// These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot belongs to me. Some mention of slash and swearing appear in this chapter.

Fairy Tale

Divertimento

"This bites," growled Joren, rolling the stress-reliever in his right hand, thoughtlessly attempting to squeeze the life out of it. In his other hand he held the letter from his parents that had arrived this morning, when he had been out torturing Nealan, but now he faced a dilemma:

To burn, or not to burn?

Joren hadn't spoken to his parents since he was eight; he didn't exactly remember the reason. He hadn't written any letters to them, or read any, and relied chiefly on messages from his two older brothers or his knight-master to explain any delays in financial support which was, in Joren's view, their only purpose. This letter changed things, though. Maybe they were sorry they hadn't agreed to pay Joren's debt to Kel and would send apologies and a chest full of nobles. Maybe they would go further and send Turomot's head on a stick (much as Joren disliked Kel, he disliked the judge far more. Who was that ugly old coot to call him an "arrogant puppy?" Joren got the same from Sir Paxton on a daily basis; he didn't need to hear it from strangers). In which case, he could quit Guillam's (without much in the way of sorrow) and return to his former carefree, luxurious, malignant lifestyle. On the other hand, his beloved procreators might be informing him that they'd cease paying for his debts altogether, in which case he'd have to work even more than he did, which was more than he cared to admit. Not that he cared on the whole for admitting anything. "And so, I have reached an impasse," he remarked lightly to himself, and stared at the innocent envelope.

"...............ah, what the hell." He tore it open, pulled out the check, and tossed envelope and letter into the flickering fireplace beside the desk. "I'm sure one of my brothers-dearest will tell me the contents later." The blonde never remained at an indecision for long. Stuffing the check into his pocket, he returned his attentions upon the stress-reliever. It was a small, limp, squishable package containing some sort of deep red dye which mixed rather fascinatingly with itself when shaken vigorously, reminding Joren of tomato sauce and/or blood. He'd always wanted to break one open to see which of the two it more closely resembled, taste-wise. Unfortunately, his attention was distracted by Sir Paxton calling from the other room.

"JOREN! Aren't you done YET?!"

"No, my lord!" he returned cheerfully. "I have to make sure it looks PERFECT!" What a laugh. He'd only left the room so he didn't have to look at that ugly old man with a black hairball living on his chin any longer. He wasn't sure what females found so attractive about the king; ol' Jonny-boy needed first of all a shave, second of all a good lay. Obviously Queen Thayet wasn't cutting it or the guy would be a LOT less anal-retentive. So basically, Joren had retreated to his room but not bothered with the package of clothes even long enough to open it.

*What do I have to open it for, anyway?* he thought. *Why did I even agree to do thi--oh wait, I DIDN'T. I guess any blame of delay can be placed purely upon Paxy's shoulders, then.* His pressure upon the stress-reliever increased. *Who do they think they are, anyway, making me flirt with some old man--presumably as ugly as they are, if not more so--to grab some information he'd probably be happy to tell them in the first place? And why ME? I'll admit I'm just too cute, but still, they ought to at least reward me for my services. Like maybe a little royal pressure on getting that stupid debt removed? Or some money to use on an assassin for the lovely Miss Mindelan. For that matter, why not use her? The gods only know, she looks more like a boy than I do. They better not expect I'm actually going to sleep with Mr. Rogain or whatever his name is. If they want someone to have sex with them, it ought to be that Mindelan whore or even Garvey. Because there's no way in bloody hell I'd even consider--* GLURSH!!!

Joren hadn't been aware that "glursh" was a sound, but here he was with a hand splattered in thick, creamy red liquid. *Huh, guess I broke it after all.* He was about to turn to the water basin and wash his hand off when an impatient knock sounded at the door.

"I TOLD you, I'm not rea--" he started, but was cut off by a furious Queenscove stomping in and slamming the door behind him.

"YOU!" Queenie snarled, brown hair in disarray (well, that was normal) and glaring at Joren with pure murder in his eyes (he was used to that too, actually).

Joren raised his eyebrows. "Is something amiss?" he asked sweetly. "Or did you want to finish what we 'started' last night?" He began to loosen his belt.

"SHUT UP!" screamed Queenscove. Joren was impressed, since usually the older boy relied on sarcasm rather than capitalized swearing. Nealan stomped to where Joren reclined in his chair and pulled the fair boy up by the collar. "Kel isn't speaking to me, Cleon and Roald are avoiding me like the plague, and every single girl who sees me starts giggling!"

"I notice you didn't include Kel in 'every single girl.' Is there a specific reason for--"

"It's YOUR fault, you bastard! You've completely ruined my life!" He shook the younger boy for emphasis.

"Aww, my heart bleeds for you." Joren placed his hand over his chest, then held it up (still stained with red stress-reliever guts) toward Nealan. "See?"

For a brief moment, Queenscove's expression was priceless.

He snapped out of it. "Don't tell me," he muttered, dropping Joren and passing a hand over his temples. "Anyway, you are telling Kel the TRUTH, or I swear I will make you regret it."

"Hmm, sounds kinky. Can I hold you to that promise, or will you be the one holding ME to something?"

"STOP THAT!" Nealan backed away from Joren and began pacing the room. "Look, what do I have to do to make you realize the gravity of this situation?"

"I somehow severely doubt that you and Mindelan's quote unquote "relationship" can be considered as having gravity. Besides, there's one surefire way to get me to do anything."

Queenscove paused in his pacing. "And that would be?"

"Money. Money makes the world go 'round."

"Money corrupts," snapped Queenscove.

"It's a bit too late for that, I assure you," replied Joren with a wide smile. "Besides, don't you owe me a bit of cash anyway for that little episode at my place of business?" The older boy grimaced, pulled out a purse and chucked it at Joren.

"That ends THAT. But I refuse to pay you money to tell Kel the truth about what that little affair this morning was about."

"Hmm, you know, I like that word 'affair,'" murmured Joren thoughtfully. "I'm sure Mindelan will like it too..."

"Don't you dare!" Queenscove leaned over Joren, then kneeled and covered both Joren's hands with his larger ones. "Look, Joren, please please please tell Kel the truth, and I swear I will make it up to you."

"Really? Any way I choose?"

"No; I'm desperate, not crazy." Joren considered for a long moment before shrugging.

"Fine. But *I* will be the one to decide when your debt is paid off, not you. And if you decide to quit paying before then, I'll talk so many circles around Mindelan she won't know *what* way you swing."

"Deal."

"Good, now get your hands off me. You're creeping me out." Neal, having forgotten what he'd been holding, dropped Joren's hands like he expected to be bitten (with Joren, who could tell?).

"Do it by tomorrow morning," the brunette said, standing. "I plan to ask her out tomorrow at lunch."

***

"This one looks nice, don't you think?" asked Sir Paxton, pointing out a colorful red and orange vase with K'miri style decorations dancing around the rim.

"Hmm," replied Joren, squinting at it cautiously. "I'd have to say...it looks just like all the others I've seen so far today. Actually, in my entire life."

Sir Paxton glared at his valet. "It most certainly does not," he glowered. "Can't you see the way it's cross-hatched, the way this color seems to melt from deep, sunset hues of red to more of a burnt sienna? This is a true work of art!"

"Ten nobles says the artist had a bloody nose all over it and decided not to finish painting it." Paxton rolled his eyes. Some people just couldn't appreciate beauty.

"Wrap it," he told the store clerk, who did so and added it to the two packages already placed at the pottery shop's entrance. He cast a despairing glance at his squire, who was eying the knife-shop across the street with interest. "Joren, you wouldn't have to be bored by this vase-shopping if you didn't destroy my collection every chance you get." Joren shrugged.

"Your fault for leaving them where I can reach them."

"You aren't a three-year old."

"You noticed! Then it's about time you stopped holding my hand every time we cross the street. That's just bloody embarrassing."

"The last time I let you go without it you almost got run over by a carriage." Joren ignored his knight-master and continued his long-distance observation of the knives. Sharp, shiny things had a tendency to fascinate him. "Ahh, Raoul!" he heard Sir Paxton exclaim. "What are you doing here?" Great. Raoul meant Sir Raoul, which meant his whore/squire was with him. Stifling a moan, he turned around to see his guess confirmed. The Mindelan "girl" (he used the term loosely) stood looking at him with extreme dislike, which he returned with a rude gesture.

"Joren! Stop that! I'm sorry, it's impossible to do anything with him, he must've been raised by hurroks..." Joren wasn't sure why Sir Paxton always found it necessary to apologize for him. "Anyways, what brings you to this lovely shop? It's one of my personal favorites!"

"Oh, just looking for a gift for my mother," the titan replied, sounding embarrassed. "What with the holiday and all, you know."

"Yes, getting a gift for one's mother is ADMIRABLE," replied Sir Paxton with a pointed glance at Joren. He didn't approve of Joren's love-hate relationship with his parents (they loved him, he hated them) and never missed an opportunity to express his disapproval. "So, have you decided on anything?" Raoul showed Paxton his purchase, over which Paxton oooed and ahhhed. After the clerk had wrapped it up, the two knights decided to go out for a friendly drink.

"Joren," suggested Paxton, "why don't you and Squire Keladry go together to return these to the palace?" He never stopped trying the get the two of them to get along. Joren paused.

"Is this a trick question?"

"NOW." Joren shrugged, lifted his master's three packages, and nearly fell over backwards. GODS, they were heavy.

"Let me help you with those, Squire Joren," said a sickeningly sweet voice, as Mindelan relieved him of the two heavier packages and left him with the light one and Kel's own.

"Thank you," he replied nastily, "but I don't need a *girl's* help in carrying heavy weights, especially not *yours*."

"Oh, do you think these are heavy? Well, I don't, so I'll carry them for you." Joren didn't miss her smirk, or the stifled laughter of the two knights. He felt his ears begin to burn and without a word stomped out the door, not waiting for the Lump to follow.

She caught up with him, as he'd assumed she would, and the two fell into step (how disgusting!). "So," she began, "about yesterday morning..." He ignored her, so she continued. "Neal says you were just joking, and that if I asked you about it, you'd admit it. So were you only doing it to get on his nerves, or did you two really...you know..."

"What, fuck each other?" Fuck /with/ each other, more like it. "Why does it matter to you, Mindelan? Hoping to be his first?" Kel's face darkened for a moment, but cleared again, like it always did. Yamani training, Joren supposed. Of course, what could you expect from people who ate raw fish and wore their bathrobes to formal occasions?

"Well, if you want to know the truth, we--" He was cut off by a boy, about their age, whom he had never seen before. The lad was dressed in nice clothes, probably a merchant or a noble, and was staring at them in an expression of unveiled disgust.

"You know," he said, "it's really disgusting for girls to charade as boys and try to get their shields. Women have no place in men's affairs, and only the really ugly ones or the really desperate ones would even consider it. It's probably just the only way they can think of to get in men's beds." Joren glanced at Mindelan, whose face was Yamani-smooth, as always.

"Yeah, I agree with you," he replied. "And?"

The boy looked taken aback. "You agree with me?" Joren nodded. The lad swallowed. "Then, uh, you should stop dressing like a boy and go put on your dress. I'm sure you'd look much better as a girl, anyways. You seem really pretty." He began blushing profusely and ran off, leaving an irate Joren and an amused Kel.

"WHAT?!" screeched Joren. "Was he talking to ME?!" Kel was laughing too hard to reply. Joren set down his packages and pulled his sword from its sheath. "Nobody but NOBODY calls me a girl and lives," he swore, about to run off in search of the boy when Kel stopped him.

"Don't bother with scum like him, I get it all the time," she told him seriously, making an effort to hide her smirk. Joren grunted, replaced his sword and picked up the packages, and the two resumed walking in silence. When they reached the palace and the route where they were to split ways, Kel added, "Although, I don't think I've ever been told that by someone who had such an obvious crush on me."

to be continued...

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