Silence. The pile of straw men began to collapse behind Aisa’s back, and she dug her heels into the floor, clutching her book, trying to keep the entire mountain from shifting down in an avalanche.
“I understand,” Pen replied stiffly. “I’m sorry to put you in this position.”
“Christ, Pen, we’ve all been there. You won’t find a man in her mother’s Guard who didn’t go through this at one point or another. It’s an old problem. A difficult thing.”
Aisa was losing ground. She pushed hard with her legs, pressing back against the corner, holding the pile of straw men in place. If they would only leave!
“Better get about it now. She’ll wake in a few hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
Footsteps retreated toward the door.
“Pen?”
“Sir?”
“You’re doing a good job. She doesn’t mind having you a foot away, I can tell, and that’s really a remarkable accomplishment. I’m not sure she wouldn’t have killed anyone else by now.”
Pen didn’t reply. A moment later, Aisa heard the door open and close. She relaxed and felt one of the straw men topple to the ground on her right.
“And you, hellcat?”
Aisa gave a small shriek. The Mace loomed over her, his hands clenched on the table edge. Despite her fright, Aisa couldn’t help staring at those hands, which were covered in scars. Venner and Fell had told her that the Mace was a great fighter, one of the greatest in the Tear. To have hands like that, he must have been battling for a lifetime.
That’s what I want to be, Aisa realized, staring fixedly at the three white scars across one knuckle. That dangerous. That feared.
“I’ve heard of your nightly wanderings, girl. Venner and Fell tell me you’ve a great gift for the knife.”
Aisa nodded, her face flushing slightly with pleasure.
“Do you come here every night?”
“Almost. I wish I could sleep in here.”
The Mace was not distracted. “You’ve heard something you shouldn’t. Something that could be very dangerous to the Queen.”
“Why?”
“Don’t play foolish with me. I’ve watched you, you’re a quick little thing.”
Aisa’s paused for a moment. “I am quick. But I won’t tell anyone what I heard.”
“You’re not an easy child.” The Mace looked closely at her, and Aisa shrank back. His eyes were terrible things, invasive, as though he were turning her inside out with his gaze. “What do you mean to do with your knife one day? If you’re as gifted as Venner and Fell claim?”
“I’ll be a Queen’s Guard,” Aisa replied promptly. She had decided this three days ago, at the very moment she had snuck under Fell’s guard and dimpled his jugular with her knife.
“Why?”
Aisa cast around for words, but nothing came, only the image, deep in her mind, of Da’s shadow on the nighttime wall. That was nothing she could tell the Mace about; even if she could explain Da to anyone, there were huge swaths of memory gone, dark patches where Aisa’s early childhood had simply disappeared. It would be an impossible tale to tell.
But this place, the Queen’s Wing, was safe, a well-lit shelter where they could stay forever. Maman said they were in constant danger here, but Aisa could live with the danger of swords. She understood that it was Maman, Maman’s queerness, that had somehow gotten them in here in the first place, but the Queen existed above Maman, a godlike figure dressed in black, and Aisa knew that she would never again have to see Da’s shadow on the wall.
She couldn’t tell any of this to the Mace. All she could say was, “I’d never do anything to hurt the Queen. I’d kill anyone who tried.”
The Mace’s arrowlike gaze pierced her for a moment longer, seeming to knife through her body. Then he nodded.
“I’m going to trust you, hellcat. More than that, I’m going to consider this your first test. Swordsmanship is an important quality for a Queen’s Guard, but there are other things just as crucial, and one of them is your ability to keep a secret.”
“I can keep a secret, sir. Probably better than most adults.”
The Mace nodded, pity in his gaze, and Aisa realized then that he must know all about Da. Maman sat right next to the Queen every day, brought her food and drink. They would have found out everything about her, and Da had been no secret in their neighborhood. Even when Aisa was little, no other children had ever been allowed over to their house to play.
“Captain?”
“What?”
“Even if I keep quiet, other people might find out. They might see it in Pen’s face, like you did.”
“Did you?”
“No, but I’m twelve.”
“It’s a fair point,” the Mace replied seriously. “But let’s just say that I see more in men’s faces than most. I think the secret will be safe for a while, just between you and me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Off to bed, hellcat.”
Aisa scrambled up, grabbed her book and candle, and left. In their family room, she placed the red leather book carefully on her bedside table and climbed into bed. But she couldn’t sleep yet; her thoughts were too full of all she’d seen and heard.
Pen Alcott was in love with the Queen. But the Queen couldn’t marry one of her Guard—even Aisa knew that, though she could not have said why. So Pen had no hope at all. She tried to feel some sympathy for him, but could only muster up a little. Pen got to stand right next to the Queen every day, his sword protecting her from the wide world. Surely that was reward enough.
Love was a real thing, Aisa thought, but secondary. Certainly love was not as real as her sword.
C
HAPTER
7
T
HE
G
ALLERY
The Mort do nothing halfway.
—ANON.
“TREE.”
Tyler held up another slip of paper. The Mace looked at it for a moment, wearing the same irritated, truculent expression that he always wore during these sessions.
“Bread.”
Tyler held up another slip, holding his breath. After some dithering, he had decided to throw some difficult words into this batch, for this particular student would not want to be coddled. The Mace stared at the word for a moment, his eyes flickering back and forth between syllables. Tyler had encouraged him to sound out the words, but the Mace refused to do so. He wanted to do everything inside his head. His reading level progressed at a pace that was nearly alarming.
“Difference,” the Mace finally declared.
“Good.” Tyler put the cards down. “That’s very good.”
The Mace wiped his brow; he’d been sweating. “I’m still having trouble between C and K.”
“It’s difficult,” Tyler agreed, not meeting the Mace’s eyes. Tyler walked a fine line in these sessions, tiptoeing between being encouraging and being solicitous, for if the Mace felt that Tyler was treating him as a child, he would likely beat Tyler senseless. But still, Tyler found himself looking forward to these lessons. He enjoyed teaching, and was sorry that he’d waited until his seventy-first year to discover that fact.
But this was the only enjoyable part of Tyler’s days. His leg, which had fractured at the shin, was wrapped in a cast, a constant reminder of the Holy Father’s anger. The entire Arvath seemed to know that Tyler was in trouble, and his brother priests had shunned him accordingly. Only Wyde, who was too old to be concerned about his place on the Arvath ladder, seemed willing to be seen in Tyler’s company.
The Mace was looking at him expectantly, waiting for more instructions. But Tyler had suddenly lost his enthusiasm for the lesson. He stacked the cards on his desk and looked curiously at the Mace. “How did you get away with it all of these years?”