Chapter Two: Winter, 436

There is your book, just as you laid it down,
Face to the table,—I cannot believe
That you are gone!—Just then it seemed to me
You must be here.
"Interim", Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Conté Duke was very self-possessed as he stood by the pond where they'd lost the prince's squire. Cythera stood next to Raoul of Goldenlake bundled in a long fur cloak, but she still felt the chill. It had, she couldn't help feeling, almost nothing to do with the weather.

How disturbing, the way they had all congregated to see Alan's body retrieved. Even the king and queen were there, faces pinched against the cold and their eyes riveted to their son's face. Lianne was clutching her husband's arm like she was a drowning woman and he the only spar in the whole ocean. Cythera bit her lip and looked to Duke Gareth. He stood by his sister with his son beside him. The Contés all had some support, even Roger – Delia stood behind his left shoulder in a stark black gown.

Cythera found that (almost) funny. It was so typically Delia.

Roger was frowning, his eyes riveted to the frozen surface of the pond, his fists clenching and unclenching. When Cythera saw a dark shape moving under the water and heard the ice start to crack, she shut her eyes as tightly as she could.

Raoul, next to her, did not, and she felt the air leave him as much as – more than – she heard it. He'd been there too, she remembered. Well, of course he had been. And he'd known Alan much better than she had. If –

If he could stand seeing his friend's frozen body, then, then surely she could too?

But she didn't get to find out, because they'd already covered Alan's corpse with a sheet and Duke Baird had two servants carrying it off. Roger had something hot to drink and Delia was watching him with a proprietary eye.

She must be a wretched mistress, Cythera thought.

Raoul turned to her, offering his arm. "Shall we go in?" he said quietly. Cythera nodded and took his arm. It was a very good idea.

The most startling discovery wasn't that it was actually Alan of Trebond under the sheet – and Baird knew there was a part of him that had denied Trebond's death until he saw the body. Rather, it was that it wasn't. Or that it was. It was...Baird frowned. It was a girl. It couldn't be Alan.

He looked up at his assistant. "Send for the king," he said quietly. "Under no circumstances is the queen to accompany him here."

His assistant nodded and scurried out.

It was a very great pity; Baird had liked the boy – or rather, the girl. It seemed things would be getting even more complicated.

Roald listened to Baird with a quickly darkening face. Roald was not, under normal circumstances, a particularly frightening person, and even now it was somewhat comical to see him so angry. But only somewhat.

"I want to see my son, Thom of Trebond and his manservant," said the King. "And Duke Gareth."

Baird was feeling rather sorry for his assistant, but he sent him out again anyway.

Jon arrived first, followed by Gareth. Baird could see that the newfound pallor of his son's skin softened Roald a little. He could see that Jon saw it too, and that the boy was bright enough to keep his mouth shut until the King – for Roald was the King at this moment – spoke.

Doubtless Jon already knew what this conversation would be about.

Baird could see that Alan's – er…or not? – brother knew what the conversation would be about from the look on his face when he came into the room. His manservant clearly did as well. Baird flicked his eyes to Roald, and saw that this obvious knowledge of what was coming was hardening him towards them.

"I wonder if you were aware," Roald began, "that your squire was in fact a woman?"

"What?" snapped Duke Gareth.

Jonathan closed his eyes. "I was," he admitted.

Roald's lips thinned. He turned toward Thom of Trebond. "What was her name, then?"

"Alanna of Trebond," said Thom. "She…you don't know how badly she wanted to be a knight, You Majesty. You don't."

It was the wrong thing to say. "That does not change the fact that it was illegal for her to enter training as a knight. Which she did. As someone else."

"Don't you think it's time we made it possible for women to become knights again, father?" said Jon. "Alanna was one of our best. Surely - "

"We will discuss that later," said the King. "But now I want Lord Thom of Trebond to explain to us all what his sister did and why he let her. And then I want you to explain why you helped her do it, Jonathan."

"Well," said Thom. And then he told them what happened one day a little more than six years ago.

When he finished, Roald's anger had abated a little and some of it had transferred to Lord Alan, so Jonathan's task was not as hard as it might have been. The King turned to Jonathan then, and Baird saw the young man's chest rise as he prepared to speak.

"It's just that she was so good, father," said Jon.

Duke Gareth's expression softened, but Baird knew he had never really liked Lord Alan, and was apt to be fond of anyone who caused him some inconvenience. And Alanna of Trebond had, on a truly amazing level. "He's right, Your Majesty," Gareth said. "H – she was very good. And wanted so badly to be a knight."

"She saved my life more than once," murmured Jon.

Roald frowned. "I know," he said quietly. "Very well. My Lord Trebond, your sister's deceit – and yours as well – was hardly a shining moment in your lives. But, for the many services she rendered our family and our realm, we have decided to proceed with the burial plans. It is our hope that she will be remembered for a life cut tragically short, rather than many of her…other qualities."

Thom and the others bowed, looking especially relieved. The King swept out. (It always surprised Jonathan that his father could do that. He never seemed like the kind of man able to pull if off.)

Duke Gareth gave Thom an ironic look. "He means don't do anything stupid for a while. I only mention it because I knew both your father and your, ah, sister, and have more than enough experience with young men." Thom's lips thinned ever so slightly, but he held his tongue.

"Thank you for not…" Jon shrugged. "Thank you, uncle."

"Of course, Jon," said Gareth, moving towards the door. "It gets better, eventually." He let the door swing shut behind him.

"Well," said Thom. Jon flinched – Thom looked so much like Alanna sometimes it hurt.

"I really do need to finish this," Baird interrupted. "And I don't think it's something either of you would particularly like to see."

The boys blinked and paled a little. "Of course," said Jon. "We'll be going then." And then they practically ran out of the room. It would have been funny under a different situation. As things stood, it wasn't funny at all.

Of course, Roald loved his son too much to deny him his friend's funeral, and Alanna of Trebond was formally mourned three weeks after her death in the palace's temple to the Black God. George stood well to the back behind a pillar, the hood of his cloak pulled up. He watched the ceremonies with interest for all that he was so close to Alanna. George had witnessed deaths before, but the full funeral rites only once. They were too expensive for a thief – even when he was the King of Thieves – to purchase at ever death. And anyway, lately only people George didn't like had been dying.

The priests – or, possibly, the priestesses – chanted their prayers at an eerie pitch. The words were too old for anyone not ordained to fully comprehend them, and for all their weird tonality they offered not a little comfort. (Priests and knights, thought George, maddest people in the world.)

There was a larger crowd than George had expected. Jon, Gary and Raoul were clustered together with Gary and Raoul's squires and Myles. But the King and Queen were there – Roald failing to look stoic and Lianne looking ill – beside Duke Gareth. Roger of Conte looked smooth as ever, and it was that more than anything which separated him from his ravaged family. Alexander of Tirragen was there as well, beside a pretty blonde.

And then, of course there was Thom.

It was beyond difficult to look at Jon, who was much paler than genetics had originally determined and who had a constant stream of tears pouring down his face. But somehow Thom's dry-eyed, twisted expression was worse and George felt his own back begin to ache looking at Thom's rigid posture.

He did not envy the first person to see Thom after this was over.

Alex held Roger's note between his fingers as he walked through the halls to Roger's rooms. Come and see me, it said. It was cheap paper and cheap ink, Roger always used cheap ink and paper. Alex hadn't figured out quite why because it seem a habit at odds with Roger's vanity. But he didn't care enough to puzzle over it now, when he had more pressing things (and more productive things) to puzzle out.

Like what Roger wanted to see him for. Alex was almost certain it had something to do with Alanna's brother, as unpleasant as the thought was. He didn't knock on the door, he hardly ever knocked now, and Roger's voice pulled him into a parlor. It was a parlor Alex knew well. He suspected Roger liked it because it had a discreet door to his bedroom.

"Hello," said Alex.

Roger smiled. "Sit down, Alex. I want to talk to you about some things."

"Oh?" said Alex, a little stiffly. But he sat down.

"Yes," Roger said softly. "And I want to apologize for killing your friend and not telling you beforehand."

"I should have suspected something," Alex said calmly, "when you didn't see me for a week."

"It was necessary," Roger murmured.

"I know," said Alex. "Because you can't ever tell. What did you want to talk about.?"

"Their majesties are going to try and distract my cousin with something – I suspect marriage. So if you find he is receiving expensive presents, like princesses, that's why."

"All right," said Alex. "What else?"

"I really am sorry," Roger said. "I need you to distract her brother."

"Whose brother?" asked Alex innocently.

"Don't be dull, Alex," said Roger. "I know you know exactly whose brother I am talking about."

Oh, Mithros, Alex thought. This is the last thing I need. "I suppose Delia is too busy."

"Delia is entirely wrong for this sort of thing," said Roger dryly.

"I see," Alex said quietly. "Won't he be returning to the City of the Gods soon?"

"He can't leave court at Midwinter," said Roger. "And anyway, I want you to give him a reason to return when he finishes – or tires of – his studies."

Alex didn't care if he was being transparent anymore. "Is that all?"

Roger smiled fondly at him, and stood up to open that discreet door. "Did you think it would be?"

Roger – for better or worse – had been right, and Thom was completely trapped at court. Alex half-suspected that Jon had some bizarre need for Thom to be there, but he had only his suspicions.

The recent revelation about the Trebond family's private lives did not stop the unmarried women from throwing themselves in his way. It could hardly be said that their mothers were discouraging them; Trebond blood was still some of the bluest in the country. Alex wished Thom would be a little more polite in his rejections. Only a little – gossip grew like dandelions in the spring during the Midwinter Court with nothing else for the nobles to divert themselves with. It was simply a matter of time before they tired of the girl-in-the-city or girl-at-home stories, and whispered something more dangerous.

Thom made him uncomfortable. Alex did not like sleeping with people he was lying to, he knew too closely what it felt like. But he did anyway, because of misplaced guilt or because he wasn't brave enough to disobey Roger. Possibly both.

"Delia of Eldorne is the most annoying woman on the face of the earth," Thom declared, slamming the door.

"I know," Alex said. "She's not very bright."

"Will she catch on eventually?" asked Thom, sinking into a chair.

"I can almost guarantee she will," Alex said.

That was how it went with them.

Disclaimer: "Interim" is, I think, still the property of Edna St. Vincent Millay's estate.

A big thank you to Rosie, who owns my soul several times over by now.