Disclaimers:As stated in Chapter 1
Author's Notes:In which we meet the venerable Holmard, tutor to the Lady Shavra -- and of how her studies are interrupted most unexpectedly...
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A loud sigh echoed across the schoolroom.
The venerable tutor Holmard looked up with green eyes that gleamed sharply despite his three score and ten years, and his bushy grey brows slammed together in an expression of mild irritation. For many a year it had been his responsibility to oversee the education of various children resident in Kuruda's palace royal -- to make sure they knew their ciphering and figures, and as much of Kuruda's rich warrior history as he could drum into their heads.
Strangers to the palace were easily forgiven if they mistook the elderly tutor for a sevalle, or even a royal minister; Holmard was easily six foot and some inches, able to look King Iba Stola in the eye without flinching. Despite that, the children could see easily beneath his formal demeanor to the kindness and patience that made their lessons worth the hours of study he demanded from them. Among themselves, the children agreed that some teachers were to be feared and others trodden upon -- but Holmard was a man to be respected, and woe unto you if you were caught slacking purposefully in your lessons!
Holmard's gaze fell upon the other occupant of the room, and his irritation faded somewhat. Three years before, he had been given the responsibility for educating the Lady Holder of Fort Ly'valle, ward of King Iba Stola. She had entered his presence as a solemn child of nine, her eyes of deep amethyst haunted by the manner in which her world had been turned upside down by her treacherous uncle Sethor, now the self-proclaimed Lord of Fort Ly'valle, despite the fact that his late brother Avedon had a child still living.
Not sure what to expect from his new pupil, Holmard watched Shavra carefully over the next few days. He discovered that she loved reading, was adequate in ciphering...and her deportment was chillingly polite for a child of her tender years. It was impossible -- nay, unnatural -- for a youngling to behave as an adult in miniature. Children were indulged creatures in the palace royal, and in-between their chores, could be found laughing and running games of tag through the less-public corridors; falling out of trees into the rivers and lakes of the royal grounds; snatching provisions from the palace kitchens for impromptu picnics.
But Shavra preferred to keep her distance in those early weeks, staying close to Livana, the motherly woman whom the King had assigned as her nurse, whenever they had to be out of her suite. Not until a warm spring morning, when Holmard had chanced upon his students gathered in a knot about two muddy figures locked in combat -- a not unusual sight. But the sight of the silver-gilt hair and fierce amethyst eyes shining beneath a layer of mud shocked him into the realization that the Lady Holder of Fort Ly'valle was behaving as badly as an angry fishwife...moreover, she was winning against an opponent both older and taller than herself.
Upon separating the combatants, Holmard was hard put to hide a smile at the verbal gauntlet thrown by Shavra: "If you could fight half as well as you boast, Nazir, I wouldn't mind losing to you...maybe..."
Holmard never found out what led up to the fight. But it resulted in Shavra's becoming one with the pack, as it were, and from that day forward, she began to behave like a normal child -- laughing out her window at shouted greetings (even in the middle of lessons), accepting invitations for adventures from which she returned dirty and hungry and thoroughly content. Her lessons improved, and Holmard knew he was proud of her quick intelligence in a way that he had never been with former pupils.
Watching her now, Holmard's brows settled back into their normal position, and he sighed himself, this time at the promise of loveliness inherent in the Lady Holder's coltish figure. His voice, however, was stern as he addressed the dreamy-eyed young girl staring out the window, out over the palace walls at the Kuruda countryside.
"Hey, hey, girl," he growled, bringing the violet eyes instantly up to his in repentance. "Here I've just given the King a glowing progress report on how well you apply yourself to your books! Your sigh bids fair to blow that tapestry off the wall."
"Your pardon, Master Holmard," came the meek apology, delivered in a suitably appropriate voice. "But I fear me that my mind would much rather be elsewhere on such a beautiful morning."
"That's plain enough. Do you suddenly find Kuruda's history so boring, then?"
"Only when studying it in the four walls of the schoolroom," she replied pertly, eyes dancing with mirth, then suddenly pleading. "Would it be so wrong if I were to finish my reading assignment outside? A day such as this was surely blessed by Souma and meant to be spent outdoors."
"My dear Lady Holder..." Holmard began to remonstrate, his voice fading at the earnest expression in his student's face, almost bordering on a pout. Suddenly he capitulated, the sharp contrast between the life in her face and its ice-cold expression of her early days hitting home. "Ahhhh...so be it, My Lady. You may take your books and enjoy yourself in the palace gardens."
"Really? Truly?" Shavra jumped to her feet in total abandon and clapped her hands in delight. "You are the most wonderful of tutors, Master Holmard, and I promise..."
"Hush, girl, not a word!" A sudden smile broke out over Holmard's face, traveling upwards so that his green eyes twinkled. "Get you gone -- and maybe I'll have some of that fresh air myself. Good for the health, and all that. But mind you study, My Lady, for I'll give you no quarter tomorrow."
"Thank you! Thank you!" cried Shavra, gathering her books in a fever of haste and only barely remembering to bob a respectful curtsy to her tutor, whose deep, seldom-heard chuckles followed her out the door.
She tore down the palace corridors, a streak of silver lightning with books in hand, not stopping to draw breath until she reached the side door leading into the royal pleasaunce -- the private garden reserved for the royal family. Pushing aside the heavy oaken door, she stuck her head beyond it to breathe deeply of the fresh air, redolent with the scent of flowers and spicy woods. With a soft cry of pleasure, she moved more sedately over the gravel walk, stopping now and again to admire the view or brush her fingers against newly-bloomed flowers.
It was a matter of minutes before her progress brought her to her destination, an ancient shade tree set near one corner of the garden. A swinging chair hung suspended from one of its sturdy branches, while a heavy semi-circular bench traced the outline of the great trunk. Shavra scanned the garden in all directions, then, satisfied that she was alone, lightly stepped up onto the bench. Reaching upwards, she balanced her books on one of the upper branches, and then with the ease of experience, pulled herself up into the first fork of the tree. From there, it was a simple matter to move to her favorite spot -- a natural cradle formed by the thick branches, where she could lean back and relax, hidden from the view of careless eyes. Her position also gave an unobstructed view of the swing below and to her right, and if she so chose, a vantage point over the palace walls to where Kuruda Lake could be seen glinting blue beneath the sun.
Time flew quickly in such peaceful surroundings, as the soft wind whispered through the leaves and teased gently at the silver-gilt hair. Shavra had just finished one assignment and was ready to take a break before beginning the next, when the sound of murmuring voices floated across to her from the edge of the garden.
Shavra bit her lip in mild chagrin, hastily but carefully tucking the books into a secure spot in the branches above her. Wouldn't you know it, she thought, cocking her head to listen more clearly to the voices, now accompanied by the slow crunching sound of feet on the gravel path. Two speakers, she realized, sitting with every muscle alert. A man and a woman...
Shavra's heart thudded in her chest as she finally recognized the voices, and she took a deep gulping breath of air. The smoky voice as smooth as fine wine could belong only to one man. While the lilting female voice was owned by the one woman Shavra would have pawned her very honor to avoid at that precise moment.
"Oh, sweet Souma," she prayed, "Help me..."
end part two