I never thought I’d find myself here, Kero thought for the hundredth time, watching the rest of the wedding guests over the rim of her goblet. She tried not to fidget; tried not to feel as if she was being smothered under all the layers of her holiday dress. I should be back in the kitchen.
But she didn’t need to be in the kitchen, not anymore. Grandmother Kethry had seen to that. There was a proper housekeeper now—which was just as well, since Dierna was not up to handling the kitchen staff and servers the way Kero had. She was good at knowing what orders to give the housekeeper, what servants were best where, which was something Kero had never been able to figure out. She was a marvel at loom and needle, and Lordan was shortly going to find himself in possession of a thriving woolen-cloth trade if Dierna had anything to say about it. She was fair useless in the stillroom, but—
But the housekeeper can do that, too.
This housekeeper was an impoverished gentlewoman, found by Kethry by means of one of her many (and mysterious) contacts. Kero had a vague idea that there was a relative involved in some way.
An uncle? An aunt? Someone connected with some kind of mage school, I think.
There was something about the way she’d been dispossessed, too. Something unjust, that Kethry wouldn’t go into when Dierna was around. Could it possibly be something involving Dierna’s uncle, the Baron? Well, no matter what the cause, here she was, and grateful for the post. Being neither noble nor servant, she was perfect for the position, which wasn’t quite “family,” and wasn’t exactly “underling.”
Perfect, as Kero had not been; she knew that now. Too close to the servants for them to “respect” her properly; that was what Dierna’s mother had said.
She’d said a lot more, when she thought Kero couldn’t hear. Kero glanced at the lady in question, sitting on the other side of the bride and groom, and lording it over her half of the table. I’m glad for Lordan’s sake she won’t be here much longer. I might murder her and disgrace him.
Thank the gods for grandmother and Tarma, she thought, as Lordan and his bride shared a goblet of wine, and made big eyes at each other. They were like whirlwinds, magic whirlwinds. They blew in, they created order, and they’re about to blow out again before anyone has a chance to resent them. Even Dierna.
To her credit, through, the bride showed no signs of resenting Kethry’s “interference,” despite the plaints of her own mother. She’d had more than enough on her hands, even with the aid of the housekeeper. Dierna had taken over nursing Lordan as soon as Kethry had pronounced him fit for company, and he’d quite fallen in love with his intended.
They’re besotted, she thought resignedly. I suppose it’s just as well.
She looked down over the Great Hall, at all the other guests, like a bed of multicolored flowers in their finery, and many of them just about as immobile. Fully half of them couldn’t stand, and all of them wore some token of mourning, but that didn’t seem to be putting any kind of a pall on the celebrations. Wendar saw to it that the wine kept flowing, and the celebrants were chattering so loudly that it was impossible to hear the minstrels at the end of the hall. All enmities seemed to have been forgotten, at least for now.
But she kept catching strange glances cast her way. It was beginning to make her want to squirm with discomfort, but she kept her seat and her dignity.
I’m a heroine. And I’m an embarrassment.
That just about summed it all up. She looked down into her wine, and felt the all-too-familiar melancholy settle over her.
She didn’t fit in. She didn’t belong. Even her own brother looked at her as if she had suddenly become a stranger.
I rescued Dierna. Which makes me a heroine. Just one little problem—I’m Lordan’s sister.
She’d already heard some of Lordan’s peers teasing him about his “older brother Kero.” It made him uncomfortable, for all that he was deeply, truly grateful, for all that he’d offered her anything she wanted, right down to half the lands. And it shamed him. He should have been the one to rescue his bride. Wasn’t that the way it went in the tales? Not his sibling.
Not his sister.
She could talk until she was blue in the face about how it had been Kethry’s sword that had done everything. None of that mattered—because she had gone out on The Ride in the first place, without the help of the sword.
That’s what they were calling it now, “The Ride.” There were even rumors of a song.
Dierna did not want her in the bower. Not that Kero wanted to be in the bower. She most assuredly did not fit in there.
But she keeps looking at me as if she thinks I’m—what was it that Tarma said, the other day? She’chorne. Like I’m going to suddenly start courting her. Like I make her skin crawl.
Kero gulped down half the wine in her goblet, and a page immediately reached over her shoulder and poured her more. The rich fruity scent rose to her nostrils, and tempted her not at all.
I wish I dared get drunk.
The hired guards didn’t want her in the barracks. It was not that it was “unwomanly” for her to be there by their standards. They had enough women with them already. It was that she didn’t fit there because of her status. She was noble, and she was family, and she didn’t belong with the hirelings.
And her old friends among the servants kept treating her like some kind of demi-deity.
I don’t fit here anymore, she thought, a notion that had begun to make its own little rut through her mind, she’d repeated it so often. I just don’t fit here. If I stay here much longer, I think I may go mad. It feels like I’m being smothered. Tarma was right. You can put a hawk in a birdcage, like a songbird, but it’s still a hawk.
She caught a movement down at the second table, and saw her grandmother and her friend easing out of their seats. It didn’t look like a trip to the necessary; it seemed more final. Somehow she knew where they were going. Back to the Tower. They weren’t needed here anymore, either—so they were making a graceful, unobtrusive exit.
I wish I could do the same—
That was when it hit her.
Why can’t I do the same? Why can’t I just go? She sat up straighter, feeling her cheeks warming with excitement. I have to return Grandmother’s sword anyway—so why don’t I follow after them? Maybe they’ll be willing to teach me things. Didn’t Tarma say they used to have a school?
The more she thought about it, the better the idea sounded. And the more intolerable and confining the idea of remaining here became. Finally she excused herself from the table—her seatmate didn’t even notice—and slipped out of the Great Hall and into the corridor beyond.
Once there, she hiked her encumbering skirts above her knees, and ran for her room. There were no servants in the hall to see her, and although she split one sleeve of the gown, she no longer cared. Let Dierna give it to one of her maids.