I know that it has been forever, but here's the first half of Kel and Wyldon's conversation (LK pg. 63-65 in my copy). I hope to have the second half (LK pg. 66-67), still from inside Wyldon's head, done very soon. Then I'll move on to the visit with the refugees- it will either be in Wyldon's perspective or Fanche's. If you have an opinion on which one I do, let me know. Otherwise, thanks very much for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts or comments.
Italic lines are dialogue directly from Lady Knight, property of Tamora Pierce.
18. Standoff
As soon as she opened the door, Wyldon knew that he had made a mistake. There was that familiar set to her shoulders, the slight tilt of her chin that he recognized so well from her page days. He thought of it as her stubborn look- it was the one that she got when he asked her to climb a tree with all the other boys watching, or if he went down the line of drilling pages correcting everyone but her. Any time she felt that she wasn't being treated fairly, that he was treating her differently than the others somehow, she didn't complain or confront him; she just put on her stubborn look and tried to prove him wrong. He was finally willing to admit to himself that she had usually succeeded.
But she shouldn't be looking at him like that right now. Her eyes studied him intently, cataloguing the effects of time and long nights in the biting northern wind. They seemed to reserve judgment, giving nothing away, but he knew her well enough to see that she anticipated some injustice and was prepared to have to prove herself again. It was his fault, leaving her for last; it gave her too much time to think, to convince herself that he doubted her abilities or was trying to keep her safe or some similar nonsense. Keladry was a sensible girl, but she had formed her opinion of him and his prejudices during that first probationary year. Changing her mind would be a slow process. For now, she had every right to enter on her guard, from what she knew of his past actions.
This time, though, it wasn't about her or tradition or his feelings towards women warriors. The refugees, they were what mattered, and they needed Kel. Enough that he was willing to give a first-year knight command of one of their largest forts, despite numerous protests. Enough that he had blatantly ignored a strongly-worded request from the Knight Commander of the King's Own, who had wanted his former squire's sharp eyes to help lead patrols at Fort Steadfast. And even enough that he would let everyone think he was trying to keep her out of the fighting, however hard it was to watch the slow progress that they had made in the last few years slipping away. He didn't need Kel's acceptance, or her approval, or even her respect; he just needed her to follow orders and keep the civilians safe. And he knew that she would, however much she hated the assignment- it was that quality which made her such a perfect choice for the command.
It just would have been a hell of a lot easier to explain all this to her if she hadn't already been expecting the worst of him, before she had even received an order. There was no way she could have anticipated what was coming- he had purposely kept the news from Owen, knowing that Kel would be able to read everything in his honest face. No, she just assumed that he wasn't going to trust her with a real combat assignment, and what he was about to say would do nothing to change her mind.
"Have a seat, lady knight. Wine? Or cider?" He already knew that she preferred cider, a fact which was unsurprising after years of riding with Raoul. But it was polite to ask, and she might take offence at not being offered the same choice as the men. Already he had watched a small flicker of surprise dart across her face at the use of her new title, which had surprised him in turn. Did she really think so little of him as to expect that he would refuse to acknowledge her shield? Whatever anyone had said during her training, she had been found worthy by the Chamber and there could be no doubt that she had earned the name of lady knight. She would do her country and her training master proud. It was with that thought that he toasted her shield, and allowed himself a small smile when she returned the toast in honor of her instructors. How long would she be willing to give him her respect, however grudgingly?
It wouldn't do to keep putting this off. He was nervous, more nervous than he had any right to be. As much as he knew that this was the only choice, he had come to value Kel's good opinion of him and it was difficult to watch it destroyed once more. But it would only get worse the longer he kept her in suspense, and at the moment all he wanted was to be done with this meeting and alone with his thoughts. It had been a long night.
"I won't dance about. I'm giving you the hardest assignment of any knight in this district. I think you will hate it, and perhaps me." She would hate it. She would hate him. He knew that, there was no question. But she could do it. And she would. That he knew as well, and it was that knowledge which gave him the strength to look her straight in the eyes as she lowered her cup and straightened up, squaring her shoulders and putting on her best stubborn face. The girl was a fighter; always had been, always would be. She was tough and determined and ready to prove the whole world wrong, sitting there in silence as he explained what General Vanget had asked of him, rattled off numbers and figures, unfolded maps.
"Who's to command this place, sir?" If he hadn't trained her, he wouldn't have even noticed the slight catch in her voice as she fought to keep her emotions in check. It wasn't the question that he'd expected, but then again, she always managed to surprise him.
He wanted to tell her that it was the one person that he trusted to treat all the refugees fairly, regardless of whether they were man or woman, rich or poor. The best young commander that he had ever trained, who would only get better as she gained experience and confidence in her ideas. Perhaps the best knight that he had ever trained, period.
But instead he simply said, "You are." He watched her blink twice, looking across the table at him as if from underwater, the words muffled and jumbled as they crossed the narrow gap. Just a ripple on the smooth surface of her face, and then it was back, that tenacity that he had come to know so well.
Yes, she had always been a fighter. And she had one hell of a battle ahead of her, of that he was sure.