Huh. Reckon I’m learnin’ more than I thought I was. He hadn’t been able to read Jakyr nearly so well before. It had seemed that nothing could shake Jakyr—but it appeared that beneath his facade, Jakyr was just as fallible as anyone else. And just as human. This must be Jakyr’s big flaw, that he was skittish about being tied down to anyone, afraid of demands on himself. Well, whatever his reason for that was, it wasn’t Mags’ to sort out.
And he still liked Jakyr, even with having “heard” that unflattering thought. But now he had a lot more sympathy for the Bard that had been his lover. If that was how the man felt about her—well, no wonder she was sharp with him. Being thought of as a weight around someone’s neck—that was enough to make anyone angry. Especially if they were perfectly competent on their own and had no thought to make demands. It was sadly clear that Jakyr saw such things where nothing of the sort actually existed.
In Mags’ case, he had not wanted Jakyr to be a father (as the man seemed to fear he did), nor a brother, nor a mentor, nor even a protector anymore. He had Dallen as a brother, he had friends—and as for a mentor, in a real sense, he had Herald Nikolas, who seemed to have appointed himself as mentor. As for a father, well, he had gotten this far without one. He supposed he could continue to function without one.
Protector—well, that had always been up to him, to protect himself.
:And you have me,: said Dallen. : I will always protect you.:
He smiled a little. That was no small thing. :Aye, I have you.:
They headed up the hard-packed snow path, the clear, bright light of a cloudless winter day making both of them squint against the glare. The buildings loomed darkly against the hard, bright sky, and with so little activity about the sound of hammering and sawing rang out in the clear air. Jakyr turned toward the Collegium; Mags had to correct him. “I got a room in th’ stable, there ain’t ’nuff room up there. I like it. An’ it lets me be near Dallen.”
Jakyr frowned and looked as if he was about to be angry. “The stable? That hardly seems ... right. A Trainee doesn’t belong in the stable, like some—stablehand.”
Mags only smiled. “What ain’t right is th’ way they got them Trainees packed in rooms up there, like sheeps all penned up t’gether. I got privacy! Ye’ll see—” By this time they were inside the stable, and half a dozen Companions beside Dallen whickered a welcome. Mags waved to all of them, then flung the door of his room open and bowed Jakyr inside.
The older Herald looked around and rolled his eyes a little. Mags was glad he had neatened it up that morning; the small window let in a lot of light, even if the panes of glass were thick and bubbly and no bigger than his hand. The thick walls kept out the drafts better than some rooms at the Collegium did at this moment, what with doors being left open, and access to the roof, too. His back wall radiated warmth, since the ovens had been pressed into use by the Palace kitchens to bake bread for the Midwinter Feasts taking place each night. His bed had been neatly made, and over the course of the last few weeks he had managed to get extra blankets, cushions, even a rug. Candles on the table, an oil lamp on the wall; not even the best rooms at the Collegium were better than this.
Jakyr nodded a grudging approval. “All right, this is reasonably cozy. If things are as crowded up there as you say—I’d probably prefer this, too.”
“Here,” Mags said, taking the little package from the shelf where he had left it, and thrusting it at Jakyr. “Happy Midwinter, sir. Jest a liddle thing, kinda t’ thank ye fer bein’ persistent ’bout getting’ me outa there.”
“Nonsense, it wasn’t—” He opened the package and blinked.
“Jesses! Aylmer jesses! And I take it this is Dallen’s hair! But how did you—”
“Dallen said. Ain’t much Dallen don’t know about,” Mags said with pardonable pride. “Him an’ me, we worked t’gether on these things. Taught me t’ make the braids, he did. Made page markers fer m’ other friends, down th’ hill. Master Soren Mender’s niece an’ her lot. Been spendin’ most of the holiday with ’em, since Bear and Lena’re gone.” He did not add that the page markers were his excuse to see them and vice versa, if they needed to get information from him directly. Just undo the braiding a little, and bring it to him to fix. Or send a message asking him to bring another.
Jakyr blinked. “Soren Mender? Councillor Soren Mender?” At Mags’ nod, he shook his head. “Lad, you are not only like the cat that lands on his feet, you are the cat which has landed on his feet in front of a bowl of cream, and had a trout leap out of the water to land beside him. Next, I’ll probably learn that the King’s Own has decided to be your mentor.”
Mags managed not to choke. Fortunately, Jakyr was looking down at the jesses, which were round horsehair braids with a knot on one end, each about twice as long as Jakyr’s hand. Mags hadn’t the foggiest clue what they were for, but Jakyr seemed very taken with them.
“In any event, I was hoping you could spend the rest of the morning with me. Have you that time free?” He smiled. “Since you’ve been so kind as to give me these, I thought you might want to see my bird hunting.” Since Jakyr looked as if he meant it, Mags nodded.
Together, they took Jakyr’s falcon out for some exercise and enough hunting to satisfy her—she was more than happy to rid the Palace of a couple of pigeons—and Jakyr showed Mags how the little braided jesses worked on the falcon’s legs. She had something on each leg that Jakyr called a “bracelet” that was a bit of leather with metal grommets hammered on each end. When Jakyr came to get her, she had something he called “Mews jesses” slipped through the grommets. These had a loop on the ends that was tied off to a leash. When Jakyr popped a kind of eyeless hat that he called a “hood” on her head, and picked her up, he changed these out with the ones that Mags had made.
“You see, if she decides not to come back, these will pull out of the bracelets, and they don’t have a slit on them to get caught on a branch,” Jakyr explained. “Once the jesses are off, she could rid herself of the bracelets, too.”
He seemed unperturbed at the notion that she might not come back as he took the hood off, let her see the pigeons feeding, and sent her aloft. In less time than it took to think about it, she had struck down one of the feeding birds. Jakyr came to take her up, and she mantled her wings over her kill so that he had to move up very slowly and ease his hand under her from behind, taking her up with her kill. She seemed an aloof and bloodthirsty creature to Mags, and he said as much as Jakyr stowed the pigeon in a game bag.
Jakyr laughed at that, as he sent her in pursuit of another pigeon. “Hawks are not pets, Mags. It’s a rare hawk that shows you even a morsel of affection. Generally, the best you get from them is tolerance as a hunting partner and provider of food and shelter. I never know when I cast her from my wrist if she is going to come back this time. And do you know, I don’t really mind that. I know being with me has made her a better hunter. If she decides never to come back, well, that is how it goes.”