in a thumb-and-forefinger pinch, not guided between her index and middle fingers. She had to pull the string farther back than with an Eastern bow, past her ear. It was hard work.
She improved. Arrow after arrow came closer to the center, as if she marched them in from the outer edges deliberately. Once she had emptied the quiver, she stalked down to the target, yanked the arrows free, and returned to start again. She didn’t realize anyone was near until Buri said, “When one of my Riders said there was a crazy woman out here with a stripey bow, I thought he was pulling a fool’s gambit on his old commander. I thought only our Yamani lilies shot those things.”
“I used to,” Kel replied.
“I don’t see how they can ride without the horses tripping over the bow.” Buri knocked snow off of the topmost rail of the fence and hoisted herself up. “When will you try our recurves? You won’t want a longbow after that.”
“Once we’re on progress, maybe,” Kel said. “I just wanted to get out.”
“What’s wrong?” asked the K’mir. “You walked out of that throne room as if you’d seen your death.”
“Not exactly,” Kel said. “I don’t think I can say.”
“Sure you can,” Buri replied. “Leave out names if you like, though anyone who knows you can see it had to do with Lalasa. He attacked her, didn’t he?”
Kel had not meant to say a word, but a basketful spilled out. “She didn’t want me to report it. I should have.” She tried to sight on the target, but she was so angry she couldn’t steady the arrow. “She said it was her word against his. She said he’d say she led him on, then struggled when she saw me so I wouldn’t blame her for dallying. I could have reported it at the Goddess’s temple, too, but I didn’t. And he went after three more girls.”
Buri sighed. Hopping down from the fence, she trudged over. “Let me try,” she said. Kel gave her the bow and arrow. Her eyes watered in the cold; she wiped them with icy fingers. If she’d felt like being amused, the sight of Buri, who was not much taller than the bow, would have made Kel smile.
Buri held the arrow to the string properly. When she shot, she hit the center of the target. She unstrung the bow, coiled the string, and fetched the arrows from the target. “I’ve tried it, on progress,” she said as she put away the arrows. “I still prefer my bow. Come on, let’s get something warm to drink.”
She led Kel to the Rider mess, sat her at a table, then went to the servers’ window. Kel had never come here; she looked around. Midwinter decorations were everywhere: holly and ivy, candles, branches of pine. Clusters of Riders sat at the other tables. There were only twenty or so, most still half asleep.
Buri returned with a tray. She set it down and poured hot cider into two cups. “To your health. Drink, you look frozen.”
Kel scalded her tongue on the first sip, and blew on the stuff before she took a second. It set a fire warming her belly. She wasn’t sure she deserved warmth.
“Were you not listening when they told you that a noble who kidnapped a maid only owed a fine?” Buri asked, dark eyes sharp on Kel’s face. “The mistress of chambermaids used to call the palace cleaning women ‘sluts.’ Thayet made her stop, but it’s coppers to a Midwinter bun that she still does, and that any maid who tells her majesty will lose her place.” Buri put a Midwinter bun in front of Kel and began to eat one herself, piece by piece. “You’re an idealist, Kel. I’ve noticed that about you. See, I try to beat idealism out of Rider trainees. It just ruins their ability to give a fair report. So long as there are nobles and commoners, the wealthy and the poor, those with power will be heard, and those without ignored. That’s the world.”
“I don’t accept that,” Kel said grimly, shredding her bun without eating it.
“I didn’t say you should,” the Buri replied.
Kel looked at her, startled.
“Three nights a week your Lalasa closes her shop early,” Buri told her after a sip from her cup. “She teaches city girls—commoners—holds, blows, and kicks that will help them to escape an attacker. She learned all that somewhere. And it does girls more good than your courting frostbite to shoot a bow you don’t even like. There’s now a demand for arms teachers for young noblewomen. Seven female Riders this year asked me for references to get them such posts. And may I remind you that a particular law is being revised right now because you had the nerve to tell King Jonathan it should be changed?”
“I still should have reported Vinson at the Temple of the Goddess,” Kel said stubbornly.
“Very well, you should have done,” Buri agreed, her face sober. “Next time, you will. And while it won’t heal his victims, here’s something for you to drink besides self-pity. No court in the land could put him through what he did to those girls. The Chamber did. I’ve seen the marks of beatings. The Chamber is making him feel every blow, kick, and punch he doled out. And I bet that will continue for a while.” She sighed and picked up a second bun. “The world is imperfect, Kel. But you do more than your share to set things right. Next time, report it. Even if nothing is done because the one reported is too powerful, a record will be made. When he does it again, the record will show he won’t stop.”
Kel smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to wallow in guilt.”
“You take chivalry too seriously,” Buri informed her. “Just like Raoul. It’s sweet, in an impractical way.”
Kel shook her head. They would have to agree to disagree about that. Still, she felt better now, though she would never, ever forget.
fourteen
FRIENDS
That evening Raoul hosted another gathering in his quarters. Next came the longest night of the year, the night the crown prince kept his vigil. Kel and her friends stayed up late talking, then rose early to go to the chapel. The king and queen were already there, holding hands. When Roald emerged from the Chamber, white and dazed, the packed room echoed with cheers.
Kel returned to her quarters to find Midwinter gifts on her desk, delivered by servants. Most were small, tokens that her friends thought would amuse or please her, like the gifts she had given them. Cleon had given her a griffin brooch. Raoul had given Kel a warhammer, a weapon with a flat head for striking blows on one side, and a curved, spiked head, used to pierce armor and yank it off, on the other. It was a beautiful weapon, well crafted, with a plain wire hilt like those on her sword and dagger.
There was nothing from her unknown benefactor. Kel sighed and felt sheepish. “I’m greedy,” she told Jump and the birds as she fed them. “Really, what else could I need? B
esides finding out who it was.”
After she tidied her rooms and dressed, she went to the stable with Midwinter treats for Peachblossom and Hoshi. On the gate to Hoshi’s stall was a new saddle and tack that matched the gelding’s. Kel laughed. Her benefactor hadn’t forgotten her after all.
She returned to her quarters after a run with Jump, then settled for a lazy morning. She finished reading a book of battles that Raoul had lent her and returned it to his study. He was there, doing paperwork.
“You’re not supposed to work during holidays,” Kel scolded as she put the book on its shelf.
“I can’t fob it off on Glaisdan because this beslubbering progress doesn’t leave either of us time to do it, so I’m stuck,” he replied. “If you liked that, try Emry of Haryse.” He indicated the book with his quill. “It’s not fair that he could write and general, but what in life is fair?”
Kel grinned. “You’re in a splendid mood,” she remarked. Getting the book, she saw that Raoul’s second-best tunic, wine-colored velvet with gold borders, was laid out. “Is there a party tonight?” she asked, puzzled. She’d received no instructions to report for service.
“I wish,” he replied gloomily. “I’ve received an imperial command.” He lifted a sheet of parchment. “My great-aunt Sebila of Disart, my sire’s aunt, matriarch of our clan, orders me to present myself at her house tonight. She and the other local relatives will be there to greet me.”
Kel didn’t understand. “But, sir—Midwinter, and . . . family. They go together.”
“Which is why I dare not refuse, or I’ll hear from my father as quickly as letters can travel. Have you any female dragons in your family?”
Put that way, Kel saw his point. Her grand-mother on her mother’s side ruled her clan with an iron fist.
“They’ll want to know why I’m not married,” Raoul said, long-faced. “They’ll have lists of eligible women—not the best of the crop, of course, because I’ve let things go much too long and will have to be happy with those no one else wanted. And Great-aunt Sebila will explain all this at full bellow, with the women present, because her hearing is not what it was. Gods help you if you suggest she talk to a healer about it. Nothing wrong with her ears—we young people never learned to listen, that’s our problem.”
Squire Page 21
