Squire (Protector of the Small, #3)

by Tamora Pierce

A friend had commented once that Neal had a gift for making someone want to punch him just for saying hello.

Last chance to collect bruises from me.” Neal shuddered. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve gotten all the bruises off you this year that I want.” “Coward.”

“My dear Kel, I’d say Jump, your sparrows, even Peachblossom are likelier to have visions than you. I have never known anyone who had both feet nailed to the ground.”

“You need never unsay anything that you did not say in the first place.”

Mithros witness, if I find one strap undone, heads will roll.” “But, Sergeant Osbern, sir, I like my head,” someone muttered. “Very well, Gildes of Veldine. Let’s inspect you first and put you out of your misery,” the decisive voice said.

“Silence, insubordinate curs!” cried Raoul. “Do not sully my new squire’s ears with your profane tales!” “Even if they’re true?”

“When people say a knight’s job is all glory, I laugh, and laugh, and laugh,” he said. “Often I can stop laughing before they edge away and talk about soothing drinks.

Kel looked at him, seeing unholy amusement in his face. He had to know how her body felt. Finally she said, “Begging my lord’s pardon, but you are a bad man.” He laughed. By now she had learned that she could get away with remarks Lord Wyldon would call insubordinate. “I am a bad man,” Raoul said, falsely contrite.

If you lads—” “I am a man, I’ll have you know,” Neal said loftily, putting a hand on his chest. “Five years older—” Kel elbowed him, ruining his dignity. Yuki covered a giggle with her fan. “Hasn’t Lady Alanna taught you not to interrupt?”

“The Yamanis don’t have them. They just beat each other half to death in training.” “They sound like sensible people. Do they hold banquets?” Raoul asked wistfully. “Better,” Kel told him. “They have parties where they view the moon in reflecting ponds, or fireflies in lanterns, or patterns of cherry tree blossoms against the sky, and they make up poetry about it.” Raoul shuddered and changed the subject.

“My children don’t fight healers,” remarked Ilane, “or I’ll know why.” Kel rolled her eyes. “Mother,” she said with disgust, “I haven’t done that in years.” “Good,” Ilane replied, unperturbed. “If you forget, there are plenty of fans here for me to whack you with.”

“The last fall I got from any man was from him, ten years ago.” “You’ve beaten him since?” Kel asked, thinking he might share his secret. “Mithros, no—I just don’t joust with him anymore. I have my pride,” Raoul said.

Now you won’t make that mistake again,” he said with a grin. “You’ll get to make others. Try to remember that armor works much better when it’s on.”

“He’s too old to be up all night. That place isn’t even heated.” “Gods above, don’t tell him that! He already told me he wasn’t in his grave yet and he’d thank me to stop hinting he was decrepit!”

Then she took Peachblossom, Jump, and the birds, and went for a long ride in the Royal Forest, where she heard nothing but the calls of birds and the plop of snow falling from the trees. She drew that quiet into her. What would come would come, whether she fretted herself to pieces or not.

“Nobody ever says that, even with healers, your body still adds up your breaks and bruises, then gives you the bill in your mid-thirties,” she said wryly.