Ty walked back out of her rooms and into the passageways on the way to the Mess. Mael owed her a bit of an explanation for the tone he had used the day before, but more than anything, Ty needed to make it quite clear how she was not going to be bossed around by anyone, sponsor or no.
As she made to open the door and enter—she was obviously going to be the first in anyway—a strong arm pulled her back from the wooden frame and into the darkness. She felt her eyes flash as the always did when murder pumped her veins. She spun around, drawing from her wrists the long, silver flat-knives she always held there. She was somewhat coated in shadows, but the stranger was completely covered by them. She narrowed her eyes and felt the pain she always felt as the pupils turned to slits.
"Who are you?" she demanded angrily, her voice venom.
"I'm here to help you," the voice said, cool and possessive. "But we cannot talk here. Come."
She saw a change in the shadows as the person, whomever it was, turned expertly in the darkness and sprinted carefully to the edge of her vision and out of sight. Still wary, Ty followed noiselessly.
How strange is it that the castle has so much darkness at morning? Ty mused as she followed stealthily. Very interesting indeed. Perhaps it was because of all the hidden passages in it? Best not to assume that there were people listening or lurking around. I couldn't afford such an assumption. I'll find a map, shall I? Yes, that seems a good idea.
The figure stopped suddenly as the passageway ended and the narrow corridor within it was too narrow for further traveling. Speaking a single word, candles above her head burst into light. Ty didn't even blink, but asked the panther to widen her pupils. Snarling, it obeyed.
It was…a boy. A page, bound to be in his second year at most. Tall, about 5 foot ten, an entire ten inches taller than her. Tanned skin told her she was dealing with someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Kind brown eyes looked back into hers with wariness, hardened by her expression. A lean frame and muscled arms all the way down to callused hands impressed upon her that a battle with this boy was a considerably bad idea. Brown hair reached to the scruff of his shirt, about a quarter of an inch below the end of his neck.
Tact here is the key, precious, the panther spoke to her. This human has enough strength in his arms alone to split your frame into two solid pieces without sweating a drop. Tact, my Defiant.
Ty stood up straight, looking up at him. When he didn't speak, she raised an eyebrow. He had, naturally, brought her here for another reason than just wasting her precious time? A small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. She turned her head a fraction of an inch to the left, stopping the urge to place her fists on her hips and demand a word of explanation from him.
"Tykel, I am not here on leisure," he said finally, in the most masculine voice she had ever heard. The panther frowned. She didn't move, didn't breathe, and didn't blink, weighing him. "What in the name of—?"
"I wish to help you," he explained. "That jerk of Mael doesn't realize even half of what you are, and I admit that what you possess is not the Gift, but there is something there, and there has got to be something you need a friend for. I know a girl by the reputation of 'Ty, the Defiant', and it seems to hold with yours. Surely there is something you wish the training master, out dear Lord Weed, not to know?"
Ty snarled. This human knew too much, said the panther. Kill him, she advised. It would oh so sweet to be able to obey that sensible command, but there was something that she needed to set straight before going Panther. Something very important. Something that, unfortunately, had nothing to do with what she replied.
"Who are you?" she asked, the feline murder tone in her voice. She saw a shiver run through him, saw him suppress it. A man who had the skill in him to match her own abilities? Pity she needed him dead.
"Me?" asked the boy. "I'm just a page. A page that, unfortunately for you, has a pretty good idea—"
"You're not answering the question," she said quietly, making the boy's speech grind to a halt. "What is your name and why are you interested in helping me?"
The boy looked and sounded confident when he replied, but his skin told Ty the real story. He was frightened. Very, very frightened, and very wary, that was the truth. Good. Wary boys tended to use their brains as opposed to their balls, she had seen over the years.
"My name is Kehel of Matyr," he said slowly, watching her eyes apprehensively as if they'd tell him something. "I want to help you because, unlike most, I believe in justice. I have a pretty good idea of what you are, of who you are, and I know that you will be a very big help to the kingdom someday. Besides," at this point he looked at the floor and the piece of it that hung on to Ty's shoe, "You need a friend. So do I. we need people with sense among the pages, Ty. Even if they do defy authority."
Ty's brows snapped together almost audibly. They all seemed the good reasons for innocent, good-natured help. But—she knew better than to assume him innocent. Quoting herself, 'if behavior and speech don't match, a plan is in the hatch.' She needed proof. The panther growled within her. She knew the human was right, but trust wouldn't hurt now and then was its reminder. Ty rolled her eyes at her. Trust got people killed.
My sweet, you need to trust sometime, someone, the panther snarled. You cannot do everything alone. This boy—test him. If he tests true, trust him. You can't fool everyone for very long if you do it alone.
She drew up a hand slowly and took hold of a braid. "Mael," she said, thinking the spell that would allow her to see if he lied. Trustworthiness was very important to her. A very select group of people had her trust, though she had many's. "What are Mael's intentions? Does he know and want me out of here, or is friendship what he's after?"
The boy thought this over for a moment. "Well, I know he doesn't know. I'm pretty positive the only people who know are you and, naturally, me. And if the are others they obviously mean to keep it quiet. Mael is very traditional: he will be your sponsor and your aid, nothing more. You can't rely on him. He's too grounded on his own policies. If he knew, so would the king. He probably only wants to straighten out that he is your sponsor and his responsibility, and that you must answer to him. That should be all he wants."
White flashed before Ty's eyes with such brightness she couldn't stop a blink. It was all truth, to the best of his knowledge. Standing before her was, in all reality, a potential friend. Could that actually happen to her?
"Why bring me here, then?" she asked, removing her hand from her braid and slipping her knives back into their places.
"Listening spells," said Kehel. "Myles has had them placed everywhere. My brother has the gift, he figured out a way to purge this place of them. I couldn't—you couldn't—risk the king knowing of this through the spells."
Completely true, if not only completely rational. That was all she needed to know for now. Except—
"Are you a first year?" asked the boy suddenly. "Where are your rooms?"
That turned her blood to ice. The first question was simple and not risky to answer, but why did any man want to know where your rooms where?
Kehel realized the turn in her gaze. "Thing is," he explained quickly, "if you're a first-year page, like me, then your rooms are somewhere nearby mine. If they are, I can make sure no one barges in while you change, which happens often enough to be careful of. Normally pages don't see the reason to knock on doors, but if they barge in on you—"
Ty's shoulders dropped as she sighed to the ceiling. Of course. Boys between boys felt no need to give their mates enough privacy to knock on their doors when they wanted to come in. This, for her, was a potential danger. Straightening herself and looking directly at Kehel, she said, "First year, Left Wing, fourth door on the right side."
The boy seemed all but overwhelmed at this sign of trust. "Good. I'm Left Wing too, but I'm the second door on the left. You're about two doors away. If you need anything, there will be no problems, then."
She nodded. "Shall we proceed to the Mess?" Ty inquired politely. "There's a certain conservative piece of old-dust I need to deal with before we can sit and get breakfast, and if I put it off much longer the Weed wont forgive either of us—he has his special dislike reserved for me."
Kehel nodded and walked out after her. A few minutes passed before he halted. "Hang on," he said, taking hold of her shoulder. Her head turned enough to face him that he dropped the hand at once. "Sorry. Erm, why does the Weed not like you?"
Ty gave a little laugh and turned forward again, walking forward with a smile on her face. "Do you recall a certain voice last night that said 'so mote it not'?"
"Yeah," Kehel said, puzzled. "The Weed seemed furious, but couldn't rightly blame it on anyone because he couldn't prove—hang on. You said that?"
The passage was now wide enough for Ty to turn around, her eyebrows raised and mischievous smile playing with her lips, tugging at them slightly. Kehel's jaw dropped slightly as his eyes widened. "Mithros spear me, why?"
Ty chuckled slightly and walked forward, toward him. He looked both stunned and wary. "Two reasons." She turned about half a foot away from him and began walking back. "Because I pray to the Goddess and because I didn't like the angle of the Weed's seat."
She felt Kehel gape behind her. "You would risk Mithros's fury over the angle of a chair?" he said, stunned.
"Yes," she answered simply. "I would risk his fury over just about anything, including the guess of the size of a certain little creature in his groin."
Kehel laughed fit to burst, he couldn't help it. As he held the door open for her, receiving a raised eyebrow from Ty and they entered the Mess, he whispered in her ear, "I'm glad we have someone here without one."