The Palace
Aya glared at her pony who, for her part, was intent on not moving. In two weeks she would go to the palace and be free of the cursed beast, but for now, as for the past 2 years, the mount stood stubbornly, swishing its tail.
"Pox and murrain," she muttered, scowling. Since spending the last summer in Corus, where she had found herself mingling with members of the King's Own and the Riders, she'd learned a plethora of curses to use against her stubborn pony. "There's donkey-blood in you, Merry, I swear it."
Snorting, the pony sat suddenly. With a yelp of shock, Aya tumbled into the mud. Hurling every bad word in her vocabulary at the creature, she looked up to see a tall figure leaning on the fence to the riding yard. Aya held back a flush at the sight of her Aunt Kel – she had enough respect for the older woman to hope she'd never see her do anything as graceless as fall from a horse.
"Aunt Kel," ignoring her now grazing pony, Aya approached the lady knight. Her father's best friend, Kel spent much of her time at the Queenscove's estates. Her own residences – a tiny fief south of Pirate's Swoop – was nothing compared to the old, rolling acres of Queenscove.
"Hello Aya," Kel nodded to Merry, who swished her tail at the pair. "Having fun."
Aya snorted, glaring at the beast.
"I thought we'd at least depart on good terms," she admitted ruefully.
"You should have seen my first horse," Kel approached the pony sternly. "Peachblossom, his name was. Nasty bruiser. Best mount I ever rode, but it took the wildmage to get him to stop bleeding me and let me ride him."
Aya whistled, suddenly grateful. Merry might be a stubborn ass at times, but she was a gentle creature.
"She's about ready to be put out to pasture," Kel said calmly, pretending not to notice the pony's ears go back. "She's obviously getting slow. You'll obviously do better with a palace mount. Still, for the next two weeks, you'll have to do what you can with the old girl."
The moment Ayami mounted, the pony kicked into a trot, swishing her tail proudly at Kel. The woman didn't smile, though Aya saw amusement in her level-brown eyes. Tortallan animals were more intelligent thanks to Daine the Wildmage's influence – her vain, silly Merry was no exception.
After her riding practice, she was delighted when Kel offered to go through fencing with her. In two years, she'd mastered the most basic blows and drills with some difficulty, impatient to get to real fighting. To her frustration, Kel refused to free-fight with her, saying that she continued to balance her weight poorly and that her right-side blows – the hand she was weaker with – were too soft.
"I can show you some arm-strengthening exercises," Kel offered as Aya slumped, dejected.
"That's okay," she assured her gods-mother. "I just need to practice more."
Kel frowned.
"Page training is very physical, Ayami," she told her adoptive neice. "Training twice a week with the sword isn't enough. Most boys your age will be bigger and stronger than you – if you want to keep up, you'll have to really put work into it."
"I will," Aya assured her, meaning it. She could already see herself, a warrior maiden like the ones in the ballads. Like Fianola of Tassride, or Freya of the K'mir.
Kel smiled, approving and headed back to the keep to start on her fief's accounts.
For the next half hour or so, Aya practiced drills before racing inside for dinner. Her mother insisted she wouldn't have to start packing until next week, but Aya was already quivering with excitement for her trip to the palace.
xXx
Lady Hannah of Haryse regarded the page before her coolly.
The girl swallowed, barely able to meet the training mistress's eyes. Lady Hannah had been in the second generation of women to try for her knighthood, just a few years after Keladry of Silversun had won her shield. The woman was extremely tall and wiry, and the cane she would use for the rest of her days made her appear no less tough or dangerous. Her severe, dark brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, giving her weathered face a skinless, skeletal look.
"You will study as a page for at least four years until you take your examinations," she spoke in a broad northern accent, skipping over her 't's as though she were trying to save on them. "Should a knight master select you as a squire, you will serve him – or her – until you are deemed ready to take your ordeal. In the morning, you will study fencing, tilting, archery and riding and your afternoons will be spent in the endeavour of teaching you to think." The woman leaned forwards impressively, like a falcon swooping in on its prey. "I warn you now – academics are a compulsory part of your study. Don't think you needn't bother with philosophy or mathematics because you're training to be a knight. The mind is like the body – it needs exercise to remain sharp. Sloppy thinking costs lives. You'll stay in the girls' wing of course. You're allowed boys in your room, but the door must remain open. Do you have any questions?"
"No my lady," she croaked out nervously.
Hannah frowned for a moment before smiling thinly.
"Keep your wits about you girl," she advised. "Work hard, but remember to make friends too." The knight stood with a wince, nodding to her new student. "I expect excellent things of the pages I train, Josaline of Marti's Hill. Do yourself and your family credit."
Nodding to Quinden of Marti's Hill, Josaline's father, Hannah instructed her maidservant, Gilly, to send in the next page.
Leaving the training mistress's office, Josie let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
"She's strict, but fair," Quinden informed her shortly. "I worked with Hannah of Haryse in the Tyran war 15 years ago. She was a green knight then and one of the best unarmed fighters I've ever come across. Do well by her."
"I will father," Josie replied sincerely. She had the reputations of dozens of excellent female knights to uphold. She would excell in her training, she knew.
"Good," Quinden regarded his daughter coolly before sighing. "I know you are not suited to convent life Josaline, and times are such that even a girl may train as a knight without shaming her family. But if you feel you fall behind in training, if you feel unable to keep up with the boys, you must come home to us. Better to be kept at home than fail at the palace."
For a moment, her throat caught, torn between fury and amusement. At last, she nodded.
"I will not fail, father," she told him, voice firm.
His response – you already have – remained unspoken. Neither of them needed to repeat the furious arguments of the last year regarding Josie's future. At last it had been her mother, the tiny, timid Louella of Fenrigh, who had put her foot down and decreed that Josie could try for her shield. Quinden never could argue with his wife, when she actually showed an opinion.
"I'll see you to your rooms," he offered. "The head of the palace servants – what was her name again?"
"Kiama," Josie remembered the plain, no-nonsense Kyprian.
"Kiama. If she knows what she's doing, she'll have had your things moved to
your room. All you'll have to do is make your way to the end of the corridor when the supper bell rings."
They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say to the other. They had never been close and there farewell was doomed to be rushed and insincere.
"I can't wait to get a proper mount," a voice piped up from down the corridor. "Not like that stubborn pony back home."
"The palace animals are stranger than your Merry," an amused voice responded. "With the Wildmage's influence and all."
As Josie and her father rounded a corner, she stared at the small Yamani girl – almost a half a foot smaller than Josie's 4 feet and 1 inch. Her face was pretty and delicate and she kept her long dark hair swept into a plait at the back of her head. Beside her was a tall, handsome man of her father's age. The two men froze when they saw each other.
"Quinden," the strange man nodded, eyes flicking to Josie. Amusement tinged his green eyes. "I heard your daughter was Aya's age."
Quinden nodded stiffly, ignoring 'Aya' entirely. The two girls regarded each other curiously for a moment before being forced to scramble to catch up with their respective parents.
"Nealan of Queenscove," Quinden explained shortly. "Doddering idiot, if you ask me. He was always making trouble for me and my friends during our page years."
"How does that girl plan on being a knight?" Josie asked, confused. "She looks like a breeze would knock her over. And she hasn't even cut her hair!"
The corners of Quinden's mouth twitched – clearly he approved of Josaline's disdain for the tiny Yamani.
After a brief, excruciating goodbye to her father, she settled into her room and began to unpack, shaking her head over the folly of silly girls.
Opinions? Thoughts? Loved it? Hated it? Wish a horrendous death upon me and all I hold dear for writing yet another 'Neal's Daughter' story? Hannah of Haryse likes being written, Quinden wants nothing more to do in any of my stories and Josaline and Ayami already want to fight, if you're up for thrilling insights into my daily writing life.
I adore reviews and those who write them. I promise that this is going to be a completed story, not a perpetually disappointment for those looking for updates. Once a week. This is my vow. I underwent an Ordeal of Fanficking and everything.