"But Lord, the difference!" Sherri concluded for her. "I don't know anybody who doesn't look fantastic in their Whites. Even Dirk manages to look presentable. Rumpled, but presentable."
"Well, what do you think of me?" Talia asked, turning on her toes in front of them, and grinning impishly into Keren's eyes.
"What do I think? That you look fabulous, you young demon. Keep fishing for compliments, though, and I'll likely dump you in the horse trough. Have they told you anything about your internship?"
Talia shook her head, and clasped her hands behind her again. "No. All they said was that the Herald they want to pair me with is in the field, and they won't tell me who it is."
"That's pretty much to be expected. They don't want you to have time to think of things to impress him with," Sherrill replied. Suddenly her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, but I can think of one prospect that would give Nerrissa a litter of kittens!"
"Who?" Talia asked, head to one side.
"Kris and Dirk are due back in the next few weeks, and Dirk got the last greenie— as you should know, since it was Skif— so it's Kris' turn next!
Nessa would die! "
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"Sherri, it's only my internship assignment."
"A year and a half Sector-riding, most of it spent alone together, and you say it's only an assignment? Talia, you must have ice water for blood! Do you have any notion of the number of hours Nessa— and half the females of the Circle, for that matter— spend on their knees praying for an assignment like that? Are you sure you don't have leanings our way?"
Talia chuckled, and wrinkled her nose at them. "Quite sure, darlings. Just what is Kris' attraction for Nessa, anyway? She's got most of the males of the Circle panting at her heels as it is."
"The lure of the unattainble, or so I would surmise," Keren supplied, lids half-closed lazy with only a glint of brown iris showing. "He hasn't taken a vow of chastity, but he's so circumspect about his dalliances you'd never know it. It drives Nessa wild, and the harder she chases, the faster he runs.
She's as caught up now by the chase as by the face."
"Well, she can chase him all she wants. I am not at all impressed by Kris'
handsome face," Talia replied firmly.
"Or the gorgeous body— ?" interjected Sherrill.
" Or the gorgeous body. Nessa can have all the gorgeous bodies in the Circle, for all I care. Holderkin men are handsome specimens, and I can do without them— my father could have given Kris stiff competition in his younger days, and I've told you what kind of a petty tyrant he was. And my late-but-not-lamented brother Justus was actually handsomer, if you favor blonds, and he was the foulest person I've ever known. I'd rather have a good heart and plain packaging."
"Yes, but Kris is a Herald—" Sherrill pointed out, tapping one long finger on her knee for emphasis. "That guarantees the good heart without having to settle for a homely exterior. No handsome, smiling bastards in our ranks—"
"Sherri, this is all sheer speculation. Until I find out who I'm interning with, I refuse to worry about the subject," Talia replied firmly.
"You are no fun at all."
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"I never said I was."
"Hmm. Dirk's interning that scalawag Skif—" Keren said thoughtfully.
"You and Skif were very thick there for a while. In fact, as I recall, you and he had a rumor or two floating about your heads. Is that why you aren't interested in Dirk's partner?"
"Maybe," Talia smiled enigmatically. The fact that their "romance" had been entirely without any result was Skif's secret— and hers. The streak of ill-luck and accident that had plagued their meetings had not had any effect on their friendship: except that they had never managed to be more than just that— friends. Oddly enough, though, except for a brief period of anxiety when word had come that Skif had been hurt during his first three months in the field, Talia had thought less of Skif, and more of his counselor. To her own amazement— and for no reason, logical or fanciful that she could think of— when her thoughts strayed in the direction of the former thief and his internship assignment, it was in Dirk's direction that they tended to wander. This was annoying; she'd met the man all of three times in her life, and had never been in his company for more than an hour or two at most. Yet, that homely face and those wonderful blue eyes kept lingering stubbornly in her thoughts. It did not make sense.
She shook her head to free it of those fanciful images. She had little enough time, and had none to spare in daydreams.
"Well, this little wardrobe change of yours ought to surprise little Elspeth," Sherrill said, changing the subject.
"Oh, Lady Bright—" Talia sat down with a thump on one of her cushions, joy extinguished. It almost seemed to her at that moment that the bright sunrays pouring through her windows had dimmed. "Poor Elspeth—"
"Something up?" Keren asked, one eyebrow rising.
"Just the usual."
"What's usual? You know I don't get around the Court."
"Intrigue rising beyond gossip. She's almost fourteen and still not Chosen; there's muttering in the Court that she's still the Brat under the skin and 10
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she'll never be Chosen. In Council meetings one or more of the Councilors is usually trying to pressure Selenay into naming an Heir—'pro tem,' as they put it—"
"Who?" Sherrill asked in alarm, sitting straight up. "Who's stirring up the water?"
"You know I can't tell you that! Anyway it isn't just those particular Councilors; it's more than half of the Court. Elspeth doesn't say much, but it's got her very depressed, poor baby. Their timing couldn't be worse.
She's already moody enough with the normal adolescent woes, and this has got her in near-tears on a regular basis. When I'm not getting my shoulder soggy, I keep finding her at Companion's Field whenever she's free, sort of lurking—"
"Hoping any minute to be Chosen. Gods, no wonder she's wearing a long face whenever I see her. What's Rolan got to say about this?"
"Be damned if I know!" Talia gifted Keren with a look of exasperation.
" You know he doesn't Mindspeak me in words."
"Sorry," Keren winced, "I keep forgetting."
"He's worried, but it could be as much over the machinations and power-maneuverings at Court as anything else. The current candidates are Jeri, Kemoc, and your oh-so-lovely Kris."
"Wonderful people in and of themselves," Keren observed, "But with some not-so-wonderful relatives lurking in the family trees. One would think Kris' uncle Lord Orthallen would have his hands full enough as chief Councilor without wanting to be the Heir's uncle—"
" That man will never have enough power to satisfy him," Talia snapped bitterly.
Keren raised an eyebrow at the outburst, and continued. "Kemoc's horde of lazy cousins would swarm the Court, looking for sinecures— and Kemoc's such a soft touch he'd try to manage it. And Jeri— Lady Bright!
Her mother! "
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"We'd have a battle royal every day between Jeri and Lady Indra over how Jeri's Council votes should go. I wish her husband would lock her away.
Or buy a gag for her."
"Amen. Pity none of them come without baggage. Not my idea of a fun situation. And poor catling caught in the middle."
Talia sighed in agreement. "Speaking of no fun, I'd better scramble.
Alberich informed me in no uncertain terms that my new status does not exempt me from his special lessons. I have the sinking feeling that he intends to slap my inflated pride down to pre-student levels, and probably with the flat of his blade."
"Can I watch?" Keren asked wickedly.
"Why not? Elspeth's always there, and there's nothing like being worse at something than a thirteen-year-old girl to really deflate your opinions of yourself. Well, that ought to reinflate her self-esteem a bit. Ah, me, it's a pity to have to get these lovely new clothes all over di
rt and sweat—"
As they descended the cool darkness of the spiraling staircase, Keren and Sherrill in the lead with their arms casually linked, Talia reflected that bringing them together was probably the best thing she'd ever done. The bond between them was easily as strong as the one Keren had shared with Ylsa— and had Ylsa lived, they might very well have formed one of the relatively rare, permanent threesomes. There was no doubt that they were very good for each other. Poor Ylsa...
Talia's chosen living quarters were at the very top of her tower at the end of the Herald's wing. The suites in the four towers were seldom used—probably because they were more than a bit inconvenient. The walk up and down the darkened stone staircase was a long one, but she felt that the view (and the privacy) were worth it.
But the trudge was likely to bring complaints from Talia's friends— and Keren voiced the first of many.
"I'll tell you one thing, my fine young Herald," Keren grumbled a little when they finally reached the ground floor. "Visiting with you on a 12
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regular basis is going to keep your friends in shape. Why you chose to roost with the birds is beyond me."
"Do you truly want to know why I chose that particular suite?" Talia asked with a grin.
"Say on."
"Pray remember, if you will, what my Gift is— I'm an empath, not a mindspeaker. Either of you remember who my neighbor was?"
"Mm. Destria, wasn't it?" Sherrill replied after thought. "Turned out to be a good Field Herald, despite her— ah—"
"Randiness," Keren supplied with a hint of grin. "That girl! Anything in Grays or Whites, so long as it was male! Havens, when did she ever have time to study?"
"Then you both know about her habit of 'entertaining' with great frequency and— um— enthusiasm. What I couldn't shield I could most certainly hear! Between her nocturnal activities and Rolan's, I got a quite thorough education, let me assure you! That's when I swore my privacy was worth any inconvenience. I don't want to eavesdrop on anyone else's fun ever again, and I certainly don't want anyone eavesdropping on mine!"
"Talia, I don't believe a word of it," Sherrill giggled. "What could you possibly have to fear from eavesdroppers? You're practically a temple virgin compared with the rest of us!"
"You ought to believe it, since it's all true. Well, here's where we part company. Wish me luck— I'm going to need it!"
* * *
Pity that they hadn't wished her luck— she might have gotten a few less bruises. Talia fanned herself with a towel while she paced back and forth to keep from stiffening up, and watched Elspeth with unforced enjoyment. The girl was a pleasure to observe, moving through the sparring bout with the grace and agility of a dancer, and making it all seem effortless and easy. She was much better even than Jeri had been at her age, but then she 13
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had had the benefits of four years of Alberich's remorseless training; Jeri had only had the finest arms-tutors money could obtain. No amount of money could buy Alberich's expertise.
She ran through the assigned exercises with careless grace. Then, at the end of a bout, she unexpectedly executed one of the spin-and-tumbling-rolls that Alberich had been trying to train into Talia— a move that was not one Alberich had been teaching her. And she scored a kill on him.
He stared at her in startled amazement for a long moment, as both Talia and Elspeth waited breathlessly for the roar of disapproval they were certain would come.
"Good!" he said at last, as Elspeth's jaw dropped in surprise. "Very good!"
Then, lest she dare to grow careless because of the compliment, "But next time must be better."
Despite this unexpected kudos, Talia found when she brought Elspeth a damp towel at the conclusion of the lesson that the girl was subdued and depressed.
"What's wrong, catling?" she asked, seeing how like her mother Elspeth was, despite the brown hair and eyes rather than Selenay's blond and blue.
At this moment the shadow on her face matched the one the Queen wore when troubled. She knew the answer already, but it would do the girl good to talk it out one more time.
"I can't do anything right," Elspeth replied unhappily, "I'll never be as good as you, no matter how hard I try."
"You can't be serious—"
"No, really, look at you! You spent half your life on a backwoods dirt-farm; now you can't be told from Heralds that were highborn. You got good marks in your classes; I'm abysmal in all of mine. And I can't even manage to be Chosen..."
"I suspect it's the last that's eating at you the most."
Elspeth nodded, the corners of her mouth drooping.
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"Catling, we're two different people with wildly different abilities and interests. In the five years I've been here I've never once managed to earn a
'good' from Alberich, much less a 'very good'! I'm still so stiff when I dance that they say it's like dancing with a broom."
"Oh, huzzah, I'm a marvel of coordination. I can kill anything on two legs.
That's a terrific qualification for being Heir."
"Catling, you've got the qualifications. Look, if I live to be two hundred, I will never understand politics. Think back a minute. At the last Council meeting, I could sense that Lord Cariodoc was irritated, but you were the one who not only knew why and by whom, but managed to placate the old buzzard before he could start an incident. And your teachers assure me that though you may not be the best in your classes, you aren't the worst by any stretch of the imagination. As for being Chosen, catling, thirteen is only the average age for that. Think of Jadus— he was sixteen and had been at Bardic for three years! Or Teren, for Lady's sake— a man grown and with two children! Look, it's probably only that your Companion just hasn't been old enough, and you know very well they don't Choose until they're ten or better."
Elspeth's mood seemed to be lightening a bit.
"Come on, love, cheer up, and we'll go see Rolan. If riding him will bring some sun to your day, I'm sure he'll let you."
Elspeth's long face brightened considerably. She loved riding as much as dancing and swordwork. It wasn't often that a Companion would consent to bear anyone but his Chosen; Rolan had done so for Elspeth in the past, and she obviously counted those moments among the finest in her life. It wasn't the same as having her own Companion, but it was at least a little like it. Together they left the training salle, and headed for the wooded enclosure that was home to the Companions at the Collegium (partnered, unpartnered, and foals) and that also held the Grove, that place where the Companions had first appeared hundreds of years ago.
And although she took pains not to show it, Talia was profoundly worried.
This situation with Elspeth's status hanging fire could not be maintained 15
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for much longer. The strain was telling on the Queen, the girl, and the Heraldic Circle.
But Talia had no more notion of how to solve the problem than anyone else.
* * *
Talia woke with a start, momentarily confused by the strange feel and sounds of the room in which she found herself. She couldn't see a blessed thing, and over her head was a rattling— Then she remembered where she was; and that the rattling was the shutter of the window just over the head of her bed. She'd latched it open, and it was rattling in the high wind that must have begun some time during the night.
She turned over and levered herself into a kneeling position on her pillow, peering out into the darkness. She still couldn't see much; dark humps of foliage against barely-lighter grass. The moon was less than half full, all the buildings were dark, and clouds racing along in the wind obscured the stars and the moonlight. The wind smelled of dawn though, and sunrise couldn't be far off.
Talia shivered in the chill, as wind whipped at her; she was about to crawl back under her warm blankets when she saw something below her.
A person— a small person— hardly more than a dim
figure moving beyond the fence of Companion's Field, visible only because it was wearing something light-colored.
And she knew with sudden surety that the one below was Elspeth.
She slid out of bed, wincing at the cold wood under her feet, and grabbed clothing by feel, not waiting to stop to light a candle. Confused thoughts tumbled, one over the other. Was the girl sleepwalking? Was she ill? But when she reached unthinkingly and tentatively with her Gift, she encountered neither the feel of a sleeping mind, nor a disturbed one; only a deep and urgent sense of purpose.
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She should, she realized in some dim, far-off corner of her mind, be alarmed. But as soon as she had touched Elspeth with her Empathic Gift, that sense of calm purpose had infected her as well, and she could no more have disobeyed its promptings than have launched into flight from her tower window.
In a dreamlike state she half-stumbled out into the middle room, fumbled her way to the door, and cautiously felt her way down the spiraling staircase with one hand on the cold smoothness of the metal railing and the other on the rough stone of the wall beside her. She was shivering so hard her teeth rattled, and the thick darkness in the stairwell was slightly unnerving.
There was light at the foot of it, though, from a lamp set up on the wall.
The dim yellow light filled the entranceway. And the wood-paneled corridor beyond was lighted well enough by farther wall-hung lamps that Talia felt safe in running down the stone-floored passageways to the first door to the outside she could find.
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