“And getting caught up in murders, and having a student to teach, and handling a kind of magic most of us can’t even see,” Briar explained. “It rearranges the way you look at the world.”
“I should think so!” said Rizu, awed. “You’ve led such adventurous lives!” She leaned her curly head against the door frame. “All this must make her feel like a bird in a cage, then,” she commented. “Maybe the three of you feel that way, too?”
Briar grinned as Tris chuckled and Daja shrugged. “We don’t like cages,” Briar replied for all three of them. “We tend to stay away from them while we can.”
“You’re lucky you’re not noble, then,” said Rizu, a shadow passing over her face. “We’re supposed to think our cages are open air.”
The supper bell chimed at last. Daja was the first to get up and leave the room. As she passed Rizu, she linked her arm through the woman’s, drawing her along with her. “Come away with us, then,” she offered casually. “Live without cages.”
Rizu threw her head back to laugh. The light gilded the line from her chin down to her bosom. Daja looked at that gilding, and away, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.
They sent up a tray of food from supper when Sandry refused to come downstairs. She poked at it with her fork, far too angry to eat. She kept trying to sort out her feelings, but they continued to tangle. How can I feel selfish for yelling at my friend, proud because I finally said something, humiliated at the idea that I might be carried off like a prize sheep, frustrated because I hadn’t unraveled those disgusting kidnappers all the way, ashamed of myself for sulking, and homesick? she asked herself, stacking vegetables on top of meat for entertainment’s sake. All at once?
I hate it here, she decided, pushing away from the table. I hate how you never know what people are really thinking. I hate being a prize sheep.
Someone tapped on her door. “Come in,” she called, thinking that Gudruny had come to collect the tray.
Fin opened the door and stepped into the room. “We missed you at supper, Lady Sandry,” he said. “Ambros told us what happened.”
Oh, dear, thought Sandry as he came over to kneel by her chair. He’s going to try to court me.
Fin caught her hand. “Forgive me that I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said, his blue eyes blazing. “I should have been. I’d have sent those dogs on their way before they could set so much as a wrinkle of worry on your brow. I’ll do it now, if you ask it. Ambros can give me a couple of squads and I’ll find those curs and bring them back for your judgment.”
“That’s very good of you, though I am certain they are long gone by now,” Sandry replied gently. “But truly, I needed no defenders. I can take care of myself, Fin. And Cousin Ambros needs the men for plowing.”
“Plowing, over your honor and safety? I knew Ambros was little better than a bookkeeper, but what an insult! And you shouldn’t have to defend yourself!” he protested. “You are a gentle creature who must not be touched by sordidness like that! From now on, I’m your devoted servant. My sword is at your command. And if any more hedge-knights distress you, I’ll make sure they get a lesson they’ll remember for what’s left of their lives.” He kissed Sandry’s hand fervently. “Unlike them, I care only for your happiness.”
Sandry couldn’t help it. Her mouth curled with disdain. “And my moneybags?”
Fin kissed her hand again. “Don’t interest me in the least,” he assured her. “You don’t see something precious and beautiful and consider its cost—or, at least, a true nobleman does not. Leave that for the merchants, and the Traders. Those of us of rank know what real value is.”
She got rid of him finally, after two hand kisses and more fervent promises of protection. He waited until after dark to offer to go recapture those men, Sandry thought dismally as she wiped her hand with her cloth napkin. Oh, I’m not being fair. He’s been fidgeting ever since we came—no doubt he wants to go kidnapper-chasing.
Briefly she remembered Dymytur’s furious, red face as the man had shouted at her. For an instant she fought the urge to call Fin back and to order Ambros to give him enough men to capture Dymytur and his uncle. It was harder than she had expected to resist the temptation.
Humiliation again, Sandry thought glumly. I hate uncomfortable emotions. They’re so…Her stomach cramped. Sandry wrapped her arms around her waist and thought, Uncomfortable.
She had managed a spoonful of stewed apples when someone else knocked on her door. “Come in,” she said, thinking this must be Gudruny.
Jak entered, a smile in his brown eyes and on his handsome lips.
Mila of the Grain, have mercy on me, thought Sandry as she gave Jak her most polite, chilly smile.
“I came to see how you did,” he said easily, digging his hands into the pockets of his light indoor coat. “I missed you at supper.” Sandry had noticed that, in the jockeying at mealtimes, Jak had most often gotten himself into the chair next to Sandry, being smoother and more adept at distracting others than Fin. “Ambros told us what happened,” Jak continued. “You should write to Her Imperial Majesty.”
“I thought she was contemptuous of women who got taken, since she managed to escape when it happened to her,” replied Sandry.
“Well, she’ll approve of you taking care of the matter yourself, but it’s not just that. May I sit?”