I could not say that I belonged to a group until I wasn’t able to do magic and then nobody in archivist-scribes wanted to be near me because they thought I was kicked out for being bad, and how when I left no one came to say goodbye except Papa from the masonry as Mama was still traveling.
I couldn’t even write that until now, I just saw when I went back two pages.
Q said I didn’t know it but it’s a very bad thing, fighting against Them. (The academy boys are Them. You can hear the capital in their voice.) Especially that one.
He told me that academy boys in the lower school can be headmaster's runners, which means they get wider bounds than the other boys. Everyone wants to be one, but they can’t be after thirteen. Q said Senrid Gannan (who some call Big Mouth) and Frog Noth and Horseshoe Toraca would never get picked because they are always in trouble or too wild but now they can blame me, as they didn’t get there by the watch bell.
The tall girl whose name I still don’t know said, also fighting with the scrubs is bad because they think they have to win, don’t I see. Us, we aren’t army. We only defend ourselves or whoever we are assigned to.
Most of Them ignore us, the other boy said. (No name yet either.) Anyone interfering with runners, they get caned if they get caught.
Q said, maybe Noth and probably Gannan might come after me again, and if I want the academy boys to leave me alone I have to lose.
The other boy said, and if They do pick on someone, we can report it and They get Their coats dusted good, and gated with stable cleaning.
I said thank you, and I didn’t know, and I’ll do everything they say, and they left and went away to their rec room and I’m alone again and I’ll always be alone for ever and ever and I. FEEL. SICK.
TWO
Lineas woke up remembering her undone laundry.
Convinced that she had become heinous to everyone, she stayed in her room until the stampede of feet toward the baths had come and gone before venturing downstairs with her laundry basket. She found several grown women at the bath. None of them gave her a second glance.
She washed her hair, put on her second set of clothes with no drawers, which felt odd, then found her way down the narrow hall to a huge, airy room with empty drying racks for winter. At the end of the room adjacent the baths there was an enormous tub into which water dripped in a stream, draining away in a channel that obviously led back to the baths. Lineas stared at the sparkle of magic around the tub's rim, which she usually found reassuring, but she was too upset to enjoy the flare and ribbons of color as she rapidly dunked her clothes. She put them through the wringer next to the barrel, then ventured through the door beyond, which opened into a court on the north side of the castle—which would get the most sun.
Hempen lines had been strung from wall to wall. She looked for dark blue, and found where her peers hung their things to dry. How could you tell yours apart from anyone else’s? (She would soon discover that nobody did; if you hung out two items, you were entitled to fetch away two similar items. The clothing for the youngsters was interchangeable, except for underthings, which you embroidered with your initials.)
She neatly hung hers, knowing that if you put things to dry all wrinkled, they dried wrinkled. Everyone else had neatly hung theirs, too. She retreated to her room to tame her frizz into ferociously neat braids, so tight her scalp pulled and her eyes watered. The mess bell rang halfway through this process, but she ignored her growling stomach. She couldn’t face anyone.
She waited until she heard the voices and feet again, then slipped out to join them, using the stealth she’d mastered early on. Staying close to walls, and keeping her head low, she didn’t see Quill looking around worriedly for her. He hadn’t seen her at breakfast.
When he spotted the telltale red braids on the other side of the room, he sat back in relief, and turned to his particular friends, who were staring at one of the school slates on the table.
Usually someone wiped the slates clean each evening and stacked them for morning. Sometimes the tutors kept someone’s work out to serve as an example, or as a sign of excellence.
Quill elbowed his way in, then whistled under his breath when he saw a detailed map of the kingdom. It was not quite right, too long for the width, but in every other way it was really well done. Far better than the work of his particular class, which he would have recognized.
Mnar entered.
The runners in training fell silent.
Mnar said, “We teach you that among the ineffables binding together family, clan, guild, and country, are loyalty and honor, truth and law. We talk about them constantly, because these are ideals to strive for. The reality is...us, which includes individuals whose definitions of these four don’t always quite match.”
One of the seniors behind Quill whispered, “Is this the honor lecture again?”
Mnar sent a sharp glance their way, and silence fell. “So we sing stirring songs to bind us together, by emotion and by shared definitions. We all agree that the epitome of honor and loyalty was exemplified by the women at Andahi Castle at the start of the Venn War, who sacrificed their lives in delaying the entire Venn army. Though the king no longer permits us to sing the Andahi Lament on its anniversary, we all know the story.”
Quill couldn’t remember ever singing it as part of the summer Victory celebration, but the elders had said it used to be customary until Lorgi Idego’s craven slaughter above Andahi besmirched the name, not the event. Now only the old women still sang it on Andahi Day, but everyone knew it. Once you heard it, it was impossible to forget.
As the eerie threnody echoed in every mind, Mnar said, “One of the ineffables—one of the strongest, so strong we don’t make songs directly about it—is memory.”
She paused, and lifted a hand toward the map chalked on the slate. All heads turned. Lineas strained to see what they were looking at. She was astonished to discover it was her map, and further—now that she could see it at a distance—it was horrendously distorted.
Her head dropped and her eyes stung as she braced herself for being made an example of for sloppy work.
Mnar said, “I would have made corrections for a senior, but it was not a senior who drew this entirely from memory. It was made by a first-year.” She raised her voice as the runners all tried glancing furtively around, “Memory binds us together more effectively than our notions of honor and so forth. Memory comforts us and goads us. It is not only a skill, but a tool. Those among you who were born with excellent memory might start ahead, but it takes work to stay there—and it’s those who put in the labor in this and other skills who are entrusted with the most important posts.”
When she saw all attention on her, she drew aside the cloth covering the big slate with the day’s study and work schedules on it.
Her voice altered to crisp warmth as she said, “Our newest student, Lineas daughter of Tdor Noth and Tanrid Stonemason of Darchelde, drew that map. Lineas, everyone is marked here by a sigil. Yours is this one, LN. Each day you’ll find your morning’s study chalked here, and your afternoon work.”
Mnar paused to watch the students taking in the small figure hunched in on herself, then the board, which testified that Lineas was scheduled to study with the third and fourth years for every subject but Maths & Maps, where she’d be with the first-year seniors.
Mnar took in the faces, and, satisfied with what she saw, said, “Dismissed.”
“Why the memory lecture?” one of the seniors muttered covertly, though everyone around was listening.
“Because she’s got a new pet, of course,” was the reply, though in a mild voice. The speaker was from a minor family on the western coast, where Iascans had slowly mixed with Marlovans. “From the looks of yon map, I’d say it’s deserved.”
“And better she pick one of us,” added a sturdy boy of sixteen.
The seniors all opened their hands in agreement, and the listening juniors agreed.
All they knew of the newcomer was that she’d k
nocked that obnoxious academy scrub Gannan on his butt a heartbeat after her arrival. As for pets, if it was true, Dannor repeated to her particular cronies as she headed down the hall, “Good that it’s one of us. I have nothing against Bun—I adore her—but proper is proper.”
Lineas didn’t hear any of it. Her head buzzed with relief. She wasn’t in trouble? Her hands picked up chalk and slate as she followed the shuffling line, then she paused to glance at the diagram to orient herself on which room she was to go to.
Quill watched, hesitating until a fifth-year girl Quill’s age turned dark, friendly eyes on Lineas and said, “Lost? Scribe class is with us, down the hall. I’ll show you.”
Lineas’s buoyant mood carried her through her first day.
Scribe class helped Lineas steady herself, despite her being lightheaded from no breakfast and very little dinner the previous evening.
Her handwriting was excellent, but that was because she drew the letters rather than writing them. The tutor was calm and patient, showing her how best to grip her quill to speed up writing an alphabet that had been designed for right-handers. She much preferred Old Sartoran, which favored left-handers.
After that she had history and reports, both of which she loved. The latter was an exercise in memorization of words and tone, as taught by scribes.
Following that was the midday meal, and she found herself in a group of girls who all had questions about the mysterious Darchelde, which no one was allowed to enter or leave—except for runners.
“Quill comes from there,” a girl said, her light blue eyes round and bright. “But he only goes back for his Name Day, and he says he doesn’t see much, because his mothers live in the woods.”
“I can’t compare it to anywhere else,” Lineas said with her usual scrupulous care. “Because I don’t know anywhere else. But once, when I was learning to ride, my mother took me to deliver messages....”
From the other side of the mess hall, Quill observed Lineas looking a lot more cheerful as she chattered with a mix of second and third years. He relaxed inside. Though he’d done what he’d been told to do the morning before, guilt still poked at him for the mess that had happened in the afternoon. He should have looked out for her, a fellow runner in training from Darchelde, and a relative, however distant.
He turned back to his friends, breathing easier—and unaware of Camerend watching them both from the other side of the mess hall. Both youngsters were easy enough to read. Lineas was settling in at last, and his son was developing a sense of responsibility.
At the same time, up in the gunvaer chambers, Mnar said to Danet, “I will not make a pet of Lineas.”
They often met to talk over runner and tutoring affairs. This particular evening, Danet triumphantly offered a taste of the latest delivery of coffee from the islands, brought in from Lindeth after the snows melted.
Mnar paused to sip appreciatively, then said, “I hadn’t thought I’d made a pet of Bun in tutoring her myself.”
“They make a pet of her.” Danet turned up her hands. “Everybody makes a pet of my daughter. I think your seniors looked for what they expected to see, and since no one really minds, where’s the problem? Bunny likes you, and I want you tutoring her. You’re the only one with enough authority. Everyone else, she charms them into letting her skimp work to escape to her animals.”
The door banged open, thrust by Arrow’s impatient hand. He and Commander Noth walked in. Arrow plunked himself down on the nearest cushion, as Noth rounded to the other side, and sat next to Danet. Mnar watched the subtle signs between them—the way the gunvaer turned slightly, the touch of Noth’s thigh against hers, and sighed inwardly. This bond showed every sign of permanence—which she didn’t begrudge either of them—but she missed the days when she and Danet went together to the Rose on Restday evenings. Danet had stopped that ever since she’d taken up with Commander Noth.
“What now?” Arrow asked, looking from one face to another.
“A new fuzzy,” Danet replied. “One they think might do for Bun someday.”
Arrow shrugged. That was someone else’s worry, and he had enough of his own. He leaned forward. “I was just telling Noth that this year, I want to try something new with the academy, now that we’re finally a good size, and have sent two classes on to the garrisons. So far, the reports coming back are good. We’re making Marlovan captains here, rather than individual jarlate ones. But we can always improve.”
Danet opened her hand. She still was ambivalent about the academy’s purpose, but that was Arrow’s affair.
He saw enough assent to be satisfied, and went on. “Inda-Harskialdna insisted that youngsters learn faster with rewards rather than punishment, so I’m going to give out medals for the winning commander of the Great Game, as well as the Victory Day competitions. That means we have to figure out what they look like. I’m thinking little eagles, silver. Gold. Down the sleeve, which is where actual command chevrons are worn, but maybe the left instead of the right sleeve....”
Mnar got to her feet, knowing that the conversation would be entirely taken up with academy minutiae, now that the king was here. It had been this way ever since that first admittedly awkward year, when they had only twenty-seven boys: the king was always changing things. She might as well get back to work.
THREE
Spring had abruptly turned into summer when Lineas reported to the roost to find herself assigned to the garden. She and the others with that duty trooped downstairs that afternoon, grumpy at the prospect of not just weeding, but toiling down the rows with buckets of water from the canal, as the bright blue sky gave no hint of rain anytime soon.
She had gradually gone from dreading a second encounter with the academy boys to largely forgetting about that first terrible day. Like the other runners in training, at her first glimpse of the undyed sashed smocks and gray trousers of the academy boys she whisked herself out of sight, taking another route.
That was until midway through the afternoon, as Lineas labored with her friends in the far corner of the garden, and they spotted roaming academy boys—who spotted them at the same time.
“Heads down,” spindly, second-year Cama muttered. “It’s Big Mouth Gannan and the Poseid twins.”
“They’re not even supposed to be here,” Lineas whispered back. There were rules!
“They’re definitely out of bounds, unless they’re on a tracking game.” And even then, they weren’t supposed to harass any of the castle staff, which included both garrison and royal runners in training. Fnor, who was finishing her first year, snorted a hard sigh through her nose. “Lineas, if they go after you, best to lose.”
Lineas obediently lowered her gaze to the cabbages in front of her, but she knew from sad experience that her red hair was a beacon for bullies.
“If they want me to blub, I won’t.” Lineas scowled.
“Why not? Everybody does.” Fnor sent her a quick, covert glance. “You fake it if you can’t make it.”
Cama whispered as he yanked up a handful of tangleweed, “Saddleback Fath and his gang went for me after a storm last spring, when I got stuck sweeping leaves on the west end of the parade ground. I howled so loud that all the scribes in the state wing heard through the windows, which they’d just opened, but Saddleback and his gang didn’t notice. The gunvaer was with the scribes, and heard everything.”
His mouth curved in reminiscence as he banged his trowel into the ground. “They all came a-running to the window. Saddleback had only smacked me once but I howled as if he’d ripped my arm off. The gunvaer ordered Fath and the rest dusted on the spot. By no less than Commander Noth.”
Fnor glanced over her shoulder, then whispered, “They got gated an entire month in the stables, too. Sh! Here they come. If we ignore them, maybe they’ll move on.”
Senrid Gannan and his Rider-family third-cousins had been half-heartedly playing a long game of hide-and-find (scrapping when you got found) with others in their year when they spotted Lineas’s red h
air. The heat, their fruitless search, and boredom vanished like smoke. Gannan remembered that girl, and though he had not in any of his previous three years been picked as a headmaster runner, a privilege extended to few and easily lost through (for instance) the sort of trouble he was about to get into now, it was always easier to blame someone else rather than yourself.
As for Lineas, Cama had said exactly the right thing. In the time it took to yank two handfuls of sprouting sticklewort and tangleweed, Lineas’s heartsick determination not to let herself be humiliated changed to teeth-gritted determination as the academy boys tramped straight toward them.
Gannan scowled, in a bad mood from the heat, the boring game, and especially from Connar’s sarcasm in the barracks that morning, just because he’d called Noddy a rockbrain. Which he was! How Gannan hated that swanking, strutting Connar, prettier than a girl.
The twins perked up, hoping for entertainment. Gannan’s irritation sharpened. The red-haired fuzz was even scrawnier than he remembered, scarcely half his size. That only made his defeat worse, at least in his eyes; he was certain that everyone in the academy was still laughing behind his head, though in truth most of them had forgotten between one meal and the next. But Gannan, grown up under a bully of an older brother and a brute of a father, nursed grudges like a fire in winter.
He waited for her to attack, but she just kept messing around.
“You think you’re so tough,” he prompted, kicking a clod of dirt onto her knee.
“I never said that,” Lineas replied after another, larger, clump of dirt hit her in the stomach.
“Oooh, that’s not what I hear,” taunted one of the twins, side-eyeing his brother. They didn’t care at all about what had happened eons ago. They were looking for fun, and Gannan going after someone else was a thousand times better than him taking his temper out on them.
Time of Daughters I Page 30
