Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me, as I'm an unemployed high school student with no money.
Chapter One
The Dancing Dove was bustling with even more noise and activity than it was usually, full of revelry and merrymaking. Throughout Tortall, people were celebrating the anniversary of King Jonathan's coronation and the residents of Lower Corus were no exception. The patrons of the tavern were drinking and laughing, toasting their ruler's long and prosperous reign. That is, all but one.
A young woman was sitting at the end of the bar, turned on her stool so her back was resting against the wall. Blue eyes surveyed the common room over the mug she was sipping ale from, her dark eyebrows pulled down and her brow furrowed in a pensive frown. After swallowing a few mouthfuls, she lowered the mug and placed it back on the wooden counter, revealing an unremarkable nose and mouth above a strong jaw and cleft chin. Tucking a few strands of dark brown hair that had escaped from the horsetail that hung to her shoulders behind her ear, she then absentmindedly straightened the rough leather tunic that covered her small form. However, it hardly helped the appearance of her attire, which was covered in traveling dust and horsehair. Her dark brown cloak had a stiff coating of mud along the bottom, and her boots were caked with it as well. Her shirt and pants were almost passably clean, though the faint outlines of old stains were visible.
Running her index finger along the rim of her mug, the woman looked at it for a moment, then picked it up and drained its contents. Slouching further against the wall, she slammed the now empty tankard down on the counter again in a decidedly moody fashion. As she adjusted her belt, she heard her sword rattle in its scabbard. Her weapon was the only unusual thing about her, as commoners did not typically carry long blades in such an open fashion. Its hilt was plain and ended in a simple round pommel, and like its owner, was covered in a thin layer of dust.
Out of habit, she lifted the hilt a few inches to make sure the blade was clear in its sheath, then allowed it to drop back in place with a metallic click. Releasing the weapon, she caught the barkeeper's attention. When he was standing in front of her, she gestured to her mug and grunted, "Ale."
The bartender looked at the young woman oddly. "Ye sure ye don't want something stronger, missy?" he asked. "Tis the anniversary of His Majesty's coronation, ye know. Surely ye'll be wanting to celebrate his rule, aye?"
The women fixed the older man with a cool stare. "My name is not 'missy', and you, sirrah, will either address me with respect or not at all," she replied coldly, resting her hand on the pommel of her sword. "So, you think the anniversary of King Jonathan's coronation is something to celebrate, do you?"
The man, startled by the young woman's cold demeanor and sudden question, nodded quickly. "Aye, lady, we celebrate it every year," he blurted out. "His Majesty's been a good king."
"Then you should celebrate his birthday," she replied, leaning forward. "You are aware, of course, that the day of his coronation was also the day of one of the greatest acts of treason in our time. The fiefs of Eldorne and Tirragen joined with the traitorous Duke Roger and attempted to kill Jonathan to put his uncle on the throne. Therefore, by celebrating the day of his coronation, you are also celebrating an attempt on his life. But I'm sure you knew that, didn't you?"
The bartender stared at the young woman for a moment, then finally stuttered, "But we do celebrate his birthday, lady."
The woman gave a sigh of disgust and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. "Ale," she said, waving her hand at the tankard as she repeated her earlier request. This time the man obliged without argument, hurrying to fill the mug from one of the kegs behind the counter. When she heard the mug being set down in front of her, she muttered her thanks without opening her eyes and listened to the barkeeper hurry off.
Reaching forward without sitting up, she reclaimed her tankard and drank deeply. Some of the foam stuck to her upper lip, and she lowered the mug and wiped it off, opening her eyes as she did. It was at that moment a group of men and women burst through the door, laughing and shouting. They were of varying ages- the youngest looked to be only in his older teens, and one of the women had grey streaks in her hair. In fact, the only similarities they all seemed to share were in the insignia of the Queen's Riders stitched on their tunics and their apparent tipsiness.
The young woman glanced at the rowdy group, a disapproving frown darkening her features. However, a look of recognition crossed her face, and the scowl was replaced a grin. Tankard in hand, she stood and strode over to where the new arrivals had sat down, schooling her expression into one of seriousness. Coming up behind one of the women, who had the bars of a group commander stitched to her tunic, she barked, "Group Commander Blythdin, please control your men!"
The woman stood and spun in one motion, her dirty blonde horsetail whipping around as she did. "Listen, you-" she began, but stopped when she saw who had addressed her. Her blue-green eyes widened in surprise, then she exclaimed, "Laura? Is that you?" Laughing, she clapped the other woman on the shoulder. "Sir Laura of Coa's Wood, home from wars. How long has it been?" she asked.
"Three years," replied the woman, whose name was obviously Laura. "You seem to have done well for yourself, Katherine," she observed, gesturing to the bars with her tankard. "Moved up through the ranks while I was fighting Scanrans."
Katherine shrugged. "Bandit attack," she said in way of explanation. "Someone has to take care of things back home while you knights are off fighting for the glory of Tortall."
The lady knight snorted. "Aye, glory," she repeated, sarcasm practically dripping from her words. "There's no glory in freezing near to death in a rundown old fort on the border, with no action but an occasional skirmish with a handful of raiders." Grunting, she took a drink from her tankard, staring off into nothingness with angry eyes.
The other woman raised an eyebrow, but said no more on the subject. Clapping her friend on the arm, she succeeded in startling her out of her reverie. "Come now, enough of that," she said, her tone jovial. "You obviously haven't had enough to drink with talk like that."
Laura gave a wry smile. "I think they've had more than enough to make up for the difference," she replied, gesturing to the other riders with a jerk of her head.
"Nonsense," Katherine protested. "The whole country is celebrating, why shouldn't you?"
"I already had to give the bartender a history lesson," the knight replied. "Don't tell me I need to give you one, too."
"Nay, I've heard it before," Katherine said, laughing. "Besides, you know I'm more book smart than you are."
Laura looked as though she would like to argue, but instead shrugged. "Aye, you've got me there," she agreed, nodding.
"See, you even admit to it," the Rider pointed out triumphantly. "So, since I'm more book smart than you, you should drink."
The knight laughed. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow your logic," she said, shaking her head. "Besides, I am drinking. I'm just enjoying myself responsibly."
"Responsibly?" Katherine repeated, throwing her hands up. "How do you enjoy yourself responsibly, especially on a holiday when no one else bothers?"
"I'm a knight," Laura replied, her voice carrying the simple conviction of one who had repeated herself more times than she could count. "Knights are supposed to be responsible."
"Good Goddess, Laura," Katherine exclaimed. "I know that there are knights who are enjoying themselves right now in irresponsible ways, and you know it as well. I thought going to war would disillusion you a bit."
Laura shook her head and sighed. "No reason to bring the gods into this, Katherine," she remarked. "And war did disillusion me, more than you know, but that doesn't mean I'm going to behave badly. I still honor the Code of Chivalry, even if no one else does." Taking a drink from her tankard, she grunted unhappily, then fell silent again.
"As brooding as ever, I see," the Rider commented quietly. She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but was distracted by a loud thump. Returning her attention back to the rest of the Riders, she discovered that the youngest had fallen off the bench, clearly unconscious. Many of the others were laughing, but instead of joining them, she crossed her and glared at the man sitting next to the younger Rider.
"Darin, I thought you were keeping an eye on him," she said, her tone implying that an explanation was need.
The man glanced up, his blue eyes obscured for a moment as lamplight flashed off his glasses. "I was," he replied. His voice was quiet, but not the hushed tone of someone who was ashamed, just quiet.
"And how many drinks did you let him have?" Katherine asked, her tone becoming a bit impatient.
"Five," the man replied, his tone still neutral.
"Five?" the group commander repeated, disbelief clear in her voice. "Why didn't you stop him?"
"I advised against it," the man replied, running a hand through his short, wavy red hair, "but he didn't listen."
"Darin, you are the second in command of this group," Katherine said in the monotonous tone of someone who had explained something many times before. "You do not advise, you order." Sighing, she gestured at the teenager who was sprawled on the floor. "Well, don't just leave him lying there. Put him back on the bench and prop him against the table or something."
The man, or Darin, as Katherine had called him, stood, swinging his long legs over the bench with unexpected grace. He was over a head taller than his commanding officer, but he followed her orders. Grabbing the young man under his arms as one might a small child, he lifted him with a grunt and sat him on the bench, resting his back against the table so he was sitting up. "There. Anything else?" he asked in a flat tone that made it difficult to tell whether he was being sarcastic or serious.
"Aye," Katherine replied, obviously choosing to take his remark seriously. "Talk to Laura. She's sulking again."
"I am not," protested the knight, who had glanced up at the sound of her name. "Besides, you can hardly order someone to be sociable."
"Of course you can," the group commander replied. "The training masters do it to pages all the time, what with serving at banquets and dancing at balls and the like. You're a knight, you ought to know that."
"I always managed to be assigned kitchen duty at banquets, and no one wanted to dance with a girl page," Laura pointed out.
"Well, whose fault is that?" Katherine retorted in the tone of someone launching into a familiar argument. "Perhaps if you dressed a bit more femininely-"
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Darin interrupted quietly, holding out a large hand. "My name is Darin Staver."
"Sir Laura of Coa's Wood," the knight replied, shaking the man's hand firmly.
"Katherine's mentioned you before, I think," the man remarked thoughtfully.
"Nothing too unflattering, I hope."
"No, not that I can remember."
"Oh, well, that's good, then," Laura replied, then fell silent. The two stood quietly for a moment, neither looking the other in the eye and both seemingly unable to think of something else to say.
Katherine sighed noisily. "You two are hopeless," she exclaimed. Grabbing a tankard from the table and ignoring the cry of protest that followed, she shoved the mug into Darin's hands. "Sit, drink, and try again when you're feeling more talkative." The man looked slightly confused but did as he was told, moving to the other end of the table to sit with a few of the other male riders, who began to tease him good naturedly. "You should do the same," she said as she turned to look at the knight, "but you're not a rider, so I can't really order you to."
Laura shrugged and sat as she was told, taking a sip from her tankard. "I don't think we're hopeless," she remarked after a moment.
"No, you are both impossible," Katherine replied. "Especially you. I would have thought all those hours of etiquette lessons you had to go through as a page would have at least taught you how to make small talk."
"I hated that class," the knight replied bitterly. "The Etiquette Master was never sure if a lady knight should observe the court manners of a noblewoman or a knight, so he made me learn both. It was ridiculous. I had to know how to bow and curtsy, lead and follow in all the dances we learned, even the courtly flirtations of both genders, which was the most absurd notion I've ever come across. Knight or no, I am a woman. I don't need to learn how to woo as a man." By the time she was finished speaking, her normally flat, monotone way of speaking had turned into an impassioned rant. Lifting her tankard, she drained the rest of its contents and slammed it back down on the table moodily, only to find Katherine grinning broadly at her. "What, pray tell, is so amusing?" she snapped irritably.
"You should drink more often," the rider advised. "You're never this opinionated. Whenever I told you that the Etiquette Master was a pompous old fool, you always told me to respect my elders then recited some nonsense about how a proper knight is courteous and how protocol is an important part of the Code of Chivalry."
"A proper knight is courteous," Laura protested, sounding like an insistent child. "I just didn't need know how to be courteous as both a man and a woman."
"Of course you didn't," Katherine replied, handing the knight's empty mug to a barmaid so it could be refilled. "Like I said, the Etiquette Master was a pompous old fool, but now's not the time to be worrying about such things." When the barmaid returned with a tankard of strong ale, the rider took it and pushed it into her friend's hands, slinging an arm around her shoulders in a comradely fashion. "Drink and be merry; no more of this sulking about your page years. You earned your shield, that's all that matters."
"Perhaps, but there are still some that would like to see me stripped of it," Laura muttered, but Katherine didn't hear. She was distracted by one of her riders, who, in his extremely intoxicated state, had begun to pledge his undying love to one of the barmaids. The young woman laughed, but a man sitting at another table did not seem to find it so amusing. Scowling, he stood and stormed over to the two, then grabbed the rider by the back of the collar and spun him around.
"Hey, that's my woman," he growled, then struck the drunk with a blow to the face that sent him flying.
Katherine stood and grabbed a bottle from another table, using it to club the man in the back of the head. "And that's my rider," she told the now unconscious ruffian, then ducked as the patron whose drink she had stolen swung at her. Several of her other riders lunged her attacker, and the whole tavern erupted into a brawl.
Laura remained seated, drinking her ale and watching tables being upturned and bodies flying through the air. "This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself, then dove to the floor as a barstool came flying in her direction. Growling an oath, she unsheathed her sword and dove into the fray. Striking out with the pommel and flat of her blade, she forced her way through the brawl until she found Katherine, who was in the process of laying several thugs low by hitting decidedly below the belt. "Must you always cause problems?" she asked, yelling so she could be heard over the commotion.
"But of course," Katherine replied in a cheery tone as she broke someone's nose. "It's in my nature."
The knight opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Fortunately, she was saved of having to reply by the sounds of shouting and whistles outside. A group of the Provost's guards burst through the door, and in a matter of moments threw everyone except the barkeep out of the tavern.
Katherine laughed from her seated position in the dirt as she watched the more shady patrons of the Dove scatter in all directions, pursued by the guards. "Aye, that's right, run!" she called mockingly. "A rogue'll never beat a rider in a tavern brawl!" With that, she took a long drink from a bottle of brandy she had snatched off a table before being shoved out of the tavern.
Laura shook her head as she sheathed her sword and dusted herself off, then looked around to see how the rest of the riders were faring. There were a few bruises and bloody noses, but most seemed relatively unharmed, although completely intoxicated.
"I think it might be time to return to the barracks," Darin suggested quietly, glancing at his commanding officer.
"Nay, the night is still young," Katherine protested, pushing herself up to her feet.
"Perhaps," the man replied, his tone bland, "but some of the others are looking rather worse for wear."
The group commander sighed. "Fine, fine," she consented. "You may take them back."
"Me, commander?" the redhead repeated, looking confused.
"Yes, you," Katherine replied firmly. "Laura and I are going to the ball, and you are my second in command, after all."
Darin furrowed his brow and looked as though he would like to argue, but simply said, "Yes, commander." Instructing some of the less muddle-headed riders to help the incapacitated ones, he led the group in the direction of the barracks.
"That man is entirely too sober," Katherine remarked, shaking her head.
"I am not going to the ball," Laura said bluntly.
"Yes, you are," the rider replied in an offhand, unbothered manner.
"No, I am not," the knight insisted. "And I don't think you should go, either. You're drunk."
"Not drunk," Katherine corrected patiently, sounding rather like a teacher instructing a promising but difficult student. "I am pleasantly tipsy. There's a world of difference."
"Still, you know how condescending some noblewomen can be," Laura pointed out. "Do you wish to invite their criticisms?"
"I wouldn't speak poorly of noblewomen, if I were you," the rider remarked. "You are one, after all."
"You know the sort I mean. Those gossiping, petty, convent-bred girls that seem to have nothing better to do than look down their noses at fighting women such as ourselves," the knight said, sounding exasperated.
"Aye, I know the sort you mean," Katherine replied, amusement clear in her voice. "But with all the fine spirits that I'm sure have been flowing since the ball began I shall hardly stand out. Besides, everyone knows that riders are rowdy, ill-mannered ruffians. Any rumors I manage to start will be nothing new."
"We're hardly dressed for a ball," Laura pointed out, changing her argument.
"As I said before, with all the fine spirits, I doubt anyone will notice," Katherine countered.
After a moment of silence, the knight sighed. "But I don't want to go," she said, her tone coming rather close to a whine.
"Nonsense," the rider said, throwing both her arms in the air and nearly sending the bottle of brandy she was holding soaring across the lane. "You'll enjoy yourself. There will be good food, handsome men, and plenty of wine to help you relax."
"I am relaxed," Laura protested.
"You are not," Katherine retorted. Pushing the bottle the knight's hands, she looked at her for a moment, then clapped her hands loudly. Laura jumped back a few feet in surprise. "See?" the rider said triumphantly. "You are entirely too tense. Have a few swigs of that and let's go to the ball," she instructed, gesturing to the bottle the other woman was now holding.
The knight looked at the bottle, then pulled out the cork with a sigh and took a few swallows. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she returned the drink to the rider. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she asked, sounding miserable.
Katherine laughed and clapped the knight on the back. "That's the spirit," she said, throwing the bottle to the side of the lane, where it hit a wall and shattered. She then nudged the other woman forward.
Laura obliged the nudge by beginning to move down the lane that lead to Palace Way, although reluctantly. "Why are you so determined to go to the ball?" she asked.
"Like I said before, there will be good food and handsome men," the rider replied. "I'm also friends with a few of the players that will be performing." Moving to the knight's side, she elbowed her gently. "Don't look so glum. You'll enjoy the evening if you just allow yourself to."
Laura did not reply, but her loud sigh clearly expressed her opinion.