From other ladies of the court Fire sensed envy and resentment, and jealousy for the heart of the king, who fretted over her from a distance like a stallion behind a fence and did little to hide his frustrated regard. When she met the eyes of these women, some of them with monster feathers in their hair or shoes of lizard monster skins, she lowered her eyes and moved on. She took her meals in her rooms. She was shy of the severe city fashion of the court, sure of the impossibility of herself ever blending in, and besides, it was a way to avoid the king.
Crossing a bright white courtyard one day, Fire witnessed a spectacular fight between a pack of small children on one side and Prince Garan's daughter, passionately assisted by her puppy, on the other. Garan's daughter was the instigator of the swinging fists, this Fire saw plainly; and from the broiling emotions in the bunch Fire sensed that she herself might be the matter of dispute. Stop, she thought to the children from across the courtyard, now; at which every one of them save Garan's girl froze, turned to stare, and then ran shrieking into the palace.
Fire sent Neel for a healer and rushed with the rest of her guard to the girl, whose face was swelling and whose nose ran with blood. "Child," Fire said, "are you all right?"
The girl was engaged in an argument with her puppy, who jumped and yapped and strained against her hand on his collar. "Blotchy," she said, crouching to his level, her voice congested with blood, "down. Down, I say! Stop it! Monster rocks!" This last as Blotchy jumped and banged against her bloody face.
Fire took hold of the puppy's mind and soothed him to calmness.
"Oh, thank goodness," the child said woefully, plopping down on the marble floor beside Blotchy. She ran searching fingers over her cheeks and nose. She winced and pushed her sticky hair out of her face. "Papa will be disappointed."
As before, this child was quite closed to Fire mentally, impressively so, but Fire had understood enough of the other children's feelings to interpret what she meant. "Because you came to my defence, you mean."
"No, because I forgot to guard my left side. He reminds me all the time. I think my nose is broken. He'll punish me."
It was true Garan was not the personification of kindness, but still, Fire couldn't imagine him punishing a child for not winning a fight against approximately eight adversaries. "Because someone else broke your nose? Surely not."
The child gave a mournful sigh. "No, because I threw the first punch. He said I mustn't do that. And because I'm not in my lessons. I'm supposed to be in my lessons."
"Well, child," Fire said, trying not to be amused. "We've fetched you a healer."
"It's just there are so many lessons," the girl went on, not much interested in the healer. "If Papa were not a prince I wouldn't have all these lessons. I love my riding lessons but I could die from my history lessons. And now he won't let me ride his horses, ever. He lets me name his horses but he never lets me ride them, and Uncle Garan will tell him I missed my lessons, and Papa'll say I can't ride them ever. Does Papa ever let you ride his horses?" the girl asked Fire tragically, as if she knew she was bound to receive the most calamitous of responses.
But Fire could not answer, for her mouth was hanging open, her mind scrambling to make sense of the thing she'd thought she understood. This child with dark eyes and hair and a mashed-up face, and an Uncle Garan and a princely father, and an unusual propensity for mental closedness. "I've only ridden my own horse," she managed to say.
"Have you met his horses? He has many. He's crazy for horses."
"I think I've only met one," Fire said, still disbelieving. Sluggishly she began to strain through some mental arithmetic.
"Was it Big? Big's a mare. Papa says most soldiers favour stallions, but Big is fearless and he wouldn't trade her for any stallion. He says you're fearless, too. He says you saved his life. That's why I defended you," she said dismally, her current dilemma rounding back to her again. She touched the vicinity of her nose. "Perhaps it's not broken. Perhaps it's only sprained. Do you think he'll be less angry if my nose is only sprained?"
Fire had begun to clutch her forehead. "How old are you, child?"
"Six come winter."
Neel came trotting across the courtyard then with a healer, a smiling man in green. "Lady Fire," the healer said, nodding. He crouched before the child. "Princess Hanna, I think you'd best come with me to the infirmary."
The two of them shuffled away, the child still chattering in her stuffed-nose voice. Blotchy waited a moment, then trailed after them.
Fire was still gaping. She turned to her guard. "Why did no one tell me the commander had a daughter?"
Mila shrugged. "Apparently he keeps it quiet, Lady. All we've ever heard is rumours."
Fire thought of the woman at the green house with the chestnut hair. "The child's mother?"
"Word is she's dead, Lady."
"How long?"
"I don't know. Musa might know, or Princess Clara could tell you."
"Well," Fire said, trying to remember what she'd been doing before all of this had happened. "We may as well go someplace where the raptors aren't screeching."
"We were on our way to the stables, Lady."
Ah, yes, to the stables, to visit Small. And his many horsey friends – a number of which, presumably, had short, descriptive names.
Fire could have gone to Clara immediately to hear the story of how a prince of twenty-two had ended up with a secret daughter nearing six. Instead she waited until her bleeding was over, and then she went to Garan.
"Your sister tells me you work too much," she said to the spymaster.
He looked up from his long table of documents and narrowed his eyes. "Indeed."
"Will you come for a walk with me, Lord Prince?"
"Why should you want to walk with me?"
"Because I'm trying to decide what I think of you."
His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, a test, is it? Do you expect me to perform for you, then?"
"I don't care what you do, but I'm going regardless. I haven't been outside in five days."
She turned and left the room; and was pleased, as she moved through the corridor, to feel him weaving through her guard and falling into place beside her.
"My reason is the same as yours," he said in a patently unfriendly voice.
"Fair enough. I could perform for you if you like. We could stop for my fiddle."
He snorted. "Your fiddle. Yes, I've heard all about it. Brigan thinks we're made of money."
"You hear about everything, I suppose."
"It's my job."
"Then perhaps you can explain why no one's ever told me about Princess Hanna."
Garan glanced at her sideways. "Why should you care about Princess Hanna?"
It was a reasonable question, and it pricked at a hurt Fire hadn't quite acknowledged yet. "Only to wonder why people like Queen Roen and Lord Brocker have never made mention of her."
"Why should they mention her?"
Fire rubbed her neck under her headscarf and sighed, understanding now why her heart had wanted to have this conversation with Garan of all people.
"The lady queen and I speak freely with each other," she said, "and Brocker shares all he learns with me. The question isn't why they should have mentioned her. It's why they've taken care not to."
"Ah," Garan said. "This is a conversation about trust."
Fire took a breath. "And why should the child be kept secret? She's only a child."
Garan was silent for a moment, thinking, now and then glancing at her. He steered her across the palace's central courtyard. She was happy to let him choose the route. Fire still got lost in the labyrinths of this place, and only this morning had found herself in the laundry when she'd been aiming for the blacksmith's shop.