“Most girls are happy, you know. Please don’t cry. You never cry. Not when I would be awash in tears from all those bruises, not when that beastly horse steps on your foot - “
“He doesn’t mean it,” Kel said into that sensible white cotton shoulder.
“Isn’t it just like you to stand up for him?”
Kel drew away. “I hate my body doing new things without telling me,” she said wetly, and sniffed. She wiped her eyes on the back of her arm.
“Some get the weeps with monthlies, like cramps,” Lalasa explained. “It could be worse. My mama got plain mean right before hers.”
“Mine gets hungry for sweets,” Kel said, adjusting her loincloth impatiently. It now felt as bulky as a diaper. “She ate a whole cake once.”
Someone banged loudly on the outer door. “Kel, come on!” bellowed Neal. “We’ll be late!”
“Hose.” Lalasa dragged out a fresh pair. “I’ll tie one leg if you’ll do the other.”
“Neal, hold on,” Kel shouted. “I have to fix something!” She struggled into both hose, then tied the points on her left side while Lalasa did up the right. Before they were half done Neal banged on the door again. “Go without me!” Kel ordered.
“No! Come on!”
Points and hose tied, Kel struggled back into her slippers. “Thank you,” she told Lalasa warmly. “I’ll have that tea when I get back from the tests.” She ran to the door and yanked it open.
Neal stood there, red-faced with impatience, ready to knock again. “About time,” he said. They trotted down the hall.
“Why are you in such a tearing hurry?” demanded Kel, stopping in the classroom wing to adjust the hose on one leg. “We’ll get there.”
“You don’t understand,” Neal said when they ran on. “If you’re even a little bit late, the Stump makes you repeat the last year. He did it to two boys three years ago. And if you’re really late, you have to repeat all four years. Edmund of Rosemark, a year before we started, was that late. He refused to do four more years and went home.”
“Why is he so hard on latecomers?” Kel asked.
“You know the Stump. He says tardiness in a knight costs lives.”
“You could have gone without me,” Kel reminded him. She stopped him and finger-combed his tumbled hair to lie flat. For a dizzying moment, she thought they were close enough to kiss, and swallowed hard.
Neal destroyed her romantic daydream by straightening her collar in his most businesslike way. “I will not repeat even the littlest bit of this happy experiment of ours, if that’s all the same to you. And I should think you’d feel the same.” They walked into the room together, to join the pages already there.
Neal’s worries aside, the tests for second-years were every bit as easy as those for the first-years. First they were asked questions based on their classroom learning. Then they were ushered outside to show they had mastered the best part of a second-year’s combat lessons. After Neal hammering at her door and fretting that they might be as much as a step behind Lord Wyldon, it was something of a letdown. The examiners, whom Neal had once described as the oldest, fustiest nobles the king could find to judge the pages, seemed to frown a little deeper when Kel was tested. For all that, they couldn’t fault her answers, and she passed, just as the other first-, second-, and third-year pages did.
The next week she and Neal watched the fourth-year examinations in support of the prince and Cleon. These tests, the big exams, were longer and harder than those given to the third-years, but again it was material the fourth-years were expected to know. Everyone passed.
That night, the fourth-year pages moved to the squires’ side of the mess hall, to enthusiastic applause from their fellows. Kel, watching Joren, Vinson, Garvey, and Zahir walk away, heaved an inner sigh of relief. Things would be quieter in the pages’ wing, of that she was certain.
More knights visited in May,
“He doesn’t mean it,” Kel said into that sensible white cotton shoulder.
“Isn’t it just like you to stand up for him?”
Kel drew away. “I hate my body doing new things without telling me,” she said wetly, and sniffed. She wiped her eyes on the back of her arm.
“Some get the weeps with monthlies, like cramps,” Lalasa explained. “It could be worse. My mama got plain mean right before hers.”
“Mine gets hungry for sweets,” Kel said, adjusting her loincloth impatiently. It now felt as bulky as a diaper. “She ate a whole cake once.”
Someone banged loudly on the outer door. “Kel, come on!” bellowed Neal. “We’ll be late!”
“Hose.” Lalasa dragged out a fresh pair. “I’ll tie one leg if you’ll do the other.”
“Neal, hold on,” Kel shouted. “I have to fix something!” She struggled into both hose, then tied the points on her left side while Lalasa did up the right. Before they were half done Neal banged on the door again. “Go without me!” Kel ordered.
“No! Come on!”
Points and hose tied, Kel struggled back into her slippers. “Thank you,” she told Lalasa warmly. “I’ll have that tea when I get back from the tests.” She ran to the door and yanked it open.
Neal stood there, red-faced with impatience, ready to knock again. “About time,” he said. They trotted down the hall.
“Why are you in such a tearing hurry?” demanded Kel, stopping in the classroom wing to adjust the hose on one leg. “We’ll get there.”
“You don’t understand,” Neal said when they ran on. “If you’re even a little bit late, the Stump makes you repeat the last year. He did it to two boys three years ago. And if you’re really late, you have to repeat all four years. Edmund of Rosemark, a year before we started, was that late. He refused to do four more years and went home.”
“Why is he so hard on latecomers?” Kel asked.
“You know the Stump. He says tardiness in a knight costs lives.”
“You could have gone without me,” Kel reminded him. She stopped him and finger-combed his tumbled hair to lie flat. For a dizzying moment, she thought they were close enough to kiss, and swallowed hard.
Neal destroyed her romantic daydream by straightening her collar in his most businesslike way. “I will not repeat even the littlest bit of this happy experiment of ours, if that’s all the same to you. And I should think you’d feel the same.” They walked into the room together, to join the pages already there.
Neal’s worries aside, the tests for second-years were every bit as easy as those for the first-years. First they were asked questions based on their classroom learning. Then they were ushered outside to show they had mastered the best part of a second-year’s combat lessons. After Neal hammering at her door and fretting that they might be as much as a step behind Lord Wyldon, it was something of a letdown. The examiners, whom Neal had once described as the oldest, fustiest nobles the king could find to judge the pages, seemed to frown a little deeper when Kel was tested. For all that, they couldn’t fault her answers, and she passed, just as the other first-, second-, and third-year pages did.
The next week she and Neal watched the fourth-year examinations in support of the prince and Cleon. These tests, the big exams, were longer and harder than those given to the third-years, but again it was material the fourth-years were expected to know. Everyone passed.
That night, the fourth-year pages moved to the squires’ side of the mess hall, to enthusiastic applause from their fellows. Kel, watching Joren, Vinson, Garvey, and Zahir walk away, heaved an inner sigh of relief. Things would be quieter in the pages’ wing, of that she was certain.
More knights visited in May,
Similar Books
