Author's Note: Some dialogue shamelessly borrowed from the first chapter of Squire. Thank you for reading!
Disclaimer: There is only one Tamora Pierce and I am not she; therefore I own nothing.
"Last chance to run," Lady Alanna said, pausing before the stable doorway, a wicked-looking grin dancing across her face.
Neal scowled at his new knight-mistress.
"I am of the humble opinion that my lady is enjoying this far too much," he opined.
"I do try to enjoy things," she replied. "There is far too much sadness in the world for us not to take enjoyment where we can." She poked Neal, who yelped. "I mean that," she added, becoming serious. "Riding with me, you will see a lot of unpleasantness, Neal. We go where the Crown requires us. That means hard work—a lot of traveling, a lot of sleeping outdoors under all kinds of weather, a lot of miserable villages in the middle of nowhere. If you don't think you're ready for that, you had better speak now."
What did she take him for, some soft-palmed flighty noble? As though she could read his mind, Lady Alanna raised her eyebrows. Neal realized that that was probably exactly what she thought. The last time they had spoken, he had still been at the university and liable to do as mages did, jumping from one interest to the next without pause. She hadn't known him during his page years. He would just have to prove to her that he had changed. He had stuck it out all four page years; he could take four years of squiredom.
"I am ready, my lady," he said, trying for an inoffensive expression. Lady Alanna's lips twitched.
"Come, then. I want you to meet someone." She led him into the knights' stables, pausing to greet her own mount, the stallion Darkmoon. Lady Alanna introduced Neal to the stallion, who lipped the squire playfully. She also showed Neal the stallion's tack, explaining how he would be expected care for the horse if they had to ride in a hurry.
"I care for him when I can—I like to," she said. "But circumstances in our line of work don't always follow what we like." Neal nodded to show he understood.
"Good. Next thing." She moved on to the next stall, drawing a lump of sugar from her pocket as she went. She shoved it into Neal's hand. "This is Mage Whisper," she said. "A younger sibling of Darkmoon's. Go on, take a look."
Neal slipped into the stall and inspected the horse that awaited him there. She was a silky copper mare, elegant and clear-eyed, placid-looking. Neal offered her the lump of sugar. She took it and crunched slowly, eyeing him with interest. Finally she seemed to decide that she liked him; she leaned forward and puffed at him.
"What do you think?" Lady Alanna said. Neal turned to her.
"She's beautiful, my lady," he said.
"As your knight-master, I give her to you, as is my obligation." Lady Alanna recited the time-honored words.
"As your squire, I am grateful." Neal couldn't help it; four years with the hooligans he called year-mates had taught him to buck tradition. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Mage Whisper, though?"
His knight-mistress shrugged. "My son Thom called her that once, and now she answers to it. You can name her something else, if you like. Next question."
"Does she like to roll in the mud?"
The lady knight rolled her eyes.
"I should know," Neal protested. "If I'm going to be currying her forever and ever, I should be warned about that kind of thing!"
"Tell me, Queenscove. Were you this gabby when you were under Wyldon?"
"Oh, much more, sir," he replied immediately. "Madam," he amended. Lady Alanna scowled. "Um…Lady Knight?" he ventured. The black look she gave him told him it was the wrong title. "Lioness? Your worship?"
She glared.
"Finish the damned introduction," she told him. "Report to me after lunch. You may take your meat wherever you will."
"Yes, your worship. Thank you, your worship." Neal bowed meekly. Lady Alanna huffed, turned on her heel, and stalked off.
Neal blew into Mage Whisper's nostrils and idly finger-combed the mare's mane.
"Well," he said. "I'm sure you and I, at least, will get along just fine."
He went looking for Kel right before lunch. He was relieved to see her door open and her inside. She looked up as he entered, smiling, and suddenly Neal realized the magnitude of the news he was about to drop on her.
"Sit down," he told her, adding, "Please."
She sat. All at once, the story came pouring out of him. Kel listened silently, almost stonily, a full-fledged Yamani blankness settling across her features. Neal wished she would show something, for once. But he knew she wouldn't, so he prattled on, trying to fill the silence.
"Kel, please…" His voice petered off as he took in the room for the first time. Kel's trunk was open; clothes and belongings lay in piles on her bed and floor. "Kel, you're packing. Why are you packing?" He felt a trickle of panic. "You're not—leaving?" Was she not getting an offer after all? But even then, Neal thought, she wouldn't give up. Not Kel. Not after everything she had weathered. Something terrible must have happened to drive Kel to leave.
Kel was shaking her head.
"Lord Raoul asked me to be his squire," she said.
It was Neal's turn to need a seat. He fumbled for the nearest chair and sank into it.
"I'll be switched," he said. So Lady Alanna was right—it was a good offer. Better and better, the more he thought about it. He whistled. "This is very good. I love it. Not even the conservatives will question your right to a shield if he's your master. He may be a progressive, but he's still the most respected knight in Tortall. Even the ones who claim you're magicked to succeed will have to shut up."
"What do you mean?" Kel demanded.
"You'll be in public view most of the time," Neal said. As he explained, he made a mental note to have a little more faith in his new knight-mistress. Perhaps, despite her claims to the contrary, she knew what she was doing politically after all.
"So you think this is good," Kel said again.
Was she kidding? "I'm envious," Neal informed her. "Lord Raoul's got to be the most easygoing man alive. My new knight-mistress is famed for wielding sharp edges—sword, knife, and tongue."
"You'll just have to get on with her," she said. Neal suppressed the urge to laugh. Even if he became Arlus the Amiable himself (he wouldn't), he doubted Lady Alanna would just get on with him.
"She and Father are friends, so she probably won't kill me," he quipped instead. "Now. Why are you packing, if you have such a wonderful knight-master?"
"I have to be ready to go with him at any time," she explained. "My room's next to his. I don't even know how often I'll be in the palace—he's on the road all year."
"We'll see each other during progress," Neal reassured her. Only when he had spoken did he realize that might have been the wrong thing to say. "Unless—maybe you won't," he amended awkwardly. "I mean…I know you wanted Lady Alanna."
"Not see you, when you won't eat vegetables if I don't nag you?" she said. "I'll bet Lady Alanna—" She looked away. "I'll be she doesn't care what she eats, let alone what her squire does."
The tight sound of her voice made Neal's insides twist. It wasn't right. Gossips and snipes shouldn't have the power to force apart two of the most talented, chivalrous warriors in the kingdom. And yet they did, and they had. And they probably didn't even realize it, the dunderheads; that was the worst part of it.
The female sparrow Crown on Kel's head cheeped. The girl reached up and petted the bird absently.
"I should send Crown to peck you as a reminder," she said. She gave Neal a watery smile, inviting him to laugh at her small sally. That was his decision made for him, then. If Kel wanted to put the best face on the situation, it wasn't his place to deny her that. He grinned shakily back.
"As though these feather dusters would be separated from you," he retorted.
"I hope they can. I doubt even Lord Raoul will welcome fifty-odd sparrows."
He shifted in his chair. "I bet he and Lady Alanna planned this," he said. "They're friends, and she did say you were looked after. And she has to know what people would say if she took you—"
"That maybe I was right to look up to her all these years? That if anyone can teach me how to be a lady knight, it's her?" Kel cut across him. Neal flinched at the bitterness in her voice. Congratulations, Queenscove, he thought. You've successfully prattled your way into hurting your best friend. Repeatedly. Perhaps Duke Baird was right, and it would be best for all concerned if Neal just stuck his boot into his mouth and left it there.
"You are angry," he said instead. Kel seemed to sag.
"Not with you," she said with a sigh. "To tell you the truth, I don't know what I feel. First I was about as low as I could be—Neal, I had a vision." She described her experience in the Chapel of the Ordeal. Her words sent chills running down Neal's spine. He remembered his own visit there. He hadn't had the gumption to touch the door; perhaps that was because he could feel the magic hanging low and thick in the air, coating every surface and wall, layers upon layers of the dust of eons. It had been ancient and unnerving, even for him, a scholar who drew pleasure from exploring such things. He couldn't imagine how scary it must seem to practical, down-to-earth Kel.
"Here's some advice," he said, sitting up straight. "Don't touch that door again. The Chamber is a law unto itself, Kel. It's killed squires, driven them mad—"
"And left plenty to become knights," she finished firmly. "As it will us."
"I hope you're right," he said, but his remark was more out of principle than anything. Kel normally was.