Instead a scowling old man whipped a knotted cord around her shoulders and hips, calling out the number of knots it took to circle Alanna to his assistant. Then he laid the cord along the length of her right arm and then her right leg. He sent the anxious-looking apprentice scurrying into a storeroom while he measured Coram in the same rapid style. The apprentice returned with an armful of clothing. He was instantly sent after boots and shoes while the grumpy old tailor shook out a gold tunic and held it up to Alanna. The bright garment could have easily fitted a much larger youngster.
Coram fought to hide a grin. “Isn’t it a wee bit big?”
The tailor glared at the servingman. “Boys grow,” he barked, shoving the whole pile of boots and clothes into Alanna’s arms. “It’s their natures.” He turned his scowl on Alanna. “You rip ’em, you mend ’em,” he said. “Don’t let me see you for at least three months.”
Alanna followed Coram and Timon out, her knees weak with relief. Her secret was still safe!
Timon took them to the huge kitchens for a luncheon and spent the afternoon showing them around the palace. Alanna was lost in no time. She didn’t believe Timon when he told her she would soon learn her way around. The royal palace could hold several Trebonds, and more people lived there than Alanna had ever seen before. She learned that many nobles had suites in the palace. There were also quarters for foreign visitors, a servants’ wing, the throne and council rooms, ballrooms, kitchens and libraries. It all made her feel extremely small.
The sun was setting as they quickly unpacked. Coram changed into clean clothes in his own room while Alanna slowly laid out her new uniform. She noticed her hands were shaking.
“Alan?” the servingman called.
She opened her door. Coram was ready to go.
“Well, la—lad?” he asked. His dark eyes were kind. “How shall we work this? Th’ boys are changin’ for dinner.”
She tried to smile. “You go on.” It was hard making her voice sound relaxed. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course,” she replied stoutly. “Would I have said so if I wasn’t?”
“Yes,” was the calm answer.
Alanna sighed and rubbed her forehead. She wished he didn’t know her so well. “Best now as later, Coram. I’ll be all right. Really. Go on.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Good luck—Alan.”
“Thanks.” She watched him leave and felt lost. Locking the door—it wouldn’t do for someone to come in unannounced—she reached for her shirt.
When she was fully dressed, Alanna stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had never looked so fine. The full-sleeved shirt and hose were bright scarlet against the cloth-of-gold tunic. Sturdy leather shoes covered her feet; her dagger and purse hung from a slim leather belt. True, the clothes were a little large, but she was too dazzled by the colors to care.
There was one thing to be said for such a bright red and brighter gold: the royal uniform gave her the courage to unbolt the door and step into the hall. She couldn’t have done it in her battered old clothes. Several boys saw her and hurried to spread the word: There’s a new boy in the palace! Suddenly the pages’ wing was very quiet. Everyone came to inspect the newcomer.
Someone behind Alanna grabbed her. She spun. A tall, gangling boy of nearly fourteen looked her over, a sneer on his thick mouth. He had cold blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that flopped over his forehead.
“I wonder what this is.” His crooked teeth made him spit his s’s. Alanna wiped a drop of saliva from her cheek. “Probably some back-country boy who thinks he’s a noble.”
“Leave him alone, Ralon,” someone protested. “He didn’t say anything to you.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Ralon snapped. “I bet he’s some farmer’s son trying to pass for one of us.”
Alanna blushed a dull red. “I was told pages were supposed to learn manners,” she murmured. “Whoever told me that must’ve been mistaken.”
The boy grabbed her collar, lifting her off her feet. “You’ll do what you’re told,” he hissed, “till you earn the right to call yourself a page. If I say you’re the goatherd’s son, you say, ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’”
Alanna gasped with fury. “I’d as soon kiss a pig! Is that what you’ve been doing—kissing pigs? Or being kissed?”
Ralon threw her against the wall, hard. Alanna charged, ramming into his stomach and knocking him to the floor. Ralon yelled and shoved her off him.
“What is this?”
The young male voice was clear and forceful. Ralon froze; Alanna slowly got to her feet. The watching boys made way for a dark-haired page and his four companions.
Ralon was the first to speak. “Highness, this boy was acting as if he owned the palace,” he whined. “King of the castle, he was, and he insulted me like no gentleman insults another—”
“I don’t think I spoke to you, Ralon of Malven,” the boy called “Highness” said. His bright blue eyes fixed on Ralon’s. The two boys were about the same height, but the dark-haired boy seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. “Unless I’m mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all.”
“But, Highness, he—”
“Shut up, Ralon,” instructed one of the boy’s friends. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes. “You’ve got your orders.”
Ralon stepped out of the way, red with fury. The boy who seemed to be running things looked around. “Douglass.” He nodded to a boy who been there all along. “What happened?”
A stocky blond page stepped forward. His hair was still wet from washing. He was the one who told Ralon to let Alanna alone.
“It was Ralon, Jon,” Douglass said. “The new boy was just standing here. Ralon started on him—called him a country boy, said he was a farmer’s son. The new boy said he thought we were here to learn manners. Ralon grabbed him and said the new boy had to do whatever Ralon told him to do, and say ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’”
The boy called Highness looked at Ralon with disgust. “I’m not surprised.” He turned his bright eyes back to Alanna. “Then what?”
Douglass grinned. “The new boy said he’d as soon kiss a pig.” The pages started to giggle. Alanna blushed and hung her head. Ralon’s behavior was bad, but hers wasn’t much better. “He said it looked as if Ralon had been kissing pigs. Either that or being kissed himself.”
Most of the boys listening laughed outright at this. Alanna could see Ralon’s fists clench. She had made her first enemy.
“Ralon threw the boy against the wall,” Douglass continued. “The new boy tackled him and knocked him down. That’s when you came, Jon.”
“I’ll speak with you later, Ralon,” the dark-haired boy instructed. “In my rooms, before lights-out.” When Ralon hesitated, Jon added in a soft, icy voice, “You’ve been dismissed, Malven.”
Ralon hurled himself out of the hallway. The boys watched him go before returning their attention to Alanna. She was still studying the floor.
“You have good taste in enemies, even if you do make them your first day here,” Jon said. “Let’s have a look at you, Fire-Hair.”
Slowly she looked up into his eyes. He was about three years older than she was, with coal-black hair and sapphire-colored eyes. His nose was straight and slightly hooked. His face was stern, but a smile touched his mouth, and a glimmer of fun slipped from his eyes. Alanna linked her hands behind her back, giving him stare for stare until the large boy who had silenced Ralon whispered, “This is Prince Jonathan, lad.”
She bowed slightly, afraid that if she bent over any more she would fall. It wasn’t every day a person met the heir to the throne. “Your Royal Highness,” she said. “I’m sorry about the—the misunderstanding.”