"KEL TAKES A STAND," read Raoul speedily.

For the next three days Kel pursued her class-work and physical training doggedly. When Sunday came at last, she and the other pages attended dawn worship for Mithros, the god of warriors and the sun. After that she gave her weapons and tack an extra cleaning for Lord Wyldon's inspection just before lunch. When he finished going over every inch of a page's equipment, he gave punishment assignments for the penalties collected during the week.

All the Knights in the room groaned; especially those which had been trained by Wyldon who had been infamous for his cruel and sometimes undeserved punishments.

Kel had been late to one class, to one meal, and to the riding corral the day before, when Peachblossom had been grumpier than usual. For each of those tardy arrivals Lord Wyldon issued her work in the pages' armory for one bell of time, consuming her entire afternoon. All of the other pages had punishment duty, too. Metric and Olin fared worse than Kel. They had to work all afternoon and for a bell on Sunday night.

"I'd like to find whoever taught the Stump

"Mithros Nealan," interrupted Wyldon, "when will you stop it with that immature nickname?!"

Neal shrugged, and muttered "When you stop being a stump…"

that extra work builds character and push him down the stairs," Neal told Kel at lunch.

She smiled and returned to solving a puzzle. How was she to do her classwork for Monday if she was cleaning armor? At last she hit on a plan and bore her work to the armory. First, she rolled chain mail in barrels full of sand to scour away dirt, until she wearied. Then she attacked her assignments. At her first yawn Kel returned to cleaning. When the supper bell rang, she had scoured a large amount of mail and finished nearly all of her classwork.

Myles nodded approvingly of Kel's study technique.

After an evening of staff practice with Neal, she knew she had used the day well, and went to bed content.

Kel similarly nodded approvingly. She loved days, such as the one described, where she felt like she had done something useful!

Monday came soon enough. By nightfall she was exhausted and wishing for another Sunday. Then Cleon, grinning hugely, caught her after supper and asked her to fetch some books from the Mithrans' library, in a separate wing of the palace. She could see he was waiting for her to refuse so he could say she thought herself better than the other first-years. With a sigh, she trotted off to do as she was bid.

Neal glared menacingly at Cleon. Cleon wasn't surprised by his reaction, he knew Neal didn't like how Cleon had hazed Kel, no matter that it was all in good humour.

What surprised Cleon was the intense glare Neal's cousin gave him. He didn't quite comprehend why he was reacting so strongly to Cleon's treatment of Kel, what did it bother him how he treated his cousin's friend?

Tuesday was more of the same. Only her sparrows' reaction to her arm-strengthening exercises - they lined up on her windowsill like spectators at a tournament - made Kel smile that day.

Daine smiled s Kel's fourth generation of sparrows chittered at their mention from the window of the Chamber.

At tilting practice later that morning she managed to hit Peachblossom's head and the quintain dummy, but not the target shield. The laughter of pages and onlookers rang in her ears, but she kept her feelings hidden.

Kel smiled with pride, she had shown them. She was the one laughing at them from the tilting lanes.

By the time she rode Peachblossom back to the stable in the wake of the other pages, she wanted to crawl into a dark corner and die.

Kel was the last to finish grooming her mount and the last to finish looking after her tack. By the time she tended her weapons, the other pages had gone; she had to hurry if she was to bathe before lunch. Working in haste, she dropped her lance. It clattered across the stable floor, collecting dirt along its freshly oiled length. As it rolled, a small button of wood fell away, revealing a dark hole.

Those familiar with the lance listened intently, confused.

Kel stared at the spot, wanting to cry. Now she would have to polish the lance again and find some way to fill the gap. Bending down, she picked up the piece that had fallen out. It wasn't a splintered chunk, but a perfectly cut plug two inches wide.

Raoul's tone had shifted from one of curiosity to suspicion. He read on hastily.

The sides were sawed clean, tapering inward.

"Why that slimy little git!" exclaimed Raoul! The others in the room looked at him curiously? He sharply retorted "you'll see."

That's odd, she thought. Picking up the lance, she looked for the hole left by the missing piece. It was stark against the light brown of the wood because there was something black at its bottom.

Wyldon gasped, realising what had happened.

Kel stuck her little finger inside and scraped the dark substance. Inspecting the stuff under her nail, she realized it was lead.

Kel looked sheepishly at the ground as the room exploded. Her superiors, her peers, her family, even her childhood idols had reacted with such vigour to the news that her lance had been weighted with lead.

She was not looking forward to their verbal reactions… they would not be pleased that she had kept this quiet.

Now she went over the entire lance, not with her callused fingertips but with the more sensitive pads of her fingers. There were five more plugs spaced along the length of wood.

Ilane and Piers were shaking their heads in shock at the unchivalrous behaviour of whoever had weighted their daughter's lance.

She pried them out; each hid a hollow filled with lead. They were placed so that no part of the staff was out of balance with the rest. It had been cleverly done, the plugs replaced to match the grain of the lance and the whole polished untilthe cuts were nearly invisible.

Kel lifted the other pages' lances. All weighed much less than her own.

"Before you say anything, Raoul, and everyone," Kel addressed first her Knightmaster, and then the room, "just now that, ironically, the weighting of my lance was probably the best thing that could ever have happened to me… it prepared me so well for not only tilting but swordfighting and using my glaive, it helped me dominate my stronger male peers. I am thankful to Joren for what he did!"

Neal listened furiously, understanding completely what Kel said, but nonetheless irate that Joren had tricked her in such a way, attempting to sabotage her.

Wyldon couldn't even process his thoughts. The idea that one of his students should sabotage another of his students was disgusting. He should have emphasised the ultimate valour of chivalry, one which he held so high, more in his training.

Fury pounded at her temples and behind her eyes. Was this what Cleon had meant when he'd said to run while she still had a chance?

Cleon raised his eyes, visibly hurt by Kel's suspicion of him. Once again, he was met by the brutal glare of Neal's cousin.

She pictured the big redhead and sighed. No. He was the kind who would shove someone into a puddle. This sort of trickery would be too much work for Cleon.

Cleon's hurt was quickly reduced by Kel's dismissal of his malice, but he was nonetheless offended "jeeze Kel, do you really think so little of me?"

Getting her lance, Kel stuck the first plug back into its socket. She began to oil and polish the wood anew, thinking. Had Neal known about this? She tried to remember if she'd ever seen him touch her lance. No, he hadn't, nor had Wyldon, she remembered. Joren had been the only one to handle it before it got to Kel. Custom dictated that Kel alone would touch it once it was hers.

Kel was sure that Joren wouldn't be the only one who knew. The joke was too good to keep to himself. He would have needed a palace carpenter, too. None of the pages would be able to do the kind of fine work the trick lance required. Enough warriors trained with weighted arms that a carpenter would think nothing of putting lead into a practice lance.

Alanna nodded. In fact, she agreed with Kel. She was glad this had happened to her, and would have suggested it to Kel if she had still been struggling after her probationary year. For wasn't it Coram who had helped Alanna train with his huge broad sword, so that she would be strengthened.

Kel thought about it through her bath, and took her time scrubbing. Normally she rushed so no one had to wait long to eat, but today she did not feel kindly toward her fellow pages. For once she would have a proper wash and they could listen to their growling bellies for a while. If extra work was the price she paid to remind them that she could disrupt their lives, too, she would pay it gladly.

"Aw Kel, why did you have to punish us all, you're a real meanie you are!" whined Merric, the only page other than Neal close enough to Kel to be able to tease her so.

When Kel reached the mess hall, the waiting pages and squires growled. She put on her most Yamani-Lump expression and got her food. She knew it infuriated those who disliked her when she appeared not to care if they even existed. On a day like today when, fairly or unfairly, she disliked most of the pages, she positively enjoyed letting them think she cared for their opinions not one whit.

"A word after lunch, probationer," Wyldon called as she looked around for Neal.

"I wish you hadn't called me probationer, you treated me differently enough as it was, I didn't need the constant reminder that you didn't see me as a capable page…" Kel commented unusually critically to Wyldon.

He took her words without a reaction, for he already knew that he had spoken to her a if she were not of the same par as the other male pages, and that he had not considered her to be a proper page.

Kel bowed to him, found Neal, and took her seat. Wyldon's prayer, to "perform our duties quickly and promptly," did not even make her twitch. Neither did his after-lunch order to report to the armory on Sunday for two bells' worth of labor. She bowed politely to the training master in reply, and ran to catch up with her friends.

"Are you all right?" Prince Roald wanted to know as they walked to their afternoon classes. "You're being quiet even for you."

Kel smiled at Roald. They had an interesting relationship. She had never been as close with him as she was with Neal, but she had always liked the Prince and had appreciated his efforts to include her during her page years. They had further bonded during his betrothal to Cricket, and they were quite good friends now. She liked to think that Roald trusted her for advice, and was glad that even as children he had been perceptive enough to comment on her emotions.

Roald was obviously very fond of Kel, considering how she had persevered to overcome the odds, and was an extraordinary, compassionate young woman, who was a more than capable Knight. He hoped that one day, she would leave the Own, and take up a role among his Council. Although he had never vocalised this idea before, the more he read, the more he was sure he would consolidate this idea, and his peers would be convinced Kel was capable.

Kel glanced up. Both Roald and Neal were looking at her. She was certain that Neal didn't know about the lance, but what about the prince? He was one of Joren's year-mates. Despite his joining her and Neal from time to time, she wasn't sure what he thought of her.

"Are you kidding Kel? You know that I respect you more than anyone, that due to my mother and godsmothers that I respect women warriors more than anyone. How could you think I would engage in such malice?" Roald was seriously offended. He took the opinions of his peers seriously, for if he was to be a just King he would need to be perceived to be just by his peers.

"Hold on Roald, let me read on,' intervened Raoul.

Finally she decided that Roald didn't know.

Roald nodded appreciatively at Raoul.

Joren had begun in the same year as the prince, but Roald, who was careful to eat with all of the pages so no one felt jealous, spent the least amount of time with Joren and his cronies.

Should she tell them? She knew that Neal was her friend and she thought the prince might be.

"Of course I was your friend, and of course you should have told us!" exclaimed Roald, whilst Neal nodded vigorously in agreement.

No. Yamanis did not whine about what was fair or unfair, and she was too much a Yamani still. She would not let anyone think she could not handle whatever got dished out to her.

Kel shook her head in answer to the prince's query. "I haven't anything to say."

"Dear girl, we noticed," drawled Neal in his most scholarly - elegant way.

Kel ignored him and returned to her complicated thoughts. What if she kept the lance? If she mastered it, the bigger lances of the knights would be easy to handle.

Alanna's resulting smile eclipsed Kel's grimace at the thought of carrying the weighted lance, but noticing Alanna's grin, she grinned too.

The afternoon passed. Kel reported to classes as usual. She also studied each of her fellow pages, trying to guess which of them had been in on Joren's trick.

At supper, she ate lightly. Given her plans for the evening,

"Oh Mithros," groaned Neal, "What is our dear Protector going to do now?"

a full stomach was a bad idea. Going straight to her room, she changed from her dress to practice clothes. It was time to stop playing the shy newcomer. She listened as the boys returned to their rooms to collect their study materials. When Neal rapped on her door, she pretended she wasn't in until he went away.

"Screw you Kel" Neal elbowed her.

She simply stuck her tongue out at him, refusing to bless him critique with a response.

Finally no more steps sounded in the pages' wing. Kel left her room to walk the corridors. She made no sound in her soft leather slippers, ghosting along as she had been taught in the Islands, listening hard.

Passing the pages' main library, she heard the slam of a heavy book striking the floor. "Pick that up for me, will you, Merric?" The voice was Joren's.

Wyldon's face slid as he realised he would be hearing more about how he had praised the wrong pages, how he had elevated them till they thought themselves above all others, till they ignored the concept of chivalry.

Kel stopped outside the open door. Her heart drummed in her chest.

"Yessir, Page Joren," she heard Merric say dully. Peeking through the crack in the door, Kel saw Merric place a fat volume on the table next to the blond page.

As he did, Zahir shoved another heavy book off the table.

Jon grimaced at the mention of his Squire.

"Pick it up," said Vinson of Genlith, cackling with mirth. "Can't have books on the floor."

Alanna wished she had been their to teach those insolent pages a lesson, although she knew they all had been taught a serious lesson - Joren by his death, Vinson his trial and Zahir by his tough time with Jon.

Merric stared at the older boys with resentment, then got the book.

Joren immediately pushed his volume off the table. As Merric stared at him, Joren then lifted a stack of smaller books with a taunting smile. His eyes never left Merric's as he let them drop one by one onto the floor.

Kel's stomach tightened. She took a deep breath and walked into the library.

"This is wrong," she said,

Wyldon's own grimace deepened as he was reminded of his poor character judgement. Kel really exceeded all expectations he had had at the time, not that he knew it then.

halting in front of the blond page.

"Oh, look - it's the Lump." On the other side of the table Vinson got to his feet. "Do you want trouble, probationer?" he asked, grinning. "We'd just loooove to give it to you."

Ilane was concerned at how predatory this statement seemed to be, suddenly worried for her daughter's virtue - not in the sense that she may no longer be a virgin, but that that choice may have been taken from her by these cruel and amoral men.

"No, I don't want it," Kel replied. She kept her eyes on Joren. The leader of a gang was always the one to watch. The others would take their cues from him. "What I want is for you to stop pushing the first-years around."

Joren stared at her, his blue eyes bright. "I see," he said in a thoughtful tone. "We haven't gotten rid of you yet, so you think you're accepted. Merric, pick up those books."

"Don't, Merric," Kel said, still watching Joren.

"It's custom," the redheaded boy muttered.

Merric was by now bright red at his behaviour, embarrassed that some of the most important people in Tortall were listening to him being bullied.

"Not like this, it's not," replied Kel. "Us fetching and carrying gloves and armor polish, that's enough. Forcing people to mop with their clothes and pick up things dropped on purpose has nothing to do with being a page."

Joren laughed softly, shaking his head. "Oh, this is too much," he said at last. "The Yamani Lump - our very temporary annoyance - will school us in proper behavior."

"I shouldn't have to," Kel told him. "You should know how a true knight behaves."

Wyldon couldn't help but grimace further. An eleven year old girl was doing the job he should have done a decade ago.

A hand clamped around the back of her neck: Zahir's. She hadn't even heard him get out of his chair.

"Shall I take the Lump away?" the Bazhir inquired of Joren.

Jon couldn't believe Zahir's behaviour. He had known Zahir had been in with Joren's cronies, but hadn't realised the extent of the role which he had played.

Gripping Zahir's index finger, Kel jammed her thumbnail into the base of Zahir's own nail. The experience, she knew very well, was a painful one.

He yelped and let go. Joren lunged for her.

She stepped back, ducking under Zahir's frantic punch. Instead, the Bazhir hit Joren. Kel backed up to reach the open center of the library.

Merric, to her relief, had fled. She was glad not to have to worry about him.

"Cool, thanks Kel…" muttered Merric sarcastically.

Zahir was cursing and coddling his fist, his punch had connected solidly with Joren's skull. Joren rubbed the spot where his friend had struck as he walked toward Kel. He was crimson with rage. Vinson was nowhere to be seen.

Something clattered behind Kel. In spite of herself, she looked. Vinson had fallen over a footstool as he emerged from the shelves at her rear.

She turned back quickly. Joren was leaping straight at her.
Kel's Yamani training took over. She grabbed Joren's tunic and turned, kneeling as she did. He wentflying over her shoulder, just as the Yamani ladies had done during their practices together. The ladies, however, did not hit a long study table on their bellies, sliding along its polished length to crash headfirst into a bookshelf.

Many in the room laughed, especially Yuki, Shinko and Ilane who could not at all picture the graceful Yamani ladies falling so.

A foot slammed into her back between her shoulder blades. Zahir had recovered. Kel rolled forward as she went down, to fetch up against the legs of the table she'd just polished with Joren.

Raoul's voice was trembling with laughter as he read this.

Zahir moved in to kick her; she seized his booted foot and twisted, growling with effort. Off balance he stumbled and fell. Kel hurled a nearby stool at him. He rolled, covering his head with his arms.

Then Vinson gripped her ankles, dragging her forward. Kel sat up and grabbed his hands. Someone grasped her hair from behind and yanked her to the floor again. Ignoring the pain as the hair-puller kept his grip, Kel rolled away from a punch. She clung to his wrists to keep him from yanking out a chunk of hair. The roll twisted her out of Vinson's hold on her legs. She kicked out, slamming her feet into Vinson's belly. That hand in her hair yanked, dragging her into the middle of the floor. Her grim-faced captor was Joren.

No one dared interrupt Raoul's reading. This was the most action they had read in ages, and they were keen to keep reading.

Kel felt his wrist and dug her thumbnails into the soft flesh between the bones. He cursed and let go. Lunging to her feet, Kel ran into Zahir. Grinning, the Bazhir punched her in the stomach. When her scant supper came up, she made sure he got most of it. Another solid blow from Joren connected with her back, spinning her around. His second punch hit her face just as Vinson grabbed her.

Next time, she thought fiercely, hooking Joren's leg with her foot and yanking, next time I'll make sure I've got my back to the wall!

"Gods, Mindelan, you are so damn determined," Wyldon commented.

Kel wasn't sure whether this was meant as a compliment or insult.

Vinson was the last of the older pages to walk out of Lord Wyldon's study. Through the open door Kel heard the training master call, "Send her in."

"Here, milord," announced the man who waited on Lord Wyldon in the evenings. Holding the door as Kel passed, he winked at her in encouragement.

Kel halted in front of Lord Wyldon's desk as the door closed. The training master inspected her and shook his head. Kel knew she looked dreadful. From her past experience she knew she had a black eye and a puffy lip. Her nose was probably broken.

A trickling on her cheeks told her the splits in both of her eyebrows were bleeding.

"Blot that," Wyldon ordered, and thrust his handkerchief across his desk. Kel stared as if he had offered a foreign object, then reached for it stiffly. Her left arm hurt. The skin on her knuckles was torn and bleeding on both hands.

"Would you care to explain?" Wyldon picked up a large cup and sipped from it. "Sir?" she asked thickly.
"How were you injured? As I recall, you were in one piece earlier tonight."

"Ugh don't tell me 'you fell down,'" muttered Jon, "I always hated that lame excuse, and that supposed 'chivalry' when all it is is lying to yourself and your superior."

Some of the younger generation in the room were surprised by their King's causal and seemingly rebellious reaction to the training master.

Whilst Wyldon knew he should oppose Jon's comment he was beginning to see the flaws in the supposed 'chivalrous' training given to the pages.

She tried to breathe through her nose, and winced. "I fell down, Lord Wyldon," she said carefully. Lifting the handkerchief from her cut, she examined it with her good eye, and pressed the clean linen to the split in the other brow.

"What did you say, probationer?" His tone made her stiffen. She tried to stand tall and put her hands behind her back, as they were expected to when questioned. The left arm only went so far before pain made her dizzy.

"Never mind that," snapped Wyldon. "Answer me."

"I fell," she replied evenly. At least she didn't have to worry about making up a lie, when time-honored custom had already supplied her with one.

Wyldon fiddled with his tea mug. "Come, come, girl. You were in a fight. Name those you fought with."

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but there was no fight," she told him. "I fell down." "You fought with Joren, Zahir, and Vinson," Wyldon reminded her.

"Did they say that?" asked Kel, her face as blank as any true-born Yamani's. "How strange. I fell down."

Wyldon cursed Kel's stubbornness. It was hard to find someone stubborner than a Tortallan woman warrior.

Wyldon stared. "I imagine you have now come to your senses and wish to go home. At this time of year that will be difficult-"

"Excuse me Wyldon, how dare you assume such things of Kel? Did you dare put these words into the mouths of Joren, Zahir and Vinson?" Queen Thayet surprisingly and brutally commented.

Wyldon didn't dare reply, for he knew he had been in the wrong then. How could he not recognise the resilience in Kel at that time?

Surprised enough to forget her manners, she interrupted him. "No, sir."

"It will not be difficult? For your information, it has been snowing in the north over the past two weeks. It will snow here tonight."

Neal guffawed at the Stump's stupidity. He really did not know Kel well at that time.

Wyldon rubbed his healing arm.

"No, sir," Kel repeated firmly. "I don't want to go home. Your lordship."

"You do not want to go home." If she hadn't believed he could never be startled, she might have thought that he was now. He didn't normally repeat simple ideas.

Again, Neal struggled to hold in a serious bout of laughter.

"I don't believe falling down is an offense for which I can be expelled," she said, trying to speak I clearly. "I still have the rest of the year to prove I myself."

Wyldon tapped his fingers on his desk. "You I have the armory Sunday afternoons until April," he said at last. "And an essay each week on the improper uses of combat training. Now you'd better see a palace healer. That nose looks broken. Dismissed."

Kel bowed stiffly, then remembered something. She held out his handkerchief.
"Have it washed and returned to me," Wyldon ordered.
"Very good, my lord," she replied, and left. Neal would tell her where the healers saw patients.

Duke Baird of Queenscove, chief of the realm's healers, was a tall, weary-looking man.

Kel shut her eyes, mortified that the Duke was hearing her not very complimentary description of him.

A dark gray over-robe protected the black velvet tunic and hose he wore in mourning for the two sons he had lost. His eyes were a darker green than Neal's, set deep under straight brows. There was a red tint to his brown hair that was absent in his son's, but they had the same nose and the same direct gaze. While Neal paced, Baird rested big hands on Kel's shoulders. She saw his magic as emerald-colored light around his hands, and she felt it as a cool tide through her body. Her stiffness eased; the edge came off her aches. Kel had been beaten up before, but never so thoroughly; it shamed her to feel so happy at the easing of pain. The warriors at the imperial court had always insisted they did not even pay attention to pain when they had it.

Baird let go of her and rubbed his hands. "I am impressed, young lady," he told her with a wry smile. "You have been royally pounded."

Baird smiled, remembering fondly the many, many times his son's friend had been in to see him.

Kel smiled at him. "You should see the other fellows."
"There!" cried Neal, holding up his hands. "You see what I have to deal with!"

Everyone in the room burst into laughter at Neal's antics.

"You may have noticed my son has an endless capacity for drama," Baird told Kel. She couldn't help it: she grinned, and winced as her split lip opened.

"Ah," said the healer duke, "we can't have this." He touched an icy finger to Kel's lip. The hurt vanished. Next he touched the cuts in her eyebrows and on her hands; they went cold, then painless. The swellings on her knuckles shrank. Scraped places scabbed, as if Duke Baird had put three days' worth of healing into her.

"So much for chivalrous ideals, eh?" Neal demanded. "Three pages in their third year of training jump a first-year - a first-season page - "

"I started it," Kel informed her friend.

"Tell me another," he snapped.

"I did, on my honor." Kel looked at Neal's father. "I think Lord Wyldon just wanted my nose seen to, your grace. Not the rest."

"That is correct, Baird…" Wyldon said accusingly.

Baird just smiled regally at Wyldon, refusing to sink to the level of his childish son when it came to "the Stump".

"Since he sent you without written instructions, I may exercise my judgment," Baird told her. "I will indeed see to your nose. You've also pulled muscles in your left side-I can mend that and reduce the swelling around your eye. It will not do if you were to miss training because you could not see. I can alsoease that headache."

"What possessed you?" demanded Neal. He seemed as vexed by this matter-of-fact discussion as by Kel's story. "Why in the name of all the gods in all the Eastern and Southern Lands would you start a fight with them?"

Kel sighed. She wasn't about to tell how Merric had been shamed.

And for that, Merric was gratfeul.

"I didn't like the shape of Joren's nose."

Neal stared at her, eyes bulging. Finally he said, "If you meant to impress the Stump, you wasted your time. Don't you realize he'll never let you stay?"

Neal looked apologetically at Kel, who only shrugged off his past insult.

Kel looked down. "He could change his mind," she insisted. "You always think the worst of him."

"I what?" Neal began to produce a series of outraged noises that included squawks and whistling inhaled breaths. He sounded like one of her young nephews having a tantrum, not like a fifteen-year-old who'd been raised at court and at the university.

Everyone once again laughed at Neal's childish antics. Neal was humiliated that such refined figures like the King, Queen and their advisers were laughing along at his expense.

"If you cannot be quiet while I work," his father told him patiently, "go into the waiting room."

Neal marched out. A moment later, they heard him arguing with himself. Duke Baird closed the examining room door and placed his hands on either side of Keladry's head. "This may sting a bit," he warned.

"Sting" was not the word Kel would have used to describe the healing of her broken nose.

Baird shrugged apologetically at Kel who was cringing at the thought of the healing… she hated healings.

The flesh around it moved; cartilage grated. Her sinuses and teeth ached sharply, then throbbed. The pain stopped abruptly. She could breathe again.

She could also see from both eyes. The ache in her left side was fading. A moment later, Duke Baird stepped away from her.

"Beautiful," he said with approval. "You're quite strong, you know. I couldn't have done nearly so much if you weren't in the pink of health to begin with. You didn't fight me, either. You made it easy."

"My mother cracked us on the head with her fan when we fought healers," Kel admitted. "We all decided it was better to let them do their work."

"The Ilane of Seabeth and Seajen I used to dance with was a most forthright young lady,"

Ilane made eye contact with Baird, blushing.

Baird admitted, smiling. "I am glad to see that she still is."

Kel and Anders gagged at the idea of their mother interacting with Baird, and Neal likewise did not look all that happy at the idea of Kel's mum dancing with his dad!

Now it was Kel's turn to gape. Her mother used to dance? With men who were not her father?

Ilane found this series of questions hilarious, as did Raoul evidently, as he could scarce hold in his chuckles.

"I hope you will remember me to her when next you write." Baird helped her to slide off his examining table.

"Yes, sir. I mean, yes, your grace," Kel said, fumbling the proper words for a man of his rank.

Baird opened the door to his waiting room. Neal stood in the middle of it, hands on hips. "I've decided," Neal announced. "She's insane.

"If I'm insane Neal, what does that make you" retorted Kel.

Neal huffed. He did not like this story at all.

The entire palace is insane."

His father lifted reddish-brown eyebrows. "Does this mean that you have come to your senses and will return to the university?" he asked mildly.

Neal choked, glared at his father, and stalked out of the room.

"I didn't think so," Baird remarked softly. "Keladry, I would like to say I hope we only meet socially in future. Somehow, I don't think that will be the case."

Kel grinned at him. "You're probably right, your grace."
"Don't mind my boy. He gets... overenthusiastic, but he has a good heart."

Baird smiled fondly at his only remaining son. He was so proud of him already, but was sure, that as they continued to read these books, he would only become more proud.

"I know that," Kel reassured the duke, and yawned.
"To bed," the healer ordered. "You need the sleep."
Kel bowed, covering another yawn, and trotted to catch up with Neal.

And with that, Raoul finished the chapter, likewise yawning.

Throughout his reading some of the others who had been up early for training were also yawning, so Raoul did up the scroll.

He nodded at Kel who agreed it was time to send everyone to bed. He and Kel were extremely practiced at communicating with each other silently, what with their experiences together in the field over the past decade.

Kel stood and announced to everyone that they should head to sleep. Just as everyone was about to stand and file out of the Chamber, the candlelights flickered off and the room was unnaturally lit by a green glow of divine magic…

Helllooooo, I am back. I am so sorry for the delay, but hopefully we will be back to a couple of chapters a week, so check back here often. Emily.