A/N: Here's the next chapter! I hope ya'll like it and please review! Here's another chapter before my semester ends! Yea!

Thanks to:

Missgrant: I don't know if it's a rule, but for the purpose of the story, I am going to say it is possible, and mainly it is her mother's opinion and Francesca's fear.

Midwinter, and the feasts that came with it, caught Francesca by surprise that year. She truly realized that winter had descended upon the capital when Fianola refused to run outside one morning.

"We'll have enough chances to freeze ourselves," the other girl told her flatly. "I, for one, am not going to go searching for them."

Francesca met her friends before report to the Master of Ceremonies. She only half listened to his speech, she, after all was only going to see the kitchen. Before the pages was sent out, Francesca peered out into the banquet hall, curious to see if anyone she knew was there.

"Ugh," she mutter, "I think I'm actually glad to be under Master Oakbridge's (AN: I think that's the Master if Ceremonies' name, but please let me know if I'm wrong) nose."

"Why," Fianola, Alan and Traver gave her looks that questioned her sanity.

She made a face. "I know those girls," she told them, pointing to a group of young noble ladies, that were new to court. "Most of them have little to no brains; Michelle of Anaver even told me once that if a woman has looks she doesn't need anything more. She's the one in the bronze dress."

Alan shook his head, "I keep forgetting that you actually went to the convent."

"I wish I could forget," she told them mournfully. "You don't have the voices of shrill, busybodies scolding you stuck in your head."

"So when do we get to meet your friends from the convent?" Liam asked, while the others chuckled.

"Next year," she told them. She would have added more, but Master Oakbridge sent the second-, third-, and fourth-year pages off to wait on their tables.

The evening passed well enough, she and Liam were the only ones in their group that spent the entire evening contemplating killing the Master of Ceremonies, but were informed later on that such thoughts were a rite of passage. The next day, Francesca couldn't convince Fianola to run outside, so she went alone. She was about to head back inside when Rain came racing towards them, throwing himself at Francesca. Unprepared for the sudden weight of the bobcat, she stumbled. Nearby she heard someone laugh; looking up Francesca found someone she didn't know. The young woman was about Francesca's height, with a head full of brown curls and smoky grey eyes. Francesca felt her throat go dry, behind the woman, a tall lank man walked up, smiling slightly. Though she'd never met either of them, Francesca knew the wild mage Veraldaine Sarrasri, and Numair Salmalin, by their description.

The wild mage smiled at her. "So you're the friend that Rain talked about. It's nice to meet you."

Francesca couldn't speak, she shook. Powerful mages could tell if someone had the Gift or wild magic…did that mean that they could tell if someone had the Sight? Numair Salmalin was the most powerful mage in Tortall, even if most mages couldn't tell things like that; it was possible that he could. The smile the wild mage gave her faltered. Francesca gave a jerky bow and raced away, nearly bowling over Fianola, Liam, and Alan in her haste. The three stared after her, and then turned to find what had frightened their friend. A surprised looking Numair and Daine answered their questions.

"What was that about," Liam asked.

"I'm not sure," Daine told them. "Do you know her? Does she usually act that way?"

"Francesca is shy, but I've never seen her act like that," Alan said, staring in the direction his friend had fled. "The closest I've seen her act like that was when she ran into Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami, but even then…she didn't look…"

"Afraid," Fianola supplied. "She looked terrified, and ran like Chaos beings were after her. What happened?"

In her room, Francesca sat, back to the door trembling, trying to calm herself. She knew she'd over reacted, but she'd been unable to stop herself, just like whenever her shyness prevented her from speaking. In her relatively short life, Francesca had never been more afraid that someone would somehow know about her visions. Rain, who she held huddled in her arms, looked up at her and let out a faint 'mah' sound, while batting at strains of her hair that had fallen from her braid.

"You led them to me, didn't you?" Francesca asked him, ignoring the way her voice shook. "Ridiculous creature, why?" She didn't expect an answer, nor did she get one. Standing she got dressed before heading to the mess hall, she didn't remember almost knocking them over in her rush to get away from the mage. She dodged their questions until they got frustrated and stopped asking. As they took their plates to be washed, Alan challenged her to a mock duel, remarking that her sword-work was horrible. Making a face at him, she agreed.

Even when she started the duel, Francesca never expected to win; Alan was in his third year, and his mother was probably the best sword hand in the Eastern and Southern lands, she for all they were the same age, had only just started her page training. All the same, she thought that, unless Alan was trying to hurt her, she could hold her own, at least for a bit.

The duel had progressed some way, and she had no warning, when the vision hit her.

Francesca watched from a corner, as a handsome squire flirted with a group of court ladies, they paid her – a lowly page – no mind as she served them food, and slipped away. She was about to return with the next course, when the squire who had been flirting with the ladies stopped her.

"Why again did you seem so panicked when you asked me to distract them?" Alan asked, looking wickedly amused.

"Because, I know many of those ladies," she drawled, eye the table of women in question. "Plus, this was I have introduce Aisha to some of my friends at the palace, and she won't fuss at me about it."

Alan just laughed, "Lord Raoul is having a small party tomorrow evening," he told her. "Come to it and I'll introduce you to the Lady Knight, she's going to be there."

"Which lady knight," she asked him.

"Both."

"Well," she responded breezily, "since you begged me so pitifully to come, how can I say no?" Alan snorted and left.

A shout shook her out of the vision. Blinking, Francesca found Alan on the ground, a look of shock and pain on his face, one arm cradled in the other, clearly broken. Fianola, Liam and Traver were staring at her in horror. Her sword was raised poised to strike at Alan's unprotected head.

Francesca felt her blood rush from her face, the blunt practice sword fell from her numb fingers. For the second time that day, Francesca fled. I could have killed him. I could have killed Alan. The horrified thoughts replayed in her mind as she rushed away. She didn't go to her room – if, and she wasn't betting on it, someone wanted to find her, that would be the first place they looked. Instead she went to the stables, to Snowstorm's stall. She brushed the horse, hoping that it would calm her, but the scene from the practice courts played in her mind. What if the vision hadn't ended? What if she had seriously injured, or even killed Alan?

It took all the will power Francesca possessed not to weep; she skipped lunch, her stomach in knots. She stayed in the stables. She didn't know how long she'd been there when the brandy-legged hostler spoke.

"Brushin' her only does, some good miss," he told her, not unkind. "And it usually helps more, to brush all of her." Francesca blinked at him, and blushed.

"I-I was j-just thinking, sir." She told him. "This seemed like a good place, it's peaceful." The man nodded, the gesture resembled a horse bobbing its head. "Master Groomsman…you have wild magic, right? With horses?"

He blinked at her, "Aye," was the only reply.

"Do you ever… Think that it's a burden? Having magic – no, never mind. Please, forget I said anything." Patting Snowstorm, she left the stables. By the time she enters the kitchen that evening for mid-Winter service, she is all but late, and avoids her friends all together, though noted with much relief, that Alan's arm was no longer broken. She manages to avoid them for the rest of that evening. However, her luck runs out the next morning. When she opens her door to go for a run, Fianola, Traver, Liam, and Alan were waiting, looking determined. The four entered, and Fianola shut the door behind them.

"I think you own us an explanation," Fianola told her. "Or at least, you own Alan one. What got into you yesterday?"