Arrows of the Queen (16 page)

Rolan pivoted without Talia's prompting so that they could face the owner of the voice; a tall, thin woman of indeterminate age, with short, graying brown hair and intelligent gray eyes, who was clad entirely in white leather.

The woman chuckled and strode toward them, then walked around them with her hands clasped behind her back, surveying them from all sides. “No doubt about it, you have a very pretty seat, young Talia. You're a natural. Well, you've shown me what you can do bareback, so let's see what you can do in the saddle, shall we?”

Herald Keren (who proved to be Teren's twin sister—which explained the grins he'd traded with Drake and Edric) was openly pleased at having so adept a pupil. She told Talia after the first hour that she intended Talia to learn everything she herself knew before too very long. What Keren could do with a horse was incredible and what she could do with her Companion was nothing short of phenomenal.

“Before you've got your Whites, m'dear,” she told Talia on parting, “you'll be able to duplicate anything you can do afoot on the back of your Companion. You're going to be a credit to both of us; I feel it in my bones. When I'm done with you, the only way anyone will be able to get you off Rolan's back unwilling will be dead.”

Talia, much to her own surprise, felt the same instinctive liking for Keren as she had for her twin. It was disturbing; almost frightening. Her instincts were all telling her to trust these people-but everything she'd ever learned urged her to keep her distance until she could truly be
sure
of them. After all, she'd been hurt and betrayed time and time again by her own blood-kin. How could she expect better treatment from strangers? And yet, and yet—something deep inside kept telling her that her fears were needless. She wished she knew which inner prompting to trust.

Keren called a halt to the drilling when the sun was westering, insisting that both she and Rolan were tired—or should have been. “Just go out into the Field together for a while. Ride if you like, walk if you prefer, but be together—the bond that's to build between you has a good start, but it needs nurturing. Don't
try
to do anything, just enjoy each other's company. That'll be enough.”

Talia obeyed happily; she climbed over the fence and walked dreamily beside Rolan, thoughts drifting. There was no explaining why, but at this moment she could feel none of the tenseness and anxiety that had been a part of her for as long as she could remember. For now, at least, she was held securely in a place where she
belonged
; and with that certain knowledge came another trickle of confidence. Being with the Companion erased all her doubts and stilled all her fears. She didn't come to herself until she heard the double bell for the Cook's helpers sound across the field.

She swung up on his bare back and they trotted to the enormous tack shed near the middle of the Field. Keren showed her where to find Rolan's gear; she groomed him hurriedly, but still with care, and flew back to her room, having scarcely time to wash and change before sliding into a vacant place at dinner.

She'd thought she would be too excited to sleep, but to her own surprise found herself nodding over her plate. She had barely enough energy to take the prescribed bath—and was grateful that there was little competition for the tubs this early in the evening, for if she'd had to wait in the steamy room for long, she'd have fallen asleep on her feet.

This time she had no thoughts at all, for she was asleep when her head touched the pillow.

Every day for the next week Talia followed the same schedule; she woke just after sunrise to the sound of the waking bell—which she'd somehow slept through her first morning. She would either bundle herself hastily into her uniform and run downstairs to help with breakfast, or spend a more leisurely hour in getting both herself and her room ready before the meal. After breakfast came the Orientation class, and other classes were added every other day as the time spent there was shortened. Her afternoons were given over to Master Alberich in self-defense class, equitation with Herald Keren, and, of course, in building her bond with Rolan. On the days she wasn't helping with breakfast or lunch she spent long hours with several others mending a seemingly endless pile of gray uniforms.

At the end of the week Herald Teren dismissed them for the last time, but asked Talia to remain behind as the others filed out. She tensed without realizing it, her outward relaxation draining away as she waited, biting nervously at a hangnail, to hear the reason why he wanted to speak to her.

She watched him covertly as he leaned a little on his desk, not meeting his eyes except by accident. He looked worried and slightly unhappy, and in her experience that sort of expression on an adult face meant trouble for her.

Teren was uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in now; this poor, confused child was having more than enough problems in trying to come to terms with the Collegium and her new role, without having to cope with trouble from her family as well. He mentally cursed their cruelty, who could send a message so coldly calculated to destroy what little stability the child had gained.

“Talia—” he began; then hesitated, seeing her start from raw nervousness. “Childing, there's nothing for you to be afraid of—I've just got some rather unpleasant news for you that I thought you would rather receive alone. It's word from your family.”

“My family?” she repeated, her expression surprised and puzzled.

“We sent a messenger to them, just as we do with every child Chosen, telling them what had happened to you. Now usually no matter how angry they are, the honor of being Chosen seems to make every parent forgive whatever disobedience had occurred, and we thought that would happen for you, too.”

Now at last she was looking directly at him, instead of from underneath downcast lashes. He was uneasy beneath her stare, and oddly at a loss for words. “Talia, I wish things had gone as we'd expected; I can't tell you how sorry I am—this is all the reply they gave us.”

He fumbled in his tunic pocket and pulled out a much-folded bit of paper and handed it to her.

She opened it, smoothing out the creases unthinkingly, while Teren waited in apprehensive anticipation for her reaction to what it held.

Sensholding has no daughter Talia,
it read. The half-literate scrawl bore her Father's mark.

She didn't realize that she was weeping until a single hot tear splashed on the paper, blurring the ink. She regained control of herself immediately, swallowing down the tears. She hadn't realized until this moment just how much she'd hoped that the Family would accept her because of her newly-won status. She hadn't thought, though, that the Heralds would have told them—she'd expected that it would be she herself that would break the news; perhaps by riding one day into the Holding in the full formal array of Herald's Whites. It was when she had first realized that she really
was
a Herald that she had begun to hope that the achievement would mean forgiveness—even, perhaps, a hint of approval. Holderkin did not condemn
everything
Heralds did and stood for, and even the most critical of them generally admitted that Heralds served an important function. Certainly the Holderkin welcomed their intrusion into their midst when the raiders came over the Border, or a feud needed settling! Perhaps, she'd hoped, her kin would realize now why she'd done things that were a bit unseemly—they'd realize she was only following her own nature. Surely
now
they'd understand. Perhaps they'd welcome her back, and let her have a place to belong.

It was odd, but when she'd chosen to run away, their certain excommunication hadn't seemed so great a price to pay for freedom; but somehow now, after all her hopes for forgiveness had been raised only to be destroyed by this one note—

Never mind; once again she was on her own—and Herald Teren would hardly approve of her sniveling over the situation. “It's all right,” she said, handing back the note to the Herald. “I should have expected it.” She was proud that her voice trembled only a little, and that she was able to meet his eyes squarely.

Teren was startled and slightly alarmed; not at her reaction to the note, but by her immediate iron-willed suppression of it. This was not a healthy response. She should have allowed herself the weakness of tears; any child her age would have. Instead, she was holding back, turning farther into herself. He tried, tentatively, to call those tears back to the surface where they belonged. Such suppression of natural feelings could only mean deep emotional turmoil later—and would only serve as one more brick in the wall the child had placed between herself and others around her.

“I wish there was something I could do to help.” Teren was exceedingly distressed and tried to show that he was as much distressed at the child's denial of her own grief as with the situation itself. “I can't understand why they should have replied like this.”

If he could just at least get her to admit that the situation made her unhappy, he would have an opening wedge in getting her to trust him.

“Perhaps if we sent another envoy to them, later—” he offered, trying to hold her gaze.

Talia dropped her eyes and shook her head; there was no return for her, at least not as the triumphal Holderkin Herald. To even her closest kin she would be a total stranger, and “Talia Sensdaughter” had never lived. She had violated the Holy Writ that a girlchild be totally obedient in all things; she was outcaste, and they would
never
change their minds.

“But—”

“I'm going to be late—” Talia winced away from his outheld hand and ran, wishing that Teren had been less sympathetic. He'd brought her tears perilously close to the surface again. She'd wanted, above all other things, to break down and cry on his shoulder. But—no. She didn't dare. When kith and kin could deny her so completely, what might not strangers do, especially if she exposed her weaknesses? And Heralds were supposed to be self-sufficient, self-reliant. She would
not
show that she was unworthy and weak.

Fortunately, the next class—History, which as far as Talia was concerned was no less than one never-ending tale—was engrossing enough that she was able to concentrate on it and ignore her unhappiness. Like many of the classes it was structured cyclically, so that a student could drop into it at any point, completing it when the point at which he'd entered came around again. An elderly woman—Herald Werda—taught this class. Today the lecture and the discussion that followed were fascinating; enough to make her forget for a while.

And Geography was nearly as enthralling. All Heralds at the Collegium for more than a few days taught it in turn, covering their own home areas as they came under study. Teren's conclusion of the Orientation class brought him to lead this one for a time, since it was covering the Lake Evendim area.

This class was not just the study of maps, but a study of everything that made up the environment of the area, from the topography and vegetation to the weather. These things were then related to the people who lived there, and how their lives had been shaped; how changes in these factors might affect them. This too was engrossing enough to hold her attention away from her rejection.

Teren made a tentative gesture in her direction when the class was dismissed—Talia pretended not to see it and hurried on to the next, part of the crowd, and yet apart from it.

Following this class was Mathematics; Talia had never been overly fond of figures, but Herald Sylvan seemed to love the precision and intricacies of her subject so much that some of that enthusiasm was bound to be contagious.

Talia's newest class, just before lunch, was something called “Courtly Graces”; she was feeling very uneasy about it. She was certain that she'd look as out of place at Court as a goat. Most especially did she dread it now, when she was so knotted up inside and out of balance. She almost feared meeting the instructor, picturing some stiff-necked, gilded aristo, and anticipating ridicule.

She crept in, and hid herself behind several of her taller classmates before the instructor entered. She slumped into her seat as the buzz of conversation ended, hoping to remain unnoticed.

“Isn't Talia here? I thought she was joining us today,” the puzzled voice was very familiar and startled Talia into raising her head.

“Bright Havens, child,” Housekeeper Gaytha smiled, “we ought to put stilts on the bottoms of your boots—you're almost too tiny to see!”

“You're not—” Talia blurted, then blushed.

“I'm not a courtier, as such, and I'm not a Herald either—but before I accepted this position I was Governess to House Ravenscroft; that's why I teach this class,” Gaytha explained patiently. “A Governess sees the court from a unique viewpoint; within it, yet invisible. For this reason I can teach you all the manners that smooth the way, and the means of seeing the poison fangs hid by the velvet tongues. Make no mistake about it, if you retain the habit of speaking before thinking, the fangs will be felt!”

The tiny, gentle smile she wore softened the rebuke.

Perhaps Courtly Graces wasn't going to be as horrid as Talia had thought.

In fact, it was rather fascinating; a convoluted, intricate dance of manners—though Talia had cause to wonder more than once if she'd ever truly understand it all, much less feel comfortable treading the measures of it.

A free reading hour spent in the Library followed lunch and that class, and it would have taken drawn daggers to keep her out of that room of wonders. Remembering Davan's tale of the beginnings of the Kingdom, she chose a book from the very front of the section on History.