CHAPTER 8: A New Reputation
That evening, Marinstha barged into Alanna's room to cry, "Trebond, get dressed! I just accepted an invitation to dine privately with the royal family tonight!"
Alanna shot out of bed, where she had been peacefully reading. "You what?"
"Hurry up! Your dress is wrinkled; you'll have to put on a new one..." Marinstha threw open Alanna's wardrobe doors and gasped in dismay. "Black? All you have is black?"
"I'm mourning, remember? Mourning people wear black."
"Oh, gods, curse fashion! Here, wear this one. It's fluttery, and that bit of gold cord is the only real color you have in this box. You get dressed and I'll send for a maid to put up your hair..."
A half an hour later, Marinstha was hurrying Alanna down a hallway, loading her with last-minute instructions. "Remember to be polite, no matter how cold they are to you, and that they rarely dine privately together and they're being extremely charitable to invite as regular a guest as you to eat with them."
"But you're a regular guest, aren't you?"
"Actually, I'm a good friend of Her Majesty's, so no, I'm not 'regular.' Now, here we are. Let me have one last look at you... Fine, or as fine as you'll ever be in black. Oh, and, watch Lianne."
"What? Watch Her Majesety? Why?"
"Because I'll use her as an example in a future lesson. Just watch her. Daughter Marinstha and Lady Alanna, please," she told the servant who stood outside the door they had arrived at.
Inside, five people sat around an ornate dining table, and Alanna was dismayed to recognize one of them. Gareth the Younger stood beside his year-younger, dark-haired, and sapphire-eyed cousin, Prince Jonathan, and both watched her with hard, hateful expressions. Next to them were their fathers, Duke Gareth the Elder of Naxen with his own rigid gaze, and King Roald, who, to Alanna's relief, managed to hide any cold feelings he had towards Trebond and smiled kindly at her. Queen Lianne also greeted her pleasantly.
Following Marinstha's orders, Alanna watched the Queen. As far as she could tell, though, there wasn't much to see. Lianne wore a beautiful light blue and silver brocade dress over a stark white chemise, elegantly accenting her pale skin and intricately-braided black hair. Her voice was light and cheerful, despite frequent interruptions by slight coughs. Alanna was not surprised: Lianne was notorious for her bad health, as she managed to catch every little Court cold and had considerably weakened over the years.
Everything went smoothly until the fourth and last course. Duke Gareth and King Roald had moved on to some odd conversation about the Yamani Islands and Daughter Marinstha had engaged Queen Lianne in a friendly chat on hair-care, leaving Alanna to Jonathan and Gareth.
"So, Lady Alanna, have you been enjoying your stay at Court so far?" the Prince tried for polite conversation.
"Yes, it's been delightful; thank you, Your Highness."
Jonathan nodded, wondering how to continue such a bland conversation. "Excellent. So, um... How are your studies going?"
Alanna shrugged. "Well enough, Your Highness. You know, they're just the usual—math, philosophy. Nothing extremely fascinating. But how about your martial arts classes? How are they?"
Jonathan exchanged glances with his cousin and shrugged. "Each class is an hour. We start off with exercises, and then the first-years have staffing while second-years have fencing—"
"Thom never got that far. He didn't even get into the smithy. His teachers were never satisfied with his staffing," Gareth commented nastily.
Alanna's hand jumped to her head in shock. "That stupid brother of mine!"
"Well, hey, he wasn't that bad...," Gareth consoled awkwardly.
"Did he ever touch a sword—even once?" she asked, willing them to answer her positively.
Both boys grimaced. "Not once," Jonathan said. "But they tried to get him to study it while he was working with the staff. He had to learn the basic moves by name, and watch how they were done. He had to learn the basic defense strokes, and which one could be used with which attack."
"And?" Alanna asked hopefully.
"Like I said before: pathetic," Gareth described heartlessly. "My father asks for the answer to a head cut; Thom says 'a swing.'"
"Oh Goddess!" Alanna gasped. "That's an offensive move! And he was just reciting it? Mithros! Even I would say the quinte!" Alanna cried.
The two boys stared at her.
"You know fencing?"
Alanna jumped, not having realized the adults had stopped talking and were also gaping at her. Only Marinstha did not look stunned. Quite contrarily, she was struggling to hide a smile. "Duke Gareth asked you a question, Trebond," she hinted wickedly.
Alanna's face tinged pick, and she shrugged a shoulder. "Well, bits and pieces, you know, Your Grace. Coram taught Thom and me a little when we were younger—"
"Oh." Duke Gareth did not seem too impressed anymore. "So you know as much as Thom."
Alanna's pride took over and she stuck her chin defiantly into the air. "Hardly. Thom has never been able to do that kind of stuff. He's always liked his Gift."
Duke Gareth leaned back in his chair. "Do you like to fence, Lady Alanna?"
Alanna forgot her audience and allowed her eyes to glow. "I love it."
Marinstha nodded and added dryly, "Yes, she does love it. She loves it so much that she has to practice every single morning—in her room, no less, where she wakes me up!"
"I don't see why you shouldn't use the practice courts," King Roald pointed out. "I'm sure no one would mind. Not many nobles use them so early in the morning."
"Not many nobles are even up so early in the morning," Duke Gareth remarked critically.
"There. Problem solved. You can run off your annoyingly large surplus of energy tomorrow morning without waking me up," Marinstha told her cheerfully.
Duke Gareth glanced from the Daughter to Alanna, contemplating something. Finally, he asked slowly, "What do you think of the Gift, Lady Alanna?"
Alanna cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean, Your Grace? The Gift is the Gift—what am I supposed to think about it?"
"Do you believe it is more or less important than learning to fight?"
Roald, Lianne, Jonathan, and Gareth the Younger all leaned in quickly to hear Alanna's answer.
Confused at their intentness to her response, she glanced at Marinstha, who, to her annoyance, just raised an eyebrow. Alanna frowned, thinking. Time was she would have shuddered and assured them that any warrior who used the Gift was a disgusting cheat. Only now did she realize how much Daughter Marinstha had affected her beliefs. "I think they're equal, Your Grace. If you have the Gift, you should learn to use it, obviously. It would be terrible to be stuck in a war against mages and not know how to use a power that would help defeat them. Having an advantage over your enemy is not a sin. But if you're training to be a knight, just the Gift will not help you get through the Ordeal of Knighthood. You must be strong, and physically fighting would make you strong. And there will always be someone more powerful in the Gift than you, so you must be able to beat them without the Gift. And in a duel, the Gift is not allowed. You must be able to fight for that, too." She blinked, and then glanced around at them. They were all staring at her.
---
The next morning, Alanna took advantage of not having convent classes. Using the outside courtyards where the air was nice and cool, she stretched and then practiced with her weighted sword for two hours. Not one person approached her, to her delight. She then spent three hours riding Moonlight and learning that if either her horse or she needed training, it was she. Moonlight was a dream come true, obeying her every command and taking each jump as gracefully as a cat. They only stopped at eleven-thirty to get ready for lunch.
Since the pages trained outside in the afternoon, she headed to the indoor courts to practice archery after lunch. One and a half hours passed before she noticed her audience.
He was a sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy, towering over her by a good eight inches. He looked to be fifteen or so, and Alanna knew by his frosty smirk that he meant trouble.
"Lady Trebond, is it not?" he drawled, sauntering towards her. Crooked teeth made him spit his S's.
"It is." She nodded. "May I help you?"
He was only a couple of feet from her now. "Yeah, you can help me. You can rot in the Realm of the Dead for all eternity."
Confusion at his ill words kept her from preparing for the fist that slammed into her stomach. Alanna gasped and stumbled back, clutching her belly. She glanced up at the boy just in time to see his fist fly towards her again. She lunged to the side, just missing the blow. He lurched forward with the force of his unfinished punch, giving her time to regain balance.
"Who are you?" she cried, and then bit her tongue. Now he knew she was scared.
"I'm a noble, unlike you, for one. I don't roll in the dust like a damn animal; I fight like a chivalrous man!"
He flung another punch at her, this one wild with anger. Disoriented by the unexpectedness of what was happening, her reflexes shut down until the last possible minute, only just allowing her to block his hand and slam her own into his stomach. Her arm went numb as it connected with hard muscle.
"I don't use magic to make me look good." He shoved her; she fell. He kicked her; she gasped. "I'm honorable, bitch." He yanked her up by her shirt and bloodied her nose.
She did the only thing she could, terrified at how her body ignored any and all orders to defend her, and slapped him. He swore and dropped her as his eye began to swell. Then, suddenly, she heard footsteps running away. Her surroundings spun incontrollably. She could hardly boost herself up onto her knees, let alone stand. When a shadow passed over her, she braced herself for another blow.
Something cool touched her cheek. She flinched away. She was on fire; all she felt was pain.
"Alanna, don't be afraid. Ralon's gone. Come on—I'll take you to a healer. I'll tell my father what happened—Ralon will be forced to leave. Don't be afraid. Come now, Alanna."
Alanna's face jerked towards the person who was talking to her. She forced her gaze to focus, even if it did make her head pound harder than ever. Gareth the Younger knelt next to her, his face the gentlest she had ever seen it.
"No!"
He winced when he saw her face. "You look terrible. What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I didn't get into a fight. I fell. You don't have to tell your father anything."
Gareth's jaw dropped. "You fell?" he squeaked. "Alanna, don't be stupid. I was right there; I saw him whip you."
"Nobody whipped me. I fell." Then she frowned. "Did you say 'Ralon'? Ralon of Malven?"
"Yes, Ralon of Malven. He always beat up Thom. Thom never fell. Everyone will believe you if you say he hit you—"
"But that would be lying. He didn't hit me. I fell."
Gary scrubbed his face with both hands and groaned. "Fine. You fell. Will you go see a healer, now? You look like crap."
"No. That would be humiliating."
"You Trebonds and humiliation!" he bellowed, jumping to his feet. "You're already humiliated! Thom's been here, remember? Everyone expects you to go to a healer!"
"Well, everyone's wrong. I'm Alanna, and I don't like to be humiliated."
He inhaled deeply, and then let his breath out slowly. "Fine. You're Alanna, and you don't like to be humiliated. Fine. Will you at least let me walk you back to your room?"
"Do you promise not to tell anyone about this?"
"I promise no such thing."
Alanna sighed. "At least not your superiors, then."
Gareth seemed to struggle with himself, and then nodded. "I promise not to tell my superiors. Now let me help you up."
---
"We're leaving tomorrow at dawn," Marinstha updated her student after a dinner that Alanna had skipped. "Myles is riding with us to Olau, where we'll stay for a day and two nights. Myles doesn't like carriages and I don't either, for that matter, so we'll be taking horses. You will be riding sidesaddle in Myles' presence, remember. Now, unless you want to tell me who hit you?"
"Nobody hit me," Alanna repeated wearily. "I fell."
Marinstha was not surprised. "Then I'm off to bed. Good night." She left, shutting the door adjoining their rooms behind her.
Alanna rubbed her face weakly, thankful Marinstha did not hound her for the name of her enemy. Quite the contrary, the Daughter had been rather good about it and taught her how to stench the blood flow, reduce the swelling, and heal the bruises covering her torso. The next morning, there would be little more than green marks to show she had ever suffered at all.
She flopped into bed, having bathed and dressed for the night right after Gareth dropped her off.
Gareth. Alanna linked her fingers behind her head and stared up into the surrounding darkness, contemplating the Duke's son. She had now seen him three times, and each time he had expressed an extreme disliking—no, a hatred—for Thom and had extended that feeling towards her for their first two meetings. Today, however, he had been so nice—kind, almost. He shouldn't have paid any attention to her at all, because she was Thom's sister, and that he had gone out of his way to help her could mean only one thing: he did not see her as Thom's sister anymore.
So first Raoul, then Myles, and now Gareth. Alanna fell asleep content that night.