Like pretty much everyone in the world I was disappointed when I finished Lady Knight and Kel was alone. Not that I'm saying every girl needs a guy, but it's fun to invent a romance for Kel, right? So that's what this is. You may read this first chapter and wonder when the whole romance thing kicks in, well, patience young grasshopper, it's coming. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this first chapter and keep checking for further installments.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that belongs to Tamora Pierce, nor am I claiming to. The other characters (that aren't hers) are mine…yeah…
Oh yeah, one more thing, I didn't know what country Scanra was based on so I just picked France…
Chapter One : Alexandre Corin
Feet slid for purchase in the mud, the fighters circled each other for another spar. Two men pushed through the crowd, they both wore the light blue of the King's Own, one wore the insignia of an officer, the other wore that of a soldier.
"Watch him," the soldier said to the officer, "I'm telling you it's worth it-"
The officer didn't respond, as he stepped forward, the crowd surrounding the fight parted. The observers had been shouting and cheering, but at the sight of the officer the enlisted men grew silent. The fighters in the ring hadn't noticed the din of the crowd and neither did they notice when it grew silent. They circled each other again, then the dark haired one sprung at the blond fighter, who was no more than a mere waif of a boy. The boy leaned into the lunge and tipped the older fighter over his shoulder, flinging him into the mud. He quickly swung around and wrestled the man into a stalemate and held him down. With his arms gripping the man it only took a few moments before the man's muscles loosened and he raised his hands in defeat.
"See? I told you!" the soldier told the officer with unsuppressed glee, "We had him fencing a few days ago, but he speared ol' Jasper in the side so hard we needed two healers just to patch 'im up."
The officer held up two fingers to silence the soldier, he stepped forward into the ring. The men that hadn't seen him already got a full view of their officer. The crowd fell into complete silence, the few men who had stepped forward to heave the fallen fighter to his feet froze and stared at the officer. The boy with white-blond hair eyed the officer with wary eyes and climbed to his feet. He was thin, like there was too much height for his slim weight.
The officer glanced around the circle, the enlisted men averted their eyes, looking to the ground or the sky. "I do hope that I'm not interrupting your fun," the officer said, his voice thundered in the surrounding quiet. No one dared to answer. "I would hate to remind you of your duties amongst all these festivities."
"Sir," a brave man interjected, "Permission to speak?"
The officer flicked his eyes toward him, then out at the circle again. "Granted."
"Sir, we didn't know you didn't approve of little practice spars. No one told us."
The officer sighed, "I don't mind practice spars at all."
"Then, if I may be so bold," the man ventured, "but what's the problem?"
"This," he reached out to the blond boy's face and pushed ever so slightly on his cheek. The boy blinked rapidly, the only sign that he had been expecting violence, "is the problem."
"What sir?"
"The fights are for enlisted men to do on their free time. This," he gestured to the boy again, "is not an enlisted man."
"Sir, he's a fighter. He can take any one of us, easily. You saw him just a bit ago against the full grown man."
The officer rounded on him, "That is not the issue. This is a prisoner. This prisoner should be in the wagon with the other prisoners. If word gets to Corus that we have our prisoners fight in games we'll be called animals for making our prisoners fight for entertainment."
"No one's forcing him to fight-"
"Oh?" the officer cut the soldier off, "Were you given a choice to fight or not?" he said to the waif.
The boy shrugged and looked off at the horizon, failing to look the officer in the eyes.
"Common," he said haltingly, "not zo good."
"Not that it matters," the officer continued, "Stories will travel whether it was his choice or not, and we'll be painted as the bad ones. Put this one on the wagon with the others, and I don't want to hear that he's been taken out of the wagon until we reach Corus, understood?"
The boy's eyes shot up from where they had been gazing at the ground, "Non, non. To stay on le wagon would be désagréable…be bad."
"And why is that?" the officer said irritably.
"La séance-" he paused and started again in common, "The zit too long."
"Well, our first priority is to make sure every prisoner is as comfortable as he would wish, what else would you like? A warm bath and a fluffy robe, perhaps?" This comment was met with a chuckle from the crowd. The officer turned away from the boy, "And you lout, clear out. Don't you have work to do?" With a grumble the men departed, the officer waited until every last one departed.
The boy watched them go, his green eyes unblinking.
"Come, back to the wagon," the officer said, taking the boy by the arm and leading him through the camp. The men they passed looked curiously at the boy and the officer, but nothing more. "I'll see that you get a healer to see to some of the-" the officer gestured to the marks on the boy.
"No healer," the boy said simply.
"It's not up to you, we have our reputation to uphold here. Not to mention that you need to get to Corus alive, you and your friends are the first of the Liberté we have been able to capture alive and the King will be quite pleased with us for doing so. You will most definitely see a healer."
"Surely zuch a big pays as Tortall is not frightened by a little groupe of rebel Scanrans, are you?" the boy said innocently.
"Your common has improved greatly," the officer said sharply.
"It comez and goes."
"And no, we are not afraid. Yet the Liberté guerillas have caused much trouble for our troops in Scanra and the King has wanted one of you alive for some time now, even better one that was caught in mid-raid like you were. Now we'll have good reason to torture you for information, in fact-" the officer stopped in mid-stride and mid-sentence. While they had been talking they had been approaching the prisoner wagon, the wagon was a typical wagon with cover and four large wheels, the only difference between it and a regular supply wagon were the bars and the ten people crammed inside. What had made the officer stop and gape was the open door, hanging from its hinges and the two guards piled next to one of the wheels. Footprints in the muddy ground showed were the prisoners had disappeared to.
"What is this! What is this!" the officer screamed, causing a few men to come running from the camp. When they came they could only stare at the mess. Then they too started to yell, some yelling orders, some yelling anything at all. A party was hastily organized to chase after the tracks, the boy watched them depart with merriment in his emerald eyes.
"They'll never find zem," he said in a soft sing-songy voice, loud enough only for the officer to hear.
The officer whipped his head around to look at the boy, "What do you know of this?"
"Rien," the boy responded, holding his hands up innocently.
"What do you know of this?" the officer shouted, causing the soldiers to start casting wary looks his direction.
"Je ne comprends pas Common," he said.
"You were just-" the officer lunged and grabbed him by the neck and shook him. "You helped them! You were a distraction so they could escape! You liar! Liar!" He pushed the boy to the ground furiously, his hands still closed around his throat. "Tell me where they went!"
The boy gasped for breath and pulled at the man's arms.
"Where did they go?" the officer screamed, closing his hands around the boy's neck.
"Where are they?"
Enlisted men rushed forward and seized the officer and pulled him back and off the boy. Two men held the boy in case he tried to run, but the boy made no effort to run, only rubbed his neck with one hand and staring at the officer icily.
"Someone take him away," a lower office said, it was unclear if he was referring to the officer or the boy. Men pulled the officer towards his tent and the other men picked the boy up off the ground and dragged him toward a tent. He put forward no resistance, but he wasn't about to help them and let them carry his limp body to a sleeping tent. The tent served as barracks while the company was traveling from the Scanran border to Corus.
"We can't put him back in the wagon until we know how they escaped because this one will likely do the same," one soldier said to the other.
"So we're putting him in the sleeping tent?"
"Yeah, why not?" the soldier murmured with a shrug. The boy's thin lips turned up in the faintest resemblance of a smile.
The soldier scoffed, "'Why not'? Are you mad? Were you not watching him wrestle earlier? We don't want him anywhere near us, especially when we're sleeping."
The other soldier nodded, "But we'll have him tied and secured."
"These Liberté guerillas can't be contained by our bars, if you would remember, they escaped from right under our noses just minutes ago."
"They're only human-"
"Right. I just don't want to sleep with one of these 'humans' anywhere near me," he said.
"Well where do you propose putting him?" the other soldier asked, eying the boy.
"I don't know," he said with a shrug.
The other soldier sighed, "What if we just secured him really well? Made it so he couldn't move, I mean, they're good, but we're better, right?"
"I don't know. I suppose we should try that, no one wins if we return to Corus empty handed. It just sends chills down my spine to have the boy so close to where I'm sleeping."
"Rest eazy," the boy said in a thick Scanran accent to the soldier, "I plan to go to Coruz."
The soldiers turned to stare at him. "W-what?" one stammered.
"If I 'ad any dezire to ezcape, I would 'ave long ago."
"Why?" the other one asked.
The boy didn't respond, but stared straight ahead.
"Why would you want to go to Corus?"
No response.
"Let's tie him to this pole," one said, "I don't trust a word he says."
"Let's tie one arm on that pole and stretch the other to this pole, it will make it harder for him to get at the ropes. Then we can tie his feet together."
"Agreed."
It took them awhile to secure the boy properly, even with him holding completely still. Finally they were done to their satisfaction, he had one arm tied to one pole and one to the other so he was stretched out between them, he was on his feet, which were bound together.
"He won't be comfortable on his feet all night," one soldier observed.
His companion shrugged, "I don't suppose it's really our concern, is it?"
"Nah, let's go get something to eat."
They left the tent, then returned with the other soldiers a few hours later. The boy was standing where they had left him. They pretended to ignore him, but their eyes glanced over at him uneasily all night.
The next morning they awoke and glanced over at the boy, instead of standing he was curled on the floor, snoring lightly. The empty ropes dangled uselessly from the poles beside him. The men broke into loud questions and accusations.
The boy stirred and sat up, he blinked and looked around the tent at the soldiers. "Bon matin," he said simply.
"You didn't tie him properly!" a soldier yelled, pointing at one of the men who had been in charge of securing him the day before.
"Non, they didn't. One used, uh, slip knot," the boy explained. "It was zo easy to undo that I no rezist."
"Why didn't you run away then?" a soldier called, "If it was so easy?"
The boy didn't respond, but one of the soldiers from the night before, eager to be helpful, cut in. "He said that he wants to go to Corus!"
"Did he say why?"
"No-"
"Let's use metal this time!" a different soldier called out, "We can't allow him to roam free."
The other soldiers nodded. Three or four different soldiers than the ones from the night before, approached the boy and dragged him out of the tent. Someone found metal cuffs and chains and bound him before tossing him in the prisoner's wagon, which had been searched and secured the previous night. The boy heard no more than muffled voices and the creak of the wagon and saw less than the floor and covering of the wagon for the remainder of the trip to Corus. He didn't even get to see the city proper, they left the company at the King's Own barracks and brought the prisoner wagon straight to the palace. They pulled him out of the wagon and unwrapped the chains and unlocked the cuffs. They boy sank to the ground because after being immobile for so long, it was difficult for him to keep his balance. He was crumpled on the ground with soldiers standing all around him when a tall man pushed past them to kneel beside the boy.
His dark hair fell to his shoulders, and he appeared to be wearing robes with some significance in their color.
"This is him?" he said, some disbelief in his tone. "This is what had you all frightened?"
"Don't be fooled by his appearance," a soldier cautioned, "He's dangerous."
"What's all this?" the man asked, poking at the boy's wrists. His skin had turned green from being in contact with the metal cuffs for so long. "Never mind, I don't think that I even want to know. So you were leading raid against Fort Steadfast, correct?" he addressed the boy.
The boy glanced at the soldiers, then back at the man's dark face. It was apparent that he wasn't planning on saying much while they were in the area.
"Leave us," the man said.
"But Master Numair-"
"I can keep the situation under control I'm fairly sure. Thank you that will be all."
The soldiers shrugged, "It's your skin if he slips away."
"Thank you, I'm aware of that," he said irritably and waved them away. When they were gone, he continued. "Are you hungry?"
"Aucun merci, I 'ad zome food thrown in thiz morning."
"Does that mean no?"
"Oui," the boy said, "Merci."
Numair nodded, "Back to business then. Now, how is it that one such as you were leading a raid on one of our Forts? How were you leading a raid on anything? How old are you?"
"Quatorze," he replied. "Ten four."
"Fourteen?"
"Oui."
"Forgive me, but that isn't that a bit young for raids, even in Scanra?"
"Je ne comprends pas Common," he said, avoiding the question.
"Stop playing, I know you can understand me perfectly well. I have the Gift, a considerable sized Gift, not to brag. I can tell these things."
The boy stared at him unblinkingly.
"My name is Numair Salmalin," he continued. "What's your name?"
"Alexandre Corin," the boy replied.
"You're lying to me. You've never been called that name before in your life."
"I 'ave now."
"What's your real name?"
"If I 'aven't told you yet, your chances aren't looking zo good."
Numair sighed, but it was more of a good natured sigh. "So, Alexandre, what about Fort Steadfast?"
"I thought I would at least 'ave the dignity of being questioned by the King's men."
"I am one of the King's men, have no doubt that what you tell me will reach his ears,"
Numair said, "and I won't promise anything else."
"I would rather tell the King myself."
"What if you are not granted that luxury?"
"I will be," the boy said, "the Liberté 'ave been enough of a nuisance to grant me that."
Numair shrugged, "It's a possibility."
Alexandre faced him with raised eyebrows, his expression showing clearly that he wasn't buying what Numair was saying.
"Alright," he relented, "You'll definitely get an audience with King Jonathan, but that's what you wanted all along, wasn't it?
The boy shrugged ambiguously.
"Well, your little group certainly has the Crown's attention. What are you going to do with it?"
"Just to feel better about myself," he said.
"I bet you will. What's the real reason?"
Alexandre didn't respond, he was finished discussing this subject. Numair realized what the boy was doing and tried another subject.
"We'll set you up somewhere to sleep, if that's agreeable?"
"Oui monsieur," the boy replied. "Though I am 'ardly tired after the trip."
"Would you like to do something else?"
The boy's eyebrows raised, "There's a choice?"
Numair nodded, "I don't see why not."
"I would like a little fencing practice, or at least wrestling. To stretch my limbz, but I doubt that would be allowed."
"Why wouldn't it?"
"The men on the journey 'ere wouldn't allow me to practice."
Numair blinked, "Why not?"
"Prisoner," he said, pointing at himself.
"I'll see what I can do, though it might be better for you to do all your training in your room once I get that set up."
He nodded, "You don't want to chain me up?" he asked playfully, holding up his green wrists.
"I'm a mage, what need would I have for metal?"
Alexandre laughed, "I forgot, you still underestimate me."
"Come, I'll take you to your room," Numair said, gesturing toward a door. He made no move to grab Alexandre, which the boy noticed and appreciated. They wound their way through the building, "This is the door to my quarters," Numair directed. They stepped into his front room, there was neat furniture under stacks of books that stretched from wall to wall.
"Make yourself comfortable," Numair said, "I'll bring out tea and something to eat." He ducked into a doorway that Alexandre could only assume led to a kitchen of sorts.
While Numair was gone he picked at the books idly. "Why the 'ospitality?" he called to Numair through the kitchen door.
"Why not?" Numair asked, returning from the kitchen. "I didn't want to wait for tea so I brought juice and what I could find in terms of food."
Alexandre eyed him warily, "Why the 'ospitality?" he repeated.
"I'm just being nice, what's wrong with that?"
The boy was on edge now, his muscles stiffened and he backed away from Numair. "What's wrong? I'm not going to hurt you-"
Alexandre flinched, "Don't- That's what they all zay just before zey do."
"Why would I hurt you if we need a live, and preferably well, Liberté to bring before the King? That just doesn't make sense."
The boy gave a sharp nod, but he was still unnerved and Numair didn't need his Gift to be able to tell. "I am just going to mange in my cell," he said and picked up a plate of what Numair had presented.
"What's wrong?" Numair asked.
"Rien," Alexandre replied. "I just 'ave 'unger."
"Something's changed about you-"
"This iz a business trip, not a social one," he snapped, "You'd do best to remember zat."
Numair approached him, "Does kindness scare you?"
"There is no zuch thing as kindness, just people 'iding their true intentions. In zat light, yes, kindness does scare me."
"I don't believe that, nor do I believe that you believe that," Numair said flatly.
Alexandre shrugged, "It's different for the common people, but we're in a palace. When money iz involved it iz different."
"That's an interesting way to think about it, perhaps that's how it was in Scanra, but you'll find that the situation isn't quite so desolate here."
"Indeed," Alexandre said, raising his eyebrows, clearly not believing Numair. "I am going to eat thiz." He held up the plate, "Where'z my cell?"
"Uh," Numair moved towards a door, he opened it and gestured through it. "In here-"
"I figured zat you would do the whole prison thing."
"No, you'll stay here in my quarters. It'll be safer because you and your people seem to have trouble staying behind bars and, in my opinion, a mage would be better insurance. Besides, you've been tied up long enough to last you for awhile, don't you think?"
The boy nodded, rubbing his wrists. "I need to eat," was all he said. He stepped into the room, there was a bed in one corner and a wardrobe against the opposite wall. A lone window lit the room sufficiently, Alexandre was glad to see the sunlight. He ate the food that Numair had given him and waited.
The wait ended the next morning, when Numair appeared at Alexandre's door.
"The King will see you now," he said, his angular features were drawn and Alexandre had trouble reading his expression.
"I am ready," the boy said. The night before he had taken a bath and Numair's wife or girl or whatever she was had given him new clothes to wear. His hair was as untamable as ever, the white blond locks were twisted into a mess of braids and knots that fell almost to his shoulders. His clothes were considerably neater, he wore black breeches tucked into knee-high black boots and his shirt was cotton, which was black as well. Numair had shook his head when Alexandre had requested the black ensemble, but Alexandre had insisted. He hated light clothing because he looked like a ghost when he wore it, with his white skin, light blond hair, and green eyes. Not to mention it was never practical to wear light colors in the icy land of his home country because one was liable to get lost and not be found in the snow so he had developed a mental block against light colors. There was also the issue of looking serious, Alexandre was fearful that bright colors would make him look younger, which was not at all what he needed.
"Well, let's go then," Numair said, "It's probably not a good plan to keep the King waiting."
Alexandre drew himself to his full height, which was five seven, towering for his fourteen years, but Numair, of course, was still much taller. "Let's go then," Alexandre repeated. His voice was firm and steady, hiding his shaking nerves well. They left Numair's quarters and strolled through the building at a brisk pace, to distract himself from his tight throat Alexandre's eyes flicked around the building as they walked. The palace was nice, he decided, much nicer than any buildings in Scanra. Well, he supposed that the Scanran palace would be nearly as beautiful if it weren't for all the hastily added fortifications and dead bodies surrounding the place.
"This way," Numai said, leading him on a shortcut through a neatly trimmed courtyard garden.
"In Scanra it iz too cold to grow thez types of plants just for decoration," Alexandre said idly.
"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?"
"Non, it iz zimply an observation. You'll find that, contrary to your beliefs, Tortall iz not at the heart of everyone's dezires. Scranra iz a great and powerful nation," he paused, "or it will be."
Numair glanced at him sharply, his thoughts hidden. They strode up a flight of stairs to find themselves facing a large, ornately carved door. Even though there was morning sun to light the hall, scones still flickered with flames along the side of the hall. Two guards were positioned on either side of the door, when Numair approached they moved toward the door and the heavy wood swung open.
"Come," Numair beckoned when Alexandre fell behind.
Alexsandre sucked in a deep breath of air, for the first time in long time he felt too young to be doing these things. He felt the burden of his responsibilities crashing around him like hail pelting to the ground.
"Are you alright?" Numair said, he had concern deep in his dark eyes. "There's no time to dawdle."
"I know zat," Alexandre snapped, mentally pulling pieces of himself together, building himself up for what he was expected to do. "I'm zorry." He walked forward, brushing past Numair, the second set of doors were already open, as he moved forward, the throne room came into view. Somehow his back managed to straighten more than it already was. The walls were marble, with columns that marched back toward a raised dais where a set of gold thrones sat. Alexandre had no Gift, but he could sense the thick layers of spells that covered the room, he wondered how many were Numair's.
He kept walking, moving across half the room toward the thrones. As he approached he could make out a tall man with black hair and a large crown perched on his head. Beside him the throne was empty, Alexandre supposed that his Queen usually sat there. He was nearly to the first step of the raised platform when the guards finally ordered him to halt, he did as they commanded.
The King seemed mildly amused by his confidence. Alexandre stood still, making unwavering eye contact with the King's blue eyes.
"Bow before his Majesty," a guard barked. Alexandre didn't move. Behind him he could hear Numair's steps as he caught up, and in addition to Numair's steps he heard the footfalls of a young boy, probably a year or two younger than himself. He didn't turn to look, only relied on his hearing because he was still meeting the King's eyes.
"Bow before his Majesty," the guard repeated.
No movement.
"Alexandre, you need to bow," Numair whispered loudly in his ear.
"No."
The King's eyebrows rose questioningly.
"Alexandre, it is proper procedure. You'll get along much better by showing him the proper respect."
"I will show you all the respect you dezerve," Alexandre spat. "I will show you more than the leader of this country dezerves, you 'ave my word."
"I won't ask you again to bow," Numair said.
"I would not bow for the Scanran King and I will not bow for the Tortallan one."
The mage sighed, "I don't want to force you to bow, but if I don't, someone will."
Without turning to face him, Alexandre gave a sharp nod. "I understand that," he said,
"In Scanra they broke my legs out from under me, but I 'ave never regretted my choice to refuse to bow. You do what you must."
There was a slight hesitation, then a sigh. As Alexandre stood waiting, he could feel a push of an invisible hand pressing down on his back. It pushed him down, he fought it, but the force was too much and he was bowing. The bow was small, but present. He knew Numair could have knocked him to the ground as easily as he blinked, but the small bow was all he forced upon Alexandre.
"Now we can begin," Numair said.
Alexandre smoothed his shirt and stared up at the King silently.
"Page, do you have a message for me?" the King asked, temporarily ignoring Alexandre.
"Your highness," said the page in a high voice, "I carry an important message from the Duke of-"
The King raised his hand to stop him, "You will have to wait until I am finished with this business. You are permitted to stay. Now," he looked back to Alexandre. "The Liberté."
For a moment Alexandre wondered why the King would allow the page to witness this conversation, but realized that the page's presence was less witnessing the conversation and more making this meeting seem less important. Make it seem like King Jonathan wasn't really worried about the Liberté.
"You and your fellows were apprehended during a raid on Fort Steadfast my intelligence tells me. They said that you were a leader in the raid, nonetheless." The King sounded almost contemptuous.
"Don't let my age fool you," Alexandre said.
"Of course not. Now, you're probably wondering what use the King of Tortall have for a band of Scanran raiders? Why didn't I have my men kill you on the spot?"
"No your highness, I am wondering no zuch thing. I know you want a zpy in the Liberté, that's why you want me, or you at least want zome of my information," Alexandre said.
"Now, I suppose you are wondering why it iz that I stayed while my men zlipped off into the Scanran tundra. Why did I ztay? To zpeak to you undoubtedly, but what would I want to zpeak about do you zuppose?"
The King raised his eyebrows again, expressing his shock and dismay at where this conversation was going. "It seems that you are building up to tell me."
"I am, I want to zave a few of your men's lives, iz what I want."
"Pray tell, how do you expect to go about that?" King Jonathan was obviously playing along.
"The food you zend with your soldiers, the extra, give it to the starving refugees. That is all we want."
"What food? Don't we already give you enough food?"
"You 'ave never given us food."
"We send cartful after cartful of relief food," the King said in disbelief. "For leading raids and such you are remarkably out of touch."
"I am out of touch?" Alexandre hissed, "I 'ave buried more people than you can imagine. Some killed by the Scanran nobility, some by weather, most by starvation. If there has been zo much food why are my people starving to death?"
"I don't know-"
"You're soldiers 'ave too much. We raid the forts because we know they 'ave too much, the excess goes to waste when my people are lying outside starving to death."
The King looked bewildered. Behind Alexandre, Numair's voice was heard. "That food is meant for the refugees. Those knights up there aren't distributing it," he realized.
"Your majesty, we will need to send honest knights up there to get that food distributed before there is any more death as a result of it."
The King nodded, "We'll need trials arranged for the incompetent knights, this should not, cannot happen under our noses."
Alexandre was still riled up, but it seemed that his indignity was wasted. This King was not the scoundrel that the Scanran king was, he didn't know what to say. This is what he came for. He thought that he was going to have to fight tooth and nail for the food and in reality, he hadn't really expect his sacrifice to do much. It had never occurred to him that this King might want to help.
"Is that what the Liberté has been doing? Trying to find food for the refugees?" the King asked the boy suddenly.
"Oui. We move towns and refugees as needed and fight the Scanran army when we have the numbers, things like zat."
"We were under the impression that you were some sort of branch under the Scanra army."
Alexandre laughed, "Someone 'as been playing with your zpy network. They take our children, we don't know why, we just never see them again. We despise them. And to be 'onest, the official Scanran army would love for us to all be trapped inside a burning building."
"Numair?" the King asked.
"He's not lying."
Alexandre nodded.
"Who are you?"
"I am going by Alexandre Corin while in Corus," he bowed.
"Do you know Pieter Jacques?"
Alexandre hesitated, "I may not 'ave any mages telling me that it alright to trust you, but we're both against the official Scanran army and what's a few raids between friends? I will tell you the truth. 'E is our leader."
"We know," the King leveled him with an even stare. "I asked if you knew him."
"I do. The Scanran nobles want to kill 'im so badly that he doesn't go out much. Zey call me la voix, I speak 'is will when 'e can't."
"Did he tell you to come here?"
"'E didn't want me to. I convinced 'im that I needed to go, but 'e's not too pleased with me. We figured zat I wouldn't make it back, much less make it back alive."
"Yet he let you go?"
"We were desperate. You're not going to kill me, are you?"
Numair chuckled from behind him and the King answered, "No we won't. We will write you a message to bring to Pieter Jacques, Numair will seal it magically and disguise it so you won't be caught with it on your way back."
"I want to be able to read it."
"Why?"
"I won't give Pieter anything sealed that might be dangerous, I would rather open it myself."
"Even if it's dangerous?"
"Especially if it's dangerous."
The King once again looked surprised by Alexandre. "You must be loyal."
"I am."
"Pieter Jacques is a good leader?"
"Oui, and my brother."
The King's surprise escalated. "I never would have guessed. I suppose then we will let you read it before bringing it to him, satisfied?"
"Very much so." Alexandre smiled.
"We will share as much information as we can with you, if you will share with us," the King said.
"We can live with zat, but you mustn't share this, or any information we pass to you, with any others, please."
The King nodded sharply. "Is that all?"
"Yes…your majesty," Alexandre said.
"You are dismissed. May the gods bring you safety."
Alexandre bowed, he turned and started for the door. Numair was watching him amusedly. The boy was startled to remember the page that was still in the room, he looked the boy over. Straight hair cut like a helmet atop his head framed delicate features, a small nose and light, quick eyes. Alexandre almost tripped over his own feet when he realized that he was not looking at a boy, but a girl. He met her calm eyes, not breaking the contact until he had walked past her almost completely. "What a strange country Tortall is," he murmured to himself quietly.