Jonathan chuckled. “Not me. You’re too skinny—and too good with a sword. You said two things were bothering you. What’s the other one?”
Alanna shook soggy hair from her eyes, trying to decide how she could best say what she was thinking. She was about to tread on very dangerous ground. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd—the way Duke Roger warned us to stay away from the Black City?” She climbed out of the oasis and pulled on the over-large tunic once more.
“You mean the way he practically dared us—well, me—to come here.”
Alanna sat beside him, trying to see her friend’s face in the desert night. “You knew?” she whispered, horrified. “You knew Duke Roger was sending you to almost certain death?”
His grip on her arm was painful. “Now that I do not believe,” he said sternly. “Roger is my only cousin and one of my best friends. He taught me to ride! He would never—never—do the thing you’re suggesting, Alanna. Never. He sent me here because he thought I might have a chance to rid Tortall of a scourge, and I did, with your help. He must have known I’d take you with me; I’m sure by now he has the whole story of what happened the night I had the Sweating Fever. He did Tortall a favor, and he did me a favor. People will think twice before they take on a prince—or a king—who can defeat demons.”
“Why didn’t he do it himself?” she asked. “Why risk the only heir to the throne?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t have the—the other powers helping him, as they seem to be helping us. And that’s enough for this discussion. I would trust Roger with my life, and with yours. If he had ever wanted the throne, he could have had it any time all these years past. So let’s change the subject, all right?”
There are too many perhapses in all that, Alanna thought rebelliously, but she did as she was told. After all, Jon was older, wiser and far better acquainted with Duke Roger. But she still thought the Duke of Conté never expected them to return from the Black City.
They both found comfortable spots beneath the same tree, stretching out for a night’s sleep. Alanna was gazing at the distant outline of the Black City when Jon said, “Alan. Alanna. Perhaps you’ll help me with a decision I have to make.”
Relief made her smile. At least he wasn’t angry because she had said what she had about his cousin. “I can try.”
“What with Gary and Alex and Raoul becoming knights at the same time I do, it makes competition for the squires pretty fierce.”
“So I’ve noticed,” she said dryly.
He chuckled. “Who do you think I should pick?”
Alanna sat up on her elbow. A week ago she would have told him to pick Geoffrey or Douglass. But she had not been to the Black City then. She had not proved to the Ysandir that a girl could be one of the worst enemies they would ever face.
But what if she had not gone to the Black City? Duke Gareth had mentioned that, with a deal more practice, she could become one of the finest swordsmen at Court. In archery she hit the target every time. The masters who taught her tactics and logic said she was sometimes brilliant—Myles said she was far more intelligent than many adults. She had bested Ralon of Malven, and in some strange way she had won her sword.
All at once she felt different inside her own skin.
“Me,” she said at last. “You should pick me.”
“But you’re a girl.” It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“So?” she demanded. “Even Captain Sklaw says I’ll be a swordsman yet. I’m as good an archer as Alex, and he’s a boy and a squire. I’m a better tracker than Raoul. And have I ever failed you? Back there, or when you had the Fever—”
“I’m glad you agree with my reasons,” he interrupted calmly. “I told Father you’d probably accept.”
Alanna swallowed hard.
“Before we left, I told him I wanted you for my squire. He didn’t seem very surprised.” Jonathan wriggled, trying to find a softer spot on the ground.
“B-but,” Alanna stuttered, “isn’t it different? Now that you know—”
“That you’re a girl? No, not in the way you mean. Girl, boy or dancing bear, you’re the finest page—the finest squire-to-be—at Court.” He chuckled. “I almost had to fight Gary for you. He said it wasn’t fair, me getting the best because I’m the prince.” He took her hand. “Alanna of Trebond—I will be honored if you will serve as my squire.”
Alanna kissed his hand, blinking back tears. “My life and sword are yours, Highness.”
He spoiled the dignity of the moment by ruffling her hair. “Now, get some sleep.” He settled back and closed his eyes. “You know,” he murmured, “I’d almost rather face old Ylon again than Lord Martin in a temper.”
“I’ll blame it all on you,” she replied sleepily. “See if I don’t.”
He dozed off quickly. Alanna lay awake a little while longer, watching the dark towers of the Black City in the distance. If there were any more Ysandir about, she was too tired to care. She wished she had Jon’s faith in Duke Roger, but knew she wasn’t going to get it. Still, she could figure out the Duke of Conté later. As Jon said, there was morning and Lord Martin to face, and it was time at last to sleep.
The Beginning
ALSO BY TAMOR A PIERCE
Alanna: The First Adventure (Book I)
In the Hand of the Goddess (Book II)
The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (Book III)
Lioness Rampant (Book IV)
Wild Magic (Book I)
Wolf-Speaker (Book II)
Emperor Mage (Book III)
The Realms of the Gods (Book IV)