There she was. He had been waiting almost an hour. His heart began to
hammer. Why, he though miserably, his hands breaking into a sweat.
This would be easy, he reminded himself. Befriend her, then drive her out. when she returned, she would make a marvelous lady.
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought out of his mind. Although he had admitted to himself that he did not hate her as he once had, such thoughts still scared him. She still infuriated him. He had recently concluded that what he felt for her now was jealousy. Jealousy and anger: anger that a woman-or girl-should step out of her place and join the ranks of knights. Knighthood was for men, not women. She defied everything he believed in, everything he had been ever taught-
Until recently, that is. Sir Paxton had made it quite clear that he, Joren, was in the wrong; had impressed it upon him that his father was wrong.
Do what is right, Joren, his knight master mocked him in his memory. It doesn't even matter what you believe, though you are wrong.
I'm not wrong! he argued. I can't be! My father can't be; I'm everything he wants, everything Stone Mountain needs. I've done exactly as my father would will it, exactly as is right. It is the King who is wrong. He and all the other progressives.
It bothered him, that Sir Paxton revered the King so. That his closest friend-his only friend, the only one who had not been a crony- revered the King so. It hurt him, that his friend could betray him in this-
"Keladry." He smiled at her as she looked up.
She stopped, and waited. He continued, hoping this was the right way to do so-
Folding his arms, he said, "You look cold," as though asking a question.
She snapped. "I'm not."
Great. He'd done it wrong. "Listen, Keladry." He looked down and halted. How to say this? When he looked up, he smiled again. "We got off on the wrong foot."
Still she waited. Still she did not move; still her face was closed. A wave of regret passed through him, and he scoffed at it. She might make a good friend, but his purpose now was only to gain her trust. so why did he feel so hurt?
"I-allowed myself to be influenced by the prejudices of others," he persisted. "I was reared in a, a rough-and-tumble home, not a cultured place like this." The lie rolled off his tongue as he gestured towards the palace. His home had not been cultured as the palace was, but it had not been rough-and-tumble. And his father was not prejudiced; he could not be, if Joren had become the perfect child, had adopted his father's values (even to fanaticism, though he rarely admitted it to himself, and tried to convince himself otherwise), had acted upon them, had done so well that his father's pride was no longer hidden.
He spoke on. "Sir Paxton, my knight-master, was quite firm about my usual behavior. He gave me cause to think, and to review the things I have said and done."
She still did not react. Now he began to grow angry. Even though all of what he said was not true, he meant some of it-he did want her as a friend, and he had so few (only one)-and it hurt that she did not even react; obviously she wasn't willing to revise her opinion of him.
"What I am trying to say," he began again, finally, after waiting for her to speak, and seeing that she would not, "is that I would like to start fresh with you. If I may."
At last, a reply. "Of course you many. We'll have a fresh start, just as you like, Squire Joren."
An empty response. It meant nothing. She did not mean what she said, though he had admitted that he would like to begin again-and he did wish to, even if he still wanted to prevent her from becoming a knight-and it had cost him much to say so.
"And now, if you'll excuse me, I must wash up." She bowed as she said this, careful to follow protocol, and walked past.
"I would like to be friends," he blurted, and cursed himself silently for the slip of tongue. She's already rejected your offer, idiot! Don't humiliate yourself further!
She turned and gave him and empty smile. "That would be pleasant."
As she left, his anger at her refusal grew. He was so upset that he immediately went to plotting how to dispose of her, as he had done before her arrival. But now, he was infuriated enough that he no longer limited his possible methods to just her. Now, they involved her friends and family.
As he entered his room, he hit upon an idea: Lalasa. If he abducted her on exam day, she would have to repeat-which she might or might not do- and he would not only hurt her, but one dear to her. No matter that before her refusal he would have balked at the idea of involving anyone close to her. He was too angry to care.
He left his rooms and went to town to find someone to carry out his plans.
This would be easy, he reminded himself. Befriend her, then drive her out. when she returned, she would make a marvelous lady.
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought out of his mind. Although he had admitted to himself that he did not hate her as he once had, such thoughts still scared him. She still infuriated him. He had recently concluded that what he felt for her now was jealousy. Jealousy and anger: anger that a woman-or girl-should step out of her place and join the ranks of knights. Knighthood was for men, not women. She defied everything he believed in, everything he had been ever taught-
Until recently, that is. Sir Paxton had made it quite clear that he, Joren, was in the wrong; had impressed it upon him that his father was wrong.
Do what is right, Joren, his knight master mocked him in his memory. It doesn't even matter what you believe, though you are wrong.
I'm not wrong! he argued. I can't be! My father can't be; I'm everything he wants, everything Stone Mountain needs. I've done exactly as my father would will it, exactly as is right. It is the King who is wrong. He and all the other progressives.
It bothered him, that Sir Paxton revered the King so. That his closest friend-his only friend, the only one who had not been a crony- revered the King so. It hurt him, that his friend could betray him in this-
"Keladry." He smiled at her as she looked up.
She stopped, and waited. He continued, hoping this was the right way to do so-
Folding his arms, he said, "You look cold," as though asking a question.
She snapped. "I'm not."
Great. He'd done it wrong. "Listen, Keladry." He looked down and halted. How to say this? When he looked up, he smiled again. "We got off on the wrong foot."
Still she waited. Still she did not move; still her face was closed. A wave of regret passed through him, and he scoffed at it. She might make a good friend, but his purpose now was only to gain her trust. so why did he feel so hurt?
"I-allowed myself to be influenced by the prejudices of others," he persisted. "I was reared in a, a rough-and-tumble home, not a cultured place like this." The lie rolled off his tongue as he gestured towards the palace. His home had not been cultured as the palace was, but it had not been rough-and-tumble. And his father was not prejudiced; he could not be, if Joren had become the perfect child, had adopted his father's values (even to fanaticism, though he rarely admitted it to himself, and tried to convince himself otherwise), had acted upon them, had done so well that his father's pride was no longer hidden.
He spoke on. "Sir Paxton, my knight-master, was quite firm about my usual behavior. He gave me cause to think, and to review the things I have said and done."
She still did not react. Now he began to grow angry. Even though all of what he said was not true, he meant some of it-he did want her as a friend, and he had so few (only one)-and it hurt that she did not even react; obviously she wasn't willing to revise her opinion of him.
"What I am trying to say," he began again, finally, after waiting for her to speak, and seeing that she would not, "is that I would like to start fresh with you. If I may."
At last, a reply. "Of course you many. We'll have a fresh start, just as you like, Squire Joren."
An empty response. It meant nothing. She did not mean what she said, though he had admitted that he would like to begin again-and he did wish to, even if he still wanted to prevent her from becoming a knight-and it had cost him much to say so.
"And now, if you'll excuse me, I must wash up." She bowed as she said this, careful to follow protocol, and walked past.
"I would like to be friends," he blurted, and cursed himself silently for the slip of tongue. She's already rejected your offer, idiot! Don't humiliate yourself further!
She turned and gave him and empty smile. "That would be pleasant."
As she left, his anger at her refusal grew. He was so upset that he immediately went to plotting how to dispose of her, as he had done before her arrival. But now, he was infuriated enough that he no longer limited his possible methods to just her. Now, they involved her friends and family.
As he entered his room, he hit upon an idea: Lalasa. If he abducted her on exam day, she would have to repeat-which she might or might not do- and he would not only hurt her, but one dear to her. No matter that before her refusal he would have balked at the idea of involving anyone close to her. He was too angry to care.
He left his rooms and went to town to find someone to carry out his plans.