*NOTE: A couple of people have asked how old Sandry is. The answer: These are set some time after Magic Steps, when she's maybe 16 or so.

**ANOTHER NOTE: Thank you if you reviewed. I greatly appreciate it.

***YET ANOTHER NOTE: Special thanks to Eve of Mirkwood: You have come to the conclusion that you are supposed to come to: that Duke Vedris is not as good as he seems!

****STILL ANOTHER NOTE: This episode does NOT take place immediately following the previous one. A couple of weeks, maybe even a month lapses between them.

*****If Tamora Pierce would expend her energies writing more books instead of chasing after people who don't write disclaimers waving a court order, the world would be a happier place. Nevertheless, I admit I don't own any of this, I just write about it.

EDITED 23/6/03: The plot hasn't changed at all, but I've revised some of the dialogue.

The Boyfriend II

The shadows were long against the old stone buildings that made up Summersea's ancient Carpenter's Quarter. Although not the wealthiest part of the city, the neighborhood had never degenerated into slum district; it was still a respectable street where wealthy merchants and even a few nobility could be seen strolling in the afternoon sun and browsing the shops. Even so, it had a neither crowded nor intrusive atmosphere. People went about their business and, for the most part, ignored whoever else might be passing. The duke himself could have walked through and found his subjects bending the knee only in his passing them by.

As it happened, the duke was not in the Carpenter's Quarter this particular day; he rarely was, in fact. His niece, Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, mused on this fact as she walked hand in hand with Andril Scartsvy.

"So what do you think, Sandry," he asked her earnestly, "is there anything to my theory?" He sighed. "Master Windfinder says it's all nonsense, this idea of mine," he continued morosely. "He told me last night I should give it up. He's my advisor; oughtn't I to listen to him?" He looked at his companion. "But something tells me I'll succeed if I just push a little farther!" His eyes lit up, as they always did when he talked about his work

She looked up, startled from her thoughts. "Hmmm? I'm sorry, my mind left for a moment."

"My thesis," Andril repeated, "should I go on with it? Is there anything there?" Sandry noted absently his slight Namornese accent; although living in Summersea for the past few years and now subjects of Emelan, her friend and his family were immigrants of Namorn, had a trace of the accent, causing him to pronounce th's a little like s's and z's. Sandry liked listening to him talk; her Namornese mother had spoken in the same manner, although with a more conspicuous accent.

"Of course you should go on," she reassured, "after all, isn't showing definitively that ambient magic can't be tracked just as worthwhile as tracking it?"

"You are right," Andril said, "but," he paused, looking down, "I have never told you this, Sandry, but my grandfather, he is now dead, was a great mage, and he proved many things," he explained, letting go her hand. "I would like to follow him in proving great things. It is hard," he added, "having a famous relative"

Sandry laughed, "I know that well," she began, "my uncle," but at that moment the Citadel clock could be heard ringing the hour. "Five o'clock already!" Sandry exclaimed, "I'd best be getting back. Will you walk with me?"

"Of course!" Andril clasped her hand again. "I see you so little that I value any time in your company dearly." The noblewoman smiled at his gallantry and the pair set off towards the Duke's Citadel.

Some yards from the gates, Sandry stopped, pulling her friend to a similar halt. "You'd better not come any farther," she warned him; "I've told you about my uncle."

Andril bowed his head in assent. "I would not disobey His Grace."

Sandry raised her eyebrows. "You're practically doing it now."

He was silent for a moment. "When will I see you again?" He asked, changing the subject.

She crinkled her forehead in thought; "I don't know; it's hard to get out without the guards my uncle has assigned me. I'll send a message when I'm free to come."

He nodded; "Until then, Lady Sandry;" he drew her into an embrace, bringing his lips against hers. They kissed.

"Get a room!" A passing urchin yelled as Sandry drew away, her eyes shining.

"How dare he!" She exclaimed, but Andril only smiled:

"I shouted the same when I was his age."

The lady let out an angry breath. "Well then. But I can't imagine you behaving so rudely."

"We are in a public place, my lady."

"Then," Sandry said with a glint in her eye, "let's give a good show." She pulled him towards her in a second, deep kiss, until

"What is this occurrence?" A stern yet familiar voice demanded.

"Uncle!" Sandry exclaimed, "What are you doing here?" As Andril made a deep obeisance, murmuring "Your Grace" in a stunned tone.

"It is I who put the question to you, Sandrilene." The duke made the statement a command for her to answer.

His niece drew herself up straighter. "I should think that was obvious, Uncle," she said, her voice only shaking a little. The guards standing a ways back smiled a bit at her daring. But they were impressed: it took spirit to stand up to the duke.

"Unfortunately so," was the reply. "My dear, I have told you a multitude of times that you must not behave licentiously; you appear to have neglected all of my warnings." Coming from another man, the words would have been kindly, not so from the ruler of Emelan.

"All of your fiats, more like," Sandry muttered.

"Speak more clearly, Sandrilene," her uncle requested; "no one can understand a person who mumbles." Sandry gritted her teeth. She hated being embarrassed at the best of times; being chastised like a child in the street in front of whoever might pass by was intolerable.

"Whomever, Sandrilene." The duke's correction was perfectly level and calm. His niece hadn't realized she had spoken aloud. She rolled her eyes.

"Your grammar, or lack thereof," the duke continued, is, however, beside the point. I have expressively forbidden you to see thisyoung man, and now I find you engaged in a most indecent and vulgar behavior with him. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Sandry looked at her uncle, then at Andril, still on one knee in the street, and then back at her uncle. "We weren't behaving "indecently" or "vulgarly", Uncle," she said firmly, "It wasn't going to go anywhere beyond kissing." The duke flinched slightly at the last word.

"The act you were committing was bad enough," he explained icily, "but it pales beneath your sheer disobedience."

"Andril and I are young," she argued, "we were behaving naturally for people of our age."

"I see," the duke answered in a quiet but dangerous voice, "The standards of society have indeed deteriorated when such behavior in the street is considered natural. This I cannot believe; I know my people; they are not prone to such wantonness. Your sensibilities, then, must needs be corrected, my dear."

"You, Uncle," she accused, "are the one who needs to be corrected. You're old and bitter and just can't stand happiness in anyone else, can you?"

The prince's eyes flashed. "How dare you to make such accusations?" He asked softly; "Have you no respect?"

"Respect for what?" Sandry demanded, "Respect for old-fashioned prudery? Respect for heavy-handed tyranny? Just what should I respect, Your Grace?" There was heavy sarcasm in the honorific; everyone was taken aback at the noblewoman's blatant insolence.

The duke took a long, slow, breath. "Never," he ordered harshly, "speak that way to me again."

"Then," Sandry replied, "allow me more freedom. Let me see Andril."

"You misunderstand, my dear," her uncle was somewhat calmer, but no less stern, "it is not a matter negotiable. You will not, in the future, be so impertinent." He turned from her to look down at Andril, appearing to notice the young man for the first time. He fixed his gaze on the bowed head. Sandry was for a moment relieved that her uncle's anger was directed elsewhere, and then immediately felt guilty; Andril would be entirely unable to handle Vedris's wrath to which she was at least a little accustomed.

"What is your name?" He demanded of the kneeling boy.

"Andril Scartsvy, Your Grace." He looked up, although he did not meet the duke's eyes. His tone was clear, although quiet.

"You are Namornese?" For once, the duke asked a question rather than made a statement as was his wont.

"I was born in that country, Your Grace, and lived there until three years ago."

"But you are now a citizen of Emelan."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And as such, subject to my justice."

Andril bowed his head in assent. "Yes, Your Grace."

The duke nodded slowly. "Tell me," he catechized, after a pause of some length, "In Namorn, were you to have been caught taking such liberties with a relation of the Empress, what would have been your fate?" The duke's tone made it clear that he was well aware of the answer to his question.

It was plain that Andril knew the direction his interrogation was taking. He was beginning to shiver, from fear, Sandry guessed. "Death," Andril whispered.

The duke seemed to be waiting for elaboration to the answer. "A traitor's death, Your Grace," Andril clarified. Once again, Vedris nodded.

"Has it been in your experience to witness such a death, Scartsvy?" He asked. It might have been Sandry's imagination, but she thought she detected an unusual stress on her friend's name. Once again, she had the feeling that her Uncle knew what the boy would say.

"It has, Your Grace." The terror in Andril's voice was painfully evident. He was trembling, and drops of sweat were beginning to run down his face.

"Uncle-" Sandry began, but her protest was cut off by a harsh command from the duke.

"Do not interrupt me." In contrast to his victim, the prince of Emelan appeared calm. The look he briefly gave his niece, however, would have persuaded otherwise. He turned by to the young man.

"Our laws are not so dissimilar to those of our imperial cousin," he said. Sandry watched as Andril clenched his hands tightly. She could see him trying to breathe deeply and could almost hear his muttered prayers in his native language. It was then that she realized she had already put up with more than she could take.

"Uncle!" She exclaimed; "This is outside of enough! Now you're just being cruel!"

"You, Young Lady," Vedris ordered, not turning around, "are to be silent." He addressed Andril again. "As this wayward and disobedient girl is clearly as much to blame as you," he began, with the air of a judge pronouncing sentence, "it would be unjust to punish one without the other."

"I'm not "wayward and disobedient"!" Sandry objected loudly.

"Furthermore," the duke continued, "I would not put it past my deceitful niece to disinform you of my mandate, although," he added, "ignorance is not excused under the law."

"Lady Sandrilene had told me of Your Grace's command" Andril confessed, his voice trembling a little. Sandry was relieved to see that he was slightly more relaxed; it partially made up for the guilt she was currently experiencing. Why couldn't she have intervened earlier?

"Yet you willingly disobeyed?" The duke looked hard at the young man's face.

Andril closed his eyes. "Yes, Your Grace." His prince was silent for a long movement. Vedris appeared to be thinking, debating, with himself. At last he stepped back.

"You have committed no infraction against my people," the duke pronounced, "and for that reason I can forgive your transgression against my person and the person of my niece. Go, and never come near her again!" He commanded.

Andril stood and bowed low. "Your Grace is kind," he said, but his voice cracked a little and there were tears in his eyes. The duke gave a curt nod, one that was at once both an acknowledgement and a dismissal. Andril bowed again, and, with a last, covert glance at Sandry, left. He was shaking, and very pale.

"How could you, Uncle?" Sandry charged, her voice tight, "how could you do that to him?" She was almost crying; "Youyou're horrible. I hate you. I HATE YOU!" She burst into tears.

"Do you see, Sandrilene," her uncle asked, as coolly as if he were reading a report in his study, "where your disobedience leads? Not only do you disgrace yourself, but you bring distress on those you consider your friends."

"All I understand," Sandry said tremulously, "is that you frightened Andril out of his wits to punish me. That is neither just nor right."

"I did no more than the law permits," he stated flatly.

"You are the law, Uncle," she replied irately, rolling her eyes.

"Then, my dear, are you above the law that you disobey me? Is your friend Scartsvy above the law?" She didn't like the inflection he used on "friend".

"Don't be tiresome, Uncle," she sighed, "no one can be expected to obey all the ridiculous rules you make for me."

"Based on your recent behavior, the rules I set on you are entirely necessary," the duke countered. "You seem to be resolved to be as obstinate and disobedient as possible."

"I'm not!" Sandry asserted, "you're determined to think the worst of me all the time, aren't you!"

"What else can I think when I find my niece in an amorous embrace like some harlot of the worst degree?"

"I am not a harlot." Sandry spoke loudly and clearly, looking at her uncle as if she were of his height and not a good deal shorter. "I am only obstinate and disobedient when I am given no other course of action. I certainly am not deceitful. You are holding me to unreasonable expectations and rules that no longer apply to real life. If I need to change my ways, so do you."

He did not immediately reply to her statement. "I know you think I am harsh and unkind, Sandrilene," he began, his voice soothing yet iron-hard. "You think I was needlessly cruel to your Scartsvy and that I am needlessly strict with you. I realize that you have a desire to be as others your age, my dear, but I also know that much of what young people do these days it at odds with what is decent and what is right. What is popular is not always right, Sandrilene; in truth, it is often wrong."

His niece turned from him. "I don't believe that, Uncle. You're too hard on me and my peers."

"If I am severe," he said sharply, "it is for your own good, that you may repair your flaws."

Sandry shook her head. "You're wrong. You're so caught up in your own notion of virtue that you ignore changing times."

"Virtue and the virtuous life does not change, Sandrilene." He was once again angry. "You have much to learn, it seems."

"If I do, it isn't anything you can teach me," she shot back.

"That we shall see," he replied ominously. "My dear, the thoroughfare is no place for this discussion. We will continue over our supper."

"I need to walk alone for a little while, Uncle," she said, unconvincingly bright, "I'll be along in a bit."

"So" the duke's eyes narrowed, "you would still disobey me? You would go off to meet your lover yet? It will do you no good," he informed her, "Scartsvy has learned the price of challenging my will."

"Because you chased him away!" She accused.

"Would he have been so acquiescent if he had not realized his wrongdoing? I do not think so."

"He left because you scared him off," Sandry told her uncle, "that is plain for anyone to see."

" The innocent do not fear'," the duke quoted a well-known proverb. "Now come with me, Sandrilene," he ordered, "Do you really believe that after your disgraceful behavior today I will reward you with the freedom to go as you please?"

"Oh," Sandry said sarcastically, "so now I'm to be rewarded, like an animal or an infant, for good behavior and punished for bad? I think not, Uncle!" She turned to walk away, but the duke placed a hand on her shoulder, effectively checking her retreat. She tried to shake him off, but to no avail.

"I will bring you to submission, my girl," he said softly to her. "Now will you come meekly or must I carry you."

"I'm not going!" She insisted with gritted teeth.

"Am I forced to carry you?" He asked mildly, "and then send you off to bed with a beating like an unruly child?"

Sandry looked down. "I'll go," she said softly, "but not because I wish it." The duke smiled.