Squire (15 page)

Suddenly tears spilled from her eyes. It was too much - the griffin, her normal duties, the trial, even her talk with the king. If only someone could help with the griffin! But Daine was the only one who could deal with the grudge held by griffin parents, and she was far busier than Kel.

Arrow peeped with alarm. “It’s just monthly glooms,” Kel said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Human females get them. I should be as brave as you, defying a griffin.”

Daine came and went, leaving behind her a healed sparrow and a griffin with - she and Kel hoped - an aversion to killing small birds. When Raoul knocked on the connecting door, Kel was cleaning up the mess.

“Trouble with the monster?” Raoul asked kindly.

Kel scowled at the griffin, still in his wooden prison with Jump as guard. “All mended, we hope.”

Raoul leaned against the door frame, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Do you want help with him? He won’t take food, but I could transport him and look after him. I can certainly defend myself from his family.”

Kel smiled gratefully at him. It was typical of him to offer. “You’re very kind, sir, but we’ll muddle along. At least now we can hope he won’t be hunting sparrows.” Remembering her duty, she asked, “Did you need me for something?” She looked at the dog. “Jump, let him out.”

Jump growled at his captive; the griffin hissed. As soon as Jump moved, the griffin stalked out from under the desk, pumped his wings, and hopped onto a chair, up to its back, then onto his platform. There he spread his wings, hissed at Kel, and began to groom himself.

“I was curious about how you felt,” Raoul said in answer to Kel’s question. “Jon surprised you?”

“He did that,” Kel said grudgingly, picking up her comforter and shaking it. Griffin feathers and down stuffing drifted to the floor. As she fumbled with the heavy cover, trying to find the damage, Raoul took one side. He backed up until the comforter was stretched out, then turned it with Kel when she saw no damage on top. The rips were on the underside, five in all. She and Raoul laid the comforter flat on the bed, and Kel got her sewing kit.

“I don’t know what I expected, but that wasn’t it,” she admitted as she prepared needle and thread. “Offering to change the law, or try to, for me? Why? Why would the queen agree?”

“Because you were right. It’s a bad law. The middle classes are on the rise, Kel. Laws like that one will breed resentment, even bloodshed someday, if they aren’t corrected.” Raoul helped himself to her thread and needles and began to stitch one rip as Kel worked on another. “And maybe Jon thought this might get you on his side. He never does anything for just one reason.” He set tiny stitches and sewed quickly, his big fingers deft. Sparrows lined up on his shoulders and head to watch, fascinated. Jump picked a more comfortable seat on an undamaged part of the comforter.

Looking at her master, Kel thought, Will there ever be a time when he doesn’t surprise me? “I still don’t know what I think,” she admitted. “I owe him my duty, anyway.”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between someone who performs what’s required because it’s duty, and one who does what’s needed because he or she believes in the Crown. You should keep in mind that he probably wants you to be confused about him.” Raoul shook his head. “He wasn’t this complicated when we were pages. I guess you never know how people will grow up.”

“What was it like?” asked Kel. “You, Lady Alanna, the king - it’s hard to see you as pages or squires.”

Raoul grinned. “Like puppies in a basket,” he said. “All paws and tails.” He talked as they sewed, telling her stories of his past. Finishing a story about a bully who had beaten the page called Alan, until the day that the disguised Alanna had beaten him in turn, Raoul shook his head. “The only smart thing Ralon ever did was leave after that. He’d never have passed his Ordeal. I’m afraid Squire Joren won’t, either.”

“Sir?” Kel asked, startled and curious. Raoul pointed to the longest tear. They had finished the others. “Race you to the middle of that,” he offered. As they hurried to thread their needles and start at opposite ends, he continued, “You need a certain amount of, oh, flexibility, to face the Chamber of the Ordeal. You have to know when to bend. If I were training master, I wouldn’t have let Joren get this far.”

Kel stared at him, mouth open, until she realized he’d already begun to sew and she was falling behind. As she dug her needle into the cloth, she protested, “But if you pass the exams and do the work, and don’t do anything really bad, the training master can’t stop you from being a squire and then taking the Ordeal.”

“Of course he can,” Raoul told her, amused. “There are ways to discourage someone who is unfit. And often you’re doing them a favor. The Chamber is…” He fell silent, shadows in his eyes, though he continued to stitch. “Hard,” he said at last. “It’s not that it’s merciless. To have mercy or lack it, you need humanity. The Chamber hasn’t got it. It would be like, oh, hating the griffin because he’s a thankless little bit of winged vermin. Yes, you,” he told the griffin, who flapped his wings. “Don’t let it go to your head. Kel, the griffin can’t change what he is, and the Chamber is unchangeable. Squires have broken themselves trying to defeat it.” He reached the middle of the tear and tied off his thread with a triumphant smile. “Amazing, the skills a fellow picks up in forty years of bachelordom, don’t you think?” he taunted Kel as he got to his feet.

She grinned at him, still finishing her part of the job. “You just did that because you can,” she retorted.

“Think about the king,” Raoul said. “If you’re wary, he won’t surprise you too often or too unpleasantly.”

She watched him go back to his rooms, then finished her repairs. Done, she inspected his work - it was better than hers.

Was he right about Joren? Raoul saw so much in people, more than anyone she’d ever known, even Neal or her parents. But Lord Wyldon would have seen any great flaws in Joren, surely, and corrected them.

Like Joren’s hiring criminals to kidnap someone? asked part of her that had spent too much time conversing with nasty, suspicious Neal. He questioned anything and everything. Worse, he now had some of Kel doing it too, and the rest of her never seemed to have any answers.

Musicians played lilting tunes in the Crystal Room, a gilded jewel box where the largest of the Midwinter First Night parties was held. Garlands of winter flowers and ivy hung on the walls. Heavy logs burned in the two large hearths, releasing piney scents. Candles burned in every window and in the crystal chandelier.

The king and queen sat beside one fire, the queen dramatic in black velvet with a sleeveless overrobe of silver cloth as fine as gauze. Her gown, overrobe, and crown were edged with diamonds and pearls. Kel knew that every stitch was Lalasa’s, and glowed with pride in her friend. The king wore a white damask tunic edged with gold trim, white silk hose, and a white silk shirt. Gold lace rose at his collar and cuffs. There were no jewels in his lacy gold crown - they weren’t needed. Kel admired the picture they made and kept well away from them. She was still thinking about their conversation three days before.

Kel herself was in Goldenlake colors, her dress outfit: a green velvet tunic so plush she had to stop herself from stroking it, green silk hose, and a pale yellow shirt with full sleeves. Like the queen’s clothes, Kel’s were made by Lalasa and fit perfectly.

Where her friend had found time to make them Kel didn’t know. When she’d taken Lalasa the money from Joren’s fine earlier that day, the shop was filled with ladies, their maids, Lalasa, and her helpers. Kel might have argued when Lalasa refused to take more than twenty gold nobles of the fine, but it was so noisy and Lalasa so preoccupied that Kel fled. She returned to her room with the package that contained her Midwinter garb and thirty crowns. Lalasa had been just this stubborn when Kel refused to keep the lion’s share of her fees while Lalasa was her maid.

Kel sighed. She’d almost rather be in Lalasa’s shop again than walking around this pretty room, carrying a tray of cups filled with mulled cider or grape juice, offering them to those who did not have a drink. Most did. Cleon, Neal, and Quinden of Marti’s Hill also carried trays of liquid refreshments: wine, punch, brandy, and, for the Yamanis, rice wine and tea. Four other squires offered food: rolls, tarts, candied fruits, marzipan figures, nuts, and small winter apples, sliced and sprinkled with cinnamon.

They all looked as bored as Kel. Even Prince Roald, the only squire who did not serve, looked bored. When Shinkokami, elegant in a Tortallan-style gown of peach silk, spoke to him, he put a look of interest on his face. Whenever he replied to or addressed his wife-to-be, Shinkokami leaned toward him, offering an attentive ear.

They’ll have the politest marriage ever, thought Kel. It was hard to tell if the Yamani was bored, although Kel, watching Shinkokami smooth the bronze silk fan in her lap, suspected that she was. Both princess and prince were more genuinely interested when others came to talk to them. Yukimi, in a sky-blue kimono patterned with gold phoenixes, often returned to her mistress to talk. So did Lady Haname, vivid in a maroon kimono embroidered with white clouds, once she could wriggle out of a cluster of male admirers. She and Yuki were supported by Kel’s mother Ilane, Prince Eitaro’s wife, and the queen. Roald’s visitors included his father, his friends among the squires, and his knight-master, Imrah of Legann. Kel also stopped to chat with Shinkokami. She knew how uncomfortable it was to be among alien people with strange customs.

She worried about the betrothed couple. Shy, both of them, she thought as she collected empty cups from tables and ledges. Something ought to be done.

“You shimmer like a mirage of delight,” Cleon murmured as they met in the serving room. They turned in trays of empty cups and plates to take up full ones. “Your teeth call to mind wolfhounds romping in the snow.”

Kel smiled up at the redheaded squire. She had never noticed it before, but his eyes were an interesting, clear gray. “Wolfhounds are furry,” she pointed out. “I hope my teeth aren’t. And teeth aren’t cold enough to be snow. How is it you get sillier every time I talk to you?”

“The joy of our nearness cooks my lovestruck heart,” he explained with a soulful look.

“Or you’ve been looking at Scanrans longer than is good for you. Spend time with actual girls,” she informed him sternly. “You wouldn’t call me things like ‘pearl of my heart’ then.”

“No, it’s ‘mirage of delight’ today. ‘Pearl of my heart’ was when I was but a mere boy.” They stood in the door, looking at the party. “I hate to say it, my dear, but I think our prince is a fathead,” Cleon remarked. “There he sits with the most gorgeous creature in shoe leather, excepting your luminous self, of course - “

“Of course,” Kel replied, straight-faced.

” - without a word to say. Somebody should tell him the lady can converse, and sensibly, too.” Cleon straightened his shoulders. “If I don’t return by dawn, wear my handkerchief beside your heart forever.” He disappeared into a clump of guests. Kel lost the chance to say that she didn’t have his handkerchief, and if she did, after a while it would begin to smell. He’s right about the prince and princess, though, she thought, rearranging cups so her tray would balance.

“Did Cleon kiss you for Midwinter luck?” a familiar voice drawled in her ear.

“Did Princess Kalasin ask for a dance at the ball tomorrow night?” she retorted to Neal. “Cleon doesn’t mean that stuff. He’s just practicing.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Is Lady Alanna here?”

Neal shook his head. “Home to Pirate’s Swoop,” he said. “Happily leaving me to Lord Wyldon’s guidance while she embraces the baron and the children.”

“You’re doomed,” Kel teased, and moved on.

She was about to return for a fresh tray when another familiar voice asked, “Squire Keladry, how are you?”

Kel turned and faced Commander Buri. The stocky K’mir looked grand in a crimson silk dress. The shade gave a touch of gold to her skin. Her overrobe was crinkled gold silk with jet beads on the hem. “Commander, you look wonderful,” Kel said, trying to remember when she had seen her in anything but mud-splashed working clothes.

“I feel tormented,” the woman replied. “And I wish you’d call me Buri. You know Riders don’t hold with titles.” Her dark eyes flicked around the room. “I haven’t seen Raoul about. I suppose he defied their majesties and is hiding in his rooms.”

“No, he’s here,” Kel said. “Not in this room, though, or we’d have seen a big lump behind the hangings.”

Buri grinned, white teeth flashing against her dark complexion. “Yes, that’s where I’d look. Can’t say I blame him. The crowd around Thayet is thinning. I’d best say hello, or she might think I didn’t show up per my orders.” She saluted Kel and wandered off toward the monarchs.

Kel’s eyes went to the prince and princess, who now smiled at one another as if their teeth hurt. This is no good, thought Kel. They have to learn how to talk. There must be a way to nudge them along.

She went to a door that opened onto a book room and peered in. Raoul was there, talking with Gareth the Younger, the king’s closest advisor and one of his friends. Sir Gareth’s wife, Lady Cythera, was tugging on her husband’s sleeve. “I hate to interrupt,” the lady explained, “but Prince Eitaro wants my husband to meet Lady Eitaro.”

Kel moved on to offer drinks to foreign dignitaries. Yuki stopped her briefly. “When things are quieter, would you sit with her highness for a time?” she asked Kel, her usually merry eyes pleading. “She and the prince have nothing to say to one another, and she’s sad. When someone mentioned you’d fought a forest campaign this summer, she showed interest. She’d love to hear the details.” Kel’s plan came together in the flick of an eye.

“Wait a moment, Yuki?” she asked, using her old nickname for the Yamani. She put her tray inside the serving room. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” Yuki murmured wickedly.

Neal and Cleon were talking when Kel approached them. “Come here,” she said, leading them to Yuki. The four entered the serving room. “Yuki, have you met my friends?” Kel introduced the young men, who bowed in the proper Yamani manner. “I think we agree, Roald and Shinkokami have to start talking. Now, Shinko - “