Disclaimer: Protector of the Small is the property of Tamora Pierce. Please don't sue me. I just got laid off and I have zero money. There may be two short quoted passages down the line but they will be pretty obvious from the book. Thank ya.

Author's note: From here on out, things get a bit intense. There will be a full explanation at the start of Part III. Also: I'm in the middle of a move and I won't have internet for a week or so. Depending on where I can get internet, you may get another chapter before then. Probably not, as I'll be starting a small part-time job to battle this "no money" situation.

Thanks- Sulia.

P.S. Didn't know that many of you disliked Cleon. Kick ass.

Continuation of Part I.

The next day, he tried to forget the line they had crossed. He could still feel her hot body beneath his, the sadness, the shame, and the fury that saturated their flesh. It would have been different if she'd cried. He would have laughed at her and then maybe later vomit in the bushes. She'd fought back, refused to let him go. That had spurred him on. She hadn't cried. No tears, just a concentrated formula of stubbornness mixed with grief and frustration. Joren wanted to pass it off as a silly dream. Or a nightmare.

That was until he saw his future bride come toward him in a green dress the next day. The dress was nothing too fancy, but it was easy to tell that the quality was very good. If he remembered correctly, her former maid had become a dressmaker. As many and as good friends Keladry had made, it would not surprise him that she had a friend for every need--from clothing to weapons. He had noticed she had an extremely expensive dagger at her belt. He had never asked where she had acquired it. Even in a dress, it hung by her side.

"Why do you look like a lady?" Joren asked suspiciously.

His betrothed gave him an innocent look. "I've spent most this Progress tilting against other knights in the lists. I'd like to spend one moment looking like someone's future wife than someone everyone has to challenge until their backs are in the dust." She studied him. "Why don't you joust?"

"And eventually be dared to go up against you? I'll keep the sword in my hand. You can keep the lance." Joren sighed. "I'm off to observe the matches."

She surprised him by taking his arm. "I'll go with you."

He didn't miss a beat. "Who are you and what have you done with the girl?"

"Just let me do this, will you?"

The only time, Joren believed, people looked as Keladry looked just then, was when they were trying to surmount their regret by pushing off drastically in the opposite direction from what they regretted. If last night was any indication, then this was most certainly what had happened. Keladry wearing a nice dress, letting herself latch onto his arm, was obviously one of those attempts to drive her bad thoughts away. He cursed himself, for last night's events had made an impression on him. Instead of the athleticism he usually observed in the girl, all he could imagine was the softness and the not-quite- flowers smell of her. Needless to say, it was distracting. He'd made a terrible mistake.

"Well, alright. But don't make me nauseous with any behavior of ladylike delicacy. Won't work on you."

She kept a straight face but pinched his arm. That was better.

They walked together to the area set aside for dueling and sat down on a raised set of benches that had been constructed for spectators. Joren even made a show of holding her hand as they climbed up to the top bench. Somewhere near the corner of his vision a pair of men were talking, no doubt noticing the ladylike behavior the girl squire was displaying. Joren turned his attention to the combatants getting ready, but kept an eye out for anyone that might want to approach them. He wouldn't put it past any troublemakers to see Keladry in a dress and still challenge her to a duel anyway. The thought of them both being defeated on the Progress made him a little sick.

Suddenly, Keladry's body tensed beside him. He followed her gaze and caught a glimpse of curly red hair on a big young man who was passing by the dueling area.

"Something the matter?" he asked.

"No."

Joren breathed out evenly through his nostrils. Somehow, he'd always known that it wouldn't be Queenscove. He licked his lips. "Have you seen many of our age mates around?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Keladry looked at him severely. "Don't say anything that will make me want to kill you."

His lower lip twitched. "...For how long?"

-----

Three nights later she came again looking for a fight and he was waiting for her. She punched him again. His nose seemed to explode with pain. He called her a bitch before he decided he preferred his violence productive over pointless. So he leaned forward and continued where they left off. His hands found her waist. Their breathing quickened. Keladry balked at first before starting to struggle with his belt. He had his shirt off and was cruelly biting her nipple through fabric before she could stop him. In retaliation she squeezed his manhood too tightly. He bit back a scream and pushed her down.
He stroked her until the moisture had gathered, then slid in effortlessly. She gasped right against his ear. It had hurt before, but now it seemed to fill and stretch her in an almost relaxing way. She had just started to let the tension out of her muscles when he put his arms around her and rolled. The world turned on its head.

Keladry found herself at a loss looking down at him. He smirked back at her. He thought, if she insisted on these games, she was going to actively participate. He bucked his hips and hoarsely commanded her to ride.

She moved experimentally. It wasn't any riding she had ever done before. He threw up his hips again, driving his hard length through to sensitive spots she hadn't realized she'd had. Then again, their last encounter was nothing but the awkward pain of breaking maidenhood.
They kept a breakneck pace, his nails digging into her hips and muttering obscenities at her- was a whore like her supposed to be this tight? She whispered how much she hated him and despised him, the shame in her eyes telling him that she was repulsed at her own actions. She wanted to punch him again. His perfect little nose was already swelling, blossoming black and blue with blood dripping from one nostril. Her hands had done that, crafted that work of art. For a bastard like him, it was an improvement.
She should stop. Run, before she destroyed herself and him. Keladry could only imagine the sickening pride it gave him to witness the fall of the upright and courageous squire.
She arched her back as she came. She bent over and pressed her forehead to his sweaty neck.
"I think you broke my nose," he said as an afterthought.
Keladry huffed. The sweat on their bodies cooled before they moved apart.

-----

The Progress returned to the Palace for Midwinter. That meant that Keladry would be around to see Joren go through the Ordeal. It also meant she might run into Cleon again. After she had rejected the redhead, they had kept their distance from each other. She wished things could go back to the way they used to be and they could just talk. But she knew that was impossible. Still, she prayed to the gods to watch over Cleon when it was his turn for the Ordeal.

For all her worrying, he exited the Chamber whole and unharmed, though thoroughly shaken. She was there to see him emerge, but made sure to stay toward the back of the room. Ermelian of Aminar and Cleon's parents congratulated him. Ermelian was beautiful and dark haired, well-mannered and graceful—a perfect bride. Keladry had already heard about the strong likelihood that they would enter an engagement of their own. Keladry knew Cleon would get along without her.

The sparrows and Jump were happy to be on familiar territory once again. That day she lay on her bed with Jump curled up beside her and listened to the soft chatter of the sparrows as they hopped from the edge of her bed to the windowsill, and back to her bed again.

That day was also Joren's last day as a squire. She had supped with Joren earlier, the first time she had sought him out since their last regrettable encounter. She offered to keep him company until it was time for his chapel vigil. Perhaps they could spar. He refused her then. The heir to Stone Mountain insisted he didn't need support like some silly girl. It should have offended her, but she knew he was too proud to admit that he was nervous. All the pride and snobbery in the world couldn't hide a squire's fear in the time before his Ordeal.

Though he had said no, she still followed him from the dining room.

"Go already, you stupid whore," he said, spinning around to face her in the hall.

A sharp retort was forming in her mind, but his hand on her wrist stopped her. His gaze focused on the wall, but he was clearly speaking to her.

"Follow me."

He steered them back down the hall. Keladry reluctantly trailed after him. They ran into no one, reminding Keladry of what opportunities they'd taken in the past to attack each other. No witnesses meant inexplicable bruises later for Neal to cluck over. But somehow she knew it wouldn't come to that again, not fists and only fists. When they stopped in front of a large heavy door, she realized that they were back at their classrooms. Joren opened the door and beckoned her inside. His expression was unfathomable.

As soon as she was across the threshold, he carefully shut the door behind her. They still hadn't looked each other in the eye. Keladry couldn't stop the uncomfortable feeling wending its way up from her toes and wrapping itself like ribbons around her thighs. When he finally turned, she recognized the shine in them. The darkening of the blue irises.

She stepped back. "We're in a classroom!"

"Yes," he replied. He came up close to her. One hand tangled itself in the tunic near her waist. "And that over there is a large desk."

A panicked voice inside her wanted to yell that they weren't on the Progress anymore. And yes, she'd started it, but this wasn't what she wanted. It was supposed to be a bad dream. But it wasn't as if either of them could forget. Not with the rest of their miserable lives ahead of them. Together.

"Do you want me to make it easy for you?" His hot breath tickled the fine hairs on her ear.

After a pause, she nodded.

He punched her in the gut. Air rushed out of her lungs as she doubled over. Keladry wrapped her arms around herself. Joren waited placidly. When she recovered, Keladry kicked him hard in the kneecap. She wanted nothing more to break his nose again, but he had an Ordeal to look forward to. The last thing they needed was for someone to ask questions.

As Joren hopped back, putting all his weight on his good knee, Keladry launched herself forward. Suddenly his arms were full of Keladry, who had wrapped her legs around his waist and thrown her arms around his neck. The blond squire was forced to put his other leg down, his knee screaming pain as he held her up. Her plan all along, the little witch.

He called her a cow as he staggered over to the desk. She was not bigger than him. He could have handled her just fine if he didn't feel like his right leg wanted to give out. He dumped her on the desk and tried to force back the tears of pain gathering at the corner of his eyes.

This time with him in control, Joren dragged out the length of their encounter to new self-loathing records. Between the second and third orgasm, Keladry wondered if it was because he actually feared this might be his last day alive.

-----

After feeding her animals later that evening, Keladry decided it would be thoughtful of her to visit Lady Einsrell.

The widow was holding a vigil of her own. The woman dressed in white and cream with her hair unbound. Keladry had the feeling that this was as exposed as she would ever see the woman and wondered if it was too late to excuse herself. Lady Einsrell welcomed her in with all the grace of a queen and invited Keladry to sit down at the table with her. White candles were lit all around a table on which a heavy book rested, heavy enough that Keladry thought she might kill someone if it were dropped from the top of the Palace wall. It was bound in dark leather and embossed with the device of Stone mountain: a black chevron against a slate blue field with a gray border, cut through the middle with a sword pointed down with thorns wrapped around the hilt. Einsrell opened it to where a cloth marker of blue green was wedged.

"These are the pages of your generation," Einsrell explained. "Joren and his cousins are recorded here: their births, their deaths, their titles and honors... our legacy." She pointed to the bottom where there was still room. "When you are married, your name will be listed there along with your honors, of which I expect there to be plenty."

After hearing Joren discourse in great length about how manipulative his mother could be on the one occasion Keladry had asked him about his family, it was not without reason that Keladry doubted any sincerity. She was another appendage to Einsrell's family now, there to bring them honor and service. She put her hands in her lap and bowed her head towards her future mother-in-law. "I shall do my best to please you, mylady."

Keladry's family probably had something like this book, yet she couldn't imagine her life scrawled out in a few spare sentences. Daughter of Piers and Ilane. Seventh child.

"When Joren is knighted," Einsrell continued, "he will ascend to the seat of Stone Mountain that I have held for him. He was legally the Lord of Stone Mountain the moment his father passed on, but since he was still in training, he permitted me to hold stewardship until the right time came. When he is lord, there will be more responsibility for you both and I expect you to take it as seriously as your knighthood."

"I shall. I promise."

"You'll have to spend some time at home and learn to run the fief. I will join my husband eventually. I need to make sure you can do the job properly before I die."

"As you wish," Keladry replied, though inside she was panicking. How had the Lioness handled it? Traveling with the King's Own guard had taught her life in the saddle. Months on end wandering Stone Mountain's cold halls would be torture for her, especially without any friends.

Einsrell placed her hand on the page that was waiting for history to be made. "You may keep a vigil with me or go back to your rooms. It matters not. He will emerge tomorrow triumphant."

It would have been polite to stay, but Keladry could tell Einsrell did not care for her company. Keladry couldn't say that she cared much for the older woman's company either. The mother's torso was a rigid line parallel to the chair's back and her shadowed eyes were fixed on the family tome spread before them. If this family expected her to become like that statue of a woman, it was destined for disappointment.

Keladry thanked Einsrell for her time and wished her good night.

Back in her room, Keladry worked figures at her desk—logistical sums for supplying armies. She could tell Raoul was grooming her for command, but she still couldn't imagine any squads following her orders alone. If it came true, that achievement ought to be big enough for that family book. Her entry might even outshine Joren's place.

Joren was, as she had gathered over the years, prone to seek out solitude and only do what was required of him and never more. These qualities had first been masked by his need to show off his superiority to his then friends. Now the troubled youth acted sometimes acted if he'd been cheated even though he was privileged. He craved freedom as if he didn't have more freedom than the common man in the lower districts of Corus.

Despite his skewed view of himself, he was not without merit. Joren had the makings of a great swordsman. He also proved he could lead selfish arrogant people who would otherwise fend for themselves. That group had been a herd of pages. The future knights of the realm, but still just boys then. Maybe he had the makings of a leader as well, but not the kind of leader that Raoul pegged her as.

It was late enough that her eyes strained to read. Keladry prepared herself for bed and thought that Joren might already be in the chapel, bathing and listening to the ritual instructions from Paxton and his uncle.

She remembered the visions of being a desk knight that Keladry had seen before she became Raoul's squire. The phantom ink stains on her hands had bothered her for weeks still. She could not even begin to imagine what else the Chamber of the Ordeal could do once someone entered it.

Her mind fixated on the possibilities even after she fell asleep.

The sound of her front door smashing open woke her.

"Bitch!" a man screamed.

...

"Trollop, you killed my boy!"

...

The door to Raoul's chambers sprang open. Raoul was in his loincloth, holding his unsheathed sword. Buri, clad only in a blanket, stood at his elbow, a dagger in her free hand.

...

"My lord of Stone Mountain, you forget yourself... If you try to carry out your threats, I will break your jaw."

"He is distraught," the woman said, her voice breaking. "My lord, please, Burchard is out of his mind with grief."

"My nephew is dead... The Chamber of the Ordeal opened on his corpse."

"Joren? Dead?" whispered Kel, horrified.

...

"He was to be the greatest of us," Burchard whispered. "Mylord Wyldon said, after that first year, he was the most promising lad he'd seen." His eyes were adder-poisonous as he looked at Kel. "Jumped-up merchant slut," he whispered. "He was never the same after you arrived. Never. You witched him, cursed him - "

Keladry did not know she had screamed until Raoul and Buri rushed into her room, dressed in loincloth and blanket so much like her dream that she wondered if she was still asleep. Buri tugged her blanket closer around herself and went to Keladry's side, reaching up to touch the girl's face. Keladry realized she was crying.

"What's wrong?" Buri asked softly.

"I...I dreamed he was dead." Keladry wiped her tears off with the sleeve of her bedclothes. Years of Yamani training helped her get herself under control. She was breathing calmly within moments while Raoul and Buri continued to watch her.

"I'm alright," she insisted. "It was just a dream."

Raoul looked at the rosy rays peeking through Keladry's window curtains. "We will get dressed and go to the chapel."

Keladry nodded. Buri squeezed her shoulder. When the couple had retreated to Raoul's suite, Keladry fell back onto her bed and waited for her cheeks to dry.

------

Ice and white

The day his father died

There the funeral

There his family, draped in night

Azure eyes hard like stone

Watching him sit on Burchard's bones

There his wife

As muscle and metal sitting tall in her saddle

Waving goodbye as she rode off to battle

While he tended books and ledgers

Ink on his fingers

Screaming dirty children around him

Pawing for his attention, his gold, his death

So they can slaughter each other to see

Who shall sit on his bones next

Arms too atrophied to hold a sword aloft

All he wants is silence

And a meaningful death

He cannot wait to see his wife's face again

If only to beg her to swing her ax

End his pain, this blighting constance

He dies with a bag of money in his frail hand

There his cold body and his widow on her horse

When he left the Chamber of the Ordeal, they were waiting. His mother appeared very proud—more like approving—but he was distracted by how relieved Keladry looked. Her hazel eyes looked at him like she had not seen him in months. She stood there in a slate blue shawl over a silvery gray dress hemmed in black (Stone Mountain colors, he never thought he would ever see them on her) as if she were a dainty lady of the court, waiting for her man to pull through. She kept her distance even as Joren was congratulated by Paxton and the other people who surrounded him. All he could do was try not to shake to pieces and breathe out frosted air.

He nodded stiffly to the congratulations that seemed to make their way to him in the fog he was still lost in. His mother gripped his wrist tightly and spoke to his knightmaster. Her hand felt like cold marble. He started shivering, but tried to control himself, to make it look like he was just shaken up from his Ordeal. Paxton was holding Joren steady by his arm and leading him toward the door. Still, Joren's eyes kept searching Keladry out as he departed. There she was, smiling. There, face blank. And again... but this time, not looking at him at all. Then there she was once more, and he thought she was wearing her own armor already and waiting on him to come greet her after her return from war.

He let Paxton lead him away to get cleaned up and tried to get the odd images out of his head.

"I need to see her," he rasped to his mentor.

Paxton frowned. "What?"

"I need to see her alone," Joren repeated.

"Ah," Paxton said when he followed his squire's gaze. "I'll send for her."

------

He still hadn't dressed when she entered his chambers. His shirt was off and he was holding a washcloth loosely in one hand that rested on his knee. Joren did not even notice that she had arrived. Keladry cleared her throat.

"Come here," he commanded.

She went forward in three fluid strides and knelt by him to look up into his face.

"Congratulations. You did well...my lord." That's what he was now, wasn't he? Lord of Stone Mountain. The words sounded hollow to her, but she did not know what else to say. He stared at her like he was staring at some creature who did not know how to speak Common. His gaze drifted away again, toward the floor. He seemed far away, as if his mind was still inside the Chamber.

"Did you dream last night?" he asked.

Keladry paused. "I did."

"About me."

She paused. "Yes, about you."

"Was I dead?"

His question made her shiver. The gods had a hand in this, she knew. She had no idea why they might, but their presence, no matter how indirect, felt like cold ghostly fingers combing through her flesh. Joren looked at her when she did not answer.

"I feel dead," Joren whispered. He closed his hands and opened them again, spreading out his fingers. "I'm frozen through and through."

Keladry touched his arm. Ice. She took the washcloth off his knee and went over to the basin of water. The water had just stopped steaming, but she found it was warm enough when she dipped in her hand and moistened the cloth. She picked up a blanket from his bed and threw it around him. He did not stop her. She knelt in front of him again and wiped his sweaty brow with the cloth. Her palms covered his clammy cheeks to share the heat from her body. Should she alert Sir Paxton or Lady Einsrell? Keladry did not feel confident in leaving Joren the way he was even for a moment.

"Still cold?" she asked gently, as if he were a child.

Joren did not respond, but closed his eyes. Keladry rose up on her knees and slipped her arms underneath the blanket and around his torso. His blanket closed around them both. His skin was smooth, but cold like some poor traveler found in the road in the winter, frozen to death at night. They stayed that way for a few more moments while Keladry rubbed her hands up and down his smooth planes of his back until she could feel the warmth returning to his body. Such close bodily contact made her feel awkward, but she was more concerned with Joren's wellbeing than any problems either of them had about intimacy. This was the first time they had ever held each other without inflicting pain. Alien was not the word to describe it. It didn't come close.

"I am a knight," she heard him whisper. "And I am not dead."

Keladry shook her head and watched her breath unsettle wisps of his blond hair. "No. You are not dead. You passed the test."

"You would be free of me if I were dead," he remarked after a few more moments. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but did not elaborate.

"I would not prefer a world where you were dead, even if you do vex me," she replied.

"You say that now..."

The acid in his tone let her know that he had come out of the fog, so she did not feel too bad about pinching him in his side as hard as she could. It helped the pink return to his skin anyway.

They celebrated with a private dinner in a townhouse of his family's remaining friends. Joren received a new saddle and tack from Keladry's family, high quality leatherwork and tanning. After the last few years, he was due for new equipment. It was thoughtful and practical, which was the only kind of gift he could tolerate. His knightmaster gave him a marvelous sword. It was not from Raven Armory as Keladry's dagger was, but it was still a great sword with a wire wrapped hilt patterned a little to look like the thorns on his family crest. His favorite bit was the sword's steel; it looked like it would sing sharp in battle.

His mother, in typical fashion, gave him depressing advice to remind him she would rather have him home with that sword kept silent in its sheath.

She handed him his father's ring. Joren had always known he would one day wear the onyx and sapphire mounted on gold, but he did not think he would wear it so young. The dark brown onyx surrounded the sapphire, a counterpart to the heavy ring his mother wore on her hand. One day, Keladry would be asked to wear that as well.

Lady Einsrell placed both hands on his shoulders and looked at him like a priestess about to bestow a blessing. "You become Lord of Stone Mountain now. I hold it no longer for you. Act like a lord. Act like a knight of the greatest kingdom of the world. Make decisions without fear and remember your father. Remember his folly."

"And here I was expecting a kind word about him," he snorted.

She poked him hard in the chest. "Learn what will help Stone Mountain and forget everything your father did. Weather the cursed changes ahead of us."

Einsrell's eyes looked like that of a prophet, unfocused but bright. She kissed him with cold lips on the cheek—the first he had received since he was a boy. He looked at her mistrustfully. She went to start a conversation with his uncle, Arlen. The musicians that his mother had hired struck up a new song and Einsrell let her brother lead her in a dance.

"What did she say to you?" Kel asked when she rejoined him. She took his arm under the watchful gaze of Einsrell and accompanied him through his mingling.

"The usual I'm so proud of you and if only your father were alive sort of speech."

"Really?"

"Of course not. You know my mother."

Arm in arm, they turned at the sound of a high squeal behind them. Across the room, Joren noticed Raoul slide down in his seat a bit further and grimace. Probably one of Raoul's past matchmaking disasters. A woman greeted the young pair with the biggest display of fake enthusiasm either of them had seen all day. The woman was robust, robust being the tactful word, and had a small beauty mark on her left cheek. She giggled and the couple immediately cringed.

"Oh, how big and strong you have become since I last saw you. Your mother must be so proud." She winked, long lashes and all.

Joren and Keladry exchanged glances with slightly widened eyes. Who is this woman? they asked each other silently. Keladry's nails dug into his arm and he nudged her slightly until her grip relaxed.

"And now you ascend to the seat of Lord of Stone Mountain. Certainly your wedding will be soon to follow?"

"Actually," Keladry cut in. "I will be earning my shield first."

They had two years to go then. Three, if he could help it. Joren cataloged the information for later.

The woman cooed as if humoring a small child. "Of course. What an interesting wife you'll make."

Keladry laughed politely. "Interesting! I hope so."

The woman caught sight of Raoul and waved. In reaction to this, Keladry's large knightmaster tried unsuccessfully to hide behind Buri and failed as the woman approached them with the same high-pitched sound as before. Joren and Keladry stared after her in disbelief. A few more moments passed and their thoughts were able to return to the same circling miseries. She let go of his arm.

"It won't be right away, will it? A Midwinter wedding right after I'm knighted? I'll want to go out... to do some good. I want to help people."

"No cause for worry. We'll postpone until we can postpone no longer," Joren assured her. For once, they both wanted the same thing and it was an odd feeling to be sharing the same anxiety.

"Three months," came Einsrell's voice behind them. They spun around. His mother continued, "I've spoken to your parents, Keladry. Plans have been made. In the spring as soon as the roads are passable again, we'll have the wedding."

She gave them a cold look and sashayed away.

Keladry glanced around her. "I didn't even hear her come up on us. She'd make a fine assassin, your mother."

"Who's to say she isn't already? That woman will be the end of us, trust me. When she finally croaks, we'll be doing a dance over her gra—ow!"

She pinched him. As much as she was doing that to him those days, it still surprised him every time. Meditating used to be her reaction to his baiting; now she wouldn't stand for his behavior and was sure to let him know.

"Don't speak about your mother like that. I'm certain underneath it all she's a good woman."

"Where have you been? She's a cold calculating harpy who's been focusing on getting me to this point of my life since I was the day I was born, and no amount of trying was ever going to set me free from her plans. Trust me." He looked at the ring on his left hand. How heavy it weighed.

------

The same evening, he'd left a note tucked into the back of her dress to come see him. She'd deliberated on whether to go for a long time before she accidentally heard Buri's voice in the room next door. Embarrassed for being able to hear them, she left. Keladry should have gone to the libary. Or to Yuki's room. She didn't think about that option until later, but it was too late.

Hours later they lay languidly in his bed. The candle had burned down to a stub that was threatening to tip over with the weight of gathered wax droplets on one side. Keladry repeatedly glanced at the door. She kept expecting to see Burchard burst through the door like he had in her dream. Calling her horrible things in her son's voice, the way Joren had but a few moments ago. What was she doing here? Her stomach turned.
The blood tasted metallic in Joren's mouth. He touched a finger to his bleeding lower lip, cautiously running the tip of his tongue along the injured part. His racing heart had finally resumed normal pace and he felt like he would fall asleep at any moment if not for the single bright thought holding his mind captive.

Joren stared at the ceiling as he said, "It feels good to be alive."

Keladry reached for her shirt. Old bruises were so dark against the rest of her skin. Bruises from just yesterday. She cleared her throat.

"I think we should stop this."

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his palm. "You do know that we'll be married eventually and this will be expected."

"I wasn't talking altogether. I meant... this." Here she pointed to his lip. "This has gone too far. This isn't how..."

"Touch me."

His unpremeditated command startled both of them. She stared at him. He cleared his throat.

"Touch me without hurting me and tell me what you're thinking."

She hesitantly reached out and cupped his face. Her thumb strayed toward his red lip but stopped short.

"So?" he asked, his mouth quirked on one side in that usual infuriating way when he thought he was right.

Keladry withdrew her hand and scowled. "I want to slap that look off your face."

"Exactly my point." And here he licked the blood off his lip again. It stung, but it was worth it to see the revulsion cross her expression. She began to pick up her other garments. He thought to pull her back, but let her dress. Watched her go.

------

When the Progress resumed, Joren went back to Stone Mountain to get his new affairs into order. He rejoined the traveling court when it went to Mindelan in the summer, close to Keladry's seventeenth birthday in time to join the private gathering for friends and family. Despite Joren's baiting looks, Keladry managed to ignore him to focus on spending time with her brothers and sisters. The pair separated without any further encounters when the Progress split up in the following autumn. It wasn't until after the Progress ended at midwinter that they reunited and once again Keladry allowed for no opportunity for them to be alone. The months had spread between them and their abhorrence of each other seemed to die in direct proportion to their long separation.

Joren planned to dodge more time at Stone Mountain and expected to be posted at a fort near the border to deal with bandits and raiders, but the appointment never came. Joren wrote a letter to Keladry about it, which she received in Corus while the Third Company was resupplying to head up north in February. He suspected that his mother had sent a few letters out to important people she knew in the military hierarchy to intercept all his attempts to receive an assignment. Joren was not a second son whose family would face no consequences if he was killed. He would probably not get the assignment he wanted until he had secured an heir, angering him to no end—enough to even inspire him to vent his fury to her of all people. The alternative was for him to write to scheming family members or his former friends who still held grudges against him, so Keladry was not particularly flattered.

Keladry did not think his situation was fair. The realm needed every sword that pledged service and Joren was not an exception. She casually made mention of it to Raoul to see what he thought. Her knightmaster must have said something to the right person because Joren's next letter simply stated he would not be able write another letter since he would be at Fort Steadfast, which was better than being at Stone Mountain by far. The Own would travel through the fort anyway when it headed up north to the border to help bolster the defenses, so she could listen to his undeserved smugness then.

However, when Scanran attacks increased, Keladry ended up facing the kraken before she even got anywhere near Joren again. She only had time to send a letter to him in September to say she would probably see him in Midwinter before her Ordeal. She had hardly seen Neal or her other friends in all this time. Though a friendship had developed with Dom, Neal's cousin, and the rest of the Third Company, there were some things that Keladry could not speak to them about. She was embarrassed to admit that she believed Joren would understand better, even if he offered nothing nice to anything she ever said. Worse yet were the propositions he suggested instead.

Keladry busied herself helping Princess Shinkokami plan her wedding and helping the Own gather recruits. She also stopped in to see Lalasa, who fretted over the state of Keladry's clothing. The seamstress did not stop there, but also promised to make Keladry a wedding dress.

"No, I couldn't. You have so much business as it is. You'll be too busy," Keladry protested.

Her former maid still managed to look like she knew what was better for Keladry when she put her hands on her hips.

"I shall not hear another word. I am making your dress and that is final! Even that future husband of yours won't be able to take his pretty eyes off you."

Keladry quelled the surge of discomfort. She forced herself to chuckle. "Joren? I wouldn't wager on it."

"We'll see."

"I'd rather worry about this winter before I worry about this spring," Keladry stated, remembering the Chamber. She had not been back to the chapel yet. She did not know if it was a good idea to return yet again. After her last visits to the chapel and seeing what the Ordeal did to Joren, she really should have been warned away from testing herself again. Her greatest test would come soon enough.

------

Time passed far too quickly for her. December came, two years since Joren was knighted. The trickster gods were breathing down her neck when Neal's name came up first and Keladry's name came up last. By then, Joren had come to Corus and he was snickering quietly in the background when the announcements were made. The following days became a constant struggle with frayed nerves. Keladry kept her own vigils with her friends as they took their turns facing one of their greatest fears. Joren kept to himself with the excuse that none of her friends would welcome his company at so tense a time. Keladry could not argue with that, though she made him dine with them when they ate at the Palace with threats of telling his mother how unsupportive he was. It was a minor distraction to see him in a constant glaring contest with her friends.

At last, her turn came. Keladry visited Lalasa in the morning and admired the dress that Lalasa had her try on. It was a whispery silver affair with a neckline that flirted with the edges of her shoulders. The skirt fell in sweeping lines to the floor and seemed to take inches off Keladry's waist. Lalasa was truly gifted. The women hugged and Lalasa said she would start making new tunics in Mindelan and Stone Mountain colors based on her last measurements. Reminding her that there was a wedding and a life after today helped Keladry think there was going to be a future for her. The Ordeal lost some of its ominous presence in her mind, but did not disappear entirely.

In the afternoon, she went for a ride and fed her animals. When the time came for her to go, she couldn't lock the door on them. Instead, she brought them with her all the way to Joren's room.

He opened the door, looked down at the confused dog with one good ear, and felt the air stir by a family of sparrows flying past his ears.

"You're joking."

"I would be, but Neal and Yuki are out. Please just stay with them so they calm down. They can't be worried about me if they're pestering you."

Joren grimaced. "Your logic seems to benefit everyone but me."

She whispered to the sparrows, who chirped balefully and alighted on his shoulders. Joren made another face and snapped, "You had better get out of that Chamber and come back and get them. They'll blame me if you never come back. I'd rather not have 'died from bird pecking' in my death entry in the family book. Stupid chit!"

It was as close to a wish of "good luck" as she was ever going to get from him, so she nodded and departed. Had she looked over her shoulder, she would have seen Joren's curious stare, which remained fixed on her until she was out of sight.

You'll do, a cold, whispering voice said somewhere between the inside of her ears and her mind. You'll do quite nicely.

She exited the Chamber with not so much as a tremor to her body, but a new look of resolve on her face. The room was filled with applause and her expression broke into a happier one ready to greet her loved ones. Even Joren clapped, but let the crowding of her friends and family hold up as a pretense for not congratulating her in public. Later after Keladry was knighted, she went to get dressed for their celebration. Not too long after, Raoul approached him and pointed with a thumb over his shoulder.

"She'd like to speak to you."

He went with half the room's eyes following his movement toward the door. The same thing had probably happened at his Ordeal when Keladry had been asked to see him. No doubt half the silly idiots thought he was going to "congratulate" her in ways that could not be done in public. Maybe later. He started thinking of what would knock her down a peg.

He rapped on her door and leaned against the frame for her to answer.

"Come in," she said. She was already dressed in a tunic of Mindelan colors over a cream shirt that looked freshly pressed. Jump was rubbing a wet cloth with his nose over her new shield. He raised an eyebrow at that. The dog noticed his entrance and growled softly. Though Jump and the sparrows were on orders not to hurt him, even if he and Keladry fought, they still watched him as if they could still attack him of their own volition.

The pair stood in the middle of her room with nothing to say. At last one of the sparrows chirped and Keladry cleared her throat.

"So what do you think?"

"What do I think about what?" Joren asked impatiently.

She gestured to the shield. "Of my knighthood."

He folded his arms. "I know better than to answer that question. I'll say 'congratulations... you deserved it.' You'll ask me if I meant it and I'll say yes, but I won't be able to get this awful tone out of my voice so you'll wonder if I lied to hide any remaining traces of prejudice. And that will lead to you being slightly offended, but of course you don't show it like normal people. Your parents will be able to tell there something wrong in your attitude on this great night of all nights in your life because they're your bloody parents and they'll have a word with my mother. Next thing I know, my mother's boxing my ears and threatening me again." He took a deep breath. "So my answer to you is this: I won't answer your question and you'll pretend you didn't ask. We're better off, trust me."

Keladry shook her head. "I'll do you one better and say I'm sorry I even asked."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

A knock came at the door. Keladry went to the door and opened it. Out in the hall stood Lady Alanna of Trebond and Pirates Swoop, the Lioness herself. Joren noticed how Keladry's face lit up, though she tried to act reserved.

"Please come in, mylady."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," the woman said. He noted with some amusement that Keladry towered over the King's Champion.

"No, I'll go wait outside while you ladies chat," Joren said, glad for the chance to exit.

He leaned against the wall next to her door and tried to listen in on their conversation. He could not make out much, but it did not take a wise man to know that Keladry was ecstatic. Finally, Alanna excused herself from the room and said she would see the both of them at the celebration. Joren reentered the suite and gawked at the sight of a very expensive sword in Keladry's hands. He could see a blue wave in the metal, something he had only glimpsed before in foreign swords that were highly prized worldwide.

Keladry looked up at him and said simply, "Griffin."

She sheathed the sword and put it down. Then, she rushed forward and hugged him. Joren awkwardly raised his arms and hugged back lest she bowl them both over.

"You're so giddy you could even embrace me. Duly noted," he muttered.

The bright smile she flashed him made him feel tired. Soon they would have to wed. He thought he could hate her only for that fact, and not have to hate her for her knighthood. He could hate his wife for being his wife. That was progressive, wasn't it? Compared to his earlier beliefs, anyway. They were not even married yet and he was running out of steam to detest her. To conserve his energy, he could start being indifferent.

There, he thought. A decision without fear, just as he was told to do.

She looked so happy. He remembered her warm arms around him after his Ordeal and supposed she had earned it. He could acknowledge that much, and remain unfeeling to the rest. That was what he told himself. Meanwhile, the wedding approached.

End Part I.