Protector of the Small Quartet

by Tamora Pierce

  She waited until she was directly across the hall from the monarchs before she peeked at them. At this distance it was hard to see their features, apart from the king’s black beard and the queen’s scarlet mouth. Like the guests, they blazed with color, the king in sapphire blue trimmed with silver, the queen in crimson trimmed in gold. Both wore delicate gold crowns glinting with gems on their black hair.

  She reached the table where she was to serve, exactly where it had been marked on Oakbridge’s slate. There she presented the finger bowl to each of five guild notables and their wives as they rinsed their hands and toweled them dry. On her way to fetch the first course, she looked for people she knew.

  Sir Myles, the pages’ teacher in history and law and, according to Neal, the king’s spymaster, sat with an elegant woman whose dark hair was streaked with gray. From the way he looked at her and kissed her fingers, Kel hoped she was his wife, Eleni. Daine was deep in talk with Lindhall Reed, another of the pages’ teachers. Daine’s lover, Numair Salmalin, sat closer to the monarchs, beside a Yamani delegate. Neal’s father, Duke Baird of Queenscove, sat beside a Yamani man whom Kel recognized as one of the emperor’s healers. The green-eyed brunette on Baird’s other side had to be Neal’s mother; Neal had the look of both his parents. Kel saw her parents, who sat with the Yamani ambassador and his wife, on the king’s right hand.

  She reached the servers’ door. Owen waited for her, his round face pale as he offered Kel the plate with the first meat course. Kel passed him the finger bowl with one hand and took the plate with the other, while Owen lifted the towel from her arm. “Don’t look so tense,” she murmured. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Not if I kill Master Oakbridge it won’t,” he replied. “What a fusspot!”

  Kel smiled. “I think it’s been tried before, without success.”

  As Kel returned to her guildsmen, her mother caught her eye. Ilane smiled and waved slightly. Kel’s father did the same. Her parents were pleased! Kel replied with the tiniest of bows, then hurried to her table.

  Trouble developed as she went for the second fish course. Turning away from Owen, she saw a page across the hall, talking to the people she was serving. She couldn’t see who it was. As she returned to her post, the other page moved away. Something about the way he walked told her it was Quinden, a second-year who was a friend of Joren’s.

  She had given the second fish course to three guests when the man who represented the Lamplighters’ Guild leaned forward and said, “Is it true? You’re The Girl?”

  Kel looked down. Her new breasts were invisible under her roomy shirt and tunic. She bowed and said, “It’s true, sir.”

  “It’s not decent,” the man’s wife said huffily, her eyes filled with dislike. “One girl, and all those boys.”

  “My advice to you, lass, is to go home and hope your parents can make a proper marriage for you,” the oldest of the guildfolk informed her. “Ladies have no place bearing arms.”

  Kel bowed, her face like stone. She wouldn’t let them see that her feelings were hurt.

  ’’And tell the master of ceremonies we wish to be served by another,” one of the other guildwives said.

  Kel bowed again. On her way back to Master Oakbridge, she kept her chin up, though her hands trembled on the tray. Furious thoughts swirled through her brain. Chief among them was that she owed Quinden a pummeling. Now she knew why he’d been at her table: he’d told those merchants exactly who she was.

  “What?!” cried Master Oakbridge when she told him. “This is impossible! I have no spare pages! Only the first-years and they haven’t a whit of grace...Mithros, I appeal to you,” he said, raising eyes and hands to the ceiling. Then he sought out a victim. “Prosper of Tameran, take Keladry’s place. If those vulgar busybodies attempt to discuss her with you, keep silent, understand?”

  Prosper nodded and shed the apron he’d worn over his uniform. Owen silently handed the next dish to him, with a look on his face as if his favorite dog had died.

  “Take over for Prosper, Keladry,” Master Oakbridge instructed. “I will assign you a new place tomorrow night.”

  Kel accepted a platter of meat—pork roasted in honey, apples, and cinnamon, from the smell—to hand to a serving page. Several of them, including Neal, were converging on her from the hall. Kel thought, He’s so graceful. Handsome, too.

  Why she noticed such things these days mystified her. Last year an approving look from his lively green eyes hadn’t made her skin prickle with goose bumps. Was this more womanly stuff, like her growing breasts? she wondered as five pages came at her at once. She stepped just enough to the side that she could hand the plate to Neal first. His hands closed on it; he grinned at her and drew the plate away—and suddenly he was falling. Sauce flew everywhere as he hit the ground.

  Kel stared at him. How could he fall? He wasn’t clumsy; the floor was dry. The pages who had walked with him reached to help Neal up. The front of his tunic dripped sauce and grease; his shirt and hose, no less crimson than his face, were ruined as well. Kel eyed the other boys around him. Prince Roald had spots on his hose; so did the two third-year pages in that small group. The fifth boy was Garvey. He smirked at her and Neal alike, no spots whatsoever on his clothes. He had gotten out of the way in time, which argued that he knew that Neal would fall because he had tripped him.

  Master Oakbridge clutched his temples and demanded basins of cold water and napkins, so Roald and the two third-years could wipe the spots from their hose. Garvey took a platter from Teron of Blythdin and returned to the banquet hall.

  Master Oakbridge pointed to Teron. “You— take Nealan’s station!” he barked. “Nealan, put an apron on and take his place!”

  Neal, beet red with humiliation, did as he was told. Kel battled to put her fury with Garvey from her mind, trying vainly to imagine herself as a calm lake. During the third meat course, someone jostled Seaver from behind, making him spill wine on the head of the royal university. In the jam of boys in the serving area, someone hit Owen with an elbow, hard enough to bruise his eye. The young ladies waited on by Faleron whispered and giggled when he brought their food, as if they knew something ridiculous about him. No one had seen if another page had spoken with them, but Faleron told Kel they’d acted perfectly all right during the first two courses.

  Now Kel knew why Joren and his cronies had been quiet for weeks. They had planned to embarrass Kel and her friends in the most public way possible. From her quick conversations with her friends, Kel learned they didn’t suspect a plot—they blamed it all on bad luck. Serving at banquets was always a mess. This king and queen dined in state rarely, which meant the pages didn’t get much experience waiting on people.

  By the end of the evening, Master Oakbridge could hardly bring himself to look at his charges. Only when the diners had left and the last empty plates had been given to the servants did he speak to them. “You will all report to my classroom after lunch tomorrow. It seems you require practice.”

  The second night of the festival, Kel was sent to wait on a table of young, unmarried court ladies. She approached warily: this was the group that had made Faleron so uncomfortable. Kel stopped at the first lady’s left hand. “If my lady pleases?” she murmured, offering the finger bowl.

  The very fashionable damsel turned. It was Kel’s seventeen-year-old sister Adalia, elegant in a gown of leaf green and a gold brocade surcoat with green silk trim. Like many other court ladies, she wore her hair in the pinned-up tumble of curls made fashionable by Queen Thayet. The barest touches of lip color and powder, another royal fashion, warmed her pale skin. Her eyes widened in dismay. “Kel!” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “What are you doing here? Where’s the boy we had last night?”

  Kel tried to smile, but something in Adie’s eyes worried her. “Master Oakbridge had to change the serving order around,” she replied softly.

  The girl in an amber-colored gown next to her was sixteen-year-old Oranie, the second of Kel’s siste
rs at court that year. “Why didn’t you tell him to put you someplace else?” whispered Orie. “Anyplace else?”

  “We aren’t allowed to turn down assignments,” Kel said, keeping her face bland as she offered the finger bowl. Adie rinsed her fingers with quick, nervous movements and quickly dried them. Her face was Yamani-calm, though her movements were not. “What’s the problem?” Kel asked.

  “The problem,” Orie said tightly as she rinsed her own hands, “is that the Nonds are interested in Adie for their second son. Old Lady Florzile is here tonight to look her over.” A jerk of Orie’s head indicated an old woman dressed in an old-fashioned black gown seated across the room from them. “If she sees us on friendly terms with you, she might well change her mind!” She was so tense that the gold beads that trimmed her brown velvet surcoat trembled.

  “We told her we hardly know you, you’re so much younger,” Adie explained. “She’s a conservative, and as rude as a Scanran. She told Papa that girls had no business in combat, ever. You know Papa—he hemmed and gave some diplomatic not-answer. She said she was only interested in me because she was assured I was a proper damsel.”

  The girl seated next to Oranie leaned over her and inspected Kel from top to toe. “So this is your page sister?” she inquired lazily, and snickered. “Yes, I can see why she isn’t concerning herself with marriage—unless she were to marry an ox.”

  “And I can see why you’re still unbetrothed at nineteen, big dowry and all, Doanna of Fenrigh,” said the young lady seated next to her. She wore her masses of crinkled black hair pinned under a gold net at the back of her head. Her delicate pink gown, set off by a white velvet surcoat, gave her creamy skin a rosy glow. “Your tongue has cut all your suitors away.”

  Kel’s heart warmed as her sisters looked at the girl in pink and smiled. Moving down the line of young ladies, Kel offered the bowl to Doanna of Fenrigh without looking at her. Doanna hurriedly dipped her fingers and dried them, splashing Kel’s tunic as she did so. Kel then offered the bowl to her defender.

  The girl rinsed and dried her hands. “I’m Uline of Hannalof,” she murmured as Kel offered the bowl to the girl on her right. “I’m glad to meet you, Keladry.”

  Kel hid a smile. Once the remaining damsels at the table had used the bowl, Kel stopped behind Uline and whispered, “Thank you” before she returned to the serving area.

  When she came back with the first meat course, Doanna looked at her as if she carried a platter of poisons, not venison. “Inform Master Oakbridge that I require another server,” she said haughtily. “A male, not an underbred female who claims to be noble.”

  Adie and Orie gave the older girl a look that promised trouble. Kel almost felt sorry for Doanna—her older sisters could be quite inventive when it came to revenge. For her own part she could only say, “I’ll tell him when you are served, my lady.” She resisted the urge to drop a slice of venison on Doanna’s silk-clad lap.

  Uline smiled up at her as Kel placed venison on her plate. “Forgive Lady Doanna,” she said, her voice carrying to the other damsels at the table. “Her mother’s family is in trade, and too often Doanna has a shopkeeper’s turn of mind.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Kel replied, glad that Uline had chosen to be on her side. To Adie she whispered as she left, “I hope this Nond boy is worth it.”

  Adie gave her the tiniest of smiles. “He is, even if the old lady isn’t.”

  When Kel gave Master Oakbridge her tidings, he sighed and looked around frantically. Already Cleon had taken someone’s place among the first-years: fish scales added glitter to his gold tunic, and his face was white and set with humiliation. “Jesslaw!” barked Master Oakbridge.

  Owen’s plump cheeks went as pale as Cleon’s. With the air of a boy going to his doom, he came over. He quailed when the master of ceremonies ordered him to serve Kel’s group. “Does it have to be girls?” he asked plaintively. “I’m scared of girls.”

  “You’re not scared of me,” said Kel, giving him a playful shove.

  “But you’re practically as good as a fellow, and you don’t giggle,” objected her friend. “I’d rather scrub pots if it’s all the same, Master Oakbridge.”

  The man grabbed a plate of fish and thrust it into Owen’s hands. “Go!” he ordered.

  Owen went as Kel took his place in the serving line. Another first-year was sent out when Esmond of Nicoline, caught in a knot of pages and acrobats who were leaving the hall, collided with an armored warrior. The clatter was bad enough, but the man was caught off-guard. He stumbled from his niche and fell over the hapless Esmond, knocking the wind from the boy. Then it was Owen’s turn to be replaced when someone—he wasn’t sure who— spilled hot soup down his back.

  “We still appear to have lessons to learn,” Master Oakbridge told the pages grimly before he dismissed them. “My classroom, directly after lunch.”

  After the banquet the pages ate in silence. Kel was wondering if she could sleep right on the table when Merric growled, “I’ve had enough! I’m calling Joren out!”

  Kel grabbed him as he began to rise. “No,” she said flatly. “We are not going to brawl over Midwinter, not one of us!”

  “Why not?” hissed Owen. “They started it!”

  “It’s wrong!” replied Kel. “If we pick a fight, then we’re just as bad as them. Combat should be used just to help people who can’t defend themselves, period.”

  “Well, if I don’t fight back and they pound on me, then I’m one of the people I should be defending,” said Esmond.

  Kel, still holding Merric, looked at her freckled year-mate. “Did that even make sense?” she asked Esmond.

  He smiled crookedly. “We have to stand up to them, Kel. Otherwise they’ll keep doing this to us,” he said.

  “It’s not just that,” Roald pointed out. “Midwinter is tiring enough without more etiquette training. They’re making it hard for everybody.”

  “Perhaps you could exercise royal authority—?” suggested Neal carefully. Roald looked down, his mouth tight.

  “You know he hates to call on royal privilege,” Kel told Neal sternly. “He’s trying to be the same as we are.” The look of gratitude the prince gave her warmed Kel’s heart.

  “We still should do something,” growled Esmond. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. And that man was heavy.” He rubbed his ribs. “I’d like to dump plate armor on them. See how they like it,” he added, glaring at Joren and his friends on the other side of the mess hall.

  Kel looked at the table, thinking. “All right. They gave up hazing the first-years because there got to be too many of us to fight,” she pointed out. “Maybe we should do something like that to make them back off.”

  “How?” demanded Merric, relaxing in her grip at last.

  Kel let go, now that he’d cooled down. “I bet we aren’t the only ones who’d want to rest instead of practice bows and serving.”

  Neal leaned back until he could poke the closest page at the next table. “Hey, Yance!” he whispered. Yancen of Irenroha turned to face him. “Looking forward to more banquet service lessons tomorrow?”

  “You do it,” whispered Neal as the last pages finished their meal. Joren and his group were still talking eagerly at their table, heads close together.

  Kel stared at him, shocked. “I can’t!” she replied softly. “I’m just a second-year—I’m not senior enough!”

  “All right,” said Prince Roald. “Cleon and I are fourth-years, Faleron’s third, and Neal’s sixteen. We appoint you to speak for us, and we will back you.”

  Kel met his level blue eyes and saw the prince’s mind was made up. He did not like to put himself forward—he seemed to think people would accuse him of abusing his station if he did—but he was every bit as stubborn as his famous parents. Looking at her circle of friends, seeing the same expression on their faces, Kel thought, I guess stubbornness is catching.

  She put her dishes away first. The other pages who did not belong to Joren�
��s clique followed suit. Then she walked over to Joren’s table with the prince, Neal, and Cleon at her back and the others following them. Standing behind Joren, Kel waited, hands on hips, until he and the others realized they had company and looked at her.

  When she was sure that she had everyone’s attention, Kel said, “We’ve had enough accidents and extra hours with Master Oakbridge. It’s got to stop.”

  Joren locked his blue eyes on Kel. Framed in long blond lashes, those eyes were very cold. He remained silent.

  Vinson smirked. “Says who?” he demanded.

  The rest of the pages closed in around them. “So say we all,” replied Kel.

  “See here, you lot.” Balduin of Disart belonged to neither Joren’s group nor Kel’s. Though only a third-year, he was fourteen, having started his training at eleven, and he was big. His shoulders were broader than Cleon’s; he topped Cleon by an inch. When he leaned in so Joren could see him, the smaller pages in front of him got out of the way. “I figured, if you wanted to waste time and strength on idiot squabbles with her and her friends, well, you were the ones who’d have to find more strength for the practice courts. But now you’ve let it cut into our free time. It seems to some of us that maybe she’s had the right of it all along.”

  “Any more accidents, and we’ll see if we can’t make a few of our own happen,” said one of the fourth-years. “Something painful and lasting.”

  ’’Are you quite finished?” asked Joren quietly.

  “No more accidents,” said the prince.

  “No more accidents,” chorused the pages who stood around the table with him.

  “Something harsh befalls the next one who causes things,” promised Balduin.

  “Make sure you can lock your doors and windows,” added a fourth-year.