Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce was writing way before I was born. I'm just the kid playing in her backyard. I relish everything and own nothing.
In his dream, Neal was inexplicably twelve again, curled up in his favorite hiding place in the library. Outside the slip window that gave him just enough light to read, rain pounded the rooftops of Queenscove Keep—the first of the yearly torrent of spring storms.
The slim glass pane was cold against his cheek, but the rest of Neal felt cozy. He liked the sound of the rain; it was calming, the perfect accompaniment to a warm library and a favorite book.
Which was suddenly snatched from his arms.
"Hey!" Neal pivoted and fell off his seat with a thump. He glared at the brigand who had stolen his book. Said brigand, a big, looming young man with Neal's nose and eyes, grinned.
"I had to get your attention somehow," he said. "Otherwise I wouldn't see hide nor tail of you my whole time here."
"Well, now you've seen me," Neal snapped. "So give it back!" He lunged at the book bandit, who dodged the younger boy nimbly, holding his prize aloft. Neal jumped again—
—and suddenly found his nineteen-year-old self dangling by the ankle, toes brushing the patch of ceiling over his bed.
"What the—!"
"You were sleeping like a brick, Queenscove." Lady Alanna's eyes sparkled, belying the innocent blankness of the rest of her face. "Trust me, I tried everything else."
"How did you even get in here?!" Neal growled and kicked the air, trying to free himself from the invisible bonds gripping his ankle.
"Good question," the lady knight said. "Next question."
"What do you want?"
She finally seemed to notice that he was awake and snapped her fingers. Neal crashed in a heap onto his bed. He rubbed a bump on his head and glared at his still-new knight-mistress.
"I regret this already," he muttered.
"I doubt you'll make me regret it before long," she fired back. "But so long as we're stuck with each other, Queenscove, you're keeping my hours. Which started two hours ago, for your information."
Out his window, he could see the earliest splinters of dawn cracking between palace rooftops. Neal groaned and sat up. "I had hoped you weren't one of those infernal morning people," he said.
"I'm not," she said dryly. "But in my line of work, you don't fit in enough practice unless you get up before dawn. So. Up, unless you want me to get you up, again."
"As pleases my lady," he grumbled, rolling out.
"Get changed," Lady Alanna ordered. "I want to see you down in the knights' practice courts in ten minutes. Do you remember where that is, or would my lord Queenscove prefer a map?" She smirked as Neal scowled. "Good to know you're not dead, squire," she said. "Although you might be if you're late to practice." She then swept out.
Neal glared at the door out of which she had departed. His rational side made a mental note to figure out where the Lioness had learned to pick locks.
Fear for the Lioness's reputation both as an oath-keeper and as one of the kingdom's premier warriors had Neal scrambling into the practice courts well on time, dressed and somewhat prepared for a walloping.
"Good to know Cavall beat some punctuality into you, even if he isn't good for much else," Lady Alanna said, walking up, a practice sword in hand. "Warm up."
As Neal did so—touching his toes, stretching, rotating joints, running in place—Lady Alanna introduced the other men who were emerging from the palace into the yard. Some names were unfamiliar. Others Neal recognized, like Sacherell of Wellam and Geoffrey of Meron, both well-known knights of Lady Alanna's generation.
"—and Sir Gareth of Naxen," Lady Alanna finished, gesturing at a pale, heavyset man who leaned on the fence at the edge of the yard. "He doesn't actually do any training that I know of. He just comes out here to pretend before he goes in to shuffle papers."
"You haven't been at Court for four years," Sir Gareth pointed out. "How would you know whether I trained or not?"
"Considering who I married, I do know," Lady Alanna replied crisply. That shut the Prime Minister up for some reason. Neal, intrigued, waited for his knight-mistress to elaborate. But she didn't, instead looking at him expectantly.
"No Lord Raoul?" Neal asked, sitting up from a series of crunches.
"Raoul trains with the King's Own," Lady Alanna said.
"Besides, they left last night," Sir Gareth added. "Raiders in Haresfield village. He took all of Third Company—and his new squire—out there and they probably won't be back for several weeks."
"Oh," Neal said dully. Kel was gone then—hadn't even said goodbye.
He looked up to find Lady Alanna's violet eyes fixed on him. Again, as easily as she had yesterday, she seemed to read his thoughts.
"You'd better get accustomed to this kind of fast pace," she said. "The times we live in, a knight's life is a mad one."
"Unless you ride a desk, like our Gary," Sir Geoffrey put in cheerfully. Sir Gareth shrugged in reply.
"You know, you field knights are so sure you're having all the fun," he observed. "I'm a kind soul, so I shan't shatter your illusions. Yet." He got off the fence and sauntered back into the palace, whistling.
By the time practice broke up for breakfast, Neal felt royally (or at least ducally) pounded.
"Stables, at the second bell," Lady Alanna ordered him, tossing her practice sword into the bin in the arms shed. "Let's get an idea of how good you are on horseback."
"Why doesn't she kill me instead," Neal told his friend Merric of Hollyrose, as they set down their breakfast trays in the squires' mess.
"Be careful what you wish for," Merric said. He sounded almost smug. "The way you're carrying on, I bet you'll get your heroic death before two months has passed."
"A copper noble says he doesn't make it through one," said Esmond of Nicoline, sliding into the seat next to Merric. Merric raised his eyebrows at Esmond; the latter took a sip of milk, then shook his head. "On second thought, you did say the Lioness was also teaching you to heal," he told Neal. "So she'll probably just maim you and then force you to heal yourself. Practical training, and all."
For the millionth time, Neal cast his eyes skyward.
"Mithros bless," he said. "What did I ever do to deserve such ruffians for friends?"
Graeme had conned Neal of out two chess games before he would let the younger boy have back his book. Neal took it back and held it to his chest, casting a baleful look at his oldest brother. Even though he hadn't minded playing and talking with Graeme, who was at least less of a book-snatching brute than Devon was, Neal had a reputation to maintain.
"Are you afraid?" The question bubbled to Neal's lips before he could stop himself. "Of the Ordeal?"
Graeme was silent for a long moment. "Anyone not a fool is," he said finally. "The Chamber…nobody understands how it works, or knows what it'll throw at you. But one way or the other, I'll be glad when it's over, I suppose."
"Me too," Neal said, quietly. Graeme chuckled.
"Will you really?" he asked. "You don't want us to face justice for all the times we've interrupted your reading?"
"I like wreaking my own revenge, thank you," Neal shot back. "I want you both to survive your Ordeals so I can go on tormenting you for years and years." That got a real laugh from Graeme.
"Well, little brother," he said. "I'm glad you, at least, will never have to face the Chamber. I'd hate for anything to take away that wit of yours."
A/N: I do wonder about Gary, though. According to Tamora Pierce on Mark Reads, "none of the gang realizes that he travels all of the time and ends up in some hot spots…"
Speaking of Mark Reads, if you aren't already following his blogging, I strongly (as in Alanna-with-a-sword-and-a-smile strongly) recommend it.
Okay, so just kidding about the sword. I couldn't lift one of those things to save my life. But seriously. Mark is currently working his way through Squire and everything is gif-worthy reaction faces and general gloriousness. You should totally check him out.
As always, thanks for reading! Please let me know how I'm doing so far!