Disclaimer: I don't own (in order of appearance) Tortall, Alanna, Jonathan, the Court, Thom (although personality-wise he's pretty much my invention), Kel, Neal, Wyldon, Joren, Vinson, Daine or Numair. Gosh, I've got a lot of people in this chapter!
I do own Vinson's horse. I think...
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm delighted -- I' don't think I've ever had so many reviews for a chapter! And I'm sorry I haven't replied to your reviews for the last few chappies - this might take a while...
Amaya: Thanks for the praise! You'll turn my head... I'm glad someone liked the description! I was a little concerned I'd gone on for far too long, but hey - I like clothes!
Forget-me-not: Thank you for reading and reviewing. I appreciate your comments - maybe Numair was drunk and shouting? :)! I just wanted to see how Daine would react, really. Guess I didn't do that bit too well, either...!!! But thanks.
Ti-Ti: This do?
CrazyHorseGirl: Hey, third chapter since you asked for an update! (To review of ch.17) I thought it was a bit odd - glad someone liked it! (To review of ch.18) Me, I like Jon; but I can't seem to get that across! Not really D/N yet, but it will come - promise! Currently planned for the next chapter!
Sky: Glad you like it.
Katie: Here goes!
Sw33t Temptations: hehe yourself! Thank you very much!
The keeper of words: Thank you for all your reviews, and I'm glad you like it! Sorry about the names; I tried to find out Alanna's children's names before I wrote the chapter, but that was pre-Trickster's Choice (which I still haven't read!) and nobody knew. I hope to reconcile Alanna and Jon (/again/, I know) in a bit - keep reading!
Chronicles: here you go! I'm pleased you approve: thank you.
Bubblegum: *grins* thanks v. much.
Now, at last, the moment you've all been waiting for...
dum da DUM...
Chapter Nineteen!
The pages' wing was buzzing, their extensive grapevine loaded with the juiciest, choicest morsels of rumour from the exciting events of the last few days. The Lady Knight and the King had quarrelled again! She wouldn't accept him as King! She was leaving Court! She was leaving Tortall! She had resigned her position as King's Champion...
Thom wasn't giving anything away to the many pages constantly pestering him for news, and for that determined reticence Kel admired him. She was desperate to know the truth, but respect for his strength and - almost awe - made her hold her tongue. She wasn't strong enough to hold back from questioning Neal, though. From his nose-for-news and father at the centre of the palace, she gleaned the bare facts. Still, though, she wished for flesh on the colourless bones of the story. Still she turned into the Yamani Lump at the mere sight of Thom - without the help of being a good Yamani, she would never have lived through that week.
She was tilting when she saw him. For the first time in anyone's memory the King himself had come to watch the pages training! She almost fell off Peachblossom at that terrifying sight, but calmed herself as a good Yamani should and took her next turn with a style at which she was almost surprised. She had hit squarely in the middle of the shield painted on the quintain! Blushing with pleasure, at her triumph as much as at the distinguished man who had witnessed it, she returned to the queue to wonder at why - why - why the King was watching them.
She looked over at Prince Roald, waiting in the queue to practise on the third-year quintain. He shrugged at her, knowing what she had to be asking. Not even the Heir had any clue to the uncharacteristic behaviour of his father. Eyes wandering over the four queues of the assembled pages, Kel saw that Thom - Thom had coloured slightly. Kel's eyes widened. He must know something! She wanted, craved, needed to pump him. Her resolve waned... but she rode it. No. No. No. If Thom wanted to tell her, he would tell her. Otherwise, she'd be strong. She could be a Yamani forever if she needed to. However she had to pay, she could do it. Forever. Stone. Stone. Stone. Not curious. No wishes. No feelings about it. Stone. This is what I will strive to be...
The lesson ended at last and they rode back, towards the stables. As Kel neared the block, Thom rode up to her on his black gelding. She looked at him in some surprise and he began to whisper.
"Look, thanks for not asking me anything. But Ma told me to tell you if I needed to. She left because the King doesn't like me being friendly with you. She was so angry! She told me that I should do whatever I wanted to and to Mithros with the consequences. But the King came to watch the training today. I think he's tightening his watch. I think you need to know, so that you can decide what to do. I have no right to keep you in the dark - it's your fight more than mine. What do you think?"
"I think... I agree with your mother. What right has he to stop any page being friends with any other? What harm could it do, anyway?"
"I have the Gift, Kel. Ma said that he said that people might say that I was witching you for her."
"Gods help me! People! Gossiping, lying old women! Why can't they keep their noses in their own stinking business? What's it to do with anyone whether you might do this, or I might do that - if they must nose, can't they nose in what's happened, not what might happen to someone, in some realm, at some time? Mithros, why can't they find something else to do with themselves? Gods, I thought they were friends! I always heard that he knew she was a girl! If the Lioness doesn't mind, why should he... why... should... oh, Thom - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude about your mother - "
"No - no," he said politely and, surprisingly, quite sincerely. They rode back to the palace in a companionable silence.
Neal, when the two confided in him, agreed with them. He too supported Kel's ambition, and woe betide anyone who got in the way! Even the spectre of the King himself that overshadowed their world and friendships melted into no threat before Neal's optimistic confidence. But he was abstracted, and they knew he hadn't really listnened or thought; because his optimism was unthinking, his confidence mechanical, his impudent humour merely automatic and a shadow of his cocky first year. And his friends were beginning to worry.
The pages' work went on as usual for the next few weeks. The thinking arts seemed a little harder, the fighting arts a little easier - until Lord Wyldon, in his infinite wisdom, began to change their work around. First, he replaced half of second-year tilting with a new study of wrestling, then he changed the ordinary syllabus of sword fighting so that the third- and fourth-years were learning the use of the sword on horseback. Well, they were meant to be learning it! The exercise, though, was crowned with remarkably little success. Although it was not, in fact, particularly remarkable given the low standard of horsemanship in the third year! Only Joren of Stone Mountain consistently triumphed, and that was due less to personal skill than to carelessness on the parts of his opponents. Indeed, Vinson of Genlith was careless enough to wave his sword blindly about and gouge a deep gash across his stallion Nero's back. Kel winced at the thought of what Peachblossom would do to her if she ever made such a mistake...
It was on the way back to the palace after their hour of sword-fighting (on foot, which was lucky for Neal, clumsier since Midwinter, who would have come off even worse than Vinson on horseback!) that Kel got her first inkling of what was wrong with her best friend. He had been more than a little odd for some weeks now - ever since Midwinter, really - but had shut up like a clam if anyone so much as mentioned it. But today, he and Kel were talking and laughing almost as if it were the old days... until Neal stopped in his tracks. He literally changed colour, the blood draining from his face, turning it white. Horribly, frighteningly pale, white as salt and blotched with puce. Kel stared at him with terrible concern.
"Neal! What's the matter!" she cried. He shook his head, eyes still fixed on the stable block to the right. Kel looked in the same direction, hoping to find some clue as to what had disturbed Neal so much, but saw nothing and nobody - except the Wildmage. Was it Daine who was the hint for which she had been searching? Perhaps he was still in love with her? Perhaps he was embarrassed by the babe she carried? Or did he wish that that child were his?
She turned back to Neal, her thoughts in a whirl. One thing stood out, the one thing that she knew she must not, could not do. She couldn't say anything to Neal until he brought the subject up. That time, so close, such a short time ago, when they had fallen out was still raw in her memory - and, she knew, even more so in his. She just could not risk their friendship again.
Daine had seen Neal at the same time, and she knew that he would be upset. She told herself again and again that she couldn't have kept out of his way forever! She felt so guilty, although that was even more unfair of herself. His crush was none of her fault, she knew - but still, obstinate in her despair for the stubborn boy, once such a close friend, she blamed herself for Neal's pain.
Numair couldn't console his wife when she began to do that. He knew that she felt nothing but pity for Neal, yet - as any new husband might - he couldn't stifle a feeling that might have been jealousy. Oh, he knew what Daine's feelings were! Intellectually, he understood the whole position. Yet the heart of an ardent lover that beat within his breast would not - could not understand. He tried to accept - even thought sometimes that he had succeeded - that he and Daine both were the victims, as much as Neal himself, of Neal's hopeless infatuation. It was true, that his mind knew with more certainty than anything but the love and passion between Daine and himself. Yet that it was true was impossible for his heart to understand.
Neal too was miserable with his hopeless love. But he relished his misery, almost rejoiced in woe as proof of his undying love, revelled in his sadness as part of the luxury of a hopeless passion. There was no such miserable satisfaction for Master and Mistress Salmalín. For them, Neal's yearning was a wedge, dividing them, driving them further and further apart in their misery and pity, for him and for themselves. They could see no way out.