CHAPTER 15: Rowanna of Disart
The warm summer passed too quickly. Duke Gareth, surprised to see "a Trebond do something right for once," had laughed aloud as she correctly executed a new move and had eagerly invited her back for another lesson the next day. Afterwards, when Alex organized a match between her and Geoffrey of Meron, the best swordsman of the pages, she sent his blade flying and, in turn, befriended him and his squire friends, Douglass of Veldine and Sacherell of Wellam.
Meetings with Eleni and George took place once or twice a week, usually at Eleni's house and always guarded by listening-shield spells, which Alanna learned to create herself. During these rendezvous, Alanna learned the going-ons of the palace, including how the Queen's sudden illness had suddenly vanished again, simply leaving her the same, weak woman she had been before. Whenever someone asked just what she and Jarinth did for so long in town, though, she just replied they were seeing friends, which wasn't too far from the truth at all.
Duke Roger still made her skin crawl. Every night as she lay in bed, she told herself that the next day she would be charmed by the handsome duke, but every day another sighting of him brought a new wave of—what was it? Fear? Awe? Dislike? Hate? She didn't know. All she knew was that every time they were in the same room together, she had to set aside a part of her mind to concentrate fully on staying calm. He made her jittery, and it was for no reason at all.
---
One October morning found Alanna in her room, wrestling with a new spell Jarinth had taught her, when a servant arrived to announance that Rowanna of Disart had just arrived. Alanna burst out into the courtyard a minute later. Just yards away, with her back turned as she spoke to a hostler, stood her old best friend.
"Rowa!" she shrieked joyfully. Rowanna spun around just as Alanna threw herself into her arms. They both yelped and laughed, holding each other for long minutes. Alanna pulled away to see Rowanna's face, and gasped. Too-sophisticated face paint decorated her soft skin, and those usually laughing eyes had lost their shine.
"Alanna, we're already sending out invitations for the wedding," Rowanna whispered painfully.
Alanna stiffened as she remembered. Of course Rowanna looked like a grown woman: she was grown. In just a few months, she would be married.
Married to Alanna's worst nightmare, Ralon of Malven.
"I guess I should wish you congratulations," she remarked dejectedly.
"I'd rather you didn't. I don't really want to think about how I'm supposed to be happy—"
"Lady Disart," a deep, sure, and painfully familiar voice interrupted her stonily.
Both girls jumped in surprise and glanced at the speaker, a tall, sandy-haired boy whose grand smile revealed disgustingly crooked teeth. Alanna inwardly groaned. Ralon of Malven, again.
Rowanna, however, curtsied graciously, offering Ralon her hand as a small, pleased smile touched her mouth. "My lord of Malven, what a pleasant surprise."
"I was only too willing to pull some strings to meet such a special lady. I wanted to make your arrival as comfortable as possible," he murmured smoothly, kissing her fingers. Then his eyes flicked to Alanna, and his face hardened. "But there is one rule I must immediately make clear, for your safety just as much as for your comfort." He pointed to Alanna. "She is not to have any connection with you."
As Rowanna gasped in protest and dismay, Alanna's eyes flashed with anger, and she snapped, "You can't do that!"
"It is my right just as it is my duty," he replied coolly, his voice contorted with hatred. "You Trebonds are dangerous to the world, and I will not have my lady seen within ten feet of you. Now, Lady Rowanna," he growled, trying to force the anger from his voice as he glared daggers at Alanna. He only succeeded in sounding stiff. "How would you like a tour of the palace?"
Alanna could do little more than stare, aghast and somehow lost, as her best friend and worst enemy walked away from her, arm in arm.
---
That afternoon, Alanna and Jarinth had another rendezvous with Eleni and George.
No sooner had Alanna started pouring tea than Jarinth announced glumly, "The blood spreads." She ignored Eleni's gasp and continued wearily, "An old spell with too little blood to notice crumbled this morning. The blood was released and floated around and got on everything. Now almost half of the spells we have already cleaned or created anew are bloody again."
Shocked silence stretched between them for mere seconds before Eleni suddenly slammed her hand on her table. "That's it. I'm sick of these morbid conversations. There's nothing we can do about them. Jarinth, you and I are going to stay here and do something that requires no thinking. George, you take Alanna and go do something fun, for once. We'll talk about this Chaos later."
"Yes, Mother," George replied amiably, stood, hugged Eleni, and then opened the door for Alanna. Together, they strolled outside, where he suggested, "What do you say to a drink at the Dove? It'd be on me, of course."
Knowing all too well what "the Dove" was, Alanna could not suppress a harsh bark of laughter. "George, don't play with me. I couldn't take a step into that place again. Your people hate me. I'd be little more than raw meat in seconds."
He shook his head firmly. "Not when you're with me. They wouldn't lay a finger on a friend of mine. No one will be there this time of day anyway."
"They were there the last time I went—"
"That's because they knew you were coming. The Dove was packed just because they wanted to see the young Trebond."
"No," she growled coolly, the memory making her irritable. "They wanted to see the young Trebond's twin."
"Wallowing in self-pity is not going to get you anywhere," George informed her easily.
"I'm not wallowing in self-pity!" she snapped, reddening. "I'm just—correcting you!"
"Alright, then, I stand corrected. Let's go drink now—I'm thirsty."
George led her to the old inn and held the door open so she could enter first. She felt him squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. Immediately, she felt better. Nothing could happen to her with George at her back. Standing straighter, she squared her shoulders and shoved her chin in the air before stepping further into the pub.
The room was nothing like she remembered. Except for the two maids and bartender chatting at the bar and three boulders of men lumped in the room's darkest corners, the place was empty. It seemed much more spacious, now, and almost cleaner and more orderly. On the other hand, it was still just as dim with only a few candles and the small, sparse windows providing any light.
George ordered ale for himself and lemonade for her, and they sat at the table in front of the fireplace. Soon the barmaids, Nellie and Gretta, and the bartender, Solom, joined the conversation. Then Marek Swiftknife, a brown-haired friend of George's, and Rispah, the Rogue's cousin, sauntered inside and grabbed their own seats. Alanna could only blink in surprise as they appeared out of the blue.
Initially, she worried someone would let slip a sudden, cruel comment that would just infuriate her. But not one nasty Trebond-joke came up. Quite the contrary, they all acted very cheery and polite. True, they at first watched her guardedly out of the corners of their eyes, but after she proved not to be the snobby noble they expected, most of the icy tension melted.
Alanna found she liked all of George's friends, though she was especially taken with Rispah. Though the woman showed a bit too much cleavage for perfect modesty and consistently nagged Alanna about the shocking rumors based on her and the Prince Jonathan, she proved two-faced. Because she was George's most trusted friend and closest relation besides his mother, he had made her the Queen of the Rogue, a woman with power. Even if she had been snotty and cruel, Alanna would have liked her.
A half an hour passed quickly, and Alanna protested when George announced that she had to return to Jarinth. He would not let her talk him out of it, though, and they headed back to Eleni's house. When they arrived at the gate, George announced he would leave her there, because he had errands to run.
"I had fun with you today, lass, and I have a feeling your reputation as 'Thom's twin' just went up in smoke."
"Thank the gods," she breathed. "Thank you."
He chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. "Hey, if you need anything, check the Dove. If I'm not there, Solom will know where to find me. Drop down sometime for a drink and to talk if you have nothing better to do. I'll see you later, lass."
Watching him go, Alanna couldn't help but smile. She was still sore after losing Rowa, but George had a way of making everything seem alright. She liked that about him.
---
Close to midnight a month later, as Alanna trudged back to her room from the library, she found her door blocked by a very unexpected person. "Rowanna?" she gasped.
"Sh!" Rowanna, dressed in little more than a nightgown, a robe, and slippers, hissed. "Let me into your room!"
Alanna unlocked and threw open her door as quietly as possible, waved Rowanna in, and then silently shut and locked it behind her.
"What in Mithros' name are you doing here?" Alanna cried breathlessly.
"Quiet!" Rowa snapped. "People might be listening!"
Alanna groaned and flung up listener-shields. At the same time, Rowanna slumped onto the bed with her face fallen despairingly into her hands.
"Rowa, what's wrong?" Alanna murmured, sitting down next to her friend and gathering her in her arms.
"I'm sorry if this is bad timing or if I get you into trouble—"
"Oh, none of that," Alanna interrupted flatly. "What ticks me off is that we haven't tried this before."
"I've been wanting to, but I never know how Ralon was watching me. The other night, he came into my room—"
Alanna froze. "Ralon came into your room? Is he allowed to do that?"
"Usually he's not that stupid, but that night—Alanna, he was drunk! He tried to get me into bed with him—I wouldn't—he was so angry. He hit me. Not hard enough to bruise, but it still hurt. Finally he left, and I knew I had to see you. I—"
"You should report him, Rowa," Alanna told her quietly, not permitting the reeling of her mind to show in her voice. He hit her!
"I should," she agreed bitterly, "but I won't. Malven is very powerful in Court, and the point that he's the man already sets him above me. He would win, and then the case would die. What's more, my grandmother would not thank me for shattering an alliance with him. She's been trying for decades to get Malven blood into the family."
Alanna knew this. Rowanna's family would do anything for Malven blood because the house of Malven was old, rich, and powerful, and a Malven-Disart child was as good as royalty.
"So you finally just came? What if he notices you're gone? Don't you have a maid who will notice you're gone?"
"Well, when he came in a couple of nights ago, my maid ran out. Then, the next day, I—I got drugs, because I knew I had to see you. I drugged my maid tonight, and then—oh, Alanna! He came in again! And I, of course, said no again, and—and he hit me again, and he finally collapsed on my bed. He'll be out cold for ages—I've seen him do it before. So I came, because I wanted to see you, and because—well, I hate to ask you, but you're a healer, and I hurt so badly—"
Alanna shoved back one of Rowanna's satin sleeves, and a furious growl arose deep from her throat. Black and blue splotches dotted her wrist like spilled ink. With a stiff tenderness, Alanna slid her fingers over the damaged skin and healed her best friend from her future husband's lack of humanity. Once finished, she worked on the other wrist, and then on a long, narrow, ghastly bruise on her back where Ralon had struck her with the handle of a broom. Then, she stood back and snapped, "This is ridiculous! You should not be putting up with this!"
"Please don't, Alanna," Rowanna pleaded quietly. "Unless he or I die, nothing is happening to that marriage."
"But what about self-defense?" she cried pleadingly. "What happened to what Kevin taught us?"
"Please, Alanna!" Rowanna shouted, jumping up to stare out the window. "If I could use it, I would. I'm not stupid. But I can't, so I don't."
"Why can't you?"
Rowanna—temperless, silver-tongued Rowanna—swore and spun around to glare with eyes streaming tears and bellow with a choked voice, "Why do you think, Alanna? It isn't that hard to figure out! It's been three damn years, and I have hardly practiced ten minutes in a row in all that time! Because it's apparently too much for you to process in that thick head of yours, I'll just say it out loud: I don't remember. I don't remember anything. I can't even do ten pumps in less than thirty seconds! I'm sorry, Alanna, but I can't." Suddenly, her voice was very quiet as she confessed, "I would love at least to carry a dagger or run through one of our smallest hand-to-hand combat forms, Alanna, but I don't remember anything about them."
Alanna blinked. Daggers and hand-to-hand combat—her two worst areas. But a special someone in town had remarkable talent with both. She bit her lip, and then shot a quick glance up and down Rowanna. She was dressed in one of her lovely, simple day gowns, but magic could easily make a pair of Alanna's breeches longer….