They again walked on carpets laid two and three deep, pausing to gaze at the intricate stitching on tapestries, and admire the strokes of paintings, some so real in appearance the people in them seemed ready to speak. Sir James paused when she indicated she wished, and he commented on several. He said, “How about a tour of the palace?”
“Can we?”
He took her arm and escorted her down the hallway and descended the stairs, drawing the eyes of the Royals as they passed. But she only saw Royalty, yet in Sir James’ rooms there had been maids, William, the seamstresses, and the men who carried the water and tub all moved about, and she assumed the other suites of rooms required the same number of people.
She said, “There are no servants.”
“They have their own passages,” he replied, as if it was natural for Royalty and servants to walk different hallways, then he relented slightly. “Smaller and often faster for them to travel.”
He entered the market again using the same outside door as before at the bottom of the massive stairs. As it opened the dim of drums, singing, shouting, barking, and conversation assaulted their ears. Hannah felt the eyes of several people on her and accepted the smiles and nods directed her way. She returned most, initiated others. She said with more than a hint in her voice, “I have not eaten today.”
He pulled to a stop. “You ate nothing while in my rooms?”
“Food was there?”
“On the serving table in the corner. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew.” He glanced around and pointed at a fat woman cooking over a low fire. “There. I have eaten her pies before. You’re in for a treat.”
Hannah felt his arm steer her to the woman. The cook greeted Sir James with a friendly smile and asked what he wanted. He pointed, and she reached for a deep-fried pie made of folded crust. Hannah took a small bite and found the inside filled with tiny cubes of spiced meat and cheese. One bite assured her, she had tasted the best food in the kingdom. He took her arm and guided her in the direction of another vendor, this one selling a variety of sweets similar to those she served at the banquet.
“This is so good,” she said between bites of the meat pie.
He smiled and started to respond when his eyes flicked to one side. The Knight suddenly shoved her with enough force for her to leave her feet. The meat pie flew off from her hand as if on its own, while she struck the ground face-first, then spun onto her back and rolled over twice.
A throwing knife struck the dirt where she had first landed on the ground. Hannah saw the knife vibrating, and she rolled over, again and again, seeing another knife flash through the air. It also landed behind her. She heard shouts and running feet. Women screamed, and everyone in the immediate area tried to get away from the knives flying through the air, and the fight in progress.
Then a sudden quiet filled the marketplace. People had slowed and even stopped. Sir James stood, a bloody knife in his hand and three men lay at his feet, only one of them moving. He snapped at the first palace guards to arrive, “This one to the dungeon. Carry the dead away, too. I’ll follow, soon. Do not talk, search, or injure him further.”
More guards arrived and ordered others to lift and carry the men. It had all taken no more time than to draw a few short breaths. Hannah stood, looked at her dirty and torn dress. Tears flowed, more for the ruined dress than she wished to admit, but it had been her first new dress. Then, her anger shifted. People had tried to kill her in the King’s palace. People she didn’t know. When Sir James attempted to calm her, she pulled him away. “You promised me. You said you would teach me to fight, so I never have to feel helpless again.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sir James all but dragged her back to his rooms without speaking a word to her or anyone else. He slammed the door to the hallway shut and snarled, “I would never have believed something like this would happen here. There will be hell to pay.”
He paced the room while Hannah remained standing, wondering at her impertinence to speak to the King’s Knight as she had, and in front of a hundred witnesses. Now the tales of her poor upbringing would spread like flames along an oil spill.
Besides all that happened, her stomach growled in protest at nothing to eat. She saw an apple beside a bowl of fruit and reached for it. Sir James noticed her and adjusted his pacing to take him past the bowl, too. He selected a handful of grapes.
Sir James sat in a padded chair; his shoulders slumped, with a dejected look on his face. He said, “Okay, I’ll go interview your attacker in the marketplace. But I’ve also been thinking about your education, and it falls into four major areas. This is not going to be easy on you.”
“Four?”
“First is basic reading and writing. That includes history, geography, math, and maybe ten more formal subjects. You also need to learn Royal protocol, manners, palace intrigue, and behavior in meeting your equals, and others.”
“That sound like more than four to me.”
“It’s only the first two. You will also need to enter your father’s quarters and begin to learn the basics of being a mage, without anyone knowing, and you will have to teach yourself, at least at the beginning. Oh, we might be able to find a closed-lipped instructor later, but not right away until I know who to trust.”
“That’s three.”
“Yes. The fourth and last is learning to protect yourself.” He stood and threw a pillow at her head.
She ducked.
He charged.
She darted away.
Sir James nodded in approval. “Only a fool would stand and fight someone five times as large unless he held a weapon he felt sure would win. That’s your first lesson. Learn when to fight, not how.”
“I want to learn how to fight, not run away.”
“Running should be your first option. Always. No matter who you fight, slip on a wet floor or misjudge the thrust of a rapier, and your part will end unfavorably.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she scowled at him. “You talk, but don’t teach me.”
Sir James stood and towered over her. He walked to the bowl of fruit and ate more grapes as he said, “I must go to the dungeons, but upon my return, we will talk further.”
Hannah watched him walk stiffly out the door, wanting to apologize, but not know how. When he came back, she would tell him. In the future, she would try to obey, and she would take up the studies he wanted. She was still staring at the door when a soft knock sounded.
She opened the door to find a pair of girls not much older than her, standing in the hallway. They wore dresses that were more evening gowns than day-dresses, each adorned with fancy stitching and made of colorful material. Their brown hair curled, their faces held traces of powder, and both wore the sweetest false smiles Hannah had encountered outside of the kitchens at her old job.
“Oh, you must be Hannah, the new girl we’ve heard so much about,” the taller of them said, whirling her way into the suite as if she owned it.
The other girl giggled and said as she also brushed past Hannah, “They said your dress is like those the servants wear, but they didn’t’ say it was a dirty one.”
“My name is Mena,” the first to enter declared, “and this is Trillian, your cousin, I believe if you are indeed related to us, which I doubt after getting a look at you.”
Trillian, the shorter one who claimed to be related said, “Everyone is talking about you.”