Akela was wide-eyed as they walked off the river barge onto the Corus docks. It wasn't so much the whirl of folk, shouting, laughing, arguing and bustling. So much, she'd seen in other cities. It was the enormity of walking down the street that the burly stevedores pointed her parents towards, and realising that this would become her home. That hadn't happened before. There hadn't been a home, just one town after another. What would it be like, staying in one place for months, years? What would it be like, to not have to wake up and break camp in the mornings?
Melody glanced down at her. "Feeling alright, sweetling?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Akela smiled wanly up at her. "Just thinking, Ma."
"So that's where the smoke was coming from," Ethan teased her, from her left side. "Don't fret, sweetheart. It'll be alright."
Akela took a deep breath, and nodded. What was the worst that could happen?
That settled in her mind, she looked around the narrow street, curious. Little stores tucked away in the corners; mothers sitting on the stoops of their shacks, nursing babies and doing the mending. Their clothes were usually brown, or the pale yellow of undyed cloth spun from cotton, obviously worn for the heat of late summer. Very plain and thin clothes, too, even by Tortallan standards. There was the sweet smell of food being fried on grills coming on the summer breeze, along with the smell of dung and rubbish. Plenty of little service signs, showing that the houses doubled as shops for laundry, herbs, and charms. Children her age and younger played in the mud, older running after the younger. The place was so alive.
They rounded a corner and headed down another long street, a little more respectable. The roofs were wood, rather than thatched, and sturdier, and there were a few less pigs. Every other building had something on offer: charms, more laundry services, a large women's bathhouse, a bakery, a butcher. Melody tugged Akela's arm, and she jerked to a stop.
"We're here," Melody said, pointing to the building sandwiched between the bathhouse and the bakery. Akela looked up, at the painted sign; The Dogrose was emblazoned on it, in curly writing, with a picture of the common pink flower beside it.
Ethan opened up the door, and bowed, sweeping a hand to invite Akela and Melody in first. Akela chuckled at her father's playful invitation.
The door opened straight into the inn's taproom. The shutters were opened, allowing the light to spill in, but the windows were closed. It was spacious, with a counter for drinks to be served, and tables scattered everywhere; one corner of the room was left free, with a little raised stage, and a fair-haired boy a few years older than her sat, rapping out a beat on a drum.
A cheerful, plump blonde woman in her mid-thirties, a little shorter than Melody, came bustling up to them, with a professional smile on her face over a look of shock. "Can I help you at all?" she asked, cheerfully.
Melody grinned. "Table for three, please. Oh, come off it, Harmony, don't you recognise me?"
The plump lady's jaw dropped. "Melody? It's really you?"
Melody curtseyed. "The one and only," she said, her smile becoming a touch wry. "Didn't you get the message we sent from Port Caynn, announcing that we'd come?"
Harmony shook her head. "The Rogue's been interfering with the mail, again," she said, dryly. "Which makes business more difficult than usual. And you've changed a fair bit in fourteen years." She looked at Ethan and Akela, and smiled, squatting to meet Akela's eye.
"Good to meet you, youngling. You must be my niece."
Akela smiled back, and extended a hand. Harmony shook it. So, this is my auntie, Akela thought, curiously. Maybe she's the innkeeper here?
"Yes. My name's Akela," she said. She glanced up at her mother. "When was the last time you visited, Ma?"
"Fourteen years, sweetheart. Before I met your father and he joined the Rosehips."
Melody turned to Harmony. "If you didn't get our message, then you need to be told about why we're here. Do you want to get Erik?"
"I'll get him, and Akela can meet her cousins," Harmony agreed. She went over to one of the doors on the far side of the room, and knocked out a beat. Tac-tac!
"Yes?" came back a voice.
"Visitors, love," Harmony shouted. "My sister and her family. Come on out!"
A few seconds later, the door swung open, and a tall weather-beaten man, about forty or so, with plenty of laugh and frown lines both, came out. He looked like a Scanran, all blond, pale blue eyes, and fair skin. He approached them with a smile.
"Melody! Good to see you again, you haven't changed a bit," he kissed her on each cheek. He turned to Ethan with a wry grin. "You must be her man," he said. "Good to meet you…"
"Ethan," Ethan smiled, extending his hand. "And this is our daughter, Akela Ethansra."
Erik grinned, and squatted as Harmony had done, to shake hands with Akela.
"Good to meet you too, Akela," he said. "D'you want to come with me and meet your cousins?"
Akela considered, and nodded. It'd be good to do that at some point, and the sooner, the better.
Erik's grin broadened. "Wonderful!" he turned to the boy on the drums, and whistled. "Hey! Henrik! Leave the practise and come join us!"
The blond boy's head snapped up. Confused, he looked at his father. "But Isä, you said–"
Erik waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "We'll find an hour where you can make up the rest of practise this evening, son. We have family visiting, right now, though. Find Ulrik and Frederik and then go into the yard. Get to know your cousin."
"Alright, Isä." Henrik beckoned Akela. "C'mon, let's go."
They passed through Erik's study, which opened up into a pretty courtyard, with goats grazing on the grass, outside a chicken run. Henrik whistled, a long sharp note. A few minutes later, two more fair-haired boys materialised a few metres from them. Akela frowned; how had she not seen them coming? Blond hair should stand out against shadows, surely.
"What's up?" one of them asked.
Henrik jerked his head to Akela. "We have a visitor; apparently she's our cousin?"
"I am," Akela said firmly. "My mother Melody is your mother's older sister."
"Your Ma is Aunt Melody? Then you're a travelling Player!" one of the two fair-haired boys said. His blue eyes were alight with curiosity, and sparkled with intelligence.
Akela started to nod, then hesitated. "Well, not anymore. Not really," she said.
"Not anymore? Why not?" Henrik demanded.
Akela's temper flared. "Why are you all making me answer all these questions, without even introducing yourselves? You're as rude as Scanrans!"
Henrik looked at her, incredulous, before jabbing a hand at his hair, and then at his brothers', then their eyes. "In case you hadn't noticed, we are Scanran. And unless you're stupid, you already know my name. I'm Henrik."
"Although to be fair, Henrik, she doesn't know either of ours," remarked the boy who'd asked about her Ma. "I'm Ulrik, and this is Frederik," he said, gesturing to the third boy, who had yet to speak. "What's your name?"
She extended her hand. "Akela Ethansra," she said. "And–" she couldn't help but flush with embarrassment –"I am sorry about saying that you were rude as Scanrans. Truce?"
"Truce," Ulrik agreed; Henrik looked mutinous, but didn't say anything, and Frederik glanced at her from behind long lashes.
She swallowed the lump that wanted to rise in her throat down. "And the reason why I'm not a travelling Player anymore is because I've chosen not to be." Don't mention killing the man to your cousins just yet, Melody had told her. Not till I've had a chance to talk to Harmony. Even then, play it by ear. "So I'll be staying here."
Ulrik's eyes narrowed at that a bit, but he nodded. "I see."
A silence grew, and very quickly passed into awkwardness.
"So…what do you all do around here for fun?" she asked.
The three brothers glanced at each other, with knife sharp grins appearing on their faces.
"You know, Akela," Frederik said cheerfully, snagging her arm, "it'd be easier to just show you."
"Do we ever get to do anything fun at the Palace?" Francis asked Maximilian. After about the fourth day, the blond had worked up enough confidence to ask closed questions, whilst among their closed little group.
Maximilian snorted. "Oh, Nond, you're hilarious." With a shake of his head to indicate just how ludicrous the suggestion had been. Sometimes, Alex wondered if Max didn't tear down Francis' confidence as quickly as it was built.
Piers, ever playing peacemaker, intervened. "Depends on your definition of 'fun', Francis. Have you found anything fun so far at the Palace?"
"Horse-riding."
"In that case, more of the same," Selwyn said cheerily.
Alex stared at the bowl of stew in front of him. He should eat it. He knew he should eat it. It was lunch, and he wouldn't eat for a good nine hours, if that – pages ate supper after they waited on nobles and before classwork, and he hadn't made it that far this past week, between Master Hans and the punishment work the Masters were collectively heaping on him. He needed to eat.
So why did it seem like a tempting idea to fall asleep into it instead?
As they'd agreed on the way down to the pages' mess, Selwyn caught the droop of his head and kicked him in the ankle under the table.
"Argh!" for the fifth time in the past half-hour, Alex straightened up, glaring at Selwyn. "I'm beginning to regret asking you that favour," he grumbled. "My ankle's going to be black and blue by lights out."
"Tough," Selwyn said, with more annoying cheeriness. "I'm not letting you fall asleep on the day you're supposed to be waiting on Duke Gareth. Not when you seem to have a knack for attracting punishment work."
Not for the first time that day, Alex found himself sincerely wanting to kill his sponsor.
"I hate you, and shall do so for the rest of my days," he growled into the bowl of stew, which was no closer to being eaten than it had been two minutes earlier.
Selwyn jabbed him in the ribs, then jabbed a finger at the stew. "You, eating, now. Otherwise, we'll be in a race to see whether you kill me first, or I kill you first."
"Bet on me, chaps," Alex quipped, reaching for the salt. "I feel like a bear with a sore head."
"You're acting like one," Selwyn informed him, passing him the salt with his longer reach. "And if it continues much longer, I'm going to claim self-defence."
The acerbic humour was relaxing, Alex found. And he was getting precious little of that, as far as his days at the Palace went. He'd entirely forgotten about his homework from reading and writing, and thus had accumulated more punishment work, and more reading exercises in Common Eastern, which he was currently wading through. Master Hans had found yet more reasons to be displeased with him – surprise, surprise. The sheer amount of exertion the pages were expected to go through had his muscles sore and crying out, with almost every moment – and yesterday, Ralon had caught him by surprise, from behind while he was feeding Jaiyana, pinned him and got in a several solid, bruising blows before Alex could throw him off. When he got up that morning, he had tears in his eyes through the morning prayer, and it wasn't from a sudden, overwhelming divine encounter.
He reluctantly began to eat his stew, mechanically. One spoonful, then another; he'd only gotten three-quarters through the bowl when the bell signalling the end of the noon meal rang.
Selwyn grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar, and hauled him to his feet. Alex cast longing looks back at the stew, as their group headed for the doors.
"C'mon, Tirragen," Selwyn sighed, the first break in his normally unflagging cheer that Alex had seen all week. "Fighting classes."
Alex wanted to yell, break things and cry all at once. Instead, he just let a groan escape, as they rounded the corner and ran down the corridors, each page to his rooms. Aramis was waiting, with his practise gear, and Alex felt tears sting his eyes as Aramis assisted him into the clothing.
"When you get back here tonight, I'm making you sit down with that bruise balm Lady Leila sent," Aramis said firmly.
"Or what?" Alex retorted, buttoning his jerkin.
"Or I get Porthos and Athos to hold you down, and I apply it myself," Aramis said. His tone brooked no argument, and Alex nodded. He couldn't go many more days with in this level of physical pain and exhaustion.
Fighting classes didn't help, either. He found himself thinking prayers of thanks to Mithros for the hours of stretching, because otherwise he would have certainly pulled a muscle by now. Tumbling proceeded as usual, and in hand-to-hand, he ended up biting his lip to keep his composure: the Shang Butterfly had paired him with Raoul, and the older boy hit like his fists were a hammer and Alex his anvil.
By the time he led Jaiyana out of her stall, he was dubious if he'd even have the strength to mount up. His legs felt like jelly from practising the Shang kicks, the bruise on his right hip was throbbing, and he ached all over. Thankfully, he managed to get his foot into the stirrup, and he swung up onto Jaiyana's jet black back. (Say that three times really fast.) For once, he was grateful for the fact that northerners and easterners rode like sacks of potatoes, who could barely ride without tack. It allowed him to slouch, ever so slightly, into the saddle, and he really wasn't sure if he could have managed without it today.
"Walk on, ladies," Master Ulf instructed, once all had been mounted.
Jaiyana responded perfectly to his commands, and he was thankful that pages rode geldings, waiting to purchase stallion destriers until they were squires and through their growth spurt. Otherwise, things would have been…interesting, in riding class; idly, he contemplated if he could blame any pursuit of Jaiyana on Master Ulf's instructions always being addressed to the ladies.
If this is how I think after a week, page training is going to turn my brain to mush, Alex thought wryly.
He went through the commands to walk, trot and canter on automatic; learning to ride in formation with other pages, staying in his own little line, provided a flicker of something interesting to think about. Six lines spread across one reasonably large arena was still a difficult consideration with forty or so pages. And they had a long way to go before they rode in formation like he had with the squad, when riding the fief.
An hour later, the time came to dismount, and Alex stared at the ground with consternation. Jaiyana whickered, clearly believing her rider to be wool-gathering.
"Sorry, girl," he said to her, his voice soft and rueful. "Just give me a minute."
"You've taken longer than that already, Lady Tirragen," said Master Ulf briskly, approaching them.
Oh, brilliant, Alex couldn't help but think. It might have only been a week, but being singled out by the Masters never went well.
Master Ulf glanced at him from where he stood beside him. From Jaiyana's back, Alex's eyes were dead level with his. "Are you ill, boy?" he frowned.
"No, Master," he said, sliding his feet out of the stirrups. He dismounted, and his knees buckled under him. Quick as a striking cobra, Master Ulf looped his arms under Alex's armpits, hauling him to his feet until they were firmly planted.
"Sorry, sir," Alex mumbled, staring at the ground, feeling his face warm.
"Oh, relax," said the horse master, waving a hand. "I can't have you boys fainting in the yard with horses still here. Noble mothers tend to get pissy when their sons get stepped on. I make a habit of not receiving irate complaints, if I can avoid it."
Well. That did a lot to lessen his feeling of embarrassment – almost as much as the sight of Francis being helped down from his horse by one of Master Ulf's assistants. The same for some of the other, smaller boys, ones who looked so exhausted that they'd either topple out of or fall asleep in their saddles.
Master Ulf handed Alex his reins with an exasperated expression. "No more daydreaming of bed, Tirragen," he said. "Go rub your horse down."
Jaiyana punctuated that statement with a neigh, and Alex smiled wryly.
"As my lady commands," he told her with a sigh, and they headed into the stables. This time, he made sure his timing on leaving the stables coincided with Selwyn's; no sense in leaving himself vulnerable. The older boy had berated him for being careless, and Alex was forced to agree that it had been stupid, when he knew that Ralon had a grudge against him.
Back up to his rooms, to scrub himself quickly, and change from practise clothes into the red and gold court uniform. He scowled at his impossible hair, and combed it back from his face. It would fall out of order quickly, reassuming its messy disposition, but he would have done something to tame it, at least. And with that, he was out the door, down to the kitchens where the pages assembled every night.
Rapidly, Master Hans went through the evening's assignments; Raoul, poor lad, was still waiting on the Lord of Tirrsmont, although Francis didn't seem to mind waiting on the lord of Hannalof. As Master Hans turned to him, Alex spoke.
"His Grace of Naxen requested that I wait upon him tonight, when I came to the Palace."
Bushy white brows were drawn into a thunderous frown, which very much resembled a large snowy caterpillar. Then the caterpillar unknitted itself, as Master Hans said coldly, "Very well, Tirragen."
'Tirragen', not 'boy.' An interesting little progression they had there.
"His Grace sits next to the King and Queen, at their right hand," Master Hans continued. "Try not to disgrace yourself – I know it's hard to break your streak now, but do your best."
Alex breathed deeply. Now, now, Alex, he said to himself. It's most rude to bash your etiquette master's head into the wall. Also, he's twice your size. Could make that difficult.
It was still a pleasant image, but it would have to wait a few years. He took his bowl of rosewater, draped the towel over his arm, and followed the other boys out, walking steadily to the head of the table where he stopped and stooped in a bow.
"If your grace pleases?" he asked.
Duke Gareth did please, and he dried his hands.
"Good evening, Tirragen," he said, and Alex was stunned at how pleasant it felt to be greeted with common courtesy.
"G-good evening, your grace," he replied, with a bow. It felt strange being greeted nicely. Weird. Like being treated harshly had become what he expected, almost.
The other boys were hurrying back to the kitchen, to fetch the dishes, and he joined them, walking slightly faster. After all, he had longer to walk, and Duke Gareth was extremely high-ranking. It wouldn't do for him to be tardy.
By the time he had made it through to the dessert course, Alex felt like shouting with glee, at the fact that he could, in fact, perform this basic page duty.
See? See? Look! I can do this!
At the end of the dessert course, Duke Gareth paused in his conversation to the queen, and held up an imperious hand.
"Bide a moment there, Tirragen."
Alex froze. Was he now to be reprimanded, for some misstep that he hadn't noticed?
"Your Grace?" he managed to get out around the lump of fear in his throat.
"Sir Myles has requested that you be the one to wait on him, in the future," Duke Gareth said. "You commence attending him at supper tomorrow. I've already spoken to Master Hans."
Alex bowed, hiding his surprise and his wonder in the movement. "Your grace," he said, blessing the politeness of etiquette that allowed him to hide his flurry of confused thoughts. But I've hardly distinguished myself in his class at all! Why on earth does he want me to wait on him? Is it because my skin stands out the most?n't
Even though that last thought grated, he couldn't help but appreciate the relief singing through him. No longer would he have to wait on the Knot of Doom and Bigotry; instead, he could wait upon the amiable, if perpetually drunk, Sir Myles.
He promised himself that he would say an extra prayer and light a stick of incense for the Goddess for her kindness to him, and took the dessert plate back to the kitchen.
As they filed back into the kitchen, Raoul clapped him on the back, as discreetly as was possible for someone of Raoul's strength to do anything.
"You made it through," he whispered to Alex.
"Hush," Alex hissed back. "Do you want to tempt fate?"
But fate was not to be tempted, and Alex plodded up to the supper hall with the other boys, feeling Selwyn's hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't help but smile. It had taken a while, but he'd made it through a full day of page training.
It looked like things were looking up, a little bit.
Then he cursed as he remembered the classwork and the hour of practise with his saz that still needed to be finished from the day. Selwyn grinned at him wryly, easily guessing his thoughts.
"The more things change, the more they stay the same, as the pea said to the princess," Selwyn said, with a wink.
"We don't have a princess," Alex growled, in a magnificently foul mood.
"Go get your lute, and we can do the classwork in my rooms tonight," Selwyn laughed.
"How can you laugh when it's like this?" Alex asked, incredulous.
"Because if I don't, I'll cry," Selwyn said, cracking his neck to the right, then the left. "Now hurry."
Alex obeyed and hurried to his room, contemplating Selwyn's words. Laugh, because otherwise you'd cry. Joke, because otherwise, you'd rage.
Selwyn's made it through the first year. He knows what he's talking about, surely.
Resolving to try and follow that advice, Alex grabbed hold of his saz by the instrument's neck, and gathered up his parchment and quills. Aramis eyed him sternly.
"Don't forget–"
"I know, I know," said Alex, as he went back to the door. "Bruise-balm. Got it."
Aramis smiled, and turned back to the letter he was writing to Captain Sanya.
"My lady," Captain Sanya of the Tirragen Guardsmen stood from his desk, startled by his unexpected visitor. He bowed. "Please, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Lady Leila of Tirragen stood in the doorway of his rooms. She was dressed in tunic and leggings, meaning that she'd just come from sparring with Miranda.
"Captain Sanya," she smiled at him warmly. "Please, don't stand on ceremony. As you can see, I'm not particularly dressed for it," with an airy gesture to her attire.
"As my lady wishes," he said, trying to stifle a smile. "How may I assist you tonight?"
"As incorrigible with etiquette as ever," she sighed, as she entered. "Tell me, what news from Aramis?"
His eyebrows shot up, both in surprise at the question and at the sound of the door clicking shut behind her. "How did you kn–"
"I trusted you to protect Alex when you were out riding the fief for five years," Leila said, tartly. "This meant, realistically, that you would have my son for six months of the year, and I would have him for the other six of the year. It is very difficult to take care of a child for that long without developing some form of parental attachment to them. Thus, when Alex decided to go train as a page, you sent the three Guardsmen you have known for a very long time, instead of some of the newer recruits who would have jumped to go to the Palace. You also sent three Guardsmen whom you knew had bonded intensely with Alex, almost as intensely as you. You would not have sent Aramis, Porthos and Athos if they had not agreed to write you with news, and given that Aramis once had desire to train as a priest, I can only suspect that the first letter came from him. Hence my question."
Captain Sanya shook his head. "My lady's reasoning is as impeccable as ever," he said with a sigh, as she moved the sole armchair which he kept by the fire. "Yes, I'm halfway through Aramis' letter. But the news – my lady, you may find it distressing."
"Not half as distressing as I find ignorance and silence from my son," she replied. He nodded once, heavily, as he handed her the letter. He stood beside the armchair in silence, waiting stolidly.
She read through it quickly, her eyes steadily widening, and then she stopped. She looked at him, her eyes bright. "I thought I knew exactly how bad it could get," she said, a slight quaver in her voice. "I was wrong. It's worse."
"Yes, it is," he said.
She breathed deeply, one, two, three. The way Jasper had taught Duncan to do, when discovering the boy's anger problems. Then she returned to the letter.
"Well. It appears that Alex may have a slight reprieve for himself coming," she said with a forced laugh at the end. "Apparently this Sir Myles is usually not hostile to him, unlike the others that he has been waiting on."
"That's progress," Sanya said.
"Yes, it is," Leila said. "Please, in the future, when Aramis writes to you, would you send for me?"
He bowed. "Of course, my lady."
"Thank you," she said, placing a slim dark brown hand over his own. He blinked. Lady Leila had not been particularly disposed to display affection with anyone except her family. Ever.
"Now, Captain, I have a sudden and completely unexpected desire to learn how to fence," she said crisply, rising. "Would you be able to meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes?"
He had intended to write Aramis back, but from Leila's narrowed eyes and pursed lips, this desire to learn how to fence was truly of an urgent nature.
"Of course, my lady," he said.
She smiled. It was not a nice smile. "I'll see you down there," she said, before exiting the room.
Sanya looked at the door for a while. It was definitely shut.
So why did he feel like a door had just opened?
A/N:
Isä: Finnish for 'Daddy.'
On the off-chance you're wondering, Frederik, Henrik and Ulrik are identical triplets. It's a bit confusing for everybody involved, when they're all blond and blue-eyed.
Thank you to everybody who has reviewed, favourited and alerted. Feedback incentivises faster writing, you know how the drill goes. Hope things are all well with you!