Lessons

"Asa? What's wrong with me?" Kei asked, stirring her tea three times.

The old woman squinted at her, her knobby fingers stopped their methodical kneading of her day's bread. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong with you. Why would you even think that?"

"The day I lost control..."

"Aye. Perhaps I do owe you an explanation about that. I did not expect such a reaction from you. Our magic is different from those with the Gift or the Sight, it's a magic that derives from the earth. It is not something that fades with use, it is a constant wellspring of power, given to us from the gods. It can consume you, if you let it."

"Every inch of me burned."

"Well, child, you have more Seer magic than I have ever seen in a person," she said gently. "But you are as the God's made you."

"I don't want it," Kei said.

"The God's don't give us more than we can handle," Asa scolded, "and you'd do well to accept the load your given."

"Is that what I'm meant for?" the little girl seethed, eyes flashing. "Change everyone's fate but my own?"

Asa sighed, "You know that's not what you're meant for."

"Meant for." She spit the words out. "You don't know what I'm meant for. No one does!" Kei too the cup she had been working over and knocked it to the floor, where, amazingly, it stayed intact.

The brown lukewarm liquid spread across the floor with achingly slow fingers reaching outward and outward. Kei stood there, defiant, stubborn, angry. Asa bent to pick up the cup, which had clattered to her feet. "Who's reading is this?"

"Mine," Kei said, deflating a little. "Why? Isn't it empty, like always?"

She tipped the cup so she could see the clump of leaves splattered on the edge. Very clearly, the leaves took shape. The star, the chain, the wheel, the ram. "Heed the warning, child. Shakith is bending your ear. Go on, read your leaves."

"It cautions responsibility, inevitable change, fire..." Kei paused, looking up, "What does the star mean?"

"Ah, that is a lesson for another day."

The Dancing Dove was bustling. Patrons and thieves weaved in and out of the smoke-filled air, and the noise of them and their ladies having fun was deafening.

"I didn't bring one," a voice yelled above the din, causing George's attention to wander to Rispah and the violet eyed Page who followed. The men and women at his table eyed Alan curiously.

Here it comes, George mentally sighed. Finally he spoke. "Alan, this is Rispah, the Queen of the ladies who follow the Rogue. Alan's a friend of mine-from the country."

Rispah gave a crooked grin. "I'm sure he is." Raising her voice, she called, "Solom, you old doddard, bring lemonade for the boy. Can't you see he's parched? Unless you want somethin' stronger, youngling?"

Alan turned bright red. "No, thank you."

George watched the lad, sizing him up. Kei said that he needed a favor, and George could guess. But he wouldn't never expected it from little Alan. How could he have misjudged this little chit so completely. Well, if he wanted that kind of favor, he oughta come out with it, George thought. I don't intend to make this easy on him. Finally. he said, "I hear you're havin' trouble with the Malven."

"That's one way of putting it," he agreed.

Solom appeared with a tankard of lemonade. "Welcome back, Master Alan," he smiled. "I see yer arm be healed."

"Good as new. Thanks, Solom," he accepted the tankard and looked at George. "May I?"

"Yes, of course. Sit down."

"Actually-can we go talk alone? I-I need a favor."

George stood, grim-faced. "We'll go to my chambers." He put an arm around his shoulders and added, "Solom, we're not to be disturbed."

The innkeeper nodded. "As ye say, Majesty."

"They call you 'Majesty'?" he asked, shocked.

"Why not? I'm king here-more king than the man who sits atop the big hill. My people wouldn't give him a word in passing, but they follow my slightest wish."

"I suppose," she said doubtfully.

George unlocked the door. "You're careless, young Alan, but you're polite." He inspected each corner of his two rooms, for both intruders and his sneaky sister, before waving the boy inside. "Sit." He lit a branch of candles from the torch in the hall before closing the door.

"Why am I careless?" she wanted to know. "I made sure no one saw me leave the palace."

"Hmph." Kei knew, and about four of his men knew. He grew tired of the game little Alan was playing and drawled,"A favor, you say. What's it to be? A throat-cutting? Some of my bully boys taking Ralon into an alley for a chat?"

Alan balked, anger practically buzzing off of him, the chair he'd chosen but a second ago fell over so quickly that Gerge couldn't be sure it was Alan's doing at all. "If that's what you think I want, I'm off," he snapped. "I-I thought-" He bit his lip, although whether it was to keep his anger in or to stop the hurt from coming out, George couldn't be sure.

"Easy, lad. Here." George picked up the chair and pressed him back into it. "I misjudged you. Forgive me. I've known many nobles who take advantage. How was I to know you aren't one of them?"

Alan frowned, puzzled. "What d'you mean, 'nobles who take advantage'?"

George sighed and sat down. "I've known nobles who thought I should be grateful for their friendship-grateful enough to do them all sorts of favors. They wanted a kept thief, not a friend. I thought at first that's what you came for. Now I see you're here as a friend, askin' a friend's help. It isn't a beatin' for Ralon that you want? It's a beatin' he needs."

"That's what I want," he said grimly, "but I want to be the one to beat him."

"Better and better. Why come to me, then?"

"Because!" said a voice from the shadows, Alan froze in surprise. Kei, George mentally sighed, gods above he shouldn't have taught her how to sneak. "All the pages learn to fight the same way. You've got tricks up your sleeve, brother."

"Exactly," Alan said with a nod, content now that Kei had reveled herself to be the voice in the shadow. "Corram's been teaching me boxing and wrestling, but-"

"Why d'you think I can teach you better than a man who cut his eyeteeth on a sword?"

"But that's it. Coram is a swordsman. I bet you win your fights bare-handed, or with a knife."

George grinned. "You're right at that." He stood, removing his vest and boots. "Take off your cloak, then, and the shoes. Your first lesson starts now. Kei, go home."

"Nope. My lesson starts now too," she said, a little too smugly.

He just sighed, resigned. Kei knew it, because she had seen it.