448 HE
"The rules are simple," Jamie explained to his brother and sister, who were, when it suited them, perfectly capable of listening intently, despite their latest tutor’s claims to the contrary. "Each of us will have a handkerchief tied around an arm. Capture the other two handkerchiefs and make it to the fort with all three, and you've won."
"Simple," Grace agreed. Her eyes followed Jamie as he paced before them, kicking leaves out of his way for the sheer joy of making noise, and she smiled wolfishly. Jamie had won each of the last three games they’d played that afternoon. Grace wasn’t fond of losing.
Thom's forehead wrinkled in a frown. “But what if-"
"Go!" Jamie yelled laughingly, tossing two handkerchiefs into the air before pelting off to the north. He was soon lost to the trees and undergrowth. Grace calmly plucked her violet handkerchief from the air and chose a northwesterly path. The final handkerchief, dark blue and gold, settled to the forest floor. Thom heaved a sigh, then grabbed a corner with his small, wind-chapped hand. South struck him as the safest option.
The triplets knew this part of the forest as well as they knew the shortest route from their rooms to the castle’s kitchens, which was very well indeed. They'd grown up roaming its trails from castle to ruins to cottage and back again, and forging new paths when the old became boring. Grace circled around and took to one such path, pausing here and there to peek through tree limbs. Her quarry wasn't hard to track, like Thom, but he was brash and occasionally took unexpected risks.
A pile of leaves shook apart and discharged a triumphant Jamie, brandishing a large stick. "Stand and deliver!”
(Like so.)
Unimpressed, Grace arched an eyebrow at her madly grinning brother and planted her hands on her hips. In doing so, she subtly twisted her torso to keep her handkerchief out of reach of his waving stick, because clearly he fancied himself far cleverer than she. "You scared me,” she said, her expression putting paid to the statement.
"I knew you’d come after me first."
"Yes," Grace replied thoughtfully. Then, moving quickly, she grabbed the end of the stick and pushed, bopping him in the forehead with his own weapon. Surprised, Jamie stumbled sideways and could do nothing more than blink when his sister relieved him of his handkerchief. He laughed, rubbing his head, and began running crookedly toward the nearest riding trail. “You can't win without all three!”
"I’ll get him first!”
Grace watched Jamie flee, thinking. Thom was cautious and sensible. Everything he did had a purpose, some clear result to work toward that made his actions predictable. Right now, he was undoubtedly more concerned with protecting his own handkerchief than winning the others, knowing there was no real way for him to best his siblings. He was too honest. Thom rarely won their games, and he’d seemed unsatisfied with the rules.
A smug, speculative gleam entered her eyes, and she headed in the opposite direction, toward the cottage. It sat in a clearing by a stream, near an orchard, and a quick look around assured Grace that Jamie was nowhere in sight. Taking a deep breath, she began to shriek.
“Help!” she cried, running straight at the stream. “Heeeeeeeeeeelp!”
Thom popped up from behind a log, eyes wide with worry. “Grace?” He caught his sister, looking over her shoulder for whatever had scared her so. There was nothing there. The only noises coming from the forest were rustling leaves and an aggravated shout in the general direction of the ruins. "Are you okay?”
Grace beamed up at him and ripped his handkerchief from his arm. "I'm fine. I've won!” With that, she let go of Thom and sprinted for the fort.
“Hey! That's not fair!” Thom was forever saying those words.
“The rules’re simple, Thom! It's not my fault you can't keep up.”
~ ~ ~
“Did you see the lump on Jamie's head? Grace gave it to him. With a stick, I hear. One he was waving in her face. You can't teach instincts like that,” Alanna told Adam, grinning widely.
Adam looked up from his book, observing her efforts to pull off a stubborn boot with a smile of his own. “Oh?”
“Yes. She didn't give up, or worse, run away. It's not a good feeling to be defenseless like that, but if you can keep a clear head and turn the weapon against your opponent-“
“Alanna-"
“-then you have a fighting chance! You'd be surprised how many pages have difficulty with the concept.”
Adam didn't reply. He did, however, unfold himself from his chair and help her with the boot, as she seemed too distracted to do it herself. The task took away an inch of her height, and he couldn't help chuckling quietly as he fitted her against his side and rested his head on hers.
“She’ll make a good knight, Adam,” Alanna insisted sleepily. "I know she can be a touch headstrong, but so was I, I suppose."
Was?
“Alanna,” Adam said again, sighing. "It's a little early for that. You don't know."
This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, nor would it be the last. Until they knew one way or the other, it would remain an inevitable part of their marriage. He ran a finger along her cheek and breathed in the scent of her hair, swallowing his opinions on the matter. Sometimes they threatened to burn him from the inside out. Sometimes he couldn't contain them. Tonight, he could.
“True,” Alanna allowed, if only because she was comfortable and had done enough fighting for the day. "We'll see.”
“We will.”
And then he kissed her.
~ ~ ~
The messenger came in the middle of the night; they often stole into the courtyard when the moon was high, offending Grace's sense of normalcy while she slept.
This time, she was ready.
She hadn't known her mother would be called away, of course, but she’d eaten too many tarts that evening and had been sleeping uneasily. Try as they might to be quiet, the horsemen couldn't stop their horses’ hooves from striking the smooth stones in the courtyard, and Grace had known right away -- by the firm, hushed voices and sudden tension in the air -- that the Lioness was needed. Not by her, though she rather thought she needed her, too; by the King.
Grace wasted no time waking her brothers. They trailed behind her down the back stairs, through the library and hall, and drew up short, confused, when she finally stopped dead before Darkmoon’s stall.
Jamie yawned.
Alanna was grooming the gelding, crooning softly to him between instructions to the boy frantically gathering her gear in the main aisle of the stable. To her left, a tall, broad man in mail was giving his report. Grace heard “fifty” and “dangerous” before tuning him out and focusing on her mother.
“Weren’t you even going to tell us?" she accused.
The knight went still, fingers gripping the saddle she'd been about to place on her horse's back, and she flicked a wary, concerned glance at her daughter. "There wasn't time." Alanna always dealt straight with them, even from a young age.
“I hate it when you don't tell us.” Grace abhorred the way her voice shook almost as much.
“I know,” Alanna nodded. She tightened the girth, then rubbed her hands on her breeches and turned to face her children. They blocked the door, small faces pinched with disappointment and worry. “I’m sorry. Truly. But I have to go, daughter mine. If I don't, people will die.”
“But what if you die? What if you don't come back? What about us?” Grace demanded.
Thom was visibly upset by his sister’s dramatics; Alanna hurried to place a reassuring hand on his fiery hair. “I’ll always come back,” she said fervently. As soon as the words were out, she looked as if she regretted them. "If it's at all within my power to do so. I have you to live for, don't I? Someday you'll understand."
Grace drew herself up and glared at her mother, haughty and cold; at six and a half, she seemed far too young for the expression. "I don't think I will.” They all watched her leave; her temper commanded attention.
"Bye Mama,” said Jamie.
“Bye Ma," said Thom. "I'll miss you.”
“I'll miss you too, Thomling. All of you.”
Later, Grace pulled her pillow over her head to avoid hearing the horses clatter out of the courtyard. Her small fist clenched around a raven feather, then loosened, rubbing a slight indentation from the hollow center like it was something precious.
~ ~ ~
That summer, the Queen’s Riders brought their training camp to Olau. The normally quiet barony swarmed with trainees and their ponies, two each. Orchards and vineyards were dotted on the outskirts with white tents, and training grounds were established in the meadow where the triplets liked to play.
They'd never been more excited.
At first, they were all underfoot, sticking together as they navigated the strange world that had sprung up around them. But Jamie was soon seduced by the lure of ponies, and Thom utterly disappeared, Goddess knows why, so Grace decided to follow a group of fifteen year old girls and one boy attempting to map the area around the ruins. The girls fascinated her with their confident smiles and manners, and when one pulled a ribbon from her hair and left it behind, Grace picked it up.
Later, she sat on a mossy stump in the forest and attempted to tie back her unruly mop of curls.
“May I help?”
It was the queen. Grace knew it was the queen because she remembered her from Court -- in a pretty gown, though now she was wearing breeches -- and also she'd been in the castle the night before. She was the most beautiful woman Grace had ever seen. Tongue-tied, the girl stumbled through a “Your Majesty.”
Thayet smiled kindly and raised her eyebrows, holding out her hand. Grace surrendered the ribbon. Gently, the queen gathered Grace’s red hair and tied the ribbon; it fell out almost immediately. "Hmmm. I have a better idea, if you'll indulge me.”
Dumbfounded, Grace nodded.
"Excellent." Humming under her breath, Thayet quickly braided the little girl’s stubborn hair and threaded the ribbon through, curling the ends around her finger. "That should hold. I have to do the same for Kalasin."
"You braid Kally's hair?” Grace squeaked, forgetting she'd recently told Alanna she was old enough to do her own.
"Only when they let me," the queen answered cheerfully. "I'm planning a test for some of the older trainees. Your father tells me you three know these woods well. Would you like to help?"
“Yes," answered Grace, eyes wide and faintly worshipful.
~ ~ ~
One rainy, steamy afternoon, Sarge stumbled upon Thom listening in on a tactics lecture. The boy had a wooden practice sword in his lap and an inscrutable look on his face.
"Thom," Sarge offered in greeting.
"Sarge,” Thom responded, somewhat guiltily.
Sarge winked. "You have the look of your mother."
"’Cept the purple eyes," Thom pointed out, nodding solemnly.
"Are you having a good summer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you learning how to use that?" He pointed to the wooden sword.
"Yes, sir." His mother insisted upon it, and often trained them herself.
Folding his arms, Sarge studied the boy. He was quieter than his siblings, more reserved. Thom was watchful; he absorbed what was going on around him, rather than draw attention to himself. After the boisterous trainees, Sarge found it almost refreshing.
"I don't know about you, but I could use a little exercise."
Thom turned a questioning look his way. It was the first time he'd looked Sarge in the eye; the tall man knew he probably seemed to stretch up and up above the boy, until his head grazed the canvas over them. The trainees sometimes imagined that he’d had to stop himself growing, so he could fit inside buildings and tents.
Sarge was under the impression he was being weighed and measured. "I could show you a thing or two."
Unexpectedly, Thom brightened. "Yes, sir."
~ ~ ~
Alanna relished having the Riders at Olau. Not only did it afford her more time at home, but she was able to spend a great deal of it with Thayet and Buri, something that had become increasingly difficult in recent years. Even better, she’d just found out that Jonathan and George would be there before the week was out, and was on her way to tell the children.
A strident voice from the nursery brought her to a standstill.
"Why doesn't she understand? I don't want to be a knight! I like pretty things! I want to go to Court and dance, not fight!"
Feeling the blood drain from her face, Alanna turned on her heel and hurried back the way she'd come, but not before she heard Grace exclaim, "I don't want to be like her."
Curious as she was about the identity of the unseen person listening to her daughter, Alanna resisted the urge to go back and check. She didn't want to resent anyone for it.
(I don’t want to be a knight.
D’you think I want to be a lady?)
In the end, had she become as bad as Lord Alan?
~ ~ ~
Grace liked skipping rocks. It was a habit she picked up from her father. The sound and repetition of it helped soothe him when he was angry, too.
Alanna sat down on a log, waiting to speak until she'd thrown her next rock.
“Hullo, Grace.”
Skip, skip, plink.
When Grace didn’t respond, Alanna swallowed and took a deep, fortifying breath. It wasn’t often that she planned out what she wanted to say, but she'd done nothing else for the last several hours and had no intention of being put off by a child’s stubborn silence.
"There's something I want to tell you," she continued, at last. "I should have told you before now, but sometimes it's hard to see what's right under your nose, even when people you love point it out.” She stared at the back of her daughter's head. "Do you know there are people who think I'm unnatural? Who call me a freak?"
Skip, skip, skip, plonck. Grace tilted her head toward Alanna, indicating she was listening.
"They think the only reason I succeeded is because of my Gift, and the patronage of the Goddess. To them, even a common-born dairy maid could've become a knight with that kind of help. I didn't actually prove that women are as capable as men; not to them. They still believe females should be content to look pretty and marry well, as if we don't have our own brains and desires.
"When Jonathan and Thayet declared it legal for girls to try for their shields, I hoped we'd start a revolution regarding that type of thought. But we haven't; no other girls have come forward to take that chance.”
Hearing her mother sigh, Grace slowly turned and looked her in the eye, seeing, perhaps for the first time, how very much this all meant.
"Part of me hoped that you would be the one to continue where I left off," Alanna admitted, eyes sad. "The one to show those conservatives exactly what women can do; the one to inspire other girls to do the same. I didn't realize how much pressure I was putting on you,” she added hastily when Grace’s mouth tightened. "It wasn't fair. I haven't been fair to you, my daughter, which doesn't make me much better than the people whose opinions I sought to change.
"It doesn't matter to me what you do with your life, Grace. What matters is that you have the right to do anything you wish to do, and that you're happy. I'm sorry if I've made you feel otherwise.”
Grace took a cautious step closer, frowning. Alanna watched, hands held tightly before her, and bit her lip.
"Mama?"
"Yes, Grace?"
"You're not a freak."
Alanna smiled. "Neither, my girl, are you."
~ ~ ~
"You've been crying," intoned Jamie. "Crybaby, crybaby!”
Grace gave her brother a withering look and waited until he danced nearer, still taunting, to push him into a chair. "Stop."
Jamie laughed and slid to the floor, taking the opportunity to turn a somersault. He landed near Thom, lanky frame spread eagle at his feet. Thom ignored him. He was engrossed in a book Sarge had lent him that afternoon.
“Guess what? Da’s taking me to the village tomorrow. We need ‘quipment for picking apples.” Excited, Jamie sat up and beamed.
"Boring," Grace remarked, but a smile to rival his stole across her face. "Well, Mama’s taking me to the village the day after. To see the seamstress."
“Yeck." Jamie felt it was the solemn duty of brothers to register disapproval over all things girly (even though he was secretly glad for Grace).
Neither of them noticed Thom’s thoughtful expression as he set the book aside and left the room.
~ ~ ~
Alanna nearly tripped over Thom when she returned to the castle that evening. He stood impossibly straight on his still-chubby legs and regarded her with a serious look in his eye. One hand clutched his battered wooden sword, which almost but not quite fit the scabbard belted around his waist.
"Thom! I thought you'd be in at supper already. Did your father send you to find me?"
He shook his head, gaze steady. "Mother?"
"Yes?" Alanna eyed him warily. He didn't look angry at her, but with Thom it was sometimes hard to tell.
"I've been learning extra sword lessons with Sarge," he confessed.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? Is it... Have you enjoyed them?"
"I have." He blinked, then smiled shyly. "D’you think I could show you tomorrow?"
"Of course," the knight told her son, bending down to hug him tightly while she tried not to laugh at fate. "There's nothing I'd like more."