top to toe, taking in every wrinkle and spot in her tunic and breeches and the fading bruise around her eye.
Kel met his gaze squarely. The training master was handsome, for all that he was completely bald on top. He wore what was left of his light brown hair cropped very short. A scar – so red and puffy, it had to be recent – ran from the corner of his eye across his right temple to dig a track through his hair to his ear. His right arm rested in a sling. His eyes were brown, his mouth wide; his chin was square with a hint of a cleft in it. His big hands were marked with scars. He dressed simply, in a pale blue tunic, a white shirt, and dark blue hose. She couldn’t see his feet behind the big desk, but she suspected that his shoes were as sensible as the rest of him.
Even the Yamanis would say he’s got too much stone in him, she thought, looking at the scuffed toes of her boots. He needs water to balance his nature. Peering through her lashes at the training master, she added, Lots of water. A century or two of it, maybe.
Wyldon drummed his fingers on his desktop. At last he smiled tightly. ‘Be seated, please, both of you.’
Kel and her father obeyed.
Wyldon took his own seat. ‘Well. Keladry, is it?’ She nodded. ‘You understand that you are here on sufferance. You have a year in which to prove that you can keep up with the boys. If you do not satisfy me on that count, you will go home.’
He’s never said that to any boy, Kel thought, glad that her face would not show her resentment. He shouldn’t be saying it to me. She kept her voice polite as she answered, ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You will get no special privileges or treatment, despite your sex.’ Wyldon’s eyes were stony. ‘I will not tolerate flirtations. If there is a boy in your room, the door must be open. The same is true if you are in a boy’s room. Should you disobey, you will be sent home immediately.’
Kel met his eyes. ‘Yes, sir.’ She was talkative enough with her family, but not with outsiders. The chill that rose from Wyldon made her even quieter.
Piers shifted in his seat. ‘My daughter is only ten, Lord Wyldon. She’s a bit young for that kind of thing.’
‘My experience with females is that they begin early,’ the training master said flatly. He ran a blunt-tipped finger down a piece of paper.
‘It says here that you claim no magical Gift,’ stated Lord Wyldon. ‘Is that so?’
Kel nodded.
Lord Wyldon put down the paper and leaned forward, clasping his hands on his neatly ordered desk. ‘In your father’s day, the royal household always dined in the banquet hall. Now our royal family dines privately for the most part. On great holidays and on special occasions, feasts are held with the sovereigns, nobles, and guests in attendance. The pages are required to serve at such banquets. Also, you are required to run errands for any lord or lady who asks.
‘Has she a servant with her?’ he asked Kel’s father.
‘No,’ Piers replied.
‘Very well. Palace staff will tend her rooms. Have you any questions?’ Wyldon asked Kel.
Yes, she wanted to say. Why won’t you treat me like you treat the boys? Why can’t you be fair?
She kept it to herself. Growing up in a diplomat’s house, she had learned how to read people. A good look at Wyldon’s square, stubborn face with its hard jaw had told Kel that words would mean nothing to this man. She would have to prove to him that she was as good as any boy. And she would.
‘No questions, my lord,’ she told him quietly.
‘There is a chamber across the hall for your farewells,’ Wyldon told Piers. ‘Salma will come for Keladry and guide her to her assigned room. No doubt her baggage already is there.’ He looked at Kel. ‘Unpack your things neatly. When the supper bell rings, stand in the hall with the new boys. Sponsors – older pages who show the new ones how things are done – must be chosen before we go down to the mess.’
After Kel said goodbye to her father, she found Salma waiting for her in the hall. The woman was short and thin, with frizzy brown hair and large, dark eyes. She wore the palace uniform for women servants, a dark skirt and a white blouse. A large ring laden with keys hung from her belt. As she took Kel to her new room, Salma asked if Kel had brought a personal servant.
When the girl replied that she hadn’t, Salma told her, ‘In that case, I’ll assign a servant to you. We bring you hot water for washup and get your fire going in the morning. We also do your laundry and mending, make beds, sweep, and so on. And if you play any tricks on the servants, you’ll do your laundry and bed-making for the rest of the year. It’s not our job to look after weapons, equipment, or armour, mind. That’s what you’re here to learn.’
She briskly led the way through one long hall as she talked. Now they passed a row of doors. Each bore a piece of slate with a name written in chalk. ‘That’s my room,’ Salma explained, pointing. ‘The ground floor here is the pages’ wing. Squires are the next floor up. If you need supplies, or special cleaning and sewing, or if you are ill, come to me.’
Kel looked at her curiously. ‘My brothers didn’t mention you.’
‘Timon Greendale, our headman, reorganized service here six years ago,’ Salma replied. ‘I was brought in five years back – just in time to meet your brother Conal. Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you.’
Kel smiled wryly. Conal had that effect on people.
Salma halted in front of the last door in the hall. There was no name written on the slate. ‘This is your room,’ she remarked. ‘I told the men to put your things here.’ She brushed the slate with her fingertips. ‘Your name has been washed off. I have to get my chalk. You may as well unpack.’
‘Thank you,’ Kel said.
‘No need to thank me,’ was Salma’s calm reply. ‘I do what they pay me to.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘If you need anything, even if it’s just a sympathetic ear, tell me.’ She rested a warm hand on Kel’s shoulder for a moment, then walked away.
Entering her room, Kel shut the door. When she turned, a gasp escaped before she locked her lips.
She surveyed the damage. The narrow bed was overturned. Mattress, sheets, and blankets were strewn everywhere. The drapes lay on the floor and the shutters hung open. Two chairs, a bookcase, a pair of night tables, and an oak clothespress were also upended. The desk must have been too heavy for such treatment, but its drawers had been dumped onto the floor. Her packs were opened and their contents tumbled out. Someone had used her practice glaive to slash and pull down the wall hangings. On the plaster wall she saw written: No Girls! Go Home! You Won’t Last!
Kel took deep breaths until the storm of hurt and anger that filled her was under control. Once that was done, she began to clean up. The first thing she checked was the small wooden box containing her collection of Yamani porcelain lucky cats. She had a dozen or so, each a different size and colour, each sitting with one paw upraised. The box itself was dented on one corner, but its contents were safe. Her mother had packed each cat in a handkerchief to keep it from breaking.
That’s something, at least, Kel thought. But what about next time? Maybe she ought to ship them home.
As she gathered up her clothes, she heard a knock. She opened her door a crack. It was Salma. The minute the woman saw her face, she knew something was wrong. ‘Open,’ she commanded.
Kel let her in and shut the door.
‘You were warned this kind of thing might happen?’ Salma asked finally.
Kel nodded. ‘I’m cleaning up.’
‘I told you, it’s your job to perform a warrior’s tasks. We do this kind of work,’ Salma replied. ‘Leave this to me. By the time you come back from supper it will be as good as new. Are you going to change clothes?’
Kel nodded.