“Why not?” His voice was as relaxed and careless as hers. If only he would let go of her hand!
“Because—well, because you know me better. I have other plans.”
“You’re not even curious?” He refused to look away. She had never noticed before how much green was in his hazel eyes, or how long his lashes were.
She had to pull her hand away, even if it was rude. “No,” she said flatly. This conversation was far too personal! “I’m not curious at all.”
Faithful, who had been sleeping on the windowsill, yawned and stretched.
“Quite right,” Alanna told her cat. Nervously she gathered up the package containing the shirt and belt. “I’ve got to go,” she announced.
He gathered up his sword belt. “I’ll just go with you as far as the Temple District. You’re carryin’ valuables, remember, and even I don’t trust my folk completely. Good swordsman you are, but you might be outnumbered.” He grinned as he fastened the belt around his hard waist. “Besides, one of your attackers may be a wrestler.”
Alanna made a face at him, relieved he was talking sensibly once more. “Thanks, I love having my nose rubbed in my weakness.”
George tucked the second, unopened package into his shirt front. “You’d worry me if you didn’t have some weaknesses, little one,” he informed her. “We’ll take the back stairs.”
It was fun to walk through the Lower City with him, talking about the upcoming celebrations while Faithful dashed off after real or imaginary prey. It was so late that no one was out to see them. Her hands were full with Jon’s gift, and she knew anyone would think twice about attacking a man who moved with such muscular grace. Also, sometimes it was pleasant just to be with George, to relax and to forget about being a noble, about the Ordeal, about being a girl fighting to win a knight’s shield. George just let her be who she was.
“Hm?” she asked, realizing his last remark had been a question.
“I said, are things with the Tusaine nobles so serious? The rogues in Tusaine think it’s all just a court storm, but they admit they don’t know their nobles as well as we.” George’s teeth flashed in a grin.
“Serious enough, I think,” she admitted. “Anything you learn will help.”
“Then I’ll do my best.” They had reached the edge of the Temple District. George could leave her there safely: the District was patrolled by warriors of different faiths, and the rest of the Palace Way was in full view of the Royal Guard.
The thief pulled her into the shade of a large tree, where they couldn’t be seen by anyone passing by, and drew the small package out of his shirt front. “This is from me to Jon. Be sure you give it to him in private. You don’t want folk askin’ questions about the giver.”
Alanna tucked the gift into the large bundle, juggling it all with difficulty. She looked up at her friend accusingly. “George, did you—”
He laughed merrily. “Oh, you mistrustin’ child! No, I did not steal it. I had it made special for Jon. It’s quite pretty, even if I did have to pay for it myself.” He looked around, checked to see if anyone was coming, then suddenly tilted her face up with one hand. “Alanna,” he whispered, “I’m takin’ advantage of you now, because I may never catch you with your hands full again.” He kissed her softly and carefully. Alanna trembled, too shocked to do anything but let it happen.
“There.” George released her. “Think over what I said about love.”
“Pigs might fly,” she snapped, her voice shaking. “I should have stabbed you!”
He chuckled infuriatingly. “No. I won’t let you stab me and ruin our friendship. Will you be afraid to face me again after this?”
Alanna felt herself turning beet red. This was too much! “I’m afraid of no one, George Cooper,” she yelled. “Especially not you!”
“Until next time, then.” He saluted her and headed back down to the city, whistling. Faithful rubbed against Alanna’s ankles, purring.
“Where were you when I needed you?” she asked him bitterly. “As a chaperone you aren’t much.”
I’m not a chaperone, the cat replied. Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.
There was no way of replying to such obvious silliness. Alanna turned and walked quickly—very quickly—back to the palace.
Although Alanna later remembered very little of the daylight celebrations in honor of Jonathan’s nineteenth birthday, she remembered the ball that night vividly. That was when she met Delia of Eldorne for the first time.
She had been sitting in a window seat, bored and miserable, when Gary found her. She hated parties, and normally the only way she attended one was when she was pouring drinks and serving food as a squire. Tonight, however, servants waited on the guests, and as Jonathan’s squire she had been practically ordered to attend. She considered it a useless exercise. She couldn’t converse with strangers easily, and she certainly couldn’t flirt with the ladies as her friends did! She was busy calculating an escape when Gary, magnificent in brown velvet, discovered her hiding place. “I know you hate social events, but you’ll never get used to them this way.”
“I don’t have to get used to them,” Alanna retorted. “If I get my shield, I’m riding off to adventures.”
“Nonsense!” Her friend grinned. “Come out of your shell. There are plenty of noblewomen who’d like to meet the prince’s squire, especially since June.”
“I’m only fifteen,” Alanna replied automatically. “I’m too young for girls.”
Gary smoothed his new mustache. “You’re never too young for girls. Come on. I’ll introduce you to the newest arrival. She just came yesterday, and Mithros!” He whistled his approval, adding smugly, “I got to meet her first.” He clamped a hand around Alanna’s arm and levered her out of her seat, walking her out onto the floor. It was either walk or be dragged; Alanna sometimes wondered if Gary knew his own strength.
She saw the trouble spot immediately: Jonathan stood at the center of a cluster of knights. He was talking to someone hidden from Alanna’s view. The young men moved out of Gary’s way, spotting Alanna and grinning. Squire Alan’s reluctance to meet young ladies was palace legend.
Jonathan saw them and smiled, beckoning them forward. “Gary, you found him. Alan, come here.”
A royal command was a royal command. Alanna moved up to stand beside the prince, but she wasn’t happy about it.
Seated at the center of the cluster of men was a lovely girl with chestnut-colored hair. Alanna lifted an eyebrow. Most maidens at Court wore pale colors or whites, but this one was wearing a low-cut green silk dress. Well, the color did emphasize her bright green eyes as a lighter color would not.
Jonathan was bowing to the vision. “Lady Delia of Eldorne, I’d like you to meet my personal squire, Alan of Trebond.”
Alanna bowed and found herself presented with a dainty white hand. Blushing slightly, she brushed it with her lips. Never was she more aware of her real sex than at moments like these! She looked up into Delia’s face, noting the pert little nose and full red lips. She’s a beauty, all right, Alanna realized. And she knows it.
“Alan of Trebond,” Delia murmured, her voice light and throaty. “I’ve heard of you, haven’t I?” She tapped her rosy mouth with her fan, delicate dark brow carefully arched. Then she laughed merrily. “The ‘Squire’s squire!’ And you beat that dreadful knight from Tusaine. I think that’s thrilling!”
Alanna bowed politely. “It was nothing, Lady Delia,” she murmured.
“Oh, but you’re being modest. I’m sure no Tortallan thinks it was ‘nothing’—do you, gentlemen?” Delia asked the bristlingly jealous knights around her. Alanna knew very well that at the moment her friends were wishing they had beaten Dain, and that she was far, far away. In that Alanna was one with them. She didn’t like Delia, and she wanted to leave. “Do you dance, Alan of Trebond?” Delia asked now.
Jonathan, grinning wickedly, replied, “Of course he knows how to dance. He learned the
steps as a page, as did we all.” Alanna promptly resolved to put something soft and squishy in her friend’s bed—very soon.
“And he was always stepping on someone’s feet,” Raoul muttered.
Delia placed her hand on Alanna’s arm, rising gracefully from her chair. “I’m sure he dances beautifully now.” She laughed.
The Code of Chivalry was very specific about moments like this. Red as a beet, Alanna led Delia out onto the dance floor as the musicians struck up a waltz. She had never felt so ridiculous in her life. Delia was even taller than she was!
Carefully Alanna whirled Delia around the floor as the girl chattered about how kind everyone was, particularly Prince Jonathan. She knew now she didn’t like Delia at all, and she felt very odd whenever Delia complimented Jonathan. Finally it was over, and she returned the young noblewoman to her admirers. Good manners or no, she was going. Even the Chamber of the Ordeal had to be better than dancing with a green-eyed flirt.
She bumped into Myles on her way out. Her friend was worse for wear, to put it mildly.
He toasted her with his glass of brandy. “Not sociable, Alan?” Myles asked. “You’d better learn to be. A knight is a social animal.”
“I’d sooner kiss a—”
“Don’t, please. Sometimes you’re too frank for an old man.”
Alanna looked him over. “Need help getting back to your rooms?” she asked.
“No. I’m staying to watch the pretty little Eldorne girl try to hook every eligible male at Court.”
Alanna clenched her jaw. “If she doesn’t succeed, it won’t be because she didn’t try.”
Myles lifted both eyebrows. “Jealous about Jonathan?”
“Why should I be jealous about Jonathan?” she snapped.
Myles shrugged. “Some women like to break up men’s friendships. If I were you, I’d keep that in mind.”
I’ll stop by in the morning with my hangover remedy. It sounds as if you’ll need it.” Sometimes the odd things Myles told her made too much sense for her peace of mind.
“You’re a good human being, Alan. Too good to be caught up in Court games. Run along to bed.”
Alanna obeyed, thinking. By “Court games” Myles meant the tricks people used to win favor with important nobles, to get revenge on each other or to acquire power. Was that the kind of game Delia played? Whatever it was, it left a sour taste in Alanna’s mouth.
It was a hard winter for Alanna, and she sometimes wondered if she spent all of it in a bad temper. The cold was worse than she could ever remember, biting into her bones at every turn. Too often she awoke shivering in the night, despite Faithful, plenty of hot bricks, and a well-banked fire. Once or twice she caught herself wondering what would happen if she climbed in with Jonathan! When the cold got that bad, she used her Gift to warm herself. The effort left her tired and cross in the morning, but to Alanna anything was better than feeling cold and thinking such thoughts. On days when she worked in the outdoor practice courts, she remembered the heat of the Great Southern Desert with longing.
The temperatures meant trouble at home, as well. Coram wrote her that early frosts had hurt the harvest, and Alanna found herself busy arranging for food and warm clothing to be sent to Trebond. Coram was doing his best, but he had not had a great deal of time to bring the fief back from Lord Alan’s neglect. More than once Alanna went to Myles and Duke Gareth for advice. For someone who’s never going to run a fief, she often thought wryly, I’m certainly getting plenty of practice.
That winter, as a preliminary test to prepare the squires for the Ordeal, they were required to spend a January night out in the open in the Royal Forest. Biting back an unreasoning feeling of terror—she would not freeze to death, if she took care—Alanna readied the things she would need. Out on her own, she burrowed deep into a snowbank and made a snug little cave for her tent and her furlined bedroll. A tree behind would keep off the worst of the drifts if more snow should fall. Faithful chose to keep her company, and he seemed much warmer than she felt (even though she wore fleece-lined leather over several layers of wool and silk clothing).
She had planned to go ice-fishing for her dinner, just to show Duke Gareth she could survive in the cold; but late in the afternoon a sudden blizzard rolled in, dousing the woods in the snow. Alanna and Faithful secured themselves in their burrow, and from time to time Alanna thrust Lightning through the air to keep them from suffocating. For the rest of the night she and the cat slept—and talked. She knew it sounded like meowing to most other people, but to her Faithful talked as understandably as any human.
They had both fallen asleep toward dawn, when the blizzard’s howling winds finally stopped. Alanna was dreaming of the desert and of a warm nap in the sun when she came wide awake. Something grunting and determined was digging in the snow overhead. Faithful’s violet eyes glowed in the darkness beside her.
“I think it’s a boar,” Alanna hissed as soundlessly as she could. “It figures.” Carefully, moving as little as possible, she worked Lightning up and free. When an ugly, cloven hoof burst through the beaten snow over the tent opening, Alanna thrust upward with all her strength. She burst from the snow, shaking clumps from her face, to feel her sword wrenched from her hand.
The boar was squealing with rage, trying to dislodge the blade that was driven through his chest and back. Suddenly he stiffened and fell. Alanna walked toward him carefully, seeing a glaze coming over his eyes. Gripping her swordhilt to pull it free, she stopped; the boar’s eyes were a demonic red. Suddenly he shuddered one last time—and vanished.
Wordlessly Alanna gathered up her things. She didn’t need Faithful to tell her—as he was, forcefully—that someone had just tried to kill her: someone with a command of sorcery. “I have no proof,” she snapped, and that was the end of it. She would never tell anyone until she had proof.
On top of everything else, there was Delia. More than once that winter Alanna thought that if she heard the lovely girl’s name once more, she would scream. Jonathan spent his free time writing bad poetry to Delia and insisting that Alanna listen to him read it. Gary and Raoul fought a duel over one of her riding gloves, and Duke Gareth sent them both on border patrols to cool off. The only good thing about this punishment was that they had to take Douglass and Sacherell with them; even those two had been bitten by romance.
Alanna continued to dislike the girl unreasonably, staying away from her as much as she could. She sometimes felt that Delia knew Alanna detested her. She also thought Delia liked to have Jonathan’s squire giving her special service: fanning Delia when she was hot, bringing her glasses of lemonade, even dancing with her; all activities that got Alanna into trouble with her lovesick friends. Jonathan went so far as to accuse her of using Delia to make her masquerade as a boy seem more believable! He later apologized, but it was their first big fight, and Alanna couldn’t quite forgive Delia for being the cause.
Alanna was forced to listen when Jon ranted about Delia’s flirtations with other knights, and she suffered through his attempts at poetry. She tried to be the best friend to him she could, because it was obvious (to her, if not to Jonathan) that Delia was toying with him. The girl would convince Jon one day that she was his alone, and ignore him the next. Soon they were sleeping together—sometimes. Which only made it worse. Jon was cross and elated by turns.
Only Alex and his squire, Geoffrey of Meron, seemed unaffected by Delia, and it was a welcome change to talk with them. It was during one such conversation with Alex on a windy day in March that Alanna discovered they wanted to test each other. Before he had passed the Ordeal, Alex had been the best of the squires; now he was getting a reputation as one of the finest knights in Tortall.
He and Alanna had been talking about what it was like to be good, with everyone watching for mistakes, until it was only natural to find one of the indoor fencing courts and see which of them was better. They had agreed a referee was not necessary, since they were only using blunt practice swords. Not even Faithful was th
ere.
Alanna watched Alex stretch as she did so herself, excitement running through her veins. She had always wondered if she was as good as her dark friend. Now she would find out.
Their stretching finished, they saluted each other with the practice swords. Without warning Alex struck, his hand flashing in a complex overhand pass that brought his blade within inches of Alanna’s unguarded face. Only a quick backward leap saved her. She circled, watching Alex’s chest. With all but the best fighters, muscle movements in the chest often betrayed the direction of the next attack—except Alex was one of the best. Like Duke Gareth, who fought without signals, Alex moved without warning. He swept his sword up and under; the blow would have ripped Alanna open from abdomen to chest if they had been using real swords. She lunged back once more, but not quickly enough. The tip of Alex’s’ sword sliced up her thigh, tearing her hose and gouging a deep scratch in her leg.
“Hey, Alex!” she protested. “Be careful!” The knight did not answer. His dark face was emotionless, his eyes unreadable. Alanna faded back, then lunged to the side and the front, coming at him in a straightforward strike. Alex met her: their swordhilts locked. Body-to-body, Duke Gareth called it, and it rarely happened. For someone as small as Alanna it meant real trouble. Alex strained, forcing his weight down, trying to make her fall to her knees. Alanna broke away and came back instantly, knocking his blade aside. The flat of her sword struck Alex hard on the cheekbone, and she stepped back, feeling ashamed. It was disgraceful to let her temper get away with her as she just had.
“Alex, I’m sorry,” she said ruefully, looking at the welt spreading across his dark skin. “Do you—”
Alex brought up his sword again, smiling slightly. His dark eyes glittered with something she couldn’t name. He whispered, “Guard.”
Alanna was suddenly tired of this game. Determined to end the match one way or another, she lunged in. Alex locked with her again and knocked her to the floor.