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by Tamora Pierce

  It was his first compliment. She knew she would remember it every day of her life.

  One March Sunday, Kel climbed the curtain wall. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sketching the ground between the palace’s Least Gate and Corus when she realized she had company. Joren was draped on a merlon beside her, very much at his ease.

  "I thought you were afraid of heights," he remarked when she looked at him.

  Kel let no hint of her uncertainty, confusion, and irritation with him show through her Yamani facade. "I am," she replied at last, and went back to her mapping.

  "You don’t look it."

  "Well, that’s something," she said dryly, rubbing out a crooked line.

  "If you’re afraid, why do this?" he asked, at his most reasonable. "They won’t test you on it at the big or little exams."

  "My lord will, the next time he gives me punishment work," Kel informed him. "Or the gods will, the next time I’m supposed to help someone in trouble and they’re on a height, or we have to climb to escape danger."

  For a while he said nothing, but she knew he was still there, still watching her. "Why do any of this?" he wanted to know. "It isn’t at all needful. Did someone tell you that you had no chance to marry?"

  Kel’s hand jerked, smearing charcoal over her notes. She made a face and rubbed it out.

  Joren went on, "It’s not true. You’d be a pretty thing, in the right clothes and after you’d lost some weight. After you stopped working so your arms are like a blacksmith’s. You’d make a fine wife for one of those big fellows—Cleon, for instance. He seems fond of you. How about Lord Raoul? He can afford a wife. You could settle down and raise young giants." He smiled as Kel looked at him, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  When she was five and her mother had saved the Yamanis’ most sacred artifacts from pirates, the emperor made her family part of his inner circle. Suddenly Kel’s family was sought by all kinds of people. Children who had laughed at Kel and called her a hulking barbarian now fought for the honor of sitting with her. They gave her presents and invited her to their homes. Kel heard two of them say privately that their parents had ordered them to befriend the emperor’s pets so the emperor might favor their families. The smiles of those children, and their parents, never reached their eyes, either.

  "It’s so good of you to concern yourself with my marriage prospects," Kel replied evenly. "Has it occurred to you I don’t want to marry?" Neal, she thought suddenly and horribly. If Neal asked me...

  He never will, replied her coldly practical self. He falls in love with beauties.

  "Nonsense," Joren was saying comfortably. "All women care about marriage. Even the Lioness scraped up a husband, though she had to dig through the middens of Corus to do it."

  Surely the King’s Champion had married only because she had wanted to. "If you say so," Kel replied. She went back to her mapping.

  "Think about it," Joren said, clapping her on the shoulder. "One battle too many, and you’ll be scarred for life. No man will want you then." He ambled off, whistling.

  Kel shook her head. Maybe he’ll be a great knight one day—maybe, she thought. But first, he’d better get his head out of his behind. And he’d better let me be.

  eleven

  UNPLEASANT REALITIES

  One evening in late March a sparrow flew into the library where Kel and her friends studied. The bird—the female named Peg for her missing foot — landed on Kel’s shoulder and chattered angrily.

  "Aren’t they supposed to be asleep?" Neal asked.

  Kel sighed. "She’s probably locked out and can’t get to the courtyard." If the sparrows were flying inside, they sometimes got trapped when the doors were closed. With the way to the courtyard, and Kel’s open shutter, barred, they usually waited for Kel by her door, fluffing up their feathers and looking the picture of sparrow misery.

  Kel got to her feet. "Jump, stay," she ordered. Jump, who slept with his blocky head on Cleon’s foot, opened his eyes and snorted. He had no intention of moving.

  Cleon didn’t look at her as he said, "You want company?"

  Kel smiled. "I’m just going to let her into the courtyard. I’ll only be a moment." Walking out, she told Peg, "I don’t see why you couldn’t wait till I came home, if Lalasa didn’t hear you. Or does sitting on the stones make your stump hurt?" She crossed the pages’ corridor into the short hall that led to the outer door. Cool air, not cold, brushed her cheeks—the door was open. "Peg, why in Mithros’s name—" Kel began, vexed.

  Then a muffled curse, furious sparrow chatter, and the sound of a tussle reached her ears. "You’ll pay for that trick, wench!" someone growled. "Call these birds off!"

  Kel’s instinct was to dash out and halt whatever was going on, but Lord Wyldon’s training gripped her hard. Fighting the urge to run, she slid to the open door and carefully leaned around it, moving slowly. A quick movement would attract the eye of anyone in the courtyard.

  Her open window was just ten feet away. Vinson stood there, grappling with Lalasa. From the wreckage of the sewing basket on the ground, Kel guessed Lalasa had been working in the window seat when Vinson came by. Now he fought to keep a hand over her mouth while her fingers scrabbled over his arm, looking for tender places to pinch. The sparrows attacked furiously, making Vinson duck their claws as he tried to wedge Lalasa’s hands under his free arm. He was lucky the sparrows were half-blind at night, or they could have damaged him badly. As it was, he bled from a dozen peck-marks on his face.

  White fury blazed in Kel’s heart. She stalked forward, battling to keep her feelings in hand as she said coldly, "Unhand my maid." Lalasa’s eyes widened. Peg, a cautious bird, fled Kel’s shoulder for the safety of the room. The sparrows attacking Vinson did the same.

  Vinson half-turned to look at her, still holding Lalasa. Kel could see the furrowed gouges of a woman’s fingernails down the older boy’s face. "If I were you, Lump, I’d walk away right now." He used the nickname she rarely heard these days.

  Kel didn’t argue. Pivoting on her right foot, she furled her left leg up to her inner thigh and snapped the foot out. Rather than shatter Vinson’s kneecap, she hit just above it, where the thigh muscle narrowed. He lurched, knocking Lalasa against the window frame, then let go. Lalasa scrambled back inside Kel’s room, tears streaming down her face.

  Kel took another step toward Vinson, doubling her fists. For the first time she could understand how someone in a rage might do murder. "How dare you touch an unwilling woman?" she asked.

  He swallowed and took another step away from her, unable to rest any weight on the leg she’d kicked. "You’re wrong, Mindelan," he said, licking his lips nervously. "The wench has been eyeing me for weeks. They all do it—bed men to earn extra coin over their wages."

  "Liar." Kel slapped him. Last year Vinson had been almost a hand taller than she was. Now she was a scant inch shorter, and her build was more solid. Vinson was gangly and he exercised only in the practice courts. "I know her and I know you. Those scratches alone condemn you." She slapped him again. He had to challenge her; no knight could allow anyone to strike him without a fight. When he did, she would teach him a few lessons, then turn him in to Lord Wyldon.

  Vinson backed up another step. He was in the wrong in every way. By palace law the maids were to be left alone: violators were brought before the chamberlain. In chivalry, servants were under a master’s protection and could not be interfered with unless the master gave permission. No one would argue with Kel’s dueling over this.

  "You will regret your treatment of me," Vinson said. His voice shook. His face was pale and sweaty around its scratches. "My family is powerful at court."

  Kel advanced until they were inches apart. "You are a coward," she told him, soft-voiced. "You knew you could frighten her—that’s why you picked her. What kind of knight preys on serving girls? Where is your honor?"

  "Just because I won’t brawl with you doesn’t mean I have no honor!" he blustered. "I—I refuse to get in
trouble over a wench who is no better than she should be!"

  Kel lifted her hand to slap him again. Vinson flinched, raising his arm to protect his face. He didn’t run only because she had backed him against the wall.

  She turned away, disgusted. "I’m reporting this," she said, striding toward the courtyard door.

  "My lady, no!" cried Lalasa. She lunged out of the window to grab Kel’s sleeve. "Don’t tell." She wiped her eyes. "They’ll talk until I’ve no reputation, that’s how things are in servants’ hall." She hung on to Kel with both hands and lowered her voice. "Nobles can make a girl’s life a misery—they always do. Please don’t report this!"

  Kel wanted to argue, but Lalasa made sense. As Kel had just seen, she couldn’t be everywhere. Who could say an enemy wouldn’t lie in wait for Lalasa in places that Kel could not be?

  Still, Kel owed her maid loyalty and protection. "He must be reported," she told Lalasa quietly. "He’ll do it again."

  "Please, my lady," pleaded Lalasa, "put yourself in my shoes! You’ll get me in trouble. His kind can make it hard for servants. He speaks to his mother, who speaks to the chamberlain, who speaks to a steward, who puts my uncle out of work. How will you know it was done? How will you know it even came because of this? In two years you’ll be gone, and Uncle and I will still be here. Listen to me."

  Kel looked for Vinson: he’d stolen away. She tried to still her mind, to think. She certainly knew of nobles who forced themselves on serving women. No one put a halt to it. Within their own fiefdoms, nobles could do as they pleased. Even the priestesses of the Goddess, sworn to protect women and girls from just this kind of thing, might hesitate to offend a lord. Vinson’s family was connected to powerful houses throughout the realm. The saying was that if anything was needed, Genliths would supply it. When all else was said and done, Kel would be gone in two years, to serve whatever knight would take her for a squire. She’d be hard put to defend Lalasa and Gower then.

  Lalasa sensed that Kel was not about to charge after Vinson. She relaxed her hold on Kel’s arm. "If I’d been on my feet, I could have done something," she commented, and blew her nose. "He had me all twisted around. I could hardly get at him."

  Kel looked at her and remembered what she had seen: Lalasa’s hands groping for a nerve, any nerve, in Vinson’s imprisoning arm, and the bloody furrows on Vinson’s face. "I am so proud of you," she said warmly, patting Lalasa’s shoulder. "He’s going to hurt for a long time—he won’t dare take those marks to a healer." And I’d like to see him explain the scratches to Lord Wyldon, she thought. "I don’t know if I could have done as well from that position." She inspected Lalasa. "Did he hit you? Hurt you in any way?"

  Lalasa made a face. "I’ve bruises where he grabbed me. He would’ve gotten to hitting sooner or later—they all do." Kel stared at her, appalled. Lalasa turned her face away. "My dad, my brothers all hit their women."

  Kel realized she was hearing bleak truth. "I thought Gower said you were alone—wait. Does he hit you?"

  Lalasa shook her head and smiled, her lips trembling. "Dad always said Uncle had strange ideas, learnt up here in the north. He’s not, not chirpy, like some, but he’s the gentlest soul. He was the only one left..." She took a breath. "Raiders came in from the Copper Isles and burned our village out. They missed me—Dad sent me to the river to wash clothes."

  "So you came here."

  Lalasa nodded. "Uncle Gower told me the king’s palace is a fine place to work. And so it is—I couldn’t ask for kinder friends than Tian, and Uncle. It’s just—" She shrugged. "No place is perfect."

  Kel rubbed her temples. "Use the bruise balm," she suggested. "You won’t need a lot." She turned.

  Lalasa grabbed her arm again. "You’re not—" she began, eyes wide.

  Kel smiled grimly. "I won’t report him, but I have to make sure he doesn’t forget."

  Lalasa’s eyes searched Kel’s face. At last she released her mistress.

  "Next time you want to sew in the window?" said Kel. "Come get Jump. He’ll see to it you’re not bothered."

  She went back into the pages’ wing, walked straight to Vinson’s room, and knocked sharply. "Don’t make me say what I’ve come to say out here in the hall," she called.

  Vinson opened the door, his face sullen. "What?" He didn’t invite her in.

  Kel put a hand on the door and leaned into the opening, making sure he could see her clearly. "If I hear of you bothering any female, not just her, I’ll take you before the court of the Goddess. I’ll risk making an enemy of the pack that whelped you."

  Vinson blanched under his scratches and pimples. A man convicted of hurting women in the Goddess’s court faced harsh penalties; those for actual rape were the worst of all. The temples maintained their own warriors to enforce the Goddess’s law.

  "I never want to see the wench again," he snapped, his voice cracking. "I’d give anything never to see you." He slammed the door.

  Kel let him do it. He would keep quiet now, she suspected. One thing was certain, though—she must not forget. That her servant was harassed without real punishment was a reproach. Nobles were supposed to protect their servants. Lalasa had done well by her. She had to hold up her end of the arrangement.

  She had trouble nodding off that night. She couldn’t get rid of her anger with Vinson and with a world in which servants didn’t matter. It wasn’t right.

  If she had gone into her usual deep sleep right away, she might never have heard sounds in the dressing room. Tonight she did. She went around the screen that hid Lalasa’s bed to find the older girl crying.

  "Now, what’s this?" Kel demanded, worried. "Lalasa, what’s wrong?" She sat on the bed. "Please don’t cry."

  Lalasa buried her head in Kel’s shoulder. "When he grabbed me, I hoped you would come," she said, her voice thick. "I’d no right, but I hoped. And you did!"

  Kel patted her awkwardly. "You have every right," she said. "I’m honor-bound to protect you."

  "And you did, you did!" cried Lalasa. "The look on your face—"

  "Maybe I should report this after all," Kel suggested. "It’s not right, letting him off when you’re so scared."

  "It’s not that," Lalasa replied, shaking her head and sitting up straight. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Not that, not much, anyway." She sniffed. "I never knew anybody who’d fight for me, never. When my bro—a man, a man hurt me, when I was little, and my parents said I lied. He was more important to them. But you—you faced down a noble for me!"

  Kel looked down, hiding shock and fury. Lalasa’s own brother had hurt her, and her parents had done nothing? They’d as good as told their daughter that she didn’t matter!

  At last, when she could trust her voice, Kel cleared her throat and said, "Vinson’s not much of a noble."

  "But I knew you would, if you found out." Lalasa clung to one of Kel’s hands. "Since I’ve come to your service, I never felt so safe."

  "Well, it’s nothing to cry over," Kel said.

  Lalasa chuckled and wiped her eyes again. "You’re so strong," she said, a little envy in her voice. "I wish I was like you. I wager no one ever grabbed you in your life."

  Kel bent her head for a moment as memory flooded her. "My brother Conal held me off a balcony when I was four. I forget what I’d done to annoy him," she said quietly. "He was always hitting me or pushing me. This time he got caught—one of the maids was in the garden and heard me screaming."

  "What a brute!" Lalasa cried, indignant.

  "I’d never seen Papa so angry. He almost disowned Conal. He said he would disown Conal if he heard of anything else like that." Kel smiled bitterly. "I think the worst part, other than my being scared of heights now ... The worst part is that Conal doesn’t even remember. I asked him when we came back from the Islands."

  "No wonder you hate bullies," whispered Lalasa. "No wonder you learned to fight."

  Kel took a deep breath and let it out, thrusting the hard memories away. "Are you going to be able to sleep now?
" she asked.

  "Yes, forgive me," replied Lalasa, releasing Kel’s hand. "I’m sorry I woke you."

  "You didn’t." Kel got to her feet. "I was awake. But you should sleep—all the sewing you do these days, you’ve earned your rest."

  ’’And you haven’t, I suppose," Lalasa teased.

  "Sleep well, Lalasa."

  "Thank you, my lady." As Kel reached the dressing room door she heard her maid say, quietly but firmly, "I knew you would come."

  A week later Vinson was gone with his knight-master. Somehow he’d gotten a healer to tend the marks on his face; Kel would have liked to know what story he’d told. She suspected he’d had to hurt his face with something else, to cover the marks—it was an old trick.

  Soon after Vinson’s departure, Cleon reported to the study group with a glum face. "This is it," he announced. "I’m off at dawn. We’re going back north." To Kel he said, "Sir Inness said to tell you we’ll be visiting at Mindelan, if you’ve anything to send home."

  "I have a letter to Anders," she said. "Shall I get it?"

  "I’ll go with you, if it’s all the same," Cleon said. "I need to pack yet tonight." He said his farewells to his other friends, tugged Neal’s ear "for luck," he claimed, and followed Kel back to her rooms.

  Tian and Lalasa sat in the window seat, doing fine embroidery. Kel waved for them to stay where they were and found her letter on her desk. Quickly she signed and sealed it, and gave it to Cleon.

  He turned it over in his hands, glanced at the two maids, and asked, "So, Kel, will you miss me?"

  She smiled at him. "I missed you last year. Our group always loses a bit of madness when you’re away."

  "Here I thought Neal supplies all you could want, and that little scrapper Owen more than you need. Well." For a moment he looked at her, then at the maids, then at the letter. Suddenly he hugged Kel tight; as suddenly he let her go. "Don’t break anything while I’m gone," he advised, and fled.