Chapter One

Mandine made her way across the grass, dripping at every step, and glowering this way and that at anyone who dared meet her gaze.

            Her misadventure had started innocently enough. She had recently begun breaking in a new horse, a palamino she called Silk. Earlier successes with the ornery mare had led her to attempt, in juvenile idiocy, to ride the animal bareback to a place called River’s End. River’s End, where an offshoot of the Red River formed a large, placid lake shaded on one side by a copse of tall poplar trees, was one of Mandine’s favorite places to be. It was peaceful, and relatively secluded from the many people who lived on or around the estates that made up House Al Dakar.

            This morning, however, of all mornings, there had been people around: a pair of farm hands taking a break from their work in the fields, and even a dozen or so young soldiers, dressed in the blue and black livery that marked them as members of House Al Dakar’s gaurd.

            One and all had eyed her obliquely as she had ridden up, pausing in their pursuits to place fist to heart or to give her an awkward bow with doffed hat. The soldiers certainly knew who she was, and if the farmers did not know her name, the thick gold band around her neck and the matching bracelet on her left wrist clearly marked her as a Lady. Murmers of “Good morning, my Lady,” passed the lips of more than one.

            Mandine had always considered herself to be the “runt of the litter,” as the youngest daughter of Lady Helena, Matriarch of House Al Dakar. It was her older half-sister, Avrigail, who would become the ruler of the House one day, and her older half-brother, Aleksander, who would become Defender of the Realm. Mandine herself, she was sure, was slated for some boring scholarly existence shut up in a dusty library somewhere. She did not look like a Lady, in her estimation, and she certainly did not act like one. Her sister Avrigail was better at acting the part of a Lady, earning approving nods where Mandine earned frowns.

            A failed Lady, she called herself in private, and she was sure the soldiers thought the same of her. But a Lady was a Lady, and a Lady had to be treated with respect. Lately, though, it seemed as though the soldiers had been treating her too kindly. It puzzled Mandine, and rather annoyed her that they should all of a sudden take an interest in her wellbeing. She was a grown woman -- almost, anyway; she would not be considered fully mature until she had borne a child, preferably a daughter -- and she did not need to be looked after, especially not by young upstarts close to an age with herself.

            It had been all those people around, Mandine now told herself firmly. It had been all those people around that had caused her horse to spook. Mandine had certainly not misjudged her mount, and had certainly not “bitten off more than she could chew” by this mare, as had been respectfully suggested by one of the soldiers who had fished her out of the lake. Trying to suggest that the horse was not suitable for a “delicate flower” like herself was no way for the young man to make up for having jumped into the lake after her with ridiculous cries of “I’ll save you, my Lady!” and “Hang on, Amandine!” As if she couldn’t swim! As if the lake had not been mirror-calm. As if she hadn’t landed in water that barely came up to her chest.

            Mandine’s cheeks flamed at the remembrance. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, this same young soldier had then scolded her for riding bareback on a horse that he dared to suggest was not fully broken in, and even for wearing attire not suitable for riding, pointing out her bare feet and long skirts as “inhibiting control of her mount,” or some such nonsense.

            Mandine had looked him coldly in the eye in righteous fury and, amid snickers and guffaws from the assembled group, informed him acerbically and in no uncertain terms that her mode of attire was no one’s business but hers, and that she would ride stark naked if the fancy struck her and it was certainly no business of his to say a word on it if she did.

            She had then stalked away from the encounter, furiously waving away every offer of assistance. No, she was not hurt. No, she did not need to sit down awhile. No, she did not want a cool drink. She certainly did not need a fire built to warm her, and she certainly -- certainly! -- did not need to be carriied back to the estates. One thing she had let the young soldier do was take her horse back to her stables for her.

            Only when Mandine entered the spacious bungalow that was hers alone did she let go of the scowl that had masked her embarrassment all the way back from the lake.

            Now Mandine walked through the bungalow towards the back, shedding muddy, waterlogged clothing as she went. Her skirts hit the floor with a loud thunk and immediately began to form a puddle, but Mandine didn’t give it a second glance. She stripped off her blouse in a similar fashion. Naked, she squelched across the floor and out the back of the bungalow, which annexed into a shed for washing.

            Mandine grabbed a heavy bucketful of water -- the servants always made sure she had a fresh supply  -- and dumped it over her head, cleansing herself of the stagnant pond water. Through the slats in the sides of the shed, if she put an eye close, she could look out across the the young soldier -- Marec, she remembered his name to be... Marec someone-or-other -- stabling her horse.

            Mandine managed not to scowl again, as she moved away from the wall and dumped one more bucket of sun-warmed water over her head. The runoff formed a little stream and ran out underneath the back of the shed. Mandine wrang out her honey-colored hair and moved close to the wall again, watching through the slats as the rivulets of water wended their way a few meters across the yard before being absorbed into the sandy soil.

            Across the yard she saw that Marec had finished with her horse and was looking in her direction. Certainly he couldn’t see her, but his gaze on the rivulets of water told her he knew she was bathing. Mandine began to get angry again. What did he think now? That she was drowning in her own bath water? Fortunately Marec lingered only a moment longer before turning apbruptly and starting off whence he had come.

Mandine stepped out of the shed and back inside, toweling herself off as she went. Now a servant appeared, with a questioning look, and Mandine waved her away with a hand. Knowing her wishes, most of her servants went about their work as inconspicuously as possible and kept out of her way. This woman, Linda, was particularly motherly. She left Mandine alone however, after sensing her mood, but nevertheless stooped to pick up her damp and soiled garments with exaggerated care before leaving.

            Mildly pacified by her shower, Mandine dripped her way back across the main chamber of her bungalow to her dressing chamber, wringing out her hair as she went.

            Running a comb through her hair, she contemplated herself in a mirror. Her hair was long and difficult to brush out, but Mandine attacked the job with a vengeance. Her hair was of a golden color that looked at odds with her sun-darkened complexion. No one in House Al Dakar or the surrounding noble lands had hair of such a light shade, and so it was often remarked upon.

            Mandine’s eyes, however -- bright and green -- marked her affinity with the Al Dakar family even if her hair did not. Helena, Matriarch of House Al Dakar, had passed on those emerald eyes to all three of her children, and Helena herself had received the trait from generations of Al Dakars before her.

            Mandine regarded her thin, lithe form in the mirror critically for a moment, before attacking her hair again. To her, she simply didn’t look the part of a Lady. She was very slim, but she wouldn’t term herself “delicate” at all: her arms and legs were rippled with muscles, the tell-tale evidence of an active life spent mostly outdoors. If not for the glittering bands of gold encircling neck and left wrist, she would have thought herself a farmer’s daughter.

            “Well, Lady Make-Believe,” she said to herself as she pulled her wet hair over one shoulder and began to deftly knot it into a braid, “it’s time to give Aleric a workout.”

            Finishing with her hair, Mandine strode purposefully over to her wardrobe and removed a pair of men’s soft cotton pants and a billowy shirt, also designed for a man. They were the only items of clothing she owned which she required be washed every day.

            She pulled on the black pants with blue hems. They were designed for ultimate freedom of movement, and fit very snugly. As designed, they only came down to her knees, leaving the rest of her leg bare. The shirt was next. This was a light, silk affair, whose blue color matched the band of blue on the hems of her pants exactly. Mandine flipped her braid out of the way and quickly did up the laces on the front of the shirt.

            Once finished, she turned breifly to regard herself in the mirror once again. Dressed in the training garb of one of House Al Dakar’s gaurds, she looked absolutely, positively indecent. It was bad enough that the pants fit so snugly, but worse still that they exposed such an indecent amount of leg. The shirt, while voluminous, had laces from chest to neck and tended to expose gaps of flesh in awkward places.

            Mandine didn’t care a bit, and she suspected that no one else did either. She had been wearing such an outfit for two hours almost every afternoon since sheÕd turned ten, and no one had ever seemed to notice. Certainly no one had complained. No one would dare to complain. Not being in line to inherit, Mandine’s childhood had been largely free from guidance by her elders. Her schooling continued to be seen to, but aside from that she had always been pretty much free to do as she pleased. Mandine preferred it that way.

            Still barefoot, Mandine left her bungalow and headed across the manor grounds towards the west commons, where her lessons were conducted. Her instructor, Aleric DeLestia, had long since taught her everything he knew, and now their time together was more of a friendly competition than a lesson passed from teacher to student. The two were very evenly matched -- what Mandine lacked for in body size and strength, she made up for in speed and agility.

            Today’s lesson, according to the weekly schedule they’d worked out years before, was in hand-to-hand combat: no weapons. Other days they practiced with swords, knives, quarterstaves, bows, and every now and then, horsemanship as well.           

            Aleric was waiting for her when she arrived in the commons, idly sharpening his belt knife and carrying on a conversation in low tones with one of the soldiers. Even walking softly in bare feet, Aleric always seemed to know when Mandine was approaching. It annoyed her that she could never sneak up on him, but he had only laughed when she’d asked him to teach her that skill.

            Aleric glanced up from his conversation as Mandine approached, and flashed her a smile. The soldier he was talking to looked around hastily, and upon spotting her pressed his fist to heart in salute and called, “Good day, my Lady!” as she drew nearer.

            Aleric dispensed with both the salute and the title, saying with warmth instead of formality, “Good afternoon, Mandine.” His gaze took in her wet hair, but he made no comment. In all probability he had heard all about her escapade at the lake. Word travelled fast at House Al Dakar, and the soldiers and servants spread most of it, embellishing freely where they saw fit. Mandine shuddered to contemplate what had gotten back to Aleric’s ears.

            Propriety did not dictate that Mandine aknowledge the soldier who had greeted her at all, and Mandine didn’t. He excused himself with a bow, and retreated. He did not, Mandine noticed, retreat entirely; rather, he went to join a knot of off-duty soldiers who were congregated on the periphery of the commons. Lately, Mandine’s lessons had been attracting an audience, though she could not for the life of her figure out why. She and Aleric had been having these lessons every day for well over nine years, and the soldiers were only now taking an interest? Had life at House Al Dakar become that boring?

            “Hello, Aleric,” Mandine greeted him, smiling. Her mood was beginning to greatly improve.

            “I don’t need to ask what you’ve been up to today; I’ve already heard,” Aleric teased, confirming Mandine’s suspicions.

            Mandine made a face. “Well no doubt half of what you heard was made up and the other half greatly exaggerated,” she said defensively.

            “Sure...” Aleric agreed amiably. “But don’t you want to know what I heard?”

            “No!” Mandine said quickly, and Aleric laughed. “Anyway,” she continued, “I didn’t come here to talk.”

            Aleric raised an eyebrow in amusement at the implied challenge, and the two walked to the center of the commons. They turned to face each other and bowed formally. Then the “lesson” began: Mandine immediately lashed out with her back leg in a powerful kick aimed for Aleric’s chest, and Aleric jumped backwards, grabbing her foot in the process. Off balance, Mandine dropped to the ground lightly, twisting to tangle Aleric’s legs in her own, bringing him down also. The two of them rolled across the grass for a moment, before Aleric planted his knees in Mandine’s stomach and thrust her off of him.

            Aleric sprang to his feet, and Mandine regained hers just as quickly. The pair circled each other warily. Mandine spaced herself so that she was just out of range of any attack Aleric could launch without stepping forward. If he attempted to attack now he would have to move forward, and Mandine would be warned, even only by an instant.

            MandineÕs eyes scanned constantly; in addition to keeping track of Aleric’s position relative to her own, she watched the landscape. Once or twice Aleric had taught her a lesson by having a soldier attack her from behind when she’d been too wrapped up watching Aleric himself to notice the attack before it was too late. Mandine saw no signs of ambush this time; the knot of soldiers lining the commons seemed to be intent on passing copper coins back and forth between themselves and indicating the two combatants with nods of their heads. Mandine realized with some amusement that they were betting on the outcome of this little contest of skill. Perhaps that was why the soldiers had taken an interest in Mandine’s training sessions all of a sudden -- they had slowly come to realize that it was anyone’s game.

            Aleric tried to attack again before Mandine had sufficiently regained her breath, lunging forward and attempting a punch that would have knocked Mandine cold had it struck home. Fortunately Mandine ducked before the blow could strike. The force of Aleric’s strike caused him to step forward, off balance, and Mandine threw herself into his stomach head-first.

            And hurt her head. Aleric’s stomach was as solid as a rock. She had gotten inside his defenses, though, and needed to take advantage of the situation before Aleric could turn the tables on her. A foot sweep put him off balance, but he used her own trick of a moment ago and pulled her to the ground along with him. Before Mandine could reassess the situation, Aleric had used his momentum to roll her onto her back, pin her hands to her sides, and plant a knee in her groin.

            Mandine tested his holds on her, trying in vain to get her knee in a position where she could use it to some advantage, but he had somehow managed to render her legs ineffectual. “Watch it,” Mandine said, loudly enough for the watching soldiers to hear, “I want to have children some day.” Ripples of laughter told her that her comment had been appreciated, but Aleric only smiled briefly.

            “Do you yield?” he asked, not loosening his hold or his knee.

            “I’m thinking about it,” Mandine said crossly, still searching for a weakness in his hold on her.  Suddenly she saw it, and almost laughed out loud.

            Aleric tightened his grips, making her wince. “Alright, alright,” she grumbled. “This one’s yours.”

            Aleric removed his knee from her abdomen, released her arms, and helped her to a crouching position. The formal rules of conduct dictated that neither one could begin a new attack until they had both regained their feet and acknowledged the start of a new round of combat with a formal bow.

            Mandine had never set much store in rules, or in formality. She pretended to be out of breath, and pressed a hand to her forehead as if dizzy. The ruse worked, and Aleric remained crouching opposite her with a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and a concerned look on his face. Mandine felt guilty for stooping to such low tactics, but only for an instant.

            The second instant found her launching herself at Aleric. With her left shoulder she slammed into his chest, knocking him backwards out of his precarious crouch. Simultaneously her right hand darted for the belt knife he had forgotten to remove before the start of combat. Suddenly Aleric was flat on his back with a knife at his throat.

            It was a sharp knife too, Mandine saw with glee; the same one he had been sharpening as she walked up. The merest touch of the knifepoint at Aleric’s throat had drawn a tiny bead of blood. Aleric froze. With his superior strength he could easily have thrown her off of him, but probably not before she had slit open his throat. Not that she had any intention of harming him; the point was that she could, just as he could have beaten her to a pulp when the advantage had been his a moment ago.

            The watching soldiers cheered gleefully at this turn of events, or the ones who had bet on her did, anyway.  Mandine did not dare glance up to see which ones were glad at her success. Her eyes were fastened to Aleric’s.

            “Do you yield?” It was her turn to ask.

            “I usually don’t prefer this close a shave,” Aleric quipped, drawing more laughter from the crowd and a thin trickle of blood from his throat. And then: “I yield.”

            Mandine rolled off of Aleric quickly, regaining her feet before he could regain his and maybe attempt a trick like the one she had just pulled.

            Aleric climbed leisurely to his feet, rubbing his throat. “You cheat.”

            Mandine smiled sweetly, wiping the knife-blade off on her shirt. “All’s fair in love and war,” she recited, and added as an afterthought, “Besides, I wasn’t the one who was dumb enough to leave a knife in my belt.”

            Aleric grumbled something under his breath that Mandine wished she could have heard. Then he said, louder, “I hope if we are ever in a war, I will have you on my side.”

            Mandine smiled, pleased at the compliment, and tossed Aleric’s knife back to him, which he caught and sheathed deftly. “Well,” he said, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “shall we begin again?”

 

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

 

            Two hours and three rounds later, Mandine and Aleric sat, out of breath and covered in sweat, against the stone well at the edge of the commons. The well had gone dry three months ago due to the on-going drought, and so it afforded little more than shade in the way of comfort.

            Mandine leaned back and closed her eyes, her body aching. After her initial victory, Aleric had beaten her twice, then offered her a fourth round to try to even up the score, only to beat her again. The watching soldiers had dispersed after Aleric had won best-out-of-three, and so now the commons was deserted save for the two of them.

            Mandine rubbed a shoulder she suspected of having been slightly dislocated after landing on it one too many times. “If your goal was to keep me humble, you succeeded,” she said, wincing at the pain in her shoulder, and casting a side-long glance at Aleric.

Aleric tried to laugh, but he was too out of breath to manage more than a wheeze. “My only goal was to keep you from taking off any vital body parts.”

”Your goal!” Mandine snorted, “You only beat me the last three rounds! I’d say I was the one in danger of losing a body part!”

            “In a real combat situation,” Aleric retorted, “there wouldn’t have been three rounds after the first one for me to win. You would have sliced my throat open after the first.”   

            “No, in a real combat situation you wouldn’t’ve forgotten that you had a knife,” Mandine said, somewhat smugly. She was still proud of herself for having gained the upper hand that time, no matter how illegally. The rules for hand-to-hand combat that they had worked out specifically forbade all weapons.

            Aleric’s response never came, because at that moment Mandine happened to notice the shadows lengthening across the courtyard as day slowly began to turn to dusk. Mandine swore under her breath, forstalling any comment Aleric might have had on the subject of knives in hand-to-hand combat.

            Aleric glanced at her sidelong. “Do all Ladies of the House learn to swear so,” he asked, “or did you pick up this particular habit elsewhere?” But he too had noticed the time, and was rising to his feet.

            “It’s suppertime already!” Mandine groaned. “We’re going to be late! Let’s go!” Mandine started across the courtyard, barely waiting to see that Aleric was following.

            Mandine had been late for supper the last two days running, and she was sure her mother would throw a fit if she were late again. But with no time to change out of her sweaty and grimy practice clothes, Mandine was sure she was going to get sharp words anyway when she arrived at the table. At least Aleric looked as bad as she did; maybe Mother would let it slide. Helena seemed to be fond of Aleric, even if she did not appear to be too fond of her youngest daughter.

            The Matriarch of House Al Dakar always ate the evening meal with her two daughters and one son, and several other high-ranking officials of the House whom Helena held in high regard. It was very important that Mandine be on time and appropriately attired because it was usually the only occasion she had to interact with her mother and siblings and to maintain their good regards.

            Tonight, Mandine thought with a grimace, on time would have to do. “Mother is going to skin me alive,” Mandine muttered as she and Aleric entered the main hall of the mansion that generations of Al Dakar matriarchs had called home.

            “Let me do the talking,” Aleric whispered.

            Mandine was glad to comply, and the two of them stepped through the double doors that led to the spacious dining room where Helena took her meals.

            The low murmurs of conversation died down as Mandine and Aleric stepped in, escorted by two aproned servants. Everyone at the table who ranked below Mandine in status rose and acknowledged her with fist to heart. Helena remained seated, as did Mandine’s half siblings, Avrigail and Aleksander.

            “Forgive us, Helena,” Aleric said smoothly, seeming perfectly at ease. “Our practice session ran overtime this afternoon. If we had taken the time to change into more suitable attire, we might have missed your company entirely. We shall be more sensitive to the time, henceforth.”

            Helena eyed them both for a moment, then said simply, “See that you are,” and indicated that they be seated. Mandine went to her place, near the head of the table. On her right was her half-brother Aleksander, and across from her to the right was her half-sister Avrigail. Aleric took his seat near the other end of the oblong table next to the Commander-at-Arms, on the side opposite to Mandine.

            Aleksander pinched his nose lightly and made a gagging sound as she sat down. He leaned over and whispered none too serruptitiously, “Whew, sis, I wish you’d bathe -- the stench in here could gag a maggot!”

            Mandine tried unsuccessfully to kick her brother sideways underneath the table.

            Avrigail, sitting opposite Aleksander, mouthed the words, “Act your age,” across the table. Mandine smiled smugly at Aleksander, before she realized by AvrigailÕs gesture that she had meant the comment to include both of them.

            Conversation had resumed at the table. Aleric was saying something to his Commander-at-Arms, while gesturing with a forkful of lamb. Avrigail was saying something to her mother. One hand rested on her belly, which was swollen with her first child.  The seneschal and Mistress of the House were arguing animatedly about finances.

            Mandine turned her attention to her plate, relieved yet somehow suspicious of her mother’s seeming benevolence. Mandine had just lifted a mouthful of cabbage and beans to her mouth when her mother turned to her.

            “I am glad you chose to join us on time Amandine, even if your attire could use improvement,” she said, loud enough for the whole table to hear. Conversation died once more. “Otherwise,” Helena continued, “you might have missed an important announcement.”

            Mandine paused, her fork hovering in mid air, and looked to her mother questioningly.

            All eyes had turned to Helena, who leaned back in her chair contentedly, pleased as always to have the spotlight. “Whether you realize it or not, Amandine, you have grown into a fine young woman,” Helena began.

            Mandine’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she looked across the table at Avrigail for a clue as to what was to come, but none was forthcoming. Avrigail remained eyeing her mother passively, one hand still resting on her abdomen.

            “When Avrigail was your age, she was already well on her way to finding her first mate,” Helena continued.

            Mandine froze. Suddenly she knew what was coming. She looked at Avrigail, frantically wracking her brain. Two years? Two years was all that seperated her from Avrigail. Had it been two years ago that Avrigail had begun to seek a man to father her first child? Mandine calculated rapidly. One year had elapsed in selecting the best possible mate, and Avrigail had been six months in trying to conceive... and now she was in her seventh month of pregnancy...Just over two years.

            “You can’t be suggesting that –“ Mandine began, but her mother forstalled her.

            “I will be sending out proclamations straightaway to the nearest Houses. Starting as soon as possible, all eligible men will have audience with us, so that we may decide together who is the most worthy of fathering your child.”

            Despite her show of democracy, Mandine suspected that it would be Helena making the decision, not herself. Not that Mandine had any intentions of deciding anything, except maybe that the last thing she wanted was to pick a man to father a child she had no intention of having. Her words of the afternoon, said in jest to Aleric, came back suddenly to haunt her: I want to have children someday. She did want to have children. But she also wanted, as silly as the notion might be to someone of her station, to have a husband, too. Not just a... a mate, to be used for a time and then discarded, his service completed. Maybe she had read to many fanciful stories as a child, but a husband didn’t seem like too much to ask for. Even for her.

            In the brief silence that followed, a piece of silverware clattered to the floor, banging against table and chair as it went down. Aleric mumbled an apology under his breath and bent to retrieve his fork, face slightly flushed, but Mandine barely noticed. It heated her ire, though, that everyone of any importance was privy to her discomfort and indignation.  She had worked so hard to gain her independence, and now the leash was being pulled tight around her neck for all to see. It was humiliating.

            Mandine kept her voice cool, though, laced with only a hint of the anger and indignation that was seething in her breast. “So kind of you, Helena--” Mandine had never called her anything but Mother before – “to inform me of your grand designs for my future.” Mandine let her voice drip with sarcasm. “I appreciate your concern, but when and if I have children, and with whom I have them, will be mine to decide.”

            Aleric’s fork clattered to the floor again, and a servant nimbly stepped up to hand him another one. Aleric clutched his new fork tightly, and stared fixedly at his plate.

            Neither mother nor daughter seemed to notice, however, as each eyed the other frostily. Mandine sipped delicately from her wine glass, but her eyes never left her mother’s face.

            “You will, my daughter,” Helena said at last, and if Mandine’s voice had been cool, her motherÕs was ice. “You will do what is best for House Al Dakar, just as your sister has done, and as I have done, and generations of women before. You are no different from any of them.”

            But I am different! Mandine wanted to scream. Outwardly, though, she gave no sign that she had even heard her mother. She forced herself to return to her meal, as though nothing had happened. The food suddenly seemed very dry, though, and she had to wash it down with large gulps of wine. Never having been one for drinking, the effects of the wine began to encroach on Mandine’s consciousness. Her head began to swim. The meal continued, and conversation resumed. If anything, those at the table talked louder and laughed longer than was usual. Perhaps they too were embarrassed at the scene just passed, and thought they could make up for it with merriment. Except for Aleric, Mandine noted, who kept his eyes on the food in front of him. Through the effects of the wine, Mandine felt another stab of humility. She wished he had not witnessed the confrontation.

            The meal wended its way forward, servants bringing cheeses, fruits and desserts, but the food tasted bitter to Mandine’s palate. As the meal came to a close, Mandine was one of the first to excuse herself. Those still at the table rose to acknowledge her leave-taking, and despite making an effort to appear unhurried and carefree, Mandine was out the door before most of them had finished scraping back their chairs to stand.

            Once outside, Mandine paused on the columned veranda to gulp the fresh, sweet-smelling night air. Her head still swirled from the wine, but the cool evening breeze was a welcome change from the hot and stuffy interior of the house.

            The creak of the wooden floorboards told Mandine that she was not alone, and she turned quickly to see Avrigail approaching. Her steps were slow, and her gaze uncertain; no doubt she was wondering how safe it was to approach her intractable younger half-sibling. Mandine remained where she was, and did not speak.

            “It really isn’t as bad as you make it out to be,” Avrigail said. She sounded halfway defensive and halfway apologetic. “I mean,” she continued, into Mandine’s deliberate silence, “it is just what we have to do. We are women with responsibilities, Amandine.” Mandine stiffened slightly at the use of her unshortened name. Everyone who knew her well knew that she didn’t like it. Avrigail continued on, oblivious. “We are members of an important House, and we have privileges, but we also have responsibilities.”

            There was that word, again, as if she thought Mandine didn’t know what it meant. Mandine knew all about responsibility. But she had never felt that House Al Dakar was her responsibility. Mandine didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew that her responsibility lay elsewhere. And somehow, it was much larger than any single family, any single House. But she couldn’t tell her sister that, and so she remained mute, staring at Avrigail expressionlessly, as she continued.

            “You must realize,” Avrigail was saying, “how important it is for House Al Dakar to have strong rulers, especially if we are to remain one of the stronger Houses. Strong rulers means strong children, and it is just too important a thing to be left entirely to chance, the way the -–“ here she sniffed derisively “--peasants do it. We must choose mates with our future children in mind, and nothing more.”

            Here she paused for breath, and Mandine interjected, “I don’t want a mate. I want a husband,” in a voice she hoped didn’t sound too sullen.

            Avrigail looked scandalized for just a moment, but recovered quickly, and gave a somewhat forced laugh. “Whatever for, Amandine? Husbands just get in the way! They are a burden! First they think they know what is best for the children, and pretty soon they think they know what is best for the House!”

            “But the lower classes have husbands,” Mandine contended. “And they seem to manage just fine.”

            “Peasants,” Avrigail snorted. “That’s all they are, and that’s all they’ll stay.” By her implication, she made it sound as though the only reason why peasants couldn’t be noblemen was their misguided notions about marriage.

            “And I’ve heard that the Seekers –“ Mandine began.

            Avrigail’s jaw hardened at the mention of the name. “Forget the filthy Seekers! You are not a peasant, and you are not a Seeker! You are a noblewoman, Amandine. Best you start thinking like one.” With that, Avrigail turned and strode away.

            Mandine glared after her for a moment, and then hurried off in the direction of her own cottage. She did not want to be waylaid by any of the others who were now excusing themselves from her mother’s table in increasing numbers. The last thing she needed was another lecture.

            Mandine breezed into her cottage, went straight to the back where her bedchambers were, and stripped off her dusty and sweaty practice clothes. She tossed them into a washbasin, where hopefully Linda would find them before practice-time tomorrow, and climbed into bed. Extinguishing the candle, Mandine hoped that a good night’s sleep would clear her head and settle her restless thoughts and seething breast. There had to be a way to make them see, or at least buy some time... there just had to be.