Disclaimer: Tortall is not my world, and most of these characters are not, either. I just enjoy torturing them and their offspring in whatever devious manner I can fashion. :P

Thanks to my reviewers- reviews are always very encouraging, but especially when I'm starting out a new story- SarahE7191, vicky, Alliekat1996, Dragonfly257, Shang Leopard, twilightm00n, Evilstrawberry, secret-scribbled-notebooks. And thanks to my beta, KyrieofAccender- only two days until break. :D

Chapter One

Fidgeting

March 14, 482 H.E.

Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop walked down the drab corridors towards the practice courts; there was no need to impress the warriors of the realm with tapestries and relics. The windows were open to air out the halls; it was the warmest it had been in several cold, hard months, but the knight still felt a chill run down his spine as the wind caressed the back of his neck. He picked up his pace, trying to urge warm blood into his veins.

When he reached the practice courts, he smiled slightly at the group of soldiers, waiting by the closed door, disgruntled. Master Numair must have ordered them off, for their own safety. Alan smiled at a guardsman, who shook his head resignedly.

"I suppose we don't want to know what the likes of them mages get up to," the palace guard said to the knight. A small chuckle escaped Alan, but he said nothing as he tugged the door of the indoor practice court open; it would have been easier, as well as safer, for Numair to have his students do this outside, but secrecy was of the utmost importance; there could be no chance of anyone- even someone utterly loyal to Tortall- even the king- seeing what they did.

Sir Alan of Pirate's Swoop, knight of the realm and son of the Lioness, and Master Numair Salmalin, black robe mage, were the guardians of this secret. Of them.

When he stepped inside, his abrupt greeting was a sudden flash of heat; the cold morning chill was burned away as hot air slammed into him, a hostile cloud that seared his skin. Almost as swiftly, a blast of icy wind ripped across him. The knight staggered back, eyes tearing as a black shield materialized around him. Coughing, Alan heard someone approach. When he opened his eyes, Numair was watching him reprovingly.

"Warn me next time you enter," he said darkly. "You could have been hurt-" A roar of sound drowned out his words; the knight turned to the youths standing in the center of the practice courts.

There were three of them, two boys and a girl.

The boy closest to them was standing off to the side, drinking from a water skein as he watched the other two cautiously. His strawberry blond hair, darkened from many months inside, whipped back and forth across his head in the abnormally fierce gusts of wind that soared past him. He stood, unperturbed, as he watched his fellow mages work; every once in awhile, he would raise a hand to avoid the rebounding and deflection of the spells; the stone floor itself shot up to protect him before settling back down.

The other boy and the girl were dueling; both had unsheathed blades in their hands, but they stood almost ten feet apart from each other, glaring into each other's eyes. The final wind died down as the pair just watched each other, eyes narrowed and fists clenched, until the knight on the side could not bare the tension in the silence.

"Who's winning?" Alan asked glibly; both mages remained motionless. A half-sigh, half-laugh left Numair's lips.

"They've been at it since breakfast," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "I had all three of them in there at first, but Han decided to bow out and watch the fun." Alan studied the girl, whose face was smoother, blanker, then her opponent's scrunched, focused countenance. He pursued his lips.

"The men are waiting outside," he mentioned. Numair frowned.

"Maybe I ought to call a halt," he muttered. Alan shook his head.

"They can go outside to spar. A copper on Queenscove?" the knight challenged, lips quirking. Numair looked down at the shorter, red-haired man in surprise.

"Gambling on my students?" he inquired, bemused.

"My squire versus your son," Alan retorted, a grin spreading across his face. "C'mon, Uncle, I can see you want to." The older man heaved a sigh.

"If Daine finds out-"

"Excellent," Alan finished, turning back to the two duelers, who still had not moved. In fact, the knight was almost certain neither of them had even batted an eyelid. He did see a faint smile on the girl's face; had she heard them?

It was more than likely; Deryne heard everything.

And, in her case, everything meant everything.

Every whisper, every motion… every feeling, every thought. If she wanted to. If she focused.

Which, combined with her skill with a blade, made Alan have more faith in her abilities as a sixteen-year-old squire than he had in the abilities of most grown men.

But this did not seal the victory for the young woman; almost as often as not, she was the one hurled to the floor at the end of a hard fight against the opponent she now fought; Rikash Salmalin was not any ordinary mage.

Alan almost jumped when the two shifted at the same moment, almost as though it had been planned; it seemed Rikash was tired of waiting. Fire exploded from him, a wave of flame that reached the ceiling as it bore down on Deryne; but she was already moving. Her hands snaked out, blasting a path through the fire as it passed her. She was already running towards Rikash, sword out, eyes blazing determinedly.

"About time she pressed her advantage," Numair murmured thoughtfully as she attacked; his son had only been training with the sword for a year now. Rikash parried the block and instantly cut towards her side, but Deryne's sword was already there. They watched as Rikash's mouth formed a curse; he had let down his mental guard for a moment, and Deryne had snatched his intention from his mind. Face twisted with anger, he lunged again, but Deryne managed to block him and disengage, circling him.

"Maybe she's testing herself," Alan suggested. "Seeing how long she can stand Rikash's blasts-"

"Yes… I need to talk to him about that. We know he could overwhelm anyone within the Mortal Realms, maybe beyond that- he should be working on refining his power-"

"Maybe he's still sore about last time Deryne beat him?" the knight asked carefully. Numair groaned.

"She beat him because he completely lost his temper- like he is now," he added, gesturing to the furious exchange now unfolding; only feet away, Rikash sent small fireballs dancing after his adversary, but she blew them away and ripped them apart with the sharp little breezes that followed her command. "It's not a competition-" That provoked a laugh from the knight.

"Not a competition? Numair, the two of them are barely able to keep their hands off each other's throats in civilized company-"

"That's an exageration," the black robe protested feebly.

"You should start considering what measures you'd have to resort to if they ever really started dueling," Alan commented wryly. Numair snorted.

"It would be easier to evacuate all of Corus and leave them to it than to try to contain them," he retorted. He gestured again as sparks flew; they were back to sword fighting again. "This is nothing. You know that." Alan nodded in assent as Rikash backed away, avoiding Deryne's intent gaze. "Good boy," Numair muttered under his breath. "Think about it- don't let her press her advantage, and keep her out of your mind-"

"Easier said than done," Alan commented ruefully, rubbing his own head. He had tried it many times with varying degrees of success. Numair shook his head.

"Not for Ri; he hates it, when she does that. He hates her," he added quietly. "Even in something like this, he doesn't see it as an exercise for both of them to practice; it's a violation. When he feels her coming, he keeps her out. But when he slips up, like he just did-"

"They'll be others, far crueler, who could do the same if he doesn't master the mental block," Alan warned, and Numair sighed.

"I know," he said heavily as Deryne followed Rikash across the court, as he tried to stay out of sword's reach. "But only a very Gifted mage could do what Deryne can without even trying, and only then with years of training and preparation-"

"Whereas Deryne blinks, and she'll know every thought in the room," Alan finished grimly.

"And-" Numair hesitated. "I don't think a block would stop her, if she had to." Deryne's knight master frowned; it was something they had discussed before. The mage meant that he believed Deryne could defeat any mental defense, if she had enough power and will at her disposal. If she didn't care whether or not she broke the mind and will of the person she was fighting.

"But she wouldn't. Ever." Alan watched as another blast of flames rushed over Deryne; she staggered, but managed to protect herself with a shield spell. Still, the effort sent her to the ground. Rikash rushed forwards, blade out, a fierce smile on his face.

At the last moment, Deryne managed to knock the blow coming at her away as she rose; Numair shook his head, as Rikash's sword flew from his hands at the force.

"Loose grip," he sighed. "Ri, we have to work on that-" Deryne's sword whipped up towards the youth, but he leapt back and waved a hand at the sword; the squire yelped as her blade turned red hot. It clattered as it fell from her hands.

"Cheater," Alan heard her snap from his spot out of harm's way, and smiled.

"That does seem unfair," he mentioned casually, looking at Numair, who had made the extensive list of what the pair was not allowed to do in this duels; it grew longer by the day. Numair shrugged.

"She's more than able to cool it herself- but I think she doesn't mind," he continued with a smile, nodding at Deryne. She hadn't wasted a moment; before her sword had hit the ground, her fist connected with Rikash's stomach. He grabbed her before she could back away and threw her to the ground.

"Bad technique," Alan commented, grinning as Numair raised an eyebrow at the knight. "If he's gonna toss the lady, he might as well do it right."

"I'll let you tell him that." Numair winced as Deryne's leg swung around. Rikash jumped over it the first time, but Deryne quickly reversed her momentum the other way before he could touch the ground again, knocking his feet out from underneath him. "And while you're at it, tell him to jump backwards and away from that reverse?"

"He's doing better than you would," the knight retorted cheekily.

"This is true."

Deryne was up again; pinning Rikash's arms behind him, her knee on his back, she shook him.

"Do you yield?" she snapped, shaking a piece of dark hair out of her face. Rikash glowered.

"Oh damn," Alan muttered under his breath as he caught the youth's livid expression. "Uncle Numair, do you want to go in there and call-"

Rikash flexed; a force that rippled the air shot from him, slamming into Deryne before she could block it. She went flying across the practice courts, face twisted in pain. Numair growled a curse under his breath.

"I told him he couldn't do that," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his face resolved. "No spontaneous combustion- we have only so little air in this palace, most of it busy holding up the walls-" He cleared his throat, preparing to interfere. "All right-" Then Rikash jumped to the side to avoid a sharp blast from Deryne, then was knocked down by a second attack, much harder than her usual offensives, that had been aimed at his other side. They locked eyes from across the courts.

Then a wall of earth erupted between them, firmly separating the opposing sides. Numair breathed a sigh of relief and shot a grateful look at Han, who straightened, put down the water, and looked first at Deryne, who was breathing heavily, then at Rikash, who was glaring at the earthen barrier, as though calculating how hard he would have to attack to break it.

"I think there are men outside who would like to use the courts now," Han announced in his mild voice. His wall between his two friends glittered with brown-and-green magic, subtly warning them that it would take more effort to break this than the average pile of dirt. "And you can't completely exhaust yourselves over this; Deryne, I think Sir Alan is waiting to borrow you." The young man glanced over at the red-haired knight, who smiled. "And I don't know about you, Ri, but I'm starving." Slowly, Rikash deflated, then nodded, although his scowl had not left his face yet.

"Thank the Gods for Han," Numair breathed in Alan's ear; the other man nodded. The young man- older than the other two by a few years- always seemed to sense when Rikash and Deryne risked crossing the border of friendly practice to hostility. He even had the good sense to lead Rikash through the side exit, only dropping his shield in front of Deryne when he stepped outside and the door shut behind the two boys.

Deryne's narrowed, blue-gray eyes fixed on the door. She only glanced away when Numair heaved a great sigh.

"Really, Deryne; you know you're the one with the level head." The girl's lips quirked, possibly in amusement, but she smoothed her face over quickly.

"All the more reason for him to get in the practice," she replied, a slight drawl entering her voice as she assumed an ironic expression. "Wouldn't want him getting his head chopped off because he can't see straight, he's so mad."

"Well, the taunting's off-limits, for now, so that won't happen again," Numair pointed out. Deryne raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

"I guess you'll just have to settle that bet some other time," she said, grinning at Alan, who chuckled. Numair ignored both of them; he was still thinking about his son's disregard for the rules set down for them.

"We should have you practice sparring on Gates, so that he can't do that to you again." Any easiness in the squire's demeanour vanquished instantly; her jaw set.

"I'll take what he decides he needs to toss out to save his pride," she said, voice cold. "We don't need any magically enforced limits." Numair nodded; he had been expecting an objection. Alan hesitated, but then spoke; he was her knight master, after all.

"Deryne, it would help both of you from using your magics- improve your skills without enhancements-" Deryne's eyes flashed.

"You know he would refuse!" She hefted her sword, then sheathed it in one sharp motion. "Refuse on the grounds that he was big enough of an idiot to nearly die on a Gate."

"Deryne-"

"And he's too proud to face whatever his failings have been in the past!" she finished savagely, lifting her chin up to look at her two teachers. Numair watched her with a frown.

"Deryne." She fidgeted for a moment, then dropped her gaze.

"All right," she muttered. "If he can't be mature enough-"

"Deryne." She inhaled slowly, eyeing the stone floor.

"I'll work on a Gate, if he agrees," she conceded reluctantly. A muscle in her jaw twitched, and her eyes narrowed, but Numair breathed a sigh of relief to himself.

She could think whatever she wanted about Rikash, so long as she kept her thoughts to herself.

But really. It had been a year, more than a year. Couldn't they just be friends again? Numair still remembered their childhood antics, the time when he had had to pull them out of a pond magically because they had swam out too far, and Deryne had been too little to swim back.

Ri probably could have gotten back by himself, and saved himself from the taunts of the other boys who mocked him because his da had had to come and fetch him.

But he had decided to stay out there and keep her afloat instead.

Numair doubted his son would do that now. Even more so, he doubted Deryne would let him.

Deryne sparred with her knight master for the rest of the afternoon on the outdoor courts, determined to keep his intentions out of her head, but it was hard. It was easy to block out the wind whispers- the gudruna- that pushed another's thoughts into her mind, but their urges and intent- often simple enough for anyone to read without magic- were more difficult to suppress. Even harder to avoid was the attuned sense Deryne had that connected her to movement; after many years of training, she could feel a blow coming towards her before it hit; she could feel a blade slicing through the air towards her, could sense someone slipping into a room, knew when a bird flew overhead.

Still, for the sake of sparring, she pushed it as far away as she could except in duels with Rikash; she needed all her wits about her then, because she could never tell when he would play by the rules and when he would decide he was above them.

After about an hour, she noticed a figure standing out in the cold, standing against the fence, watching. It was a little cold in the late afternoon, to be standing out watching a knight and a squire-

When they were finished, Deryne bowed to Sir Alan and turned to see who it was. When she saw, she smiled and walked over to the woman.

"Hello, Irnai," she greeted the seer, who nodded once and then gaped up into the skies.

"The Salmalin boy tries," she murmured in her singsong voice. Deryne flinched, then looked back at the woman. She was garbed in dark colors that contrasted with her pale skin.

"Is that so?" the squire asked, meaning to be humorous; her question sounded harsh and bitter. She grimaced. "I know he does."

"But you can't make it easier for him?" Deryne shook her head, jaw set. She had decided that a long time ago.

"No." She waited another moment. "He… since Pirate's Swoop-"

"Days and months and years," Irnai said dreamily. "Flame and wind and water mixed." Deryne pursed her lips.

"That's what happened," she agreed lamely. "Me and Ri and Cyne-"

"Water fled, flame frightened-" Deryne shook her head; Rikash had been anything but frightened that day. "And that is because he wanted to hide the fear, that you fought." Irnai's wide eyes turned onto Deryne, who felt the urge to fidget for the second time that day. "His sin is pride- You can understand that, Deryne." The girl frowned, then looked back at the palace, where her knight master was headed. She was getting cold.

"No, I can't," she said doggedly.

"You aren't proud?" A small smile flickered across her face.

"Of course I am… but I can admit to weakness; Ri can't." She scowled. "And I know he's sorry, for everything- the Swoop and… last year." She spat out the last two words, then forced herself on, refusing to dwell on those events. "Walk back to the palace with me? I need to eat." Irnai bowed her head in acqueisance, and Deryne climbed over the fence to walk beside the woman.

"How are your lessons?" the seer queried. Deryne shrugged.

"Well enough; excellent, except for-" She made a face.

"You should brace yourself; muster your patience," Irnai told her, a smile tugging on her lips. They entered the palace; the woman turned down another corridor, one that led away from the dining hall. She waved absently over her shoulder at Deryne. "Old friends and foes are returning. You will need to save your strength for other things." She paused when Deryne snorted.

"Tell me about it," she snapped. "I know all this! Malvyn's on the lose, has been for a year, because of my dear friend! I'm pretty sure the sorceror possessing him is the original old foe, anyway! Got anything I don't know?" She wasn't sure what had made her lash out at the seer; the woman was a friend, even if she had once predicted Deryne's death.

When Irnai looked over her shoulder, light played across her profile, her silhouette perfectly still as she smiled gently at the girl.

"I wasn't speaking of Roger of Conte," she said softly, before she left the squire staring after her, wanting to chase after the woman and fearing what she would hear, heart pounding in her chest.

Deryne's head was buzzing with the shouts and furious movement of the dining hall; many of the squires dined with the pages, which seemed to triple the chaos in her head. She saw a group of her friends and waved, relieved to see neither Han nor Rikash; often, they would dine with the squires. Apparently Han had decided she and Rikash needed a little more space than usual; they were probably in the library, Rikash ranting about her. Something stupid, like her gudruna, or her lack of focus- nothing that would make any sense-

"Deryne!" The girl looked up at Aloin of Jesslaw, who was grinning at her, and smiled back. "Guess what?"

"I have no idea," she answered, stealing a look at her cousin, Cadel of Broakhale, son of the Lady Knight Keladry. He was a first year knight now, but ate with his younger friends anyway. He jerked a head at the boy seated next to him, Mequen of Tayt, from Carthak.

"Meq's sister is coming!" Aloin announced. "From the Isles! Again!" His face glowed with excitement.

"Sit down, Strawhead," Evrain of Ghenset ordered, throwing the smaller squire back into his seat, but Aloin was not to be discouraged. "She's coming with the delegation!" Deryne frowned, then glanced at Meq.

"What delegation?" she asked, feeling vaguely hurt. Why hadn't Cyne written to her and told her? After all, Cyne had sent word to her when she had been named heir to the Kyprian throne, even before she had written to her own brother. Mequen shrugged.

"She didn't tell me, either," he volunteered, seeing the look on Deryne's face. "We heard through Leo." He jerked his head towards the other end of the table, where the fifteen-year-old heir to the Tortallan throne, Leoraed of Conte, sat. He glanced over a nearby page, then turned his back on the rest of the table and towards the other squires. Deryne noticed the curious and envious looks the pages sent their way with amusement; they were the squires, the smart and strong and fast- she could easily tell the difference between the plumper, developing bodies of the pages, and the lean, muscular builds of the squires. There was an almost worshipful look in most of their eyes… except when they looked at her; she confused them.

"All right." Evrain clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "What news does the royal imp have for us?" Ignoring the jab, the prince leaned over the table on his elbows, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.

"You know how our spies have been gathering evidence that Scanra's preparing for war?" Deryne nodded with everyone else; the rumors had been growing since the passages into the north had been cleared. "Well, Da wants a talk among Tortall's allies." Deryne raised an eyebrow, but Mequen spoke before she did.

"But why the Copper Isles? What interest do they have in our mainland wars?" Leo looked around them, then up at the training master haMinch, who was shooting disapproving glares at his former charges; certainly, it was an honor rarely paid to the page training, for such a large return of former pages, even including a knight, to bring back their experience to the current pupils.… but Deryne suspected haMinch would have preferred any group of pages over theirs….

There was the prince, of course, but this prince had been largely responsible for much of the gray hair haMinch had grown; Deryne and her friends used to joke that Leo would give her gray hairs during their page years. Besides, haMinch had viewed Leo with cautious respect since the boy had chosen Deryne, the girl, as his sponsor. Aside from the girl, there were a handful of progressives' sons, such as Cadel and Aloin, and a foreigner, Mequen. Then there was the impudent Evrain of Ghenset, who could do no right. There had been only two redeeming members of their group, Laun of Isanife and….

Well, it didn't really matter; neither of them were there. One of them would never come back. Deryne closed her eyes, scrunching them as tightly as she could before opening them again.

"Deryne, you all right?" Leo asked, dark eyes on her. Deryne ran her hand through her hair, refusing to fidget under the royal imp's gaze. Again. She smiled wearily.

"Just tired," she murmured. "I'll catch up later, all right?" Without waiting for them to reply, she stood and turned away, stride long and quick, but not swift enough to avoid hearing Aloin's observation.

"She didn't eat."

She barely managed to get through the doors of the dining hall; she could feel tears in her eyes. She touched the cold stone wall of the corridor, drawing as much strength as she could from the solid, emotionless barrier. Gudruna pulled at the edges of her mind; she shut out the laughter from the mess hall, then rested both hands on the wall, eyes closed as she fought to control herself. As long as no one passed by, as long as she didn't have to speak, she would be fine. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't beat her fists against the hardest thing she could find- as long as she could have some quiet.

She would have to settle for the silence, because there would be no more unspoken compassion, gentle understanding. Not now.

It was times like these, when the day had been hard, and she had not expected it, that she missed him the most.

It gets easier, she told herself coldly, which was true. These moments were far and few in between now. Not like right after he-

She wrestled the thought, the memory, into darkness. Then she stopped thinking.

Just the smooth stone beneath her fingers. Just slow, steady breaths. One, two….

AN: This chapter was basically to show where how everybody's doing in good old Tortall... same old, same old... from Ri to Leo. :D

And to show how Deryne's doing... fidgeting uncomfortably, for the most part.... :( this will change...

And since it's "the happiest season of all" and time of gift-giving and all, I can expect lots of reviews to make me happy... right? :D If you could review and tell me what you think, I would be much obliged.