Archive of Our Own ^beta

1

Raoul’s wedding to Buri is predictably intense.

Both bride and groom would have preferred a small ceremony without all the pomp and circumstance of Corus. They’d had visions of sneaking off to a local temple and then throwing a celebration for their friends to attend once they were already married. But with Buri being the best friend of the Queen and Commander of the Queen’s Riders, and Raoul being the Knight Commander of the King’s Own as well as having gone through page training with the King, the pair had been more or less commanded to have their wedding in the palace itself.

Once, Raoul had heard Kel’s comment to Neal about the lack of curtains to hide behind in the Grand Hall and threatened to draft her to coordinate everything with Master Oakbridge. She’d quickly hidden her amusement, saving it for when she and Neal were the only nobility in New Hope.

(Dom had never been so foolish as to get caught in the first place, shooting the breeze with his squad only while the Knight Commander was clear across Tortall visiting Pirate’s Swoop.)

Raoul and Buri endure through all the pomp and circumstance with more than a meager serving of grace and seem incapable of looking away from each other during the reception. It’s sweet—Raoul is genial most of the time, but he’s downright giddy now. Buri’s smiling so wide that Dom’s worried about her face splitting in two.

“There’s practically stars in their eyes,” Evin Larse mutters from next to Dom. “Downright unnatural on the Commander.”

“Must be talking about your Commander, mine smiles all the time,” Dom teases. “Especially when there’s mud to get stuck in. Now that’s unnatural.”

“Hush, the both of you. Anyone would think you’ve got no manners,” Kel chides from across the table. “They’re happy.”

Dom’s about to volley back when an unfamiliar man approaches the table, attention completely on Kel. The rest of their table goes quiet as well, cautious. Waiting.

Dom judges the man to be about Kel’s age, likely a few inches shorter than her, and, according to the motif on his tunic, a Hannalof, probably a second son. Probably looking for a social boost from one of the Heroes of the war, Dom thinks derisively. He grinds his teeth in an effort to keep a civil tongue—Kel would eat him alive if she knew what Dom was thinking.

“Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan?”

“What gave it away?” Evin says, low enough only Dom hears him.

“That’s me,” Kel confirms.

“Greetings,” the man says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My cousin Uline speaks very highly of you.” He talks like a green Player, one barely able to memorize.

“That’s gratifying,” Kel smiles. “She’s—”

“She’d likely return the compliment, but alas, it seems you have failed to introduce yourself,” Evin drawls, seemingly unconcerned as he half-lounges in his seat, but his eyes are sharp.

“Apologies. Leon of Hannalof.”

The rest of the table introduce themselves, all perfectly polite, but not particularly warm, and gods, does Dom love his squad. Leon nods in greeting to each of them, his eyes flicking back to Kel between each new name. There’s a deliciously uncomfortable pause after the last, Wolset, gives his name that Dom is disinclined to break. This young man came up to their table, before the dessert was even served. If he wants something so badly as to be on the edge of gauche, he can open his mouth and ask. Dom certainly isn’t going to help him out, and his and Evin’s squads follow his lead.

As always, Kel is much more generous with her time than anyone deserves.

“Is there something we can help you with, Leon? Or were you merely delivering greetings from Uline?”

“Oh, I was actually— I wondered if you’d do me the honor of a dance? I have been told you possess grace beyond what your…stature would suggest.” Mithros, what a gasbag.

“Oh,” Kel says. Her voice flattens in the way that Dom knows means she’s caught off guard. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting that, even though the rest of the table picked up on the young lord’s intentions at once. Kel’s plenty smart about most things—mathematics, tactics and strategy, pretty much any weapon, friendships—but she’s always been a bit clueless about, well, romance. (Neal’s letters detailing how often he overheard young men whining about Kel being “aloof” during their page and squire years were always good for a laugh.)

Kel’s face goes blank, Yamani blank. She’s going to say yes, even if she doesn’t necessarily want to dance with Hannalof, just to be polite. Dom flashes a hand signal to the table while Kel’s back is turned. “I—”

“Her dance card is full, actually,” Lerant cuts in.

“Completely spoken for,” Wolset agrees.

“Such a shame,” Evin says, shaking his head. “Rotten luck, that.”

“It is?” Kel murmurs to Dom out of the corner of her mouth. “I think I’d remember that.”

Qasim and a couple of other Riders pile on with condolences for Hannalof’s “plight.” It might be a touch overdone, but Dom just tries not to laugh as he leans closer to Kel.

“Sorry, did you want to be treated like a curiosity instead of a person?” Dom asks quietly. “No? Then we’re your dance partners when and if you actually want to dance.”

“I could want to dance. I like dancing,” Kel grumbles.

“With him?”

“I’m sorry, Leon, they are correct,” Kel says, loud enough to cover his insult and cutting off whatever cutting remark Lerant was about to make. “I’m spoken for this evening; perhaps another time.”

Hannalof visibly droops, but he at least does himself the honor of bowing and leaving without any further protest. Dom mentally awards the lad exactly one point for knowing when he’s beat.

“You’re all terrible,” Kel says, but her eyes are twinkling. “Menaces, the lot of you.”

Dom leans back in his seat, grinning when he spots platters of desserts coming their way. “Eh, you like us anyway.”

They’re always going to have Kel’s back, whether she asks for it or not.

2

With the Scanran War finally over, New Hope is thriving—in no small part thanks to Neal’s best friend. He never would have dreamed this was how his life would turn out: a Knight of the Realm, a fully qualified healer thanks to his father and the Lioness herself, and voluntarily living a hard week’s ride from the nearest library. But one’s life does turn on its head when one’s best friend is one of the most famous heroes of the recent war with Scanra and the first openly female knight to pass her Ordeal in over three hundred years.

Neal can only thank every god he knows (and a few he might be making up) that he volunteered to be Kel’s sponsor all those years ago—he has a feeling his life would have been distinctly boring without her.

Kel is thriving just as much as New Hope.

Neal sees the way she glows with pride every time more good news arrives. The convict squads from Haven have all had their mage-marks cleared, with a clean slate for the future. The former refugees have been able to plant so much that they’ll likely be self-sustaining soon. They elected Fanche as Headwoman, relieving Kel of the duty of arbitrating the smaller squabbles that come up. Neal has never been more proud of his best friend as when she’d blushingly accepted being ennobled in her own right—technically Kel’s a Baroness now, not that she acts like one unless forced to—and set about setting up the small fief of New Hope. He’ll do anything to help her, and her fief, succeed.

Which is why he’s currently glaring at the knight flopped across the table from him in the mess hall.

Before now, Neal would have said he liked Faleron; he’s a good man, skilled swordsman, and is a fairly accomplished artist. But he showed up in New Hope this morning with stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve—his cap clearly set for the liege lady. Kel, romantically oblivious as she always is, had greeted Faleron with an enthusiastic hug and proceeded to treat him exactly as she had done all through page training and their squire years. Faleron had visibly wilted, and Neal had to hide his own smile when he caught Tobe sniggering behind the pair’s backs as Kel gave Faleron a tour. She drops Faleron off at the mess hall for the midday meal with a friendly shoulder clap, before departing with a plate back to her office to catch up on the pile of paperwork she’s put off by spending the morning with him.

Faleron keeps a smile on his face until Kel is out of sight before slumping in his seat and letting his forehead hit the table with a groan.

“She’ll never think of me as a serious prospect, will she,” Faleron whines into the table.

Neal frowns, exchanging raised eyebrows with Tobe. Her occasional dalliance with Cleon and brief, half-hearted flirtation with his cousin aside, Neal knows Kel isn’t actually interested in courting or marriage. Certainly not now, and, if he’s interpreting Kel’s halting, vague words from a month ago correctly, maybe not ever.

“She’s not obligated to see you in any particular way, let alone as a romantic option.”

“I know, but—”

“Ma would have your hide for whatever rebuttal you think you have to that remark, Sir Faleron,” Tobe puts in. “She doesn’t have to like you like that, full stop.” His voice is mild, but his eyes are hard as he sharpens his dagger deliberately slowly. (Kel would reprimand Tobe for maintaining his weapon at the table, but Neal just makes a mental note to sneak him an extra cake later.)

“We’ve been friends since we were pages—I just thought, maybe, that we might suit.”

“Stop,” Neal says firmly. “You’ll only hurt the both of you in the long run if you pursue her.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Faleron’s quiet for a while, clearly wrestling with their words and his own goals. Finally, just when Neal’s about to leave for his afternoon rounds, Faleron huffs and props his head in his hands.

“I shouldn’t give her the drawing I made of her, then?”

“Not as a courting gift, no,” Neal confirms.

“She’s just so stunning pre-joust,” Faleron sighs. “You know? All that power and focus and strength, coiled tight, ready to pounce—”

“That’s my Ma,” Tobe says, disgusted.

The bell rings, signifying the first hour after midday. “I have patients to check on so I’ll only say this, Fal: don’t. Just don’t. And Tobe? No stabbing, he’ll be on the road by tomorrow morning.”

“No promises,” Tobe mutters, mutinous, but sheathes his dagger nonetheless. Faleron’s face goes ashen.

“See you both at supper, if you make it that long,” Neal says and sweeps out of the hall, smirking when he hears Faleron gulp nervously behind him.

Kel might not approve of his and Tobe’s methods, but he knows she’d rather be kept in the dark than blush and stutter through turning down a friend’s advances. She’s the Protector of the Small, but Neal and Tobe assigned themselves to protecting Kel a long time ago, and they aren’t going to stop now.

3

Queenscove is beautiful this time of year, all flowering trees and gently flowing streams, reminding her of high summer back home in the Yamani Islands.

As soon as Yuki had passed through the fief during The Progress, she’d fallen in love with the place. It only made sense that she later fell for Neal—someone so perfect for her could only have come from land she adored so much. Yuki had accepted immediately when he proposed after the Scanran War ended, fervently glad that he’d survived unscathed. She’d allowed herself to just be happy for a few months, but when Shinko’s questions about wedding planning grew more pointed, she relented and started thinking about what she wanted. Overwhelmed, she turned the whole affair over to Shinko and Kel with exactly two requirements: one, she end up married to Neal. And two, that the ceremony take place in Queenscove.

Kel and Cricket had risen to the occasion with aplomb, wrangling family and friends, using royal influence to press upon a variety of merchants, and calling in all sorts of favors from time spent riding with the King’s Own. The ceremony was simple and beautiful (Neal cried) and the reception afterwards has been nothing short of blissful.

Until now.

Yuki loves her brother, she does. But Keiichi has a tendency to drink too much and set his sights on bedding the most inadvisable choice of woman in the room. He has a knack for flirting with the most unavailable women, be they already happily married or fundamentally uninterested in men. Keiichi’s not malicious, merely ebullient and misguided, but Yuki definitely doesn’t want to have to be the one to manage her brother on her wedding day. She’d much rather be at Neal’s side, dancing the night away.

Thank the gods for Shinko, honestly. Yuki has never been more glad that Shinko is married to Roald of Conté than right now, when she is using every drop of her twice-royal influence to stare down Yuki’s own brother. It’s quite a feat, considering she’s at least six inches shorter than him.

“I just don’t see what the downside is,” Keiichi slurs in Yamani.

“The downsides, you absolute buffoon, are myriad. This is neither the time nor the place, you’ve been drinking, and most importantly, she’s not interested in you.”

“But everyone’s interested in me,” he says, waving off Cricket’s concerns.

“I promise you, Keladry is not. She’s just extremely polite and speaks Yamani.”

Keiichi only seems to hear the last half of her speech, sighing dreamily as he gazes across the room to where Kel is laughing with Neal and Sir Owen. “Her pronunciation and mode were perfect. She’s perfect.”

Yuki doesn’t bother holding in her giggle when Shinko cuffs him on the back of his head in a distinctly non-royal manner.

“Go get some water, you horse’s ass. Sober up.”

He takes a wobbly step toward their friend, but Cricket stops him with her fan across his chest. “No. Water is the other way.”

“But Keladry is over there,” he whines.

“And Cricket will cut your hand off with her fan if you take another step over there with the intent of asking Kel to leave with you,” Yuki says.

Keiichi swallows, looking worried for the first time. “She will?”

There’s a dangerous gleam in Shinko’s eyes when Keiichi meets her gaze. “She will,” Cricket confirms. “For a start. You don’t want to know what I’ll cut off if you take a third step.”

He takes a swift step away from Shinko and makes an aborted motion as if to protect his manhood. “I’m suddenly craving water from all the way over there,” he croaks out.

Cricket’s answering smile is practically all teeth. “A wise choice, cousin.”

Keiichi all but flees.

“Thank you,” Yuki breathes. “He wasn’t listening to me.”

“Anything to make your wedding day run smoothly, Yuki. And there’s no way I’d inflict his particular brand of attention on Kel.”

“Well, I appreciate it, nonetheless.”

“I’ll be watching, and I’ll have Roald keep an eye on him for the rest of the night, too. You go dance with your Nealan and enjoy the night.”

Yuki glances over and meets her husband’s—her husband’s!—lovesick gaze and can’t help the grin that breaks over her face in response. “I think I will.”

The night is young, despite having to intercept Keiichi from approaching Kel. She has plenty of time to celebrate with Neal and all their friends and family for hours before she and Neal retire for some more private celebrations.

4

Lalasa still can’t believe how successful her former mistress has become. A few years out from the Scanran War, and Lady Kel is a Baroness with her own fief, a whole collection of Royal favors just waiting to be called in, and a formidable reputation for uncompromising fairness. Lalasa is constantly in awe that she’s counted among Lady—that is, Kel’s—close friends. (She still has trouble dropping the formalities, but Kel has been insistent that they meet as equals since the end of the war.)

New Hope is, to put it simply, astonishing. It has an eclectic mix of immortals and humans, of Yamani and Tortallan customs, of military discipline and youthful laughter. The informal and cheerful way Lady Kel runs her fief has a wide variety of people flocking to her. The refugees and former convicts form the backbone of New Hope’s population, and the way the commoners and the nobility interact in friendship is attracting more and more attention from people all over Tortall. They come out of curiosity; they stay because Kel wins them over to her cause—just by being herself.

One such visitor is Baroness Maura of Dunlath, who happens to arrive in New Hope at the same time as Lalasa’s group from Corus. Lalasa’s excited for Kel; Lady Maura is only a few years older and in a similarly unique position as a young liege-lady in charge of an unusual population. It would do Kel wonders to have another female friend, especially one so close in status. Lady Yukimi and Princess Shinkokami understand Kel well, but they aren’t always close at hand, and Lalasa herself, while knowing Kel for years, lives in Corus most of the year.

Yes, Lady Maura would be a good option of friendship for Kel. She sweeps into town with a grin, towing both an escort of three ogres, and a palpable sense of playfulness and delight. Kel doesn’t bat an eye at the ogres, but seems taken aback by the hug Lady Maura gives her as soon as she dismounts.

“Lady Keladry! It’s so good to finally meet you, I feel as if we are already friends from all of our letters this past year,” Lady Maura gushes, all artless enthusiasm. If she didn’t know any better, Lalasa would think she and Sir Owen were related.

“I—It’s good to meet you in person as well. Thank you for coming. And it’s just Kel, if you please, Lady Maura.” Kel starts to bow, but Lady Maura stops her.

“If we’re friends, you must call me Maura in return.”

“Maura, then.” Lady Maura beams in response as Kel turns to introduce Lalasa.

Lalasa watches as Lady Maura’s eagerness calls Kel’s natural warmth to the surface as she shows the older woman around New Hope. Lady Maura hangs on Kel’s every word. As Kel expounds upon what has changed since the end of the war and her hopes for the future, Maura’s gaze becomes even more focused. She laughs heartily at Kel’s jokes, even going so far as to knock their shoulders together. Lalasa sees as, on instinct, Kel’s arm comes up to support Lady Maura’s waist until she can stand on her own again.

The two women never lack for things to talk about—clearly they’re both relieved and excited to find a kindred spirit. Running a fief so young, especially some of the only female-led fiefs in Tortall, is no easy task. Kel at least has been trained to command by her Knight Master, Lord Raoul of Goldenlake, but Lady Maura has been figuring things out for herself, with help from advisors, since long before she was old enough to legally accept the mantle of Dunlath.

Lady Maura is clearly enraptured by Kel, and Kel, bless her, is blissfully ignorant of any of Lady Maura’s feelings beyond friendship. Lalasa knows from long observation that Kel is fundamentally indifferent to romance; Kel being surprised about Cleon kissing her just served to highlight that for Lalasa. Kel would never presume that someone would be interested in her like that, so it would never occur to her to keep something of herself back so as not to inadvertently lead someone on. If she knew, she’d be horrified at the trail of hearts her lack of reciprocal interest had left behind in the palace.

At the end of the tour, Lady Maura takes a deep breath—clearly steeling herself—and Lalasa feels herself tense in response. “Kel, New Hope is truly stunning, I must offer my congratulations for so much accomplished in such a short time.”

Kel goes faintly pink at the praise. “Thank you, but truly most of the success of this place is down to the refugees doing much for themselves.”

“But they wouldn’t be able to do anything to help their situation if you had not created a safe, encouraging space for them, both during and after the war,” Lady Maura insists. “It is commendable.”

“I—” “For once accept the praise, Kel,” Lalasa cuts in. “You’ve done wonders, and your people would be the first to agree.”

Kel ducks her head, but manages a quiet thank you to them both. Lady Maura is still watching Kel nervously.

“I was wondering if you had time for a private conversation today, Kel?”

“Actually, Kel owes me a fitting before supper, and as she’s been avoiding Corus the last two years, she must now face the consequences.”

“Consequences?” Kel’s eyebrows raise in question.

“Consequences. Namely, you have to try on two dresses for every missed birthday and Midwinter because I missed you. Plus, you must suffer through my scolding you for failing to send your current finery to me for mending.”

Lady Maura visibly slumps at their banter as Kel groans in mock-disappointment.

“Fine, fine. It’s too good to see you in person again to be upset about getting to spend time together. Maura, perhaps tomorrow?”

“I’ll hold you to that, Kel.”

Once they’re safely ensconced in Kel’s rooms, Lalasa speaks frankly to her friend. “You should be careful tomorrow, Kel. With Lady Maura, I mean.”

“Hmm?”

“She clearly admires you.”

“We’ve been exchanging letters for a year and she’s dazzled by New Hope just like everyone else.”

“If she’s dazzled by anything, it’s New Hope’s liege-lady, Kel.”

“Piffle.”

“Believe what you want, but Lady Maura is interested—I recognize the signs.”

“...You do?”

“Sir Cleon of Kennan once wore a similar expression. And I myself behaved similarly around Tian before we…” Lalasa trails off meaningfully and Kel looks confused for a moment before she realizes.

“Oh.”

Lalasa goes on pinning the hem while Kel mulls things over.

“I should introduce her to Miri tomorrow. Group Askew is rotating through here with orders taking them to patrol near Dunlath for a few months after.”

“Playing matchmaker to avoid an uncomfortable conversation?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Maura seems to be interested in women, and Miri is too.” Lalasa raises her eyebrows at Kel, who deflates. “I don’t want to lead anyone on. I was just excited to see a friend in person for the first time. I don’t—”

“I know. You’re modest to a fault, Kel, and twice as kind.”

“It is still baffling that anyone would be interested in me that way. Cleon was only interested in the idea of a Lady Knight, and I’m not sure there was anything but curiosity on my end.”

“Oh, Kel,” Lalasa sighs and hugs her briefly. “At least now you’re prepared. And I do think Lady Maura and Deputy Commander Fisher would suit. They have a similar sort of humor about them, don’t they?”

Kel laughs, good humor restored, and settles in for the kind of gossip they hadn’t been able to share since the war.

5

Wyldon feels himself bristling as Henrik of Groten approaches Keladry for a third time, interrupting their conversation about Cavall and New Hope’s burgeoning trade. Her face doesn’t give anything away, but Wyldon is sure she’s tired of enduring the man’s presence—Wyldon certainly is. He’s spent too long among Groten’s kind of odious, half-baked lords to think there’s much to recommend him as anything more serious than a dance partner. And even that would stretch credulity.

Of course, Keladry would never ignore someone, no matter how rude they were being, so after flashing Wyldon an apologetic smile, she shifts her attention to Groten.

“Not again.”

Ilane’s disappointed mutter distracts him from his mounting indignation on her daughter’s behalf. Neither she nor Piers are outright glaring at the interloper, but it’s a close-run thing.

“It’s astonishing that she’s tolerated his interruption for a third time,” Wyldon says quietly. “I would have thought she’d send him packing by now.”

Piers sighs. “She’s polite to her own detriment, I fear. He’s not actually doing anything to provoke her ire—he’s just boring.”

“Truly. If I don’t have to listen to him describe his collection of antique pipes again, it’ll be too soon.”

The three of them wince when Groten manages to somehow spit and burp in one sentence. Keladry’s mask is firmly in place, but Wyldon spots the tension in her hand where she grasps her empty cup. Groten continues blathering on—indeed about his pipes—unaware or uncaring of his words’ reception.

Although, perhaps he is not so oblivious. Groten is ever so slowly inching into Keladry’s space, using his gesticulations as a cover. He pauses (for once) to allow Keladry to respond, and Wyldon sees red when he spots the split-second look of greed on Groten’s face. It’s clear that Keladry, pointing out some decoration across the hall, and her parents, murmuring darkly to each other, all missed the expression.

If Groten’s intentions are pure, Wyldon will eat his hat.

“Oh, what luck, the musicians are returning from their break,” Groten says.

Kel nods absently. “It will be nice to hear them play in the background once again.”

A new feeling, akin to horror, threads through Wyldon’s rage—Keladry sincerely doesn’t realize what is about to happen.

“I was hoping you’d do me the honor of a dance, Lady Keladry.”

Everyone in their corner of the room freezes for a moment as Groten extends his hand. Keladry is hanging onto her Yamani mask by her fingernails, and Ilane and Piers are both visibly shocked. Wyldon, having had just a second longer to process, steps forward as Keladry stutters.

“I, well I—”

“I’m afraid her next dance is spoken for, Groten.”

Finally showing his true colors, Groten sneers. “By whom? I don’t see anyone else lining up for her.”

“Me,” Wyldon says firmly, taking Keladry’s hand and twirling her onto the dance floor to avoid the impulse to punch the man across his sallow face. She follows his lead by muscle memory, clearly still stunned at the direction the night has taken. Wyldon chuckles to himself when he sees Piers holding his wife’s shoulder, preventing her from storming off after Groten to give him a piece of her mind.

“Thank you, my lord. He was a most…unpleasant sort of person.”

“You give him more credit than he deserves, Keladry. Groten’s always been a bore at best and opportunistic to a fault.”

“Opportunistic? What does that have to do with me?”

Wyldon raises an eyebrow at her. “You must know you’re a supremely eligible woman. One of the biggest heroes of the war, a baroness in your own right, in charge of a fief so prosperous you’re influencing the whole northern economy—I’m sure most single men have been clamoring for your attention and favor for a few years now.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“You might think so, but it remains true.”

Keladry is quiet for the middle portion of the dance, contemplating his words, and Wyldon is content to let her. He spots Groten glaring at them from the other side of the room and sends an icy look in response that has Groten cowering behind his friends.

“As mistaken as I believe you are about his interest in me beyond as a dance partner, Wyldon, I cannot deny I am profoundly glad not to be on the floor with him.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Please. I know you dislike balls and dancing almost as much as Raoul.”

“Perhaps, but I would never leave anyone I respected twisting in the wind, especially that man’s wind. I’m more than happy to be your shield in this matter. I’ve done so for my wife and daughters often enough.”

A wicked glint lights Keladry’s eyes and somehow Wyldon knows what she’s going to ask. “And how is Margarry? I haven’t heard anything about a knight of Jesslaw going suspiciously missing, so I assume you didn’t actually kill Owen when he asked your permission for her hand.”

Wyldon would very much like to forget that his former squire is married to his youngest daughter, but alas. “He’s a hellion and a plague, but a good man. They’re very happy.”

Keladry beams as the dance finishes. But she spares him more teasing as he escorts her back to her parents, resuming their trade discussion instead.

She truly is the finest knight he’s ever trained.

+1

The first letter Padraig haMinch sends asking for a private, in-person conversation arrives while she’s at New Hope, preparing to hand over the running of the fief to Fanche for a month or so. It’s courteous, but vague, and Kel can’t help but be intrigued. He suggests a couple of different towns to meet, since the pages’ summer trip will be in northern Tortall this year, and asks if, perhaps, she could meet them on the road? Kel sends her regrets, but she’ll be in the Yamani Islands for the anniversary of the treaty signing during the summer, and so am not available.

The second letter meets her at the bottom of the gangplank upon her return from Yaman in the fall. He asks again for some of her time, this time suggesting Midwinter if she’s going to be at the Palace for the festivities? Unfortunately, she’s not going to Corus for Midwinter this year, as there is a large Mindelan family celebration instead, so once again sends her regrets. She’s still just as intrigued and wishes him well in her salutations.

The third letter arrives at Mindelan, wishes her a cheerful Long Night, and includes a hope that their schedules may align in the new year. She sends him a thankful note in return, curiosity more than engaged.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth letters come once a month after that, always rigidly polite but unflinching in Padraig’s desire to meet with her in person. He’s well-known to have solicited training advice from knights, the Own, and the Army through letters, so the fact that he’s insisting on a personal meeting sticks out. If Padraig isn’t asking about training the pages, she can’t think of another reason the Training Master would be reaching out to her, unless—

He must want to court her.

Padraig has been a bachelor for a long time, and she respects him a great deal—he accepted female pages without giving voice to a single doubt. The pages that have passed their Ordeals during his tenure are strong and chivalrous without exception. Even the staunchest of conservatives agree that the more recent knights are of a rare breed, holding up the ideals of Tortall and the Code of Chivalry.

Pride wars with embarrassment in her gut—she doesn’t want to get married, not to anyone, and has been uninterested in romance for herself basically since getting her shield. It’s certainly flattering that he appears to be interested in her, but she’s definitely not going to accept, and she’s never had to reject a suitor before. Never even come close. Despite her friends’ insistence, there hasn’t actually been a man remotely interested in her since Cleon, and she likes it that way. (The idea of Maura initially wanting to court her had been beaten into her head by Lalasa enough that she reluctantly accepts the fact, although she’s definitely looking forward to Maura’s wedding to Miri in the fall.)

But Kel’s never run away from things that scare her before, and she’s not about to start now.

Centering herself, she answers the sixth letter in the affirmative, suggesting that just after the page’s examinations might be a good time, despite her trepidations. Unfortunately, Tobe and Neal intercept the seventh letter at the same time Dom is visiting, and suddenly Kel has a surplus of young men indignant on her behalf.

“Ma, you can’t just have a meeting with him!”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because he clearly has designs on your virtue,” Neal cuts in.

“And he’s being extremely forward,” Dom agrees.

“I know.”

“It’s untoward, it’s—wait, what?” Neal asks, aghast.

“I said, ‘I know,’” Kel shrugs. “He’s been asking for a meeting since last summer. And I’ve watched a lot of my friends start courting and get married. I’m not completely oblivious to someone having an interest in me.”

“Could have fooled me,” Tobe mutters.

“For the last time, people asking me to dance and wanting to visit New Hope does not automatically mean romantic interest!”

“It absolutely does,” Dom says, “But that’s beside the point. You’re really going to Corus this summer to meet with haMinch?”

“Yes.” She’s decided. It’ll be awkward and uncomfortable to turn him down (on her end, at least), but at least it will be done and she can get back to her normal routine.

Neal scowls mutinously. “We’re coming with you, then.”

“Of course you are.” Kel rolls her eyes. “You’re the most overprotective trio of mother hens in all of Tortall.”

“We learned from the master,” Tobe points out.

“Come with me to Corus if you want, but I’ll still be taking the meeting alone.”

Dom’s eyes glint dangerously. “Good luck giving us the slip, Lady Knight.”

In the end, it’s almost absurdly easy to avoid her gaggle. She just sends a messenger to Padraig suggesting they change their meeting to an hour after dawn and meets him in his office after her post-glaive training bath. (If the new time has the bonus of being one of the least romantic times of the day, that’s her business.)

She takes a moment outside his door to breathe deeply, letting her Yamani mask slip into place, and then knocks.

“Come in!” The Training Master looks up with a grin. “Ah, Lady Knight Keladry, thank you for finding the time, please sit.”

“Thank you. Sorry it’s taken so long to coordinate.” She sits and does her best not to fidget or avoid his gaze. I am a lake.

Padraig waves her apology away with an easy smile. If she wasn’t dreading what was coming, she’d be glad to get to know him better. “Not a problem—it’s the nature of our jobs. I know I’ve been…let’s say, circumspect in my letters, but I wanted to be sure word didn’t get out ahead of time. Being Training Master means I’m under quite a lot of scrutiny, so I try to protect my personal life as much as possible.”

Kel nods, hoping that the rising nausea doesn’t show on her face. He is going to ask her about courting, she’s positive.

“Speaking of…” he sighs, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Kel’s heart sinks. Here we go.

“I’ve been the Training Master for over ten years now, and don’t misunderstand, it’s been the most rewarding experience, but I am tired.”

Wait, what?

“Pardon?”

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “When the King asked me to step in when Cavall resigned, I thought I’d just be here a couple of seasons before passing the post to someone who wanted it. But I fell in love with teaching and getting to know the young men and women under my care. It’s been the best decade or so of my life, but it’s a younger person’s post I think. I can feel every hour of tilting practice in my shoulders, every lap of the training yard in my knees. I’d like to retire before more aches build up and I can’t do the job effectively any longer. And I think you, Lady Knight, are the perfect person for the role.”

To say Kel is shocked would be like saying Neal has a dry sense of humor—technically accurate, but vastly underselling the truth.

“Gods, I— I didn’t expect this.”

“I know it must be a shock,” he says kindly, “and I’m not asking you to make the decision right now, or even this summer. I’m planning to retire in a few years, after a nice, round fifteen years. But I know I would have benefitted from some lead time before accepting the position, so I’m asking you now.” He meets her gaze squarely. “I still remember Sirs Vikison Lake and Mandash raving about how you helped them with their staff work as pages. You’re my first choice, Lady Keladry, so I hope you’ll give it due consideration.”

“Oh. I— Of course I’ll consider it,” she says faintly, still reeling.

Padraig grins at her. “I know it seems like a monumental task, and it is, but I think you’re more than capable of rising to the challenge.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“None of this ‘my lord’-ing. It’s Padraig, please.”

“Kel, then.”

He nods happily. “I’m always happy to set aside formalities, it saves so much time, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’ve given you my pitch, and you know where to find me if you have other questions before you leave, so I’ll let you get to breakfast and on with your day.”

“Right, yes. I’ll do that.”

She manages a firm handshake and is almost at the door when Padraig calls her back. “You said you didn’t expect the offer. What did you expect then?”

Kel feels herself flush, but turns around nonetheless. She’s a grown woman, a hero of the realm, and a baroness in her own right, for the Goddess’ sake—she can do this.

“I had the notion that you might ask if you could court me.”

Padraig is the one to blink this time; his clear shock at the idea lets all of Kel’s tension slip away. “Oh! I can see how my vagueness might be construed that way, my apologies.” He pauses, clearly weighing his next words carefully. “It sincerely didn’t occur to me; you see, I am…fundamentally uninterested in either romance or marri—”

“I feel the same way, so your offer was a relief,” Kel cuts in, wanting to spare him further discomfort—Mithros knows she doesn’t like putting her feelings about romance into words.

“Oh. Well. Good,” Padraig says, seemingly just as thrown by her admission as her incorrect expectations, but he pulls himself together. “I would hate to have led you on by mistake.”

“Of course not. I’ll just be going. And I’ll let you know soon about the post.”

Kel leaves with a quick nod and heads back toward her rooms. Quite without meaning to, she ends up in the courtyard next to the Page’s Wing and sinks onto a bench with a shaky exhale.

Being back here casts a veil of nostalgia over her mind. This courtyard is where she befriended her flock of sparrows, where Lalasa did her mending and protested the need for self-defense training, and was a place where she and Neal and Merric and the rest of her friends could meet comfortably to spend what little downtime they had together. As much as Kel struggled with Joren and his cronies, against the injustice of her probationary year, she looks back on her page years fondly. They were all stuck in it together, hearts too big for their bodies, training and learning and growing into themselves as one group. She loved being Raoul’s squire and ultimately becoming a knight, but having her friends just down the hall and at every meal is a privilege she still misses.

The idea that Padraig thinks Kel has the ability to provide a strong foundation to the next generation of knights is humbling to say the least. Yes, she had tutored her year-mates in mathematics and had helped with Iden and Warric’s staffwork. Yes, she had taught Lalasa self-defense and the refugees how to use a spear. But it was a horse of a different breed to imagine being responsible for a group of impressionable youths learning everything they needed to grow into good knights—good people.

Unbidden, memories swirl through her mind: of Owen becoming steadier, of Lalasa gaining confidence and opening her business, of Tobe becoming a smart, capable young man, of Neal mellowing, of the refugee children—all New Hopers now—growing up healthy and happy. A small, but strong voice in her head whispers that she could make a great Training Master, if she lets herself accept.

The breakfast bell pulls Kel out of her musing with a start. She stands and takes a last glance around the courtyard before walking purposely towards her rooms to collect her friends and her son, despite the meddling busybodies they might be. Kel smiles to herself as she walks, picturing the affronted looks she’ll garner when she reveals that she already had her meeting with Padraig. Finally feeling back in balance for the first time since arriving in Corus, she looks forward to the rest of her day. She has plenty of time yet to make a decision, after all—there’s no need to rush anything, and in any case, such a big choice shouldn’t be made on an empty stomach.