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by Tamora Pierce

  Uline smiled up at her as Kel placed venison on her plate. "Forgive Lady Doanna," she said, her voice carrying to the other damsels at the table. "Her mother’s family is in trade, and too often Doanna has a shopkeeper’s turn of mind."

  "Thank you, my lady," Kel replied, glad that Uline had chosen to be on her side. To Adie she whispered as she left, "I hope this Nond boy is worth it."

  Adie gave her the tiniest of smiles. "He is, even if the old lady isn’t."

  When Kel gave Master Oakbridge her tidings, he sighed and looked around frantically. Already Cleon had taken someone’s place among the first-years: fish scales added glitter to his gold tunic, and his face was white and set with humiliation. "Jesslaw!" barked Master Oakbridge.

  Owen’s plump cheeks went as pale as Cleon’s. With the air of a boy going to his doom, he came over. He quailed when the master of ceremonies ordered him to serve Kel’s group. "Does it have to be girls?" he asked plaintively. "I’m scared of girls."

  "You’re not scared of me," said Kel, giving him a playful shove.

  "But you’re practically as good as a fellow, and you don’t giggle," objected her friend. "I’d rather scrub pots if it’s all the same, Master Oakbridge."

  The man grabbed a plate of fish and thrust it into Owen’s hands. "Go!" he ordered.

  Owen went as Kel took his place in the serving line. Another first-year was sent out when Esmond of Nicoline, caught in a knot of pages and acrobats who were leaving the hall, collided with an armored warrior. The clatter was bad enough, but the man was caught off-guard. He stumbled from his niche and fell over the hapless Esmond, knocking the wind from the boy. Then it was Owen’s turn to be replaced when someone—he wasn’t sure who— spilled hot soup down his back.

  "We still appear to have lessons to learn," Master Oakbridge told the pages grimly before he dismissed them. "My classroom, directly after lunch."

  After the banquet the pages ate in silence. Kel was wondering if she could sleep right on the table when Merric growled, "I’ve had enough! I’m calling Joren out!"

  Kel grabbed him as he began to rise. "No," she said flatly. "We are not going to brawl over Midwinter, not one of us!"

  "Why not?" hissed Owen. "They started it!"

  "It’s wrong!" replied Kel. "If we pick a fight, then we’re just as bad as them. Combat should be used just to help people who can’t defend themselves, period."

  "Well, if I don’t fight back and they pound on me, then I’m one of the people I should be defending," said Esmond.

  Kel, still holding Merric, looked at her freckled year-mate. "Did that even make sense?" she asked Esmond.

  He smiled crookedly. "We have to stand up to them, Kel. Otherwise they’ll keep doing this to us," he said.

  "It’s not just that," Roald pointed out. "Midwinter is tiring enough without more etiquette training. They’re making it hard for everybody."

  "Perhaps you could exercise royal authority—?" suggested Neal carefully. Roald looked down, his mouth tight.

  "You know he hates to call on royal privilege," Kel told Neal sternly. "He’s trying to be the same as we are." The look of gratitude the prince gave her warmed Kel’s heart.

  "We still should do something," growled Esmond. "I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. And that man was heavy." He rubbed his ribs. "I’d like to dump plate armor on them. See how they like it," he added, glaring at Joren and his friends on the other side of the mess hall.

  Kel looked at the table, thinking. "All right. They gave up hazing the first-years because there got to be too many of us to fight," she pointed out. "Maybe we should do something like that to make them back off."

  "How?" demanded Merric, relaxing in her grip at last.

  Kel let go, now that he’d cooled down. "I bet we aren’t the only ones who’d want to rest instead of practice bows and serving."

  Neal leaned back until he could poke the closest page at the next table. "Hey, Yance!" he whispered. Yancen of Irenroha turned to face him. "Looking forward to more banquet service lessons tomorrow?"

  "You do it," whispered Neal as the last pages finished their meal. Joren and his group were still talking eagerly at their table, heads close together.

  Kel stared at him, shocked. "I can’t!" she replied softly. "I’m just a second-year—I’m not senior enough!"

  "All right," said Prince Roald. "Cleon and I are fourth-years, Faleron’s third, and Neal’s sixteen. We appoint you to speak for us, and we will back you."

  Kel met his level blue eyes and saw the prince’s mind was made up. He did not like to put himself forward—he seemed to think people would accuse him of abusing his station if he did—but he was every bit as stubborn as his famous parents. Looking at her circle of friends, seeing the same expression on their faces, Kel thought, I guess stubbornness is catching.

  She put her dishes away first. The other pages who did not belong to Joren’s clique followed suit. Then she walked over to Joren’s table with the prince, Neal, and Cleon at her back and the others following them. Standing behind Joren, Kel waited, hands on hips, until he and the others realized they had company and looked at her.

  When she was sure that she had everyone’s attention, Kel said, "We’ve had enough accidents and extra hours with Master Oakbridge. It’s got to stop."

  Joren locked his blue eyes on Kel. Framed in long blond lashes, those eyes were very cold. He remained silent.

  Vinson smirked. "Says who?" he demanded.

  The rest of the pages closed in around them. "So say we all," replied Kel.

  "See here, you lot." Balduin of Disart belonged to neither Joren’s group nor Kel’s. Though only a third-year, he was fourteen, having started his training at eleven, and he was big. His shoulders were broader than Cleon’s; he topped Cleon by an inch. When he leaned in so Joren could see him, the smaller pages in front of him got out of the way. "I figured, if you wanted to waste time and strength on idiot squabbles with her and her friends, well, you were the ones who’d have to find more strength for the practice courts. But now you’ve let it cut into our free time. It seems to some of us that maybe she’s had the right of it all along."

  "Any more accidents, and we’ll see if we can’t make a few of our own happen," said one of the fourth-years. "Something painful and lasting."

  ’’Are you quite finished?" asked Joren quietly.

  "No more accidents," said the prince.

  "No more accidents," chorused the pages who stood around the table with him.

  "Something harsh befalls the next one who causes things," promised Balduin.

  "Make sure you can lock your doors and windows," added a fourth-year.

  The room went still. The pages who stood remained in their places, watching Joren and the others for some sign. Kel finally got tired of waiting. She leaned in until scant inches separated her nose from Joren’s. "Are you hearing us now?" she asked softly.

  He blinked, then raised his hand to cover a fake-looking yawn. "I’m too tired to do anything but what my teachers order me," he said at last. "And you are just too rough-and-tumble to bear. We shall stop, but only because we are bored."

  They would get nothing further, Kel knew. She moved out of Joren’s way, allowing him to rise and go. The other pages streamed out the mess hall doors, many lost to a storm of very real yawns.

  It isn’t over, Kel thought as she bid her friends good night. We’re just forcing them to be sneaky. And Joren... She sighed as she fitted her key to the lock on her door. I don’t know if he’ll ever stop with me.

  On the third night of the holiday, Master Oakbridge found a place for Kel that no one contested. Although by the strictest terms of protocol a second-year page was not senior enough for the duty, Master Oakbridge set her to wait on the archpriestess of the Great Mother Goddess. That old, formidable lady sat with Eda Bell and Hakuin Seastone, the two Shang warriors, and Harailt of Aili, the round-faced and cheerful head of the royal university. Every moment that Kel attended them she was terrified
she would do something wrong, but the Shangs made it clear she had their confidence. They kept the old woman and Master Harailt busy. Kel was able to serve and slip away like a ghost.

  Neal got her old place with the damsels. "Your sisters are well enough," he said when he sat down to supper with Kel. "But Uline of Hannalof—isn’t she a beauty? And kind, too. She asked how you were. She has the prettiest voice..."The rapt look in his eyes was the same as when he’d spoken of his hopeless love for Daine. "Skin like porcelain. And she’s reading Ethical Contrasts of the North and South. I told you about it—I read parts of it to you last year." He often shared his philosophical books with his friends, who ignored him. "Too bad I couldn’t really discuss it with her."

  Listening to him, Kel felt her heart sink. "Sounds like you’re in love," she commented softly, too tired to eat. "And I believe she isn’t even betrothed."

  Neal coughed nervously. "It’s too early for me to think of such things. It’s improper for a page to court anyone. You did like her, didn’t you?" he asked, suddenly anxious. "You know I value your opinion, except on philosophy."

  Kel made herself smile, though her heart was sinking. What’s the matter with me? she wondered, vexed with herself. It’s not like I’m in love with him.

  Or that he’d ever look at you twice if you were, her sharp-voiced self retorted.

  "That’s because the philosophy you read me is silly," she told him, trying to sound as boyish as possible. ’’And yes, Lady Uline is very kind." She’s also the sort of girl boys fall in love with, she thought, putting her dishes on her tray. A part of her—the stupid part, she thought crossly—that wanted him to be happy added, "She is very pretty."

  "I think of her as luminescent," Neal said, dreamy-eyed. "When the candle light falls on her, she makes the light part of herself, and returns it."

  "I’m off," said Kel. "Don’t be up too late dreaming."Thoroughly depressed, she returned her tray to the servers and trudged back to her room.

  The fourth day of the festival arrived, the time when gifts were exchanged. Remembering that she’d never gotten to the city’s markets the year before, Kel had done all her Midwinter shopping over the summer. The only other people she had needed gifts for were Lalasa, who got the customary silver coin for her service, and Owen. He was easy: Kel gave him one of her razor-sharp Yamani throwing stars. Jump got a meaty bone Kel had bargained out of the palace butcher, while her sparrows got dried fruit.

  While Kel practiced with her glaive, Lalasa went to fetch gifts left for Kel with Salma. Her uncle Gower returned with her, carrying a large box. It bore the same canvas wrap and plain label as other packages from Kel’s unknown benefactor.

  When Kel took the package, she nearly dropped it. The thing was heavy. Unwrapping it, she found a rectangular wooden box, beautifully made and polished, with leather carry straps at each end. Burned deep into the top was the legend, "Raven Armory: Serving Tortall’s Finest."

  Her jaw dropped. Everyone knew of Raven Armory. Boys who stood well enough in Lord Wyldon’s graces to have time off in Corus always went to see what the realm’s finest armory offered. Few could afford Raven goods unless the item was small, like Zahir’s blade-polishing cloth, or the knife Neal wore hidden in his belt buckle.

  Kel opened the box. Like any armory, Raven carried supplies for the care of weapons and leather. Inside the box lay polishing cloths; the armory’s prized polishing compound, guaranteed to scour away the tiniest flecks of rust or scratches; rustproofing oil; an oil to preserve and soften leather fittings; sharpening stones in three sizes; and a bag of sand for cleaning chain mail. It was perfect for a second-year page.

  "Who is it?" Kel whispered, staring at the box’s contents. Her lips were trembling. In a moment, she knew, she would start to cry, and that was no good. She took a deep breath and held it, staring at the ceiling until she had her feelings—doubt, gratitude, wonder, confusion—under control. "Who sends me these things?"

  "Someone who likes you, Page Keladry," said Gower in his usual glum way. "The joys of the season to you, my lady." He bowed and left.

  Kel turned to Lalasa. "Has he always been so gloomy?"

  The girl looked genuinely startled. "Gloomy? Uncle’s in a wonderful mood."

  Kel blinked. "A good mood," she repeated, just to be sure she had it right.

  "Oh, yes," Lalasa replied, nodding vigorously. "He likes you."

  Kel opened her mouth, about to repeat what the older girl had said, and thought the better of it. "I don’t know why," she murmured, baffled. "Any more than I know why whoever sends me these things likes me."

  "There’s plenty of reasons to like you, my lady."

  This time, when she stared at Lalasa, the maid kept her eyes lowered. "Thank you," Kel said at last. "I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—I just don’t understand." She laid her hands on either side of that wonderful box. "Mithros’s blessings attend you, whoever you are," she said. "One day I should really like to thank you in person."

  six

  MORE CHANGES

  For the new year Lord Wyldon added two more weights to the senior pages’ harnesses. For a week or so Kel felt as if she were trying to fight through clinging mud. Her body then adjusted to the added weight.

  Lord Wyldon took them on a winter camping trip in February, which made no one happy. Only the first-years were foolish enough to let him hear their complaints. He gave them a blistering lecture about how knights weren’t able to choose the conditions under which they traveled, while Kel and the other pages tried to pretend they were invisible.

  Neal continued to sigh after Uline of Hannalof. Kel listened, and made soothing noises, and bit her tongue when she wanted to point out that he had said many of the same things about Daine the year before. One night after the pages were supposed to be in bed, she joined their other friends outside Neal’s window. They caterwauled the soppiest love ballad they knew while Jump howled accompaniment. When Neal threw open the shutters, only the hapless Cleon was too slow to avoid a bath as Neal dumped a water basin on him. For weeks after that, all one of them had to do was to hum part of that song, and the others would start to grin.

  Spring came just as everyone was giving up hope. Even the forlorn tree in Kel’s courtyard thrust out a crown of leaves. The sparrows abandoned her room for the outside once more, setting tiny nests in the eaves around the courtyard. Jump proved to have a dismaying love of rolling in the mud. No matter how thickly he coated himself, Lalasa bathed him patiently until he was white again.

  To Kel this spring smelled of promise. The big and little examinations were coming; she would be free of Joren, Vinson, Garvey, and Zahir. Sadly she would also lose Prince Roald and Cleon. Knights were already walking the pages’ wing, inspecting the fourth-years as possible squires. Most would be gone into service by the time the junior pages left for summer training. A handful always stayed until fall, when knights in the field could return and choose a squire.

  Kel tried not to think about that. When she did, she had to wonder what knight would be mad enough to take her into his service. Her dream had been to act as the Lioness’s squire, but she saw now that might not be wise. It seemed people still thought the Lioness might give Kel magical aid. Did this mean Lady Alanna would not be able to make Kel her squire for the same reason? Worse, if she couldn’t or wouldn’t take Kel, who would?

  She put it from her mind. The big examinations were two years away. She had a lot of work to do before then, and worrying about things she had no control over would just drain her strength. She concentrated on studies, on exercises, and on fighting her powerful new feelings for Neal. Feelings, she learned, were hard to fight. She treasured his smiles and compliments and tried not to dwell on the fact that he gave these things to his friend Kel. His dreamy-eyed gazes, poems, and fits of passionate melancholy were for Uline. It was hard not to resent the older girl.

  Even as she wrestled with strange new emotions, though, Kel recognized some facts. Uline hadn’t the slightest idea of Ne
al’s feelings. The poems stayed in his desk, the gazes and melancholies in the pages’ wing. When Kel urged Neal to send Uline a poem, he refused. "I’ll enjoy my crush in private, thanks all the same," he told her ruefully. "I prefer that to finding out she and her friends giggle over my poor verses."

  "I don’t understand," Kel confided to Lalasa the April night before the little examinations. "If he loves her, why doesn’t he do something? To her he’s just another pair of scarlet arms and legs in a gold tunic. She’ll never love him if he doesn’t make himself known to her."

  "Perhaps Master Neal just likes being in love," Lalasa remarked, snipping off a thread. She was letting down Kel’s tunics again. "If he puts himself forward and she rejects him, he’ll feel the fool."

  "I’d do something," grumbled Kel, practicing a headstand. "I’d make her fall in love with me."

  Lalasa smiled. "Would you, my lady? And what of your own feelings for Master Neal?" She shook out the tunic. "Let’s see how this fits."

  Kel obeyed, red-faced. Lalasa was right. It was easy to say she’d make Uline love her if she were Neal, but when it came to herself, Kel was terrified to speak up. She would hate it if Neal were no longer comfortable with her. Better to be a coward and still be his friend.

  She went to bed with those comforting thoughts. In the morning came the little examinations, when first-, second-, and third-year pages were tested before an audience on the last year’s learning and skills. The exams were not considered serious, except to the pages who had to take them. What they did was ready the pages for the big examinations at the end of their fourth year. Those were more difficult tests conducted before a very large audience. The practice had been started fifteen years earlier by King Jonathan’s father, in the last year of his reign. With people wondering if Alanna the Lioness had cheated to win her shield, King Roald had wanted to ensure that anyone could see for himself that fourth-year pages knew their work and were fit to be squires.