Disclaimer, completely, totally, and thoroughly random Author's Note: I own nothing. It's sad, but it's true. And I hate this *%#@!~!!!!! computer! The stupid mouse doesn't work! GAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! My computer is a piece of antiquated junk. Correction-a piece of antiquated junk that has no printer, no scanner, no internet access, and the slowest processor I've ever seen, as well as the aforementioned mouse. DAMN!

La. Oh well, at least it's spring time now. I love Houston for that; I might even be able to forgive it for the month of August, which as any one who lives in Texas knows, is the equivalent to the third degree, plus some. It's too bad Dante didn't live now, I'm sure he'd have some more creative things to add to his Inferno.

'...and all who commit sins will be destined to live in a Houston-like hell, where it is always August, and always in a drought. What's more, the air conditioning system will decide it hates you, and go kaput. You will not live in an adobe house, which is passable in that sort of weather, but rather one of the large brick ones real estate developers are always making...did I mention your job? You're a major executive of Arthur Anderson, but let's go back to the house...you live by the train tracks...'

Ok, that even scared me. I babble way too much. One last thing before the chapter, my friend and I made it up, we got bored. It probably won't be funny to anyone else, but anyway:

Top Ten Ways To Tell You Go To One Of Those Uber-Exclusive Prep Schools Which Consist Of Geniuses, Legacies, and Idiot Savants:

1. You have a city-wide reputation as being the preppiest people on earth, and even your gothic-punk-esque friends admit that they, too, are preps.

2. Your school refused to admit George W. Bush, and said school spends all its time mocking Bush for not being able to get in, even though all of their parents voted for him, seeing as everyone is Republican, and would rather die than vote for a Dem.

3. In seventh grade, you are already looking at colleges, and you own an SAT prep book.

4. You, and everyone with older brothers and sisters, know that the entire high school is on drugs, and that percentage-wise, more of them have used than the public high school which is next door.

5.In seventh, you have more homework than the average high school freshman (and you've checked.)

6. You know twelve year olds who go to Paris with their mothers to buy their Chanel.

7.You will get a mental breakdown if you don't get into Harvard.

8.You own math textbooks in classes you haven't even started the preresiquites in.

9.You already have several criminal cartels planned for taking over the world

10.You have such a lack of social skills, you have nothing better to do with your free time than write these lists.

Ok, yall are all bored by that, I don't care, I found it funny. It's very....my school-ish. Seriously, I go to the oddest educational institution on earth. But whatever. Qui donne un merde? Ok, I also need to work on my French. Why is it that I have about a years worth of education in every language on earth?!?!?!?!?

Anyway, here you go! Present, one time only special deal! Chapter.....nine!

Chapter Nine Another Chance?

There were seven days until that gods-damned public relations event, and already everything was going downhill Oh, nothing that terrible has happened, only that I've been forced to pretend that I am going to become the Maggot's next mistress. Not that I could possibly be upset by that state of affairs; no, of course not. Because I'm Kel, aren't I? Sweet-little-nice-Kel-who-would-never-be-angry-about-anything-oh-no-she-just-laughs-it-all-off-because-she's-so-gods-damned-happy-all-of-the-time-yes-yes-yes-isn't-she-wonderful?-she's-so-nice-so-sweet-I-wish-there-were-more-girls-like-her-in-this-world-...-the-state-of-society...Like hell I am. Like hell.

I angrily tugged a comb through the rats-nest I ordinarily referred to as my hair, and it broke into two. "Dammit," I yelled aloud, aware that I was greatly overreacting. What's wrong with me? Gods, do I need to calm down. Goddess! I picked the wooden splinters out of my hair, and threw them against the wall, watching them bounce off satisfyingly. I

really want to break something. Dammit!

I gave up, and left my hair as it was. I covered my face with my hands. I think I'm actually breaking my all-time record for severe moodiness...Scary thought...Seeing as the last time I broke my record I practically murdered Joren... I grinned, relishing the memory, and the fact that I'd been able to kick Gorgeous-Boy's ass so easily. And such an attractive one, too... ok, Kel, chill with the thoughts, you have a major case of lust on him, nothing more, breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in...

"Oy, Kel," Ryer said blithely, walking into my room, and effectively destroying my --kill the world! kill them all!-mood. "Morning!"

I turned to look at her, and paused, silently pondering upon what to say in reaction. "Ryer, darling," I replied, finally, slowly, try being subtle, don't scream, don't scream, "you do know, I suppose, that you look like a painted pigeon, and that green is not your color, don't you?"

Ryer sniffed aristocratically. "And what would a child like you know about the delicate art of cosmetics? And just where do you pick up these….rustic…expressions?"

I groaned. "Ry, you look terrible. Please. Take it off." She did not look convinced. I clasped my hands beseechingly. "For the love of the Goddess, Ryer, take it off!"

Ryer shrugged. "Fine, whatever. I didn't come here to have you critique my use of cosmetics, you know."

I looked shocked. "You didn't. Oh, Ry, that is terrible! You mean, you mean that whatever I say, nothing will convince you otherwise? Oh, that is horrible! Simply awf-"

"Oh, be quiet, Mindelan," Joren of Stone Mountain said, idly leaning against the door. I hadn't noticed him come in. He looked good tanned, almost god-like. It required a lot of self control not to throw myself at him. "You are so annoying sometimes. Melka came in to tell you about the mission, y'know, how it went, not about her make-up, although I'll agree with you that it sucks. Majorly. It's a long story, though, you really don't want to hear it."

"Oh?" I inquired, tightly twisting my lips. "Enlighten me, O Wise All-Knowing One. Fill me with the joy that comes from the knowledge of one such as yourself. I prostrate myself at your altar."

"You don't have to be so gods-damned sarcastic all the time," he said icily. "I don't have a problem with it most of the time, but calm down with it. Our mission was sort of successful, though, back on topic."

"Sorta successful?" I asked. "Is that like being sort of pregnant?"

Ryer lay a restraining hand on my arm. "Kel, you're a sweet girl, and it's a delight and a charm to have met you. Shut up. Please."

Jutting my chin forward, I obeyed, leaning back against the head of my bed, gazing at him sullenly. "Go on," I told him, coldly. "Finish, why don't you."

Joren smiled, transforming his face completely. "Thanks for the grudging support, Kel. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it. Makes me feel loved. But anyway, we went, we talked to the peasants, and they agreed that if our mission is successful-"

"-I never miss. Don't suggest anything, junior."

"Never doubted it. But when Ryer's had her shot, they'll revolt, we'll have support, and we'll get a safe ride out of Scanra."

And if she misses? There's always a first time, y'know. "And what is the plan if Ryer should be unable to get a direct hit?" I looked him straight in the eye, hoping that perhaps, like in books, that truly did phaze people. Well, apparently it doesn't, but...

"Well," he said, sheepishly, "that's a bit of a problem. Y'see, if Ryer misses....."

"....Yes?"

"Well, then we get to rot in the Scanran prisons until we are executed; tortured, questioned, and all that crap. Worst case scenario, one of us talks, and a war starts between Tortall and Scanra, and worst-worst case scenario, they win." Joren shrugged, nonchalant. "Can you spell 'royally screwed?'"

"Why, yes, I can. R-o-y-a-l-l-

"I didn't exactly mean that literally, Mindelan."

***

Five days, thirteen hours, and twenty-two minutes until the stupid parade; five days, thirteen hours, and twenty-two minutes until the damn public relations event; five days, thirteen hours, and twenty-one minutes...

Goddess.

It was late afternoon, the sun just setting. I was eating an apple; I was free. I had feigned illness, and was let off of work, and attempting relaxation after a long, complicated day. To put as an understatement, it wasn't working very well. I had been reciting my little count for the past three hours.

I am so fucking stressed out...

I shut my eyes, and tried to concentrate, to meditate, hell, just to think. My day....

...Okay. It starts out, early morning. I have to arrange a place of viewing for Ryer to be in, okay, that sounded really clumsy, but there is no other way to put it. I walk in, have a lively chat, flirtation, whatever with the very attractive owner of said piece of property. He really is attractive....but let's get back to the subject. The stupid place is arranged for. Wondrous. Need to skip now. Too much damn energy. Whatever.

So, we have all are positions in place, too. Ry will be up, ready to shoot, and kill Rathhausak, and JJ will lead the guards, maneuvering them into giving her a decent shot. Both of them have okay jobs. Do I, yours truly, the one and only most important person in this world have an okay job? No. I get to act as the Maggot's mistress, and therefore I have to be down in the parade walking with him. Mithros, my life sucks.

Again, unimportant. After we are finished discussing that, Joren and I go on about what we shall do after he's dead. Ryer has another job lined up, so she's out of the picture, but he and I have to go home. It's the middle of June, it took us about four months to get here, so we'll be back across the border by, oh, lesse, forgot how to count, la la la… July, August, September-October. We'll be there by October. We aren't required to be back at the palace until Midwinter....vacation time! We sorta have to visit our families; I can see it thrills him as much as it does me. Month of October at his home, it's closer to the border, November at mine, and back in Corus by December. Pefect...

I sighed. I'm really not interested in all this crap, I decided. It's a waste of my time.

And that bastard the Maggot better die. If he survives through this whole torturous year, I'm going to murder him.

The thought made me smile.

***

Three days, three days, three days.... I sat, perfectly postured in the middle of the servant's hall, smiling elegantly as befitted the king's future mistress, and slowly counting down the days until he died. I was really looking forward to it. Perhaps 'looking forward to it' is not the phrase. About at basket case level, although Ryer was worse than me. We're all on edge.

Joren was more irritable than ever, quicker to quarrel, more argumentative. He kept whittling, but not for any form of art. Just to strip the bark from the wood, and then to crack it into a hundred pieces. We started playing chess, in the evenings, just to pass the time away, and the games invariably turned into total war. Neither of us were very good losers, particularly me. I hate being a good loser. It's much more satisfying to be a sore loser. I'd rather kick them in the shins, knock them down, and steal the victory. He was hardly any better, sulking whenever I beat him, and lording it over me in the opposite case. I was about to strangle him.

I just had violent mood swings, as always, and very loud quarrels with Joren. He was the only person I could take it out on, because I knew he'd still be there when I was ready to apologize, the only person I could rely on, but of course I didn't tell him that. There are some things you just don't tell the object of your lust, especially if he is your best enemy.

I mentally sighed. That sounded so stupid. And the trio of male evilness is going to die. As in, dead. Preferrably in a very painful manner. Goddess, why did they have to send us here? Of all gods-forsaken regions of the world, they pick a cold one. Raoul better send us down south, when we get back, or he will die, too.

Even that line of thought could not hold me very long. I let my gaze wander around the hall, upon the lady's maids, the scullery maids, the kitchenmaids. The housemaids, although this was not a house, the dairy maids. The gardeners, the grooms, the games keepers. The female head of the servants, the male head of the servants. Valets, and maids-of-all-work. They were a multitude, and I felt a pang of conscience for them, conscience for all like them, laboring in obscurity, and then dying. I did not want to possess fame, but it would be nice to have someone grieve for me after my death. For me to be yet another name for future Sir Myleses to torture their pupils with. I could

imagine a man droning on.... 'And among them, Keladry of Mindelan, who as all of you know was the second lady knight... Runnerspring, are you writing this down? Punishment work! You and Queenscove...'

The thought made me smile. Perhaps one day Garvey's and Neal's children would get along, though most likely not. The least I could do after I died would be that, create extra pain for future knights. I recalled some very good memories with Merric, Cleon, and Owen, (Neal being too mature for that, and considering us philistines) burning a few of our books after -hurrah!-we no longer were required to ever see them again. Those had been good times. I had fit in then. What the hell...?

Of course, that's it. This isn't, this hasn't been going on forever, just for, oh, two or three years. I did like them, didn't I, they were my friends. It's only since I became a teenager that this started....stereotypical teen angst? Oh Goddess, I'm starting to psychoanalyze myself...

I bit my lip. When I get home, if, I mean, if I get home, I should give them another chance, you know, I really should. They're not bad types, just oblivious; I think maybe I was the one with the problem. I just...lost it. For a while, I lost it. And now I feel really uncomfortable around them. I should give it another go, act like I mean everything. They are sorta my friends, after all.

I want to go home, I thought. I'm homesick. I just want to go home.

So tell me.

Is that such a bad thing to ask?

Second Author's Note: I'm really sorry that this is so late. I just had a rather disturbing month. One of my classmates' fathers committed suicide, and I learned that one of my best friend's fathers is abusive. Add on the fact that they decided to drown me in homework and I concentrated really hard on my dance.... I didn't really have time to write.

EVILSTRAWBERRY: Poor Kel…. Awesome! New synonym for 'totally incredibly make out!' Cool, though I've never heard the word pash before…. Are you sure that you aren't making it up…J Thanx!

ZENIN: Mr. Peter's is gonna FRY me once he realizes what I've done…. BWAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!! Think Kel as trophy wife. V. funny image, don't you thin? Ooh….J-J and his UZI…..

KITTYMONSTER: I know, the facial expression is PRICELESS. Don't worry, I have no life at all either, no car, not old enough to have a license, you know. It's ok. Thanx!

STARJADE: New person, new person! Thrilled ness. Thank you so much! I never thought really that she was boring, just that she was too….nice. Any normal person would run around kicking people in their shins if they were bullied, just from my observations. Kinda unrealistic. ThanksHENNA: 200th reviewer!!!!!!! Little firework celebration for me! So happy, so happy! Anyway…well, the creepy old man WON"T become kels love interest, down worry about that, ha ha ha! Cha-ching!

Stacey: YES!!!! Ha! My plan has been realized! I want to use ur idea, but I have one all planned out, and they get to have this huge makeout scene…..lol!!!!!!! scariness, mine having as much as yours. But oh well. For the amusement of anyone who reads these things:

STACEY"S ( V. AMUSING) VERSION OF HOW IT SHOULD GO:

Joren gets all jealous and DID YOU KISS HIM, YOU WHORE? and Kel would be all SO WHAT IF I DID, NOT LIKE YOU CARE! and then Joren would be like YOU IDIOT OF COURSE I CARE! and Kel could be like WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU'RE BEING WEIRD! and then Joren will be like FUCK YOU! and Kel would be like GLADLY! and Joren will kiss her and they will have hot passionate sex!.....Er.... yeah. Anyway.

Well, I think its funny. Anyway, !!!!!!!!!!!!!! the thought of Neal! I think I'm going to go faint right now…..

Lady Me: I live in Texas, but I wasn't born here. I'm not exactly sure WHERE I'm from, maybe Virginia, or something. Who knows?

Angel Of The Storms: evil cliffies rock my world. They're so fun, and as the author, they TOTALLY feed my napoleonic complex….yeah. ok. Yeah, isn't it AWESOME???? Lol. Thanx!

Free2Bme: ha ha, maybe I should have Ryer give up and recruit her little sister to kill Rathhausak. What's your name? You could be her, it'd be funny….

Free2Bme 's version of how Rathhausak should die

runs up to Rauthusaak (sp?) with a baseball bat and starts beating the tar out of him*
"Stupid...old...ugly...dude..." *Kel comes in with her staff and asks to take over. I kindly step aside and watch her finish the job as Rauthusaak cries like a baby and calls for his mommy* Kel: That's what you get. Now play nice. *shuts door on his solitary confinement cell*

cytosine: yo. I TOTALLY agree. He's a jerk. Let's all kill him! (NOTE TO EVERYONE: JOIN THE WE HATE FIDO THAT ANNOYING DOG CLUB! CURRENTLY COMPOSED OF…ME! BUT THAZ OK!) so glad u like Ryer, I'm working REALLY hard 2 not make her a mary sue, and its very difficult. Thanx SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much. (Btw, u have a flametorch, we can steal Zenin's knife, and I'll loan u my machete. Tonight, at the creator of Fido's house. Don't forget.)

Blade Griffin: the last person on my list! Hurrah! Writing personal notes takes a LOT of time, ya know. Yes, we have perfect understanding, and I intend to cooperate fully. * gulp * I hope u don't attack my voodoo doll with pins…. * twists around flailing, with millions of little holes within. * thank ya!