CHAPTER 7: Corus

Two weeks later, Alanna and Jarinth found themselves in their palace guestrooms. After travelling in the cramped carriage, Alanna pulled out her breeches—which, with her practice blade, she had managed to shove in her trunk in the two seconds the maids had their backs turned—to stretch her poor, stiff body. Just then, however, Jarinth entered through the door adjoining their chambers to announce that they were going to visit an old friend of hers. Sighing, Alanna replaced her clothes and followed the Daughter into the hallway.

The door they stopped at minutes later opened to reveal a short, corpulent man who, on seeing Marinstha, grinned widely. "Jarinth! How long has it been since I last saw you?"

Marinstha laughed and embraced the man. "Whenever it was, you didn't have grey streaks accenting the brown in that shaggy mane of yours or a beard, and you ironed your tunic."

He laughed and waved them inside. "Come in, come in, come—and this must be the lady of Trebond." The cheeriness in his voice dimmed greatly when he spotted Alanna.

Alanna's stomach plummeted. The jolly old man only had to glance at someone who doubtlessly reminded him of Thom and he went as cold as ice. If everyone reacted like this, the next couple days would be infernal.

"Yes, Alanna of Trebond, one of my students. Trebond, Myles of Olau, an old friend of mine."

She curtsied. "Pleased to meet you, my lord." Straightening, she was surprised to find him looking at her strangely—almost confused.

"You're not at all like your brother. He could never manage such gracious manners," he murmured, his face unreadable, and then, suddenly, laughed. "Please, I'm just Myles."

Alanna smiled. She liked this man. "Myles, then."

As the morning wore on, Alanna constantly stunned Myles with her odd range of interests and lively attitude, and Marinstha laughed each time he said so. At the same time, Marinstha surprised Alanna with her social character. As normal as laughing and talking with her had become, seeing her do the same with other people was unexpected.

After lunch, they rode down to the city for Alanna to gape at its wonders. Everything from silk scarves to Raven Armory was sold there, and it was all overpriced. Around six o'clock, Myles took them to dinner. They had just travelled down a narrow avenue on the way back when Alanna spotted the stable—or, more appropriately, the horse in the stable.

"Oh Goddess," she gasped, taking in the white tail and mane and the powerful muscles that rippled under a gold coat. She was divine.

Marinstha smiled grimly. "Thirty gold nobles at least, Trebond, plus boarding and feed. And your father will refuse to buy her anyway. She's a warrior's pet—look at her muscles!"

"I have thirty gold nobles," Alanna murmured without taking her eyes off the horse.

"And boarding and feed?"

"I'll talk to Father—he's here for Thom's funeral."

"She's fallen in love with a horse," Marinstha told Myles exasperatedly. "Of all things. Of all times. And what if it's not for sale?"

"Oh, it's for sale. Do you see the sign on the stall door? It says that it's for sale," Myles explained.

"But then she'd have to find the horse's owner."

"Oh, that's not a problem. There's a hostler that works at the palace—Stefan. He knows every horse and its owner for miles around. Ask him and he'll tell you in a minute flat."

"Myles, you're supposed to be talking her out of this idea. Trebond, you go ahead and talk to your father if you want, but don't buy the horse beforehand."

---

Heavy grey-black clouds shrouded the sky for the funeral the next morning. The wind howled and raked at Alanna's black dress like a ravaging pack of wolves. A small drizzle began in the middle of the ceremony. For the first time in her life, Alanna did not notice the cold. When everyone else had gone inside, she stayed out and gazed long and hard at the grave, thinking of nothing.

Then, later that day, she gulped outside her father's door in the guest wing. Even after rehearsing her request, she still trembled with nerves. She licked her lips, knocked, and then entered when a dreary voice called for her to do so. Unsurprisingly, her father sat at a desk to her right, working. When he turned to look at her, she was shocked to find his eyes bloodshot and cheeks sunken. His face was smothered in wrinkles and his hair streaked with grey. To her surprise, he smiled tiredly. "Alanna. I saw you outside. I had hoped you would come to see me."

Alanna bit her tongue. Somehow she really hated him. She curtsied politely. "Father, I wanted to ask a favor."

"I've heard what the Daughters think of you at the convent. I'm willing to reward you. What do you want?"

Alanna blinked. He had just named one of her reasons already. If he was going to be this lenient with her, she might as well just skip to the point. "Father, I'd like a horse."

"A horse?" He stroked his shaggy beard. "How old are you now? Twelve? Yes... a horse would be nice." He nodded. "Yes, good idea. I'll have money sent to you tonight and more to the convent with my next tuition payment. Is that all?"

Alanna gaped at him. Was that it? She forced a smile onto her awestruck face. "Yes, Father, thank you." She closed the door silently, her heart thumping. She was going to get her horse!

The next day, after getting directions to the stable where Stefan the hostler worked, she hurried outside to meet him.

"Hey—hey, Stefan?" she called into the stable. It was big and dark, with only floundering torches for light.

"Aye?" A shadow inched out of a nearby stall: a hostler, staring at the ground and fiddling with his filthy shirt.

She swallowed. "Myles told me you could tell me the owner of a horse. She—she's golden, with a white mane and tail."

His teeth bared in a smile. "Lady of honor, yer girl is, Lady Trebond." He sighed. "Th' guy ye wan' goes by th' name o' George Cooper. Ye'll find 'im at th' Dancin' Dove."

---

Jarinth helped Alanna get directions to the Dancing Dove, and then accompanied her there. Seemingly a century later, down in the city, Alanna found herself standing outside a rather disheveled inn with "Dancing Dove" faintly painted above the door. People were packed inside, bellowing to each other as they rolled dice, played cards, and tossed knives. Alanna choked on the thick stench of liquor and thin cloud of smoke blurring the air.

"Oh, gods, Alanna, you had to pick a den of thieves," Jarinth grumbled. She grabbed a random man near her. "Excuse me," she called over the din. "I'm looking for George Cooper!"

The grubby man shrieked with laughter. "'Is Majesty!" Scholar cried. "Well, ye dun say! Foller me, then!" He dove into the crowd, expecting them to follow.

"'Majesty'? Why do they call him 'maj—" Alanna cut herself off as they reached a large table just in front of an empty fireplace, where everyone had stopped to stare at her.

"Oh, look, it's th' goddess Trebond!" a nearby chesty woman sneered, and her neighbors roared in response. Alanna could only stare in shock.

"Lady Trebond," a smooth, refined voice suddenly broke in. The group silenced immediately to look at the man at the head of the table. He had brown hair and hazel eyes and looked no more than twenty years old, though he held himself like royalty. "They call me 'majesty' because I am their majesty—I am the King of the Thieves, the Rogue. I lead those who bypass the law. What can I do for you?" He leaned forward, his relentless eyes boring into hers. "I assume it's me you came to see."

If this was George Cooper, Alanna dearly wished it wasn't. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't this cold, strong man that spoke to her now. Clenching her teeth, she dipped into a smooth curtsy. "Your Majesty."

Her spectators roared with laughter. Alanna bit her tongue. She was getting rather sick of these people. Why did they have to be there at all?

An amused smile and slight twinkle in his eyes replaced the cool look on George's face. He bobbed his head politely in return. "Lady Trebond."

"I hold interest in a horse that I was informed you have on the market."

He nodded and stood up. "Follow me." He led them outside and directly to the stables, where Alanna could hardly remember her manners and keep from dashing past him to the mount. "This would be the lady you were talking about, wouldn't it be?" he asked, patting the horse's neck. "You're not going to get her cheap, you know."

Alanna grinned. "So I've been told."

"Why don't you have a look at her before you make any last decisions, Trebond," Marinstha murmured strongly, eyeing George with distrust.

George raised his eyebrows at her. "Do you seriously think I'd sell a faulty horse, my lady?"

"You're the King of the Thieves. I'm not supposed to know what to think, remember?"

He grinned, and swung the stall door open. "Go on."

Alanna approached and studied the horse as she had been taught at the convent, shivering with excitement as she noticed each new, magnificent detail about her. When she had inspected her from nose to tail, she stood up and turned to George. "How much is she?"

"Wait! I want to see papers," Marinstha demanded.

George shook his head with a wry smile. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the form, and handed it to her. "I am in no way trying to cheat you," he told her kindly.

"Hmph." She frowned down at the sheet, pursed her lips, and handed it back to him.

He shrugged and returned to Alanna. "Thirty gold nobles and she's yours. Thirty-two with tack, though it's not sidesaddle."

Alanna agreed immediately and offered him her fist, as Kevin had taught her. George looked surprised, and then shook his head in amusement. He chucked her.

After paying, Alanna ran her hand lovingly over her horse's neck. "Moonlight," she whispered. "I'll call her Moonlight."

---

Alanna sat in the library an hour later, slaving over an impossible history paper, when, suddenly, someone gasped, "Alanna?"

She glanced up, startled, to find a giant of a fifteen-year-old with brown hair tightly curled to his head and coal-black eyes staring at her. She did not recognize him at all. "Yes?"

"You don't know me? Rowanna talks of you day in and day out!"

Alanna's jaw dropped. "Not… Goldenlake? Raoul of Goldenlake?"

He grinned. "That's right. How are you?"

"Hey, who's the—" A chestnut-haired boy appeared at Raoul's side, glimpsed Alanna, and pursed his lips. "Trebond."

She stood and curtsied, using the time her face was bowed to make sure her expression wasn't as frosty as his. Was everyone going to badmouth her for being Thom's sister? "My lord."

"Alanna, this is Gareth the Younger of Naxen. Gary, this is Alanna—she's Rowanna's friend," Raoul introduced cheerily, ignoring his friend's hostile glower.

"I know who she is," Gareth snapped and, rounding on Alanna, spat, "Hardly surprising, finding you in the library, just like Thom. I'm shocked that you're not in the Gift-section. You—"

Raoul clapped a hand over Gareth's mouth. "That's enough." He looked up at Alanna, whose jaw was clenched and eyes were flaming. "Sorry. We're a very hard-hearted bunch over here. Thom—gods ease his passing—was not very popular, and, no offense meant but... you kind of resemble him."

Alanna recognized one of the few apologies she would receive for everyone's rigidness about Thom, and forced herself to calm down. Losing her temper now would only mean more humiliation. She smiled, however thinly. "I apologize for my brother's lack of tact. Had I known he was being so antagonistic, I would have done my best to correct him. As it was, I didn't, and it's too late now. I can only offer my most profound apologies, which I do with all of my heart."

Gareth gaped at her for a moment, and then resumed his dark glare. "If you'll excuse us, we must be going. We have… a class."

"No, we don't—" Raoul began, but then yelped as Gareth elbowed him in the ribs and dragged him away. "Nice meeting you, Trebond."

"See you later, Alanna!" Raoul called, tugging his friend off him.

The second they were out of sight, Alanna snapped her book shut and tore out of the library to Jarinth's empty room, slamming the door with a scream. She marched irately over to her teacher's herb box and stole a fingerful of vervain. How dare Thom leave her in this mess, leave her stranded, all alone and hated. She was his sister—his twin, for Mithros' sake! "You're not getting away that easily," she snapped to the air, barging into her own room and up to the fire that a maid had lit it just a half an hour ago to help counter September's chilliness. She tossed the leaves into the flames. She would scry for him. He thought he was so sneaky, getting away like this, but she wouldn't allow it. He would come back and help her cope with this Chaos of Court.

"Father Universe and Mother Flame," she snarled. The fire tinged purple. She shivered as a magical aura washed over her. "Great Mother Goddess and Mithros—"

The flames went violet. Biting her tongue, she shoved her hands into the blaze. Alien power rushed agonizingly through her arms, but she maintained the prayer, searching for Thom.

Something began to blur in the fire, though it was not the fire itself. It was a picture, traveling so fast she couldn't make anything out but streaks of colors. It went faster and faster—she couldn't see anything—it was rushing past—

It stopped. Alanna lurched dizzily, and frowned at the picture that had frozen in the flames. She did not recognize it at all. It was a city—that much she was sure of—but it was unlike any she had ever seen. It was carved from black stone and gleamed in the hot rays of an invisible sun.

"Thom?" she whispered. He had to be hiding, since she couldn't see him.

But, the moment the word left her lips, the picture vanished and the blurring lines reappeared. They lasted for just seconds, and then slowly dissolved, leaving no more than purple flames. With a miserable shriek, Alanna yanked her hands back, and yellow immediately replaced the purple in the fire.

She sat back, sobbing. She hadn't found Thom. Thom wasn't there. Thom was dead.