The squire's wing of the palace buzzed with excitement. Nealan of Queenscove, having returned from the north with his knight-master Lady Alanna, was in the library with Faleron, Seaver, Merric, Roald, Esmond, Cleon, and Owen, a chubby fourth-year page who had joined their ranks after being rescued from Joren and his gang. It was the first day of the midwinter festivities, and for Seaver, Merric, Esmond, and Faleron, who had been away the previous year, it was their first time attending the annual dance.
"Have a jolly time," Owen said gloomily, as a page he could not attend. His usually cheerful face was pulled down in a miserable pout.
Cleon laughed. "You too, Jesslaw. Have a jolly time serving dishes tonight."
"Thanks."
Neal, surprisingly, had remained strangely quiet all this time. He was sitting on his cushioned chair, chin propped up on his left hand, staring off into space with a dreamy expression. "New lady at court?" Esmond asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.
"Yes, I saw her in the gardens this morning. She's to be introduced to the court at the dance tonight. A fairer lady there has never been. Her skin was as soft as velvet. The sun gleamed off her hair..." He was interrupted by snickers from the other boys. He gave them a hard, meaningful glare, but only succeeded in making them laugh harder. "So as was saying, the sun gleamed of her hair like..."
The curtain of night had already settled by the time that Neal arrived at the dance. He was dressed in suit of the violet and black colours of Pirate Swoop which didn't quite go with him. The suit stuck to him like a second skin, and itched terribly. Neal was quite sure that this was Lady Alanna's newest form of torture. As if nearly beating the life out of him at sword-practice at four each morning wasn't bad enough. Beside him, his knight-master grinned slyly. Sometimes, he was certain that she could read his mind. Lady Alanna hated formal festivities nearly as much as Lord Raoul did, and she was determined to make her squire suffer for it. Indeed, Neal was surprised that they'd even come back to the palace.
Ever since Keladry of Mindelan had been kicked out of page training three and a half years ago, she'd only been there twice. Once to take on Neal as a squire, and once to attend this dance. Alanna could not seem to be able to sustain her glee these past few days. Neal could not help wondering if she knew something he did not. He thought of Kel, she'd left early in the morning the day after Lord Wyldon had told her that she couldn't. She never even said good-bye. She'd trudged on foot for a dozen or so days all the way back to Mindelan, because she didn't have a horse. Neal had sent her several letters, but she'd never responded. He'd heard from Cleon who was squire to Kel's brother that she'd been sent to convent school. And then the lady that Neal had seen in the gardens stepped out into the great hall. And Neal thought about nothing else.
Across the room from Neal, sat Faleron, Merric, and their knight-masters. All four gaped as the lady stepped into the room… Until Merric started laughing. "Look at Stone Mountain!" Indeed, Joren was staring at the lady as if he was a starving man and she was a magnificent feast an inch out of reach.
Faleron shook his head sardonically. "No, look at Queenscove."
The lady stepped onto the platform. She was dressed surprisingly modestly in a deep navy blue with gold designs going across like sun rays that set off her tanned skin quite nicely. For a lady, she seemed to have spent quite a lot of time in the sun. Her hair waved slightly and was cropped short about an inch or two below her shoulders. The king's minister of ceremony stood. "In most occasions, I'd tell you her name. But the lady does not wish that to be known. All I can say is that some of you may already know her." And that was it. No extended history, no name of fief. The murmur of unease travelled through the crowd. The conservatives were in uproar.
King Jonathan waved a hand for silence. "Let the dance begin!" And it did.
Neal pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of young nobles who had gathered around the lady, wincing as someone's elbow swung into his ribs. It took him some time to reach the front of the line. "May I have the pleasure of the first dance?" he asked. She looked up at him, and their gazes locked, hazel met green. And for a sudden heart-wrenching moment, Neal could have sworn that there was something intensely familiar about this girl.
Then the lady nodded slowly, and the spell was broken. Neal took her hand, towing her through the crowd to the dance floor, many of the suitors glaring at him balefully. The music began – a fast-paced square-dance to celebrate the coming of the new year. The lady seemed surprisingly lithe and almost muscular. Neal wondered how she'd managed to exercise in those silk gowns.
Suddenly, he felt her pull away. Joren of Stone Mountain stood at their side, hand clasped on the lady's arm, and smiling dazzlingly. "May I cut in?" he asked.
He heard the lady take a sharp breath as if shocked. Well, who wouldn't be, the way the blond squire looked tonight, Neal thought bitterly. "Get your paws off me, Stone Mountain," she snapped, face wiped clean of any expression.
Joren leapt back in surprise, letting go of her arm as if he'd been burned. He muttered a quick apology and strutted away, trying to regain some of his pride. "Yes, go back and lick your wounds," Neal heard her mutter under her breath.
Strange, it was the first time that he'd heard her speak, and he realized that there was something familiar about her voice as well, although it had been years since he'd heard it last. He peered down into her face. "Have we met?"
At his voice, she glanced up, "It's been a while, Neal."