Page. Tamora Pierce

      ‘Good evening, your highness,’ Kel said.

      Prince Roald nodded gravely.

      Neal strode over to her. ‘What on earth did you think you were doing? I thought we solved all this last year!’

      Kel replied, ‘We did.’

      ‘Then why did you patrol without us? We had a deal. We went with you and we dealt with that lot as a team.’

      ‘Don’t yell at her,’ Owen snapped. ‘You should have seen her fight. And they started it.’

      The prince smiled at him. Roald of Conté was a fourth-year page, quiet and contained, with his father’s very blue eyes and black hair that could have come from either of his parents. He was so polite that he appeared stiff, and he made friends with difficulty, but when he spoke, he was listened to. ‘We have been trying to stop the hazing of first-years,’ he told Owen. ‘And I believe I suggested that you study with our group.’ Roald was Owen’s sponsor, charged with teaching him palace ways.

      ‘But there was a library, your highness,’ Owen said. ‘A big one. I was just going to look.’

      ‘And I wasn’t patrolling,’ replied Kel. ‘I had to see Daine. When I came downstairs …’ She shrugged.

      ‘And got a black eye for your pains,’ Neal said with disgust. He reached towards her, green magical fire shimmering around his fingertips.

      Kel stepped back. ‘You’ll get in trouble with my lord if you heal something he can see,’ she pointed out. ‘Fix Owen’s cut.’

      Now it was the plump boy’s turn to step back. ‘What?’ Owen demanded nervously.

      ‘Neal has the healer’s Gift of magic,’ said the prince. ‘Don’t be silly. He can at least make it so that cut and your nose don’t hurt as much.’

      Owen rolled his eyes, but let Neal care for his injuries. The cut in his scalp was shallow; Neal shrank that. ‘The nose isn’t worth troubling with,’ he told Owen. ‘It’s not broken. Just be careful how you blow it.’ He looked at Kel with a rueful smile. ‘Might we at least get some classwork done?’

      Kel went to her rooms. Gathering her books, she was trying to remember her assignments when she heard a sound behind her. She whirled, dropping her books. Someone gasped and ducked inside the dressing room.

      ‘Who—?’ Kel began, then remembered: Lalasa. She would sleep in the dressing room, like the servants who attended other pages. Kel had seen Lalasa’s cot and the wooden screen that gave her privacy when she took her bath. ‘It’s just me.’

      The older girl peered around the door, then ran forward and knelt to gather Kel’s fallen books. ‘My lady, forgive me, I never meant—’ She glanced up at Kel and gasped again. ‘My lady, your pardon, your poor eye! Who could have done such a thing? Shall I fetch a healer – no, Uncle says only my lord Wyldon may approve healers … A cut of meat, perhaps ice from the ice house if they’ll let me have it. Oh, my lady,’ she wailed, her hands clasped before her.

      Kel blinked at her. ‘It’s just a black eye,’ she said. ‘Please don’t dither at me.’

      ‘But it’s all swollen! How can you see?’

      ‘Badly,’ admitted Kel. ‘It’ll mend. I’ve had them before.’

      ‘Doesn’t it hurt?’ begged Lalasa. ‘You act like it’s nothing.’

      Kel shrugged. ‘It hurts, yes, but not as bad as some I’ve had. May I have my books, please? I have to study.’

      Neal stuck his head in the door. ‘Are you coming?’ he demanded. ‘We only have a bell left before bedtime, and half of us are stumped on that catapult mathematics problem. Who’s she?’

      Kel sighed and introduced Neal to Lalasa. The girl who had been so outspoken in her dismay went quiet the moment she saw Neal. Silently she backed towards the dressing room, stopping only to curtsy when Kel gave her friend’s name.

      Why hide? wondered Kel as she left the room with Neal. ‘Does she know you?’ she asked as they went to his rooms.

      ‘No – should she? I mean, I saw her working in the squires’ wing once or twice last year. Timid little creature.’

      His chambers were crowded. With the addition of the first-years to their study group, there was a boy on every surface that might be claimed as a seat. The cluster on the bed shifted, making room for Kel. They were all boys who had got her help with mathematics before: it was Kel’s favourite subject, and she was good at it.

      Who would believe it was just Neal and me a year ago? she thought. I thought we’d never have any friends, what with Lord Wyldon hating him for being fifteen and educated, and me being The Girl.

      About to take the offered place, she had an idea. ‘You know, they do allow study groups to meet in the libraries.’ She smiled. ‘I believe there’s room for us in the classroom-wing library.’ Last year Joren and his friends had made life miserable for any first-year who entered the room. It was only right that their group reclaim it for people who wanted to study.

      The boys looked at each other, then at Kel. Without a word they gathered their things and streamed out of Neal’s room. Owen left skipping to a soft chant of ‘Books, books, books!’

      Neal threw open his arms as if to embrace his now-empty chambers. ‘What shall I do with all this space in the evenings?’ he enquired airily, waving Kel out ahead of him. ‘Plant a garden, perhaps, begin my eagerly awaited career in sculpting—’

      ‘If I were you, I’d practise my staff work,’ Kel replied. ‘You need to.’

      The bell that signalled the end of their day clanged, and the pages returned to their rooms. By then Kel felt each and every bruise from the fight and from her day’s training with that weighted harness. Stiffly she put her books on her desk, noticing a mild, clean scent in the air.

      ‘I made willow tea for my lady,’ explained Lalasa as she poured a cup from the kettle on the hearth. ‘And Salma gave me a package for you.’

      Kel looked the package over. It was like others she’d received from an unknown benefactor: a plain canvas wrapper tied with string and a plain label. She undid the knots and pulled the canvas away to reveal a small wooden box.

      She wriggled the top off to reveal the contents: a pamphlet and three oval leather balls, each of a size that would fit into her palm. Did her mysterious well-wisher want her to learn to juggle? She picked up a ball, which was heavier than it looked. Kel squeezed it. From the texture, it was filled with sand.

      ‘What on earth?’ she muttered, and leafed through the pamphlet. It was hand-lettered and clearly illustrated. Suddenly she began to grin.

      ‘What is it, my lady?’ asked the maid.

      ‘Exercises,’ replied Kel. ‘For my arms, and my hands.’ She moulded the leather ball in her left hand, squeezing hard. ‘This is supposed to strengthen my grip.’ How does he know, or she, what’s needed? Kel wondered, scanning the descriptions of the exercises. Last year it had been a good knife, her jar of precious, magicked bruise balm, and a fine tilting saddle for Peachblossom. Now it was more exercises, small ones she could do any time, that would help to build strength in her hands and arms.

      Reminded of the bruise balm, Kel took the jar out of her desk and dabbed a little on her swollen eye. The throbbing ache in it began to fade.

      I wish I knew who you were, she thought, sipping the tea that Lalasa had made. I would like to thank you – and ask why you do these things for me.

       CHAPTER 3

       BRAWL