As is often the case with small children, Kate's intentions to wait until the riders were dry before sneaking down to spy upon them were foiled by a soft bed and deep pillows. When a maid tugged the bed curtains back and threw open the window shutters, Kate jerked awake and realized what had happened.

"Did they leave already!?" she demanded, leaping out of bed quickly enough that it took the maid by surprise, for Kate was always loathe to leave the warmth of her bed on chilly mornings. She settled the girl into a chair with some difficulty, and began working the night-time tangles out of the child's hair. Thankfully news of the arrival of two riders last night was commonly known by now, and the maid had little trouble guessing who the 'they' young Kayatice was referring to were.

"Na," she said around a mouthful of comb, while her skilled hands tried to make a braid in the fidgety child's hair, "They'd only just arrived 'round midnight, an' Milord Fitral sent 'em straight to bed. Like as not, they'd been plumb tuckered by th' time they touched their heads t' pillow!" She tugged harshly on the hair when Kate attempted to get out of her chair.

"Ow!" In the polished metal that served as the child's mirror, the maid could see her young charge's scowl.

"None o' that, young lady; didn't anyone ever tell you? You keep makin' faces like that one, and they'll stick. Forever!"

"Will not!" Kate continued to scowl to prove her point.

"Oh, no? You've seen old mister Travan, ain'tcha?" The maid waved the comb at Kate's reflection. "When 'e was a lad, 'e made faces just as terrible as yours, an' then one day – poof! Stuck. An' not even th' Healers could reverse it. Imagine his luck! An' never did marry nor have children, all on account of that puckered old face!"

Travan was one of the old groundskeepers, who delighted in keeping lawns manicured, flowerbeds fertilized, and all of the shrubbery and trees groomed to perfection. He had a shriveled, wrinkled old face that always seemed contorted into a scowl, and gods help anyone who so much as breathed erroneously upon one of his plants! Rumor had it he was once a fairly popular Herb-Wizard, though no one could tell, and he wouldn't say. Throughout the maid's story, Kate's eyes widened. The scowl left her face.

"That's a lie. He's just ugly 'cause he's MEAN!"

"Ach. You'd be mean, too, if you were ugly as he."

When Kate turned her eyes downward to consider this newest bit of information, she didn't see the maid smirking at the back of her head.


Some time later, after breakfast had been taken care of, Kate made her way toward the private quarters of her tutor. The day's lesson was mathematics – a subject which Kate despised with nearly every fiber of her being. As she made her way toward the Tutor's suite – a set of rooms the man had requested be used entirely for teaching - she dawdled near the open windows, occasionally pausing to gaze out of them as something caught her fancy. Here, a bird who had decided to take advantage of all of the worms that had surfaced in the storm. There, a tree in the courtyard that had been split by lightning, with several men hacking away at the wood. Their axe blades caught what little sunlight they could and – from this distance – seemed to sparkle. Two doors away from her tutor, Kate heard voices coming from outside. She hurried to the window and looked out, just in time to see her father and two strangers – the riders! – pass below.

"… our own messengers, he can write home as often as he cares to," her father explained at the three of them walked, boots and cloak hems mired in mud. She tried to make out the facial expressions of either of the strangers, but from her aerial perspective all she managed to see were the tops of their heads. The taller boy's hair was chestnut, a little like the colors she saw on the horses in her father's stable. The shorter boy's hair was sandier, a little like it had been blonde at some point, and was now stained with dirt. Certainly she could expect that; after all, they had just ridden here through that horrid weather.

"Though while the winter keeps us snowed in, I'm afraid I cannot allow my men to venture out into the countryside. You understand, of course." She saw the head of the taller boy nod.

"You are kind to your men," he was saying. "I have heard of lords who force their men out into deadly weather conditions with no care for their hides. My cousin is fortunate to be accepted into your household, Milord."

"I only wish Milord Fitral's daughter knew how fortunate she was," a voice to Kate's immediate right startled a squeak out of her. She whirled to face the source, and found herself staring at her tutor's hawkish glare. "She would certainly make a habit of being on time to her lessons for a change."

Kate winced and ducked her head as she hurried away, hoping he'd forgo the customary cuff to the ear – just this once. He didn't, of course, though she noticed that he hadn't smacked her quite as hard as usual. Seth, too, had been peering out of the window to get a better glimpse at the boys who'd ridden into the Keep in the middle of the night. When he returned in a swirl of red-and-black robes, Kate didn't mention that she saw him looking.

"We will continue where we left off last week," he informed her as he pulled a large tome from a shelf in his room. He thumped it down onto the large wooden table that filled the distance between themselves. There was a page marked with a length of ribbon, and this he pulled upon until he could open the book to the place they had stopped at last time. Kate groaned, and began reciting basic addition drills from memory, thus beginning one of the longest mathematics sessions she had ever completed in her short life.

It wasn't until just before mid-day meal that Kate was freed from the attentions of the tutor. She burst from his room like a cat let from a sack, and made a beeline for her bedroom. As always, she gave herself a mental and physical shake to get rid of the odd feelings that always crept upon her in the man's room. It smelled odd in there, but aside from Seth's odd choice of incense, Kate couldn't quite pin what made her feel so strange after a long stay in those rooms.

She burst through her bedroom door and cast her things – today, Seth had given her a small book he called a "Primer book" that had been made of cheap paper and contained sample mathematics problems she was supposed to complete for him and present at her next mathematics lesson – onto her bed.

"I don't believe that is where you are supposed to keep your books," a gentle voice admonished, and for the second time that day, Kate found herself caught off guard.

"But, Mum, I wanted to g—"

"Go see the new arrivals, I know. But they have been here nearly a full day already; I don't believe that they'll be gone in the time it takes you to be a responsible young lady." Eavan was in a chair near the fire, her pale skin made paler by the wan light that came through Kate's window. Her usually fragile body seemed more so after so long indoors; Kate often thought of her mother like an exotic house plant that wilted at the first sign of a change in the temperature. Fall was always the worst for Eavan. But she showed no signs of pain or discomfort when she got to her feet and helped her daughter put her things away. "I will take you to them myself," she promised, "But let us get you into some of your older clothes. We know how frustrated 'Tildy gets when you dirty your nice things."

Matilda – called 'Tildy when a younger Kate had been unable to pronounce the woman's name correctly – was Kate's nursemaid, and the very same that had gone to such lengths to comb her charge's hair earlier that morning. She DID have a habit of grumbling every time Kate came in with dirty clothing, and the grumbling turned into scolding when it was one of Kate's nicer outfits. Kate grudgingly admitted that she did not want to be the subject of her nursemaid's objection and allowed her mother to dress her in an older set of skirts and over-coat that were already stained from adventures in the muddy courtyard. Coupled with a pair of beaten shoes, the outfit could withstand another downpour like the one that'd come last night without rousing 'Tildy's anger. Together, Eavan and Kayatice headed outside, hand-in-hand.

They caught up with Pyrte and the strangers just as the trio was approaching the Sword Master's practice yard. Even though it had been turned into a veritable swamp after the onslaught of rain, the Swordmaster had no intention of letting the opportunity to practice outdoors pass him by. Currently every student was sparring outdoors, absolutely covered – head to toe – in mud. Often times Kate had watched the boys at work, wishing she would be allowed to take part in lessons like the others could. Today, however, she was glad that she wasn't being forced to jump, run, tumble and roll around in the mud. Think of what 'Tildy would say!

Before Eavan could raise her voice and get her husband's attention, Pyrte bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Stallen!" he barked, waving a hand. "New boy's here! Come and give me your opinion of him."

Kate watched as the Weaponsmaster pushed his way through the swinging wooden practice blades and managed to get to Pyrte without being hit once. He was red-faced from at least a candlemark of shouting over the clank of sword and shout of children, and there was a fine mist of sweat on his forehead. For a man who taught weaponry for a living, he was considerably heavy-set, and coupled with a growing patch of baldness on the top of his round head, he didn't seem altogether as intimidating to Kate as most of the fosterling boys thought.

"Stallen," Pyrte was saying, "This is Magnus Shonar. He's our newest fosterling." The smaller boy – called Magnus, Kate knew now – found himself thrust forward into the gaze of the Weaponsmaster, who asked him a series of questions about his experience with swords, bows, and various other tools a boy of humble birth might have been expected to know. In the end, Stallen seemed satisfied with what he heard, clapped Magnus on the back, and left the group to go back to his work. Eavan chose that moment to interrupt.

"Pyrte," she began, and then did not wait to be acknowledged, "Your daughter and I have come to greet the newcomers." And when it appeared that her husband was about to object, she added smoothly, "A terrible thing, if you forgot your manners and failed to properly introduce us, don't you agree?"

It would not take a mind reader to know that Pyrte was irritated, if not over his wife's interruption, but by the fact that she had been bold enough to remind him of his manners in front of company. He attempted to save face by replying, "Had I known our daughter was already finished with her lessons for the day, I would have brought the boys straight to you, my dear," and favored her with a not-smile that both women had come to recognize over the years.

To Kate, it was a warning that another misstep would earn her a hefty punishment. To Eavan, it meant there was going to be a 'discussion' (that ironically involved not one shred of discussing) later.

Despite the baring of teeth, Eavan brought her daughter forward. "Introduce us, then." The look Kate's father shot at her mother made Kate cringe inwardly.

"Brendan and Magnus of Shonar," he half-growled, "I am pleased to introduce to you my wife, Eavan, and daughter, Kayatice."

Kate and Magnus were of a height with one another, and for a heartbeat they stared one another down. Kate mentally weighed him, calculated the odds that he'd end up being another bully to avoid while out of the direct supervision of the adults.

Magnus, however, was caught by the odd, piercing quality of the girl's eyes. He found himself wondering how a girl acquired such piercing silvery eyes, such a sharp gaze that it made him feel she was looking into his soul. He felt his skin sprout "pricklies" all-over, and had to look down at his feet before he could chase them away. A rather pointed elbow jabbed him in the ribcage; Magnus shot a glare at his cousin before he realized what the older boy wanted.

"Pleased to meet you," he grumbled, rubbing his side and avoiding the direct glances of either of the women, lest they see how out of sorts he felt and ask about his health. Eavan graced them with a smile that could melt an iceburg, then she and her daughter took their leave as silently as they had come.