Salora dropped her armload of wooden trays onto the vast expanse of the kitchen counter with a careless contempt, earning herself yet another dark glance from the head cook--her third of the day.
"Was that really necessary?" The cook glowered at her from her perch near the stoves, where she was ostensibly "over-seeing" the staff.
Salora quickly schooled her features into a mask of pleasantness.
"No, Cook." She chirped with saccharine tones. "Terribly sorry, Cook!"
The cook gave her a measuring look, her eyebrow raised. "See that it doesn't happen again."
Salora restrained her tongue from spilling a haughty retort, hung her apron on a hook, and escaped the stifling kitchens with as much haste as could feasibly be considered "seemly." If fortune smiled on her, she would avoid being sucked into her mother's duties for the rest of the afternoon. If not, she would miss the only aspect of her life that made it bearable--watching the Heraldic trainees at weaponswork.
From the time she was old enough to avoid her mother's watchful eye, she had escaped to the Salle to watch--and later imitate--the blade training administed by the fearsome foreign Herald who taught only the most advanced students. He was an odd Herald, the Weaponsmaster. He never, in Salora's recollection, ever wore Whites. It was only through snippets of overheard conversation among the Trainees that Salora was even aware that Albereicht was a Herald. Later observation at the Companion's field, where Salora saw him astride a Companion, proved the Trainees words correct--for a Companion bore their Chosen and no other...Salora shook herself from her reverie.
Now was not the time to daydream. If she did not exercise all her guile in avoiding her mother, Ella would catch her and the where would she be? Her whole afternoon would be wasted on learning 'how to run a House.' Ella meant well, she was sure of it, but she wished ferverently that her mother would see that Salora was meant for more than washing and mending.
She sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that she had been Chosen. As a child she had lurked around Companion's field, hoping desperately that one of the transcendent creatures would come and whisk her away. But it never happened. Now, at fifteen, chances were slim to none that it ever would. She wiped away the salty tear that had worked its way unbidden down her cheek.
Even if she hadn't been Chosen, there were other means of excape from palace drudgery, The Guard for one. The one and only time Salora had dared mention her dream to Ella, her mother had laughed derisively.
"You? In the Guard?" Upon seeing the crestfallen look on her daughter's face, Ella had softened, wrapping her arms around Salora's waist and pulling her into a warm embrace.
"The Guard isn't for the likes of you and me, Salora. They'd eat you alive. The poor and the unlanded...meaning no disrespect to the Queen, are just bodies to waste." Ella leveled a serious look at her daughter. "Besides, you have too much to reccomend you to go throwing yourself away on the Guard." What she had to reccommend her, Ella never would say, stating cryptically that she would understand when she was older.
Salora opened the doors to the cubby of a room she shared with Ella, and quickly darted inside. She steathily drew a plain blue tunic, brown belt, blue breeches, and brown boots from the cabinet that served as her wardrobe and slipped them on. She fastened the buckle on her belt and then moved to lace her boots.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Salora stopped abruptly in midlace.
"Out." She shrugged carelessly, careful to reveal none of her urgency. Ella's eyes narrowed.
"Out where?" Ella demanded, her hands on her hips.
Salora thought fast. If her mother had any inkling of what she was really about to do..,
"To get some fresh air. I feel that I can't breathe after all morning in the kitchens." Well, it was marginally true,,,
Ella relaxed visibly, the hardness leaving her grey eyes.
"I know what you mean." Ella smiled. "Just be back for dinner chores."
Salora flashed Ella a brilliant smile in return and hastily laced her remaining boot.
"Yes, Ella!"
Salora fled the room before her mother could change her mind. Now she was free! Sure it was only temporary, but Salora would take what she could get.
She arrived at the Salle long before the Trainees were due to arrive and hid herself in the half shadows off to one side. She streched carefully and dilligently, extending her flexibility to her uttmost. After the Trainees completed their workout, Salora would sneak into the Salle and imitate the drills she learned that day. To her own critical eye, she wasn't half-bad, but she longed with all of her heart for a more formal evaluation of her skills.
About the time Salora determined her muscles to be sufficiently limber, the Trainees began to trickle in, bantering good-naturedly among themselves. This class, Salora's favorite, was made up entirely of Heraldic trainees. She watched their easy commaraderie with no little envy as they chattered during their warm-up stretches. She envied not only their fortune at being privy to the best weapons training available, but also their closeness. Salora had very little contact with others her own age--Ella saw to that. Her mother, for some reason Salora could not fathom, seemed to want to keep her entirely isolated. Ella constantly hissed at her to avoid drawing eyes.
The Weaponsmaster finally arrived and began putting the students through their paces. He demonstrated an arial tuck and roll manuver that had Salora positively transfigured. Unable to resist, she ventured tentatively out of her half-shadow for the first time ever and attempted the manuver. Her movement, quick and silent though it was, must have caught Albereicht's eye, for he turned and pounced on her like a cat on an unwary mouse.
"You there! Girl!"
Salora willed herself to disapear. When her wish went unoblidged, she replied tentatively. "Me?"
"Yes. You. Do again what just you did. Only here." He gestured at an area in the center of the well-lit Salle with the tip of his blade. "Where others might see."
Salora trembled, but moved forward obediently towards the area he pointed at, clutching at her practive sword. Adreneline pumping through her veins, she twisted her body into what she hoped was a passable semblence of the drill. She landed in a crouch and vraced herself for the bray of disapproval she had so often heard him favor his students with. It never came.
"Good. Well done." He turned to the watching Trainees. "You see how fluidly she moves. It is this that I wish for you to imitate." She turned back to her.
"You have a name, girl?"
"Salora."
He smiled at her. "You will be taking classes with me, from now on." He scratched his head as though thinking. "Your mother, she is Ella, the Housekeeper's assistant, is she not?"
Slowly, Salora nodded, scarely able to believe her ears.
"Yes, I thought as much." He eyed her shrewdly. "You think perhaps it is persuasion she will need?" It wasn't really a question. He turned back to the Trainees. "Jethry." he barked at an auburn-haired boy.
"Yes, Sir."
"You are to go to the Housekeeper's Assistant, Ella. You will tell her that Master Albereicht has decieded that it is weapons training her daughter needs." The boy darted a glance at Salora then nodded before running of to comply with the order. The Weaponsmaster turned back to Salora, a grim smile playing across his battle-worn features. It was truely terrifying.
"And now child, you are mine."