Chapter Text
Alanna’s vision danced with the otherworldly orange fire of a Gift that she had Seen in the fire, orange fire of a Gift that looked like it was all-consuming, hungry, and malicious and it made Alanna cold and frightened like nothing had before. She wasn’t the one who cast the spell; she wasn’t supposed to See anything and what she had seen was close enough to how a fire should look she could almost make herself believe that she was just afraid because of the spell. Almost.
Maude’s face was pale and she was shaking. “I have seen many things I do not understand. Many things—” she broke off. She swallowed.
“Well?” Thom demanded irritably.
“I—I don’t think so. The portents were mixed and I can’t be sure. But. No. You should not switch.”
“If the portents are mixed then maybe we should be switching!” Alanna protested. “It makes sense for us to switch.”
“I Saw the most dire things if you switch. The risk is too great, child,” Maude said gravely.
“And it sounds like things were dire if we didn’t switch, if the portents were mixed,” Thom snapped in reply.
Maude sighed. “Not switching seems better. That does not mean that some things cannot be changed. They have spell books aplenty at Corus, Thom. The royal family has the Gift and the royal library has many rare spellbooks. Not as many as City of the Gods, and not nearly as well-rounded as City of the Gods, but you can still become a sorcerer, Thom. Just—a sorcerer-knight. You’ll have to study other things than just magic, but you can still study magic.”
“I’ll have to waste my time whacking things with sticks, you mean,” Thom said sullenly.
“The royal library may well have tomes that City of the Gods does not because of royal prerogative,” Maude said. “You’d have wound up in Corus to study eventually, child. You’ll just have to do more work on your basics and background on your own than otherwise.”
The idea of rare tomes he could only access in Corus made Thom look thoughtful. Studying spellbooks on his own instead of having to listen to someone else to learn appealed to him, too. Alanna eyed him with a feeling of betrayal—if Maude managed to convince him so easily, she’d be doomed to the convent. “Well, Father did make it through knighthood training, so it can’t be that hard.” With those words, Alanna felt her heart drop into her shoes. She knew there wasn’t any hope of convincing Thom in the time available to her. If there had been weeks before they left instead of scarcely a day, she probably could get him back on her side, but Thom was almost as stubborn as she was and a day was not long enough to work on him. Even if she dunked him in the duck pond.
Maude smiled slightly, and Alanna could tell she was inwardly relieved that Thom was willing to be persuaded to go through with knighthood training. He was the forger, so the switch would need his cooperation more than Alanna’s, and Alanna knew Maude was aware of that. That was probably why he had been her first target to convince. Maude spoke again, still concilatory, “And Alanna. You can go to the convent, but you don’t have to go as a lady to be presented at Court.You could go as a potential initiate to become a priestess of the Great Mother Goddess.”
“It’s still the convent Maude!” Alanna objected. “I’ll still have to learn to be a proper lady!”
“You’ll have many of the same academics, yes. But you’d get those lessons at the palace too, my girl. Fief management and deportment and literature and learning an instrument are expected of noble boys just as well as noble girls. You’d just be learning to curtsey instead of bow and the women’s part of dances instead of the men’s,” Maude said, briskly matter-of-fact.
Alanna looked poleaxed at the idea of boys having to learn how to dance and play an instrument. It certainly wasn’t anything that her father did. It made an alarming amount of sense, though. This relevantion didn’t make Thom happy, either, as it wasn’t like he wanted to waste even more of his time learning how to dance and other useless court skills, and Alanna didn’t miss the look of disgust that crossed her twin’s face. She recovered from the idea that what would be taught wouldn’t be so different at the palace versus the convent and returned to her hostility, saying, “But I want to fight!”
“Who do you think leads the defense of fiefs if the Lord is away at war, Alanna? The Lady of the fief is in charge. Even ladies to be presented at court learn some types of combat and tactics. True, ladies focus on bows rather than swords or lances, but ladies are expected to be able to ride as well as men, and side-saddle, too, so many noblewomen are better riders than men.”
“Women learn fighting? Even proper Court ladies?” Alanna looked highly skeptical, understandably so. The only real proper lady that she’d spent much time with had been her godmother, the Lady Catherine, who turned up her nose at even the thought of going on a hunt.
“They don’t exactly advertise that, Alanna. Noblemen don’t like the idea of it. Your mother herself had to deal with some Scanrans back before you were born. She had much more the stomach for dropping boiling pitch on them than your father ever did.” Maude knew this was new to Alanna because the twins’ mother was a sore subject that was never brought up for fear Lord Alan would hear about it and he was not kind in his grief, nor had he ever stopped grieving for his wife. “And besides, I am suggesting changing your letter at least, if Thom is willing. If you enter as an initiate, you would be able to take lessons on other weapons too, as there are those who defend the Temple and enforce the Temple Court.”
Alanna no longer looked outright mulish and ready to run off rather than go to the convent, even if she was not completely sold on the idea. “But I’d still have to learn embroidery and other ladylike arts.”
Maude did her best to keep herself from snapping at the girl. “Alanna even knights must know how to do some sewing—what if they rip their clothes in the field? You’ll have to learn more than those basics, and the deportment to be able to serve in a noble court, but tis good to know that anyhow. You’re not going to like everything you need to learn, even if you switched with Thom.”
Thom rolled his eyes at his sister, nodded at Maude, and as he made to leave, said, “I’ll fix up Alanna’s letter, no problem, Maude. Just help me with the phrasing for someone entering the Goddess service instead of a noble lady to be presented to Court.”
“I still haven’t said that I agree to this!” Alanna objected.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to become a noble lady? Spend all your time learning how to snare a husband at Court?” Thom replied acerbically, turning back to face his sister, ready for the fight she appeared to want to fight at the moment.
Alanna spluttered. “Of course not!”
“Then you have no issues with this plan then,” Maude said briskly, chivvying the twins on their way so they could pack up their things for their journey instead of fighting each other.
Forging the letter was no problem, even if it was a bit unusual for an only daughter of a nobleman to enter into the service of the Goddess. Alanna’s Gift as strong as it was was enough to explain that without question, and it was enough that even if Lord Alan should write letters that didn’t seem in line with the initial one, the Daughters would likely ignore any irregularities. It could be dangerous to leave someone with such as strong a Gift as Alanna and Thom had untrained and a priestess was easier to train than a courtly lady. Thom’s letter needed no changes.
It was hard for the twins to say goodbye. Neither was particularly happy with their parting or their destination, but time to cool off and think about what Maude had said had made Alanna’s plan of switching seem incredibly foolish and both did agree that this was a better idea, even if they were too stubborn to say it out loud.
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Thom sulked the whole ride to the palace and was so busy sulking he didn’t think to complain most of the time. Not that complaining would get him anything. He sulked through Corus, through the meeting with Duke Gareth, through the tailors, the tour, and through getting his things settled in his new room. It was only once his new uniform was on and Thom was ready to step into the hall that he made himself stop sulking, despite the fact that the finery of the uniform made him feel even more like an imposter with how large it hung on his body, as if they didn’t even make a page uniform small enough to properly fit him. Yet another way he fell short of what he was supposed to be. Enough of that. No sense in making yourself an easy target to get picked on, he thought to himself grumpily.
“Well lad?” Coram’s voice was kind but Thom could see the disappointment in his eyes—disappointment that Thom wasn’t more like Alanna. Disappointment in the laughingstock Thom would make of him with the other guards.
“Go on Coram. I won’t say I’ll be fine, but I’ll try not to embarrass you.” Thom kept his voice level and even, doing his best to sound reasonable and mannerly instead of bitter.
Coram just looked sadder at that. He sighed, eyes downcast. “Oh lad. Yer not wrong that I wish ye were more like y’ sister. But of the two of us, I’m t’ have the easier time of it. I was born for soldierin’ and ye…y’ weren’t. Do yer best, try not to complain too much, and try to make a friend or two. If nothing else ye can help them with their book learning and they can give ye some pointers that might be more helpful than what I’ve tried to teach ye.”
“You know I’m no good with people who aren’t Alanna, Coram. But…I’ll try.”
“Good lad. And…I know I said I wish ye were more like yer sister, but yer better than yer father was, and he managed to become a knight. So I know ye can too.” There was conviction in Coram’s voice, a soft undercurrent that Thom had never heard directed at him before.
It was probably the most complimentary thing Coram had ever said to Thom about his abilities. Which on one hand, made it a cold comfort because it wasn’t exactly high praise. On the other hand, it was true. And nobody other than Alanna had told Thom that they believed in him. And quite frankly, Thom needed someone to believe in him right now. So Thom swallowed thickly, squared his narrow shoulders, and nodded at Coram in what he hoped was a manner more confident than nervous. Then he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
Almost immediately there were whispers. Thom tried not to let them bother him. There had been whispers back at Trebond, too. They don’t know anything about you yet, Thom tried to reassure himself. They’re whispering because you’re a novelty, not because you’re a laughingstock.
Someone behind Thom roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “I wonder what this is,” a much taller, older blond boy spat out. Even with his crooked teeth and his cold eyes, the boy could have been considered handsome if it wasn’t for the heavy sneer on his face. “Probably some backcountry boy who thinks he’s a noble.”
“Leave him alone Ralon,” another boy said. Thom wasn’t sure who the speaker was, but he thought it was a boy closer to his size than Ralon’s with brown hair. “He didn’t say anything to you.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Ralon snapped. “I bet he’s some farmer’s son trying to pass for one of us.”
Thom couldn’t help snorting a laugh at the absurd accusation. There wasn’t plenty of available material to insult him and this is what this Ralon character was going with? “I was told pages were supposed to learn manners. Whoever told me that must have been mistaken.” Thom’s amusement bled through his cold mockery slightly, which only seemed to enrage the older boy further.
Ralon grabbed Thom’s collar, lifting him into the air. Ralon opened his mouth to speak, but Thom cut him off. “You know, I don’t think this is what the tailor had in mind when he told me ‘you tear it, you mend it’ earlier. I suppose that would mean you would be the responsible party for mending my clothes, if you’re the one who tears them?”
In response, Ralon slammed Thom into the wall, knocking the wind out of him. “You’ll do what you’re told,” Ralon hissed, “til you earn the right to calm yourself a page. If I say you’re a goatherd’s son, you say ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’ If I say ‘mend my clothes for me’, you say ‘Yes Lord Ralon. Sorry for tearing them Lord Ralon.’”
“Ralon of where, exactly?” Thom’s tone was sharp, the same sort of tone he’d heard Lady Catherine use to put servants in their place, and Thom thought that this was a more appropriate use for such a tone. “I have no problem respecting my betters, but. Well. They have to actually be my betters for that to happen, and frankly your manners call that severely into question. If you say I’m a goatherd’s son and I outrank you, I wonder what that makes you? Because really, what ranks below a goatherd? I hope you can tell me, seeing as you’d—”
Thom was cut off by Ralon’s gasp of fury. The older boy lifted Thom back off the wall in preparation to smash him into it again. Thom kicked out at Ralon, hoping to connect with any vulnerable body part. Thom was lucky—his left foot connected solidly with Ralon’s knee, which buckled under him. Ralon didn’t let go of Thom’s collar so as he fell, Thom fell on top of him, Ralon’s forehead smashing into Thom’s nose, while Thom’s elbow knocked into Ralon’s lip. Both of them lay on the ground, stunned for a second. Before they could do anything else, someone, young and male, spoke clearly and forcefully.
“What is this?”
Ralon froze; Thom slowly got to his feet. There was something wet on his lip. When he tried to wipe it away with his thumb, the thumb came away red from his bloody nose. Thom wasn’t the only one bleeding—Ralon had a split lip, which Thom noted with satisfaction. The watching ten or so boys parted for a dark-haired page and his four companions.
Ralon was the first to speak. “Highness, this boy was acting as if he owned the whole palace,” he whined. “King of the castle he was, and he insulted me like no gentleman insults another—“
“I don’t think I spoke to you, Ralon of Malven,” the boy called Highness—the prince, Thom guessed—-said. The two boys were about the same height, but the dark-haired boy seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. “Unless I’m mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all.”
“But Highness he—“
“Shut up, Ralon,” instructed one of the boy’s friends. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes. “You’ve got your orders.”
Ralon stepped out of the way, red with fury. The boy who seemed to be running things—and now Thom was almost certain this boy had to be the prince—looked around. “Douglass.” He nodded to a boy who had been there all along. “What happened?”
A stocky blond page stepped forward. “It was Ralon,” Douglass said. Thom recognized the voice of his defender. “The new boy was just standing here. Ralon started on him—called him a country boy, said he was a farmer’s son. The new boy said he thought we were here to learn manners. Ralon grabbed him, picked him up by his shirt. The new boy said that he didn’t think this is what the tailors had meant by ‘you tear it, you mend it’ and wondered if Ralon would have to mend his uniform. Ralon slammed the new boy into the wall and said he had to do whatever he told him to do and say ‘Yes Lord Ralon.’”
The prince looked at Ralon with disgust. “I’m not surprised.” He turned with his bright eyes back to Thom. “Then what?”
“The new boy wanted to know where Ralon was from, said he had no problem with respecting his betters, but wanted to make sure that Ralon was his better. He said that if Ralon was calling him a goatherd’s son, and he outranked Ralon, then what did that make Ralon?” The pages started to giggle. “He said he didn’t know what was below a goatherd, but that Ralon could tell him, as he was sure to know.”
Most of the other boys listening laughed outright at this. Thom could see Ralon’s fists clench. Thom restrained himself from rolling his eyes—it wasn’t his fault the other boy was an idiot. But Thom could tell saying so would only make it worse, and make the other boy even more likely to get back at him. Probably successfully, too, since he was larger, stronger, and presumably knew more about fighting.
“Ralon went to slam him into the wall again,” Douglass continued. “The new boy kicked at him and hit his knee. Ralon fell and pulled the new boy on top of him. Ralon got the new boy’s nose with his forehead. The new boy got Ralon’s lip with his elbow. That’s when you came, Jon.”
“I’ll speak with you later, Ralon,” the prince instructed. “In my rooms before lights out.” When Ralon hesitated, Jon added in a soft, icy voice, “You’ve been dismissed, Malven.”
Ralon hurled himself out of the hallway. Thom wasn’t sure if it was shame or a misplaced sense of melodrama that led to this behavior, but regardless, it didn’t do anything to improve his view of Ralon’s character. The other boys watched Ralon go as well, before returning their attention to Thom.
“You have good taste in enemies, even if you make them on your first day here,” Jon said.
Thom bowed to the prince, though he knew his form was lacking. He hoped the prince wouldn’t find it insulting. “Your Royal Highness,” Thom said upon straightening back up, “I’m sorry for—“ Thom paused a moment, searching for appropriate words. He wasn’t sorry for his words or for defending himself, but knew that one should apologize to royalty for scenes like that one. Seizing those words, he continued, “—for the scene and my poor impression.”
“I don’t think you had much to do with that scene,” the Prince told Thom. “Ralon is no gentleman. What’s your name?”
“Thom of Trebond, your Highness.” Thom’s voice came out slightly stuffy, as he was trying to hold his nose to keep the blood off his clothes, as his bow had caused more blood to come out of his nose.
The prince frowned. “I don’t remember seeing your family at Court.”
“No, your Highness.”
“Why not?”
Thom searched for words for a moment—how to answer this without somehow insulting his father? “I don’t think my father cares much for Court, your Highness.” Thom hoped that was diplomatic enough.
“I see.” The prince’s tone was not reassuring, but neither did it imply that Thom had insulted him either. “Do you like Court, Thom of Trebond?”
Thom’s mouth got ahead of his brain as he answered, “well so far I’ve been rudely insulted, smashed against a wall, and given a bloody nose, so I have to say if this is representative of Court, I really think my father is on to something.” As his words caught up with him, Thom blushed with embarrassment.
Instead of finding Thom’s words disrespectful, the prince laughed. “I hope you’ll find the rest of us more welcoming than Ralon. I would be interested in your updated thoughts after a more thorough introduction into Court.”
“Of course, your Highness. If the rest of Court is more like you, um, well, it’s bound to be a, um, nice place.” Thom winced, knowing how his foolish and flat his words must sound, though he was relieved that “nice” had come out of his mouth instead of “beautiful”.
“Have you met the others?” Royal permission granted, the other boys introduced themselves. The tall boy who has told Ralon to shut up was Raoul of Goldenlake. He seemed much friendlier without Ralon present, but still gave off the impression of someone you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. The other tallest boy with chestnut hair and brown eyes was Gareth—Gary—of Naxen, the duke’s son, who seemed far more cheerful than his father. The slim, dark, and shortest boy with Jonathan was Alexander of Tirragen, and Raoul’s shy blond shadow was Francis of Nond. There were ten others, but as these four and the prince were clearly the leaders, Thom didn’t bother trying to fix their names in his head just yet.
Finally, Jonathan said, “Now that we’ve met our newest member, who will sponsor him?”
Five of the boys raised their hands, including Gary and Alexander. Jonathan nodded. “Your sponsor keeps you from getting too lost,” he explained to Thom. He looked over the volunteers, pausing between Gary and Alex who were having some sort of silent argument between them. “I think Alex had better take you in hand.”
The older boy nodded at Thom, holding out a handkerchief for his nose. “Use this, pinch higher up, and lean forward,” he ordered gently. “It should make the bleeding stop faster. Never tilt your head back with a bloody nose—“
“Because you’ll swallow it and blood unsettles the stomach,” Thom interrupted, rolling his eyes. Then he blushed, embarrassed at forgetting himself. “Sorry, I forgot for a moment I wasn’t at home and I’ve heard that from the healer more times than I can count.”
A bell rang. “We’d better go,” Jonathan announced.”Thom, stay close to Alex and listen to what he tells you.”
Thom made to follow Alex, but the older boy stepped back, gesturing for Francis to take his spot beside Raoul so he could walk next to Thom instead. “Get into a lot of fights at home?” Alex inquired mildly.
Thom shrugged. That was much more Alanna’s thing, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t help her if it came to that. Thom’s nosebleeds were more likely to come from trying some spell, if they had any cause at all. “More that I’m prone to nosebleeds.”
Alex examined Thom, as if to see if he was lying. “A good answer. Try not to shrug though—it isn’t mannerly,” Alex said the last word while rolling his eyes, as if to emphasize that this criticism was something he had been told repeatedly. “But if you get more nosebleeds, or other…suspicious such things, you’ll probably find yourself before Duke Gareth. He doesn’t appreciate a liar, but even more so doesn’t appreciate a tattletale. A good one is ‘I fell down’ and, well, it’s pretty much always true.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Thom eyed Alex suspiciously.
“You’re new, and you’re small, and you’ve made an enemy already.” Alex listed off matter-of-factly. “Ralon’s the worst of the lot, but the other boys can make life hard for you too.”
“Lovely,” Thom muttered. “Even more things to look forward to.”
By this point they had arrived at the great dining hall and anything further on the subject had to be dropped for the moment so Alex could attend to his serving duties. He positioned Thom in a niche with instructions to watch, and when he had a moment free he stopped by to whisper even more instructions to the younger page.
Thom could only watch with increasing amounts of dismay. Dinner lasted this long? With this many courses? And he was expected to serve Duke Gareth in only a week with no real practice? Gods above, this was sure to be a complete failure. Thom realized his only hope was that he was sufficient to pass muster with the Duke, so as to not draw out this surely otherwise disastrous affair, and then be reassigned to serve some nobody at Court—perhaps the Court drunk, where his lack of skills would not be noticed, let alone criticized, or brought up as an offense against them.
Alex led Thom to the pages’ dining hall for dinner, and prevented him from falling asleep into his dessert, which Thom did appreciate, even if he was too tired to appropriately convey his feelings towards his sponsor. From the look on Alex’s face though, Thom thought his sentiment was grasped, which he appreciated, since it meant he didn’t have to go through the delicate dance of feelings communicating such things would otherwise involve. Once supper was finished, Alex had steered Thom back to his rooms, and Thom had managed to take off the tunic and hose of his uniform before face planting into his bed, exhausted, sore, and entirely unexcited to do the same thing, but with even more work the next day.