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  His teaching partner, the Shang Wildcat, peered into Owen’s face. She was an older woman, her skin lightly tanned from summer, her close-cropped curls silvery white. "What are you looking at the seniors for?" she asked Owen, pale eyes glinting. "You don’t get to look around till you punch like a fighter, not a cook kneading bread."

  Kel tried to will more vigor into aching muscles. At breakfast Faleron and Roald had said that everyone was exhausted when they first donned the harness, or when new weights were added, but Kel didn’t remember if she had noticed the older pages struggling last year.

  "I hear the third day’s worse," Neal moaned as the bell rang. It was their signal to lurch to the yard where Lord Wyldon and Sergeant Ezeko drilled them on staff combat.

  "I just want to live through today," said Merric as they filed down the hill.

  The fourth-years, walking behind them, pushed by the younger pages to take the lead. They did it roughly, yelling, "Oldsters first!" Passing Kel, Joren thrust his elbow back, clipping her black eye. Kel gasped and bent over, covering her throbbing eye.

  A cool hand rested on hers, and something flowed through her fingers. The pain vanished. Kel took her hand away, and glared at Neal.

  "It still looks nice and puffy and colorful." His voice was dry, his green eyes worried. "Kel, we have to do something about him."

  "Yes," she replied, "stay out of his way. Joren’s a page for just one more year, and that’s what I mean to do."

  "She’s right." The prince stopped beside them. "If she takes revenge, she’s the one who will look bad."

  "So there," Kel told Neal, and marched on down to the next practice court. Beneath her calm exterior she wished fiercely that she could pound the meanness out of Joren. Even as she thought it, she knew she would do better to ignore him. Water, she thought, collecting her staff from the shed where it was kept. I am a summer lake on a windless day, clear, cool, and still. Joren is a cloud. All he can do is cast a shadow on my surface. I’ll be here long after he’s gone. She concentrated on that thought fiercely until Lord Wyldon and the sergeant barked orders for the first series of exercises.

  The yard rang with the clack of wood striking wood and yelps from those pages whose fingers got hit. Kel listened to the noise and let it fill her—it worked better than thoughts of a clear lake to clear her head. At least she was less stiff after their time with the two Shangs.

  Settled into the rhythm of the first exercise, she looked for the training master. Lord Wyldon watched them from the fence. Keeping his eyes on them, he crouched to scratch the ear of an ugly white dog with black spots.

  Kel’s attention wavered; Faleron smacked her collarbone with his staff. The force of the blow drove her to her knees as pain shot like lightning through her right side.

  "Kel, you didn’t block it!" cried Faleron, appalled. "Neal—"

  "Back in line, Page Nealan!" Ezeko ordered as he came over. "If there’s a break, she’ll see a proper healer!" He knelt beside Kel and felt her collarbone, his fingers gentler than his face. He was a barrel-chested black man, a Carthaki veteran who had fled slavery to enter Tortall.

  "Just—a bruise, I think," Kel said, gasping for breath. "The—the strap—"

  The sergeant pulled her jacket aside, examining the harness. "You took the blow on that?" he demanded. "I don’t feel anything broken."

  Kel nodded.

  "Stupid," Ezeko told her. "You haven’t let anybody land one in months. I don’t care how tired you are, pay attention!"

  "If we are done fluttering over the girl?" Lord Wyldon demanded, walking over. "Back to work, lads. Can you use the arm?" he asked Kel gruffly.

  The emperors soldiers fight with broken arms, Kel thought, remembering the hard-faced men who defended the Yamani court. It isn’t broken, just bruised. Really bruised. She nodded, meeting Lord Wyldon’s gaze squarely.

  He sighed. "Yancen of Irenroha, pair with Faleron." Yancen, a third-year, obeyed. "Mindelan, with Prosper of Tameran." Prosper was a new page. Kel saw what Lord Wyldon intended: she could defend herself against Prosper even with a bad right arm. As Wyldon continued to rearrange the pairs, Kel glanced at the fence where he’d been. Jump noticed her look and wagged his tail.

  Neal saw the dog as they were putting their staffs away. "Is that—?" he asked. Lord Wyldon was scratching Jump’s spine.

  Kel nodded.

  "I thought you gave him to Daine," Neal murmured.

  "I did," she replied. They walked to the archery courts with the other pages. Lord Wyldon and Sergeant Ezeko brought up the rear, Jump trotting beside them.

  "You know, if he doesn’t want to stay, Daine won’t make him," Neal whispered.

  Kel sighed. She did know. The Wildmage had refused to change the nature of Kel’s contrary mount, Peachblossom. "That’s why she said she would try to keep Jump," Kel told Neal gloomily as they gathered their bows and quivers of arrows. "Because she thought maybe he wouldn’t stay with her."

  When she looked around halfway through the archery lesson, the dog was nowhere in sight. Kel took heart. Perhaps Jump had realized Kel wouldn’t encourage him.

  Perhaps he’s off stealing and getting chopped up by that cook, a treacherous voice whispered in her mind. Kel ignored it. She couldn’t solve the world’s problems, after all. Not yet, at least.

  Her relief and worry turned to resentment as the boys reached the pages’ stable for their final morning class. Jump sat by the door, scratching one of his scars.

  "Go away," she muttered as she walked by. "Go back to Daine!"

  As she opened the door to Peachblossom’s stall, the dog trotted in ahead of her. His jaunty air suggested that a horse of Kel’s was a horse of his. Peachblossom instantly put back his ears, retreated until his rump hit the stable wall, and stamped. Jump sat and regarded the horse.

  Peachblossom was a horse to regard with care. He was a small destrier who would have been too big for Kel if he had not allowed her to ride him. He was gelded, with strawberry roan markings: reddish brown stockings, face, mane, and tail, and a rusty coat flecked with white. Only three people could handle him without getting bit, Kel, Daine, and the chief hostler, Stefan Groomsman.

  "Ignore the dog," she advised the gelding as she stiffly went over him with a brush. "He thinks he belongs to me, but he’s mistaken."

  Peachblossom snorted disbelief, but he’d found the apple Kel had brought, and he did like the brush. He stepped away from the wall.

  Despite the pain in her shoulder, Kel put the riding saddle on him and mounted up. This week there would be no work with the lance and the heavier tilting saddle. The pages would be riding only, the seniors to show they hadn’t gone soft over the holiday, the first-years to show they could manage a horse. It was boring, but as the ache in her shoulder spread, Kel decided boredom was preferable.

  At least Jump didn’t follow them out, or if he did, he made sure Kel never saw him. She was able to concentrate on putting Peachblossom through his paces until the end-of-morning bell. She returned to the stable and groomed her mount, glad the morning had ended.

  Faleron, whose fire chestnut was Peachblossom’s neighbor, leaned on the rail between the stalls. "Kel, I’m still not sure about that catapult problem," he confessed, embarrassed. He knew more Tortallan law than any other page, but mathematics came hard for him. "If I fetch it to lunch, would you take a look?"

  Kel nodded. "You didn’t have to ask, you know."

  Faleron grinned. "Mama raised me polite."

  In a nearby stall Garvey muttered, "So, Faleron, you’re friends with her now because you can have her whenever you want?"

  Faleron threw down his brush and went for the other boy. Sore shoulder or no, Kel flew out of the stall. She caught Faleron just a foot from the sneering Garvey and hung on to him, putting all of her weight into it.

  The older boy fought her grip. "Gods curse it, Kel, you heard what he said!"

  "I heard a fart," Kel said grimly. "You know where those come from. Let it go."


  Faleron relaxed, but she still kept both hands wrapped around his arm. He was easygoing, but everyone had sore spots. At last Faleron made a rude gesture at Garvey and let Kel pull him away.

  They had almost reached their horses when Neal’s unmistakable drawl sounded through the stable: "Joren is so pretty. Say, Garvey, are you two friends because you can have him?"

  Garvey roared and charged, but Joren got to Neal first. Before they landed more than a punch each, Neal’s friends, including Kel, attacked them. More boys entered the brawl, kicking and hitting blindly, striking friend as often as foe. Kel nearly fainted when someone’s boot hit her bruised collarbone.

  Above the din made by boys and frightened horses, Kel heard the sound of breaking wood. Realizing she would never reach Neal, praying he didn’t get his silly head broken, she grabbed Merric and Seaver by the collar and backed up, dragging them with her. The press of bodies behind her let up suddenly; she nearly fell over backward.

  Startled, she looked around and saw Peachblossom. His teeth firmly sunk into Cleon’s jacket, the gelding drew the big youth out of the fray. Prince Roald gripped Owen by both arms to keep him out of the brawl; Roald’s horse, the black gelding Shadow, held Faleron by the arm as he slowly pulled him free. Zahir’s bay shouldered through the mob, stepping on no one, but forcing them to move away from him and each other.

  For a moment a chill ran through Kel. She thought uneasily, The animals here are so strange. Then she shook it off. The harridan who trained the ladies of the Yamani court to defend themselves had always said, "We use the tools at hand." These animals, uncanny or not, were the right tools for this mess.

  She thrust Merric and Seaver into a ruined stall and grabbed Cleon’s arm. "Peachblossom, can you find Neal?" she asked her horse.

  The big gelding released Cleon’s jacket, blew scornfully, and waded into the fight. Unlike Zahir’s bay, he was not careful of feet or fingers. If they were in the way, Peachblossom stepped on them. Several boys rolled clear to nurse bruises and broken bones.

  "You can let go, Kel," said Cleon, his voice dry. He watched Cavall’s Heart, Lord Wyldon’s dark dun mare, who had also broken out of her stall. She dragged Garvey out of the pile. "Even I’m not stupid enough to argue with horses. Particularly not these horses."

  Kel glared up at him. Cleon was a fourth-year, but he was also a friend. "I’m glad you’re smart enough to realize that much," she told him.

  Cleon slapped her cheerfully on the back. "What’s the matter, dewdrop? Don’t you like men fighting to protect your honor?"

  "I can defend my own honor, thank you," she replied. "I thought it was Joren’s honor at stake. And stop calling me those idiotic nicknames. That joke is dead and rotting." She watched as Jump grabbed Vinson by the ankle, stopping the boy’s attempts to kick anyone.

  Peachblossom had just seized Neal’s jacket, with Neal’s shoulder in it, when Lord Wyldon, Sergeant Ezeko, and three stable hands entered. They tossed the buckets of water they carried on the pages. Silence fell.

  "I want this place straightened up and these horses groomed afresh." Lord Wyldon’s voice, and eyes, were like iron. "That includes Heart. You will then wash and assemble in the mess hall. I will address you further there." He looked them over, pale with fury. "You are a disgrace, the lot of you." He turned on his heel and walked out.

  Silently the pages got to work.

  By the time they reached the mess hall, Lord Wyldon had worked out their punishment. It included bread-and-water suppers for a week, study alone in their rooms at night, no sweets, and no trips out of the palace until Midwinter. Those pages who already had Sunday afternoon punishment work were to put that off until the general punishment was done. They were all to help carpenters rebuild the stable. Finally the training master added two more lead weights to the senior pages’ harnesses.

  The subdued pages went to afternoon classes in nearly complete silence. When it was time to dress for supper, Kel scrambled into her shift and gown, stopping only to demand of Lalasa why Jump hadn’t been taken to Daine that morning. When Lalasa, cringing, replied that Gower had carried the dog up to the Wildmage right after breakfast, Kel shook her head. She would have to deal with Jump later.

  Still wearing boots and heavy wool stockings under her gown, she went to Neal’s room and pounded on his door. He let her in without a word, but protested when she closed the door behind her.

  "Do you want everyone hearing what I have to say?" she demanded sharply.

  "If the Stump catches you here with the door shut—" The Stump was Neal’s nickname for Lord Wyldon.

  "He won’t." Kel put her fists on her hips and glared at her friend. "You were sixteen last month. You’re supposed to know better. Did you honestly think you were helping me down there?"

  He had the strangest look on his face. "Are you—Kel, the Yamani Lump—are you yelling at me?"

  "Yes, I am!" Kel snapped. "You didn’t solve anything, you just made it worse!"

  He sat on his bed. "Maybe, maybe not. I think they’ll reconsider, next time they want to start fights over your virtue."

  Kel blinked at him. "What has my virtue to do with anything?"

  "I’m surprised they didn’t try it last year. Oh, I suppose they made dirty little jokes with each other, never mind that a real knight is supposed to treat women decently. Maybe they thought saying you’re a lump, and not as strong, and on probation, was bad enough."

  "Are you making sense yet?" Kel wanted to know. This conversation had taken a very uncomfortable turn.

  "But you’re still here. Now they’re really worried. They haven’t changed their minds about lady knights just because Wyldon let you stay."

  "I didn’t expect them to," Kel informed him.

  "Well, so, they decided to try new insults today. And talk of different kinds of sex makes people crazy."

  "Your point is...?" she asked. Her mother had explained how babies were made. Nariko had taught the court ladies, including Kel’s family, how to preserve their honor from rapists. That didn’t seem to be what Neal was talking about.

  "See, Kel, if all of a sudden everyone’s getting into fights about your virtue, maybe the Stump will get rid of you after all." Neal sighed and finger-combed his hair back from his face.

  Fear trickled down Kel’s spine like cold water. Could Lord Wyldon change his mind? Who would protest if he did? The king had allowed her to be put on probation in the first place. No doubt if Wyldon told him Kel had to go, the king would agree. "I’m eleven," she said at last. "That’s too young to be lying with men, Neal. Much too young."

  He inspected a bruise on his wrist and touched a fingertip to it. A green spark flashed and the bruise faded. "Facts don’t matter with Joren and his crowd. Just gossip. Just making your friends angry enough to fight. I reminded them that gossip is a tricky weapon, that’s all. It cuts two ways."

  Kel sighed. "I still don’t think you did me any good. I can take a few insults."

  "You can—I can’t." Neal peered out the door. "Hall’s empty. Shoo." As she walked by, he added, "I consider myself chastised."

  She stopped and turned back. "What you said about Garvey and Joren—it’s not an insult in Yaman. Some men prefer other men. Some women prefer other women." Kel shrugged.

  "In the Eastern Lands, people like that pursue their loves privately," replied Neal. "Manly fellows like Joren think it’s a deadly insult to be accused of wanting other men."

  "That doesn’t make sense," Kel said.

  "It’s still an insult on this side of the Emerald Ocean, my dear. Now, if I may shave before our bread-and-water feast?"

  Kel eyed Neal’s cheeks and chin. "You don’t need to."

  Neal sighed. "I live in hope, as the priest said to the princess. If you don’t mind?"

  Kel went back to her room, shaking her head.

  four

  WOMAN TALK

  Their punishments for the stable fight cooled the hottest tempers. Kel thought just the addition of two more harn
ess weights would have done it. Even the fourth-year pages were not ready for the change, and it was astonishing how much difference an extra pound made. For weeks Kel felt as if her bones had turned to wax. Master Oakbridge, whose etiquette class was at the end of the day, began to hit their desks with his pointer stick to keep them awake. Extra work, given when sleepy pages didn’t finish classwork, piled on top of Lord Wyldon’s physical penalties.

  Bread-and-water suppers did not help. Scant meals on their schedule meant growling bellies. Sometimes Kel thought it was hunger and the prospect of added weights, rather than insults that cut two ways, that made Joren and his friends leave her and her crowd alone.

  Two Sundays went to rebuilding the pages’ stable. Once that was done, Kel returned to her earlier punishment, forking down hay from a stable loft. For a week she dripped sweat as she pitched hay down fourteen feet to the floor. Her fright turned the distance into miles. Once that week ended, she enjoyed the absence of fear, until the day she was tardy to a class. Lord Wyldon gave her one bell of time to climb to the palace wall and map the ground between it and the temple district.

  Every time she was late, or Lord Wyldon found dirt on Peachblossom’s tack, or someone noticed she had lit a candle after lights out, the training master found Kel work on heights. Neal was sure it was torture. Kel argued that Lord Wyldon helped her to become a better knight by forcing her to manage her fear. Prince Roald finally tired of the debate and said it was a little of both; he didn’t want to hear the subject discussed again.

  Every morning and every evening when she opened the large shutters, Jump bounced into her room. Kel’s sparrows made a game of it, clinging to the dog’s fur and trying to stay on as he leaped. Lalasa also seemed to enjoy it—she gave the dog a treat when no sparrows fell from his back.