Silverdun awoke in a strange bed, fully clothed, his head throbbing. He touched his temple and grimaced at the tenderness of the welt that had grown there while he slept.
Carefully, he sat up and winced, the previous evening slowly filtering into his mind. The sea voyage, the climb, the old bastard with his paperweight. After that, everything got a bit fuzzy.
The bed was comfortable, the mattress stuffed with down and the pillow large and soft. When he swung his feet gently onto the floor, a plush rug rather than cold stone met his toes. He stood carefully; the rush of pain to his skull was even worse than he expected.
When his vision cleared, he looked around the room. It was small but not cramped; the furnishings good quality but not ostentatious. A fresh set of clothes was draped over a chair, and his boots were on the floor nearby, cleaned and polished. His sword hung from a hook on the wall.
Silverdun dressed slowly and looked himself over in a mirror of perfectly smooth glass. Despite the purpling knot on his temple, he was still roguishly handsome, in his way. He'd been even more handsome, once. A length of ribbon had been hung from the mirror frame, and Silverdun tied his hair back with it.
Only then did he realize that he was starving-he hadn't eaten since the bowl of fish chowder he'd choked down on the dock yesterday morning. When he bent to pull his boots on, the throbbing in his skull had already dwindled a bit.
'Let's get trained then,' he said. 'Time to become a spy.'
The door was locked.
He tried it several times, shaking the latch hard, but the door was heavy and the lock solid; it refused to budge.
He pounded on it and called out. 'Ilian? Care to let the new trainee out for a bit of food?' There was no answer. He knelt down and peered through the keyhole; only the bare stone of the passageway's far wall was visible.
He pounded harder. 'Jedron? Is this another test? Going without breakfast?' The shouting made his head ache.
The window was small; too small to climb out of, but at least it opened, rotating out with a tiny brass crank. Silverdun cranked it all the way open and stuck his head out. The salt breeze was bracing.
Silverdun's room was on the side of the tower opposite the courtyard. The wall here practically jutted out directly from the turgid water. Only a few sharp rocks and a narrow hint of a path separated the tower from the sea.
'Auberon's balls,' said Silverdun. He sat down heavily on the mattress. Here was yet another cell.
At least this one had a soft bed for a change.
Perrin is nestled in his mother's lap, her arms wrapped around him against the sudden evening chill. They are on the veranda overlooking the south lawns. Beyond the row of peach trees, a group of men from the village are repairing the low wall that surrounds the manor. Perrin likes walking along that wall; he can go the entire length of it, and even once made it all the way around the giant rectangle without falling off.
Mother leans in and kisses the top of his head, inhales. 'Your hair smells like sunlight,' she says.
lana comes to speak to Mother. She's one of the servants, and is always kind to Perrin. 'Lady,' she says, curtseying. 'A moment, if I may.' She nods meaningfully at Perrin.
'It's all right,' says Mother. 'Go ahead.'
lana doesn't seem to approve, but she goes on anyway, and suddenly she no longer acts like a servant. 'I've decided that you will lead prayers tomorrow morning, so be ready.'
'Oh,' says Mother. Perrin turns in his mother's arms to look at her face. lana has just spoken to Mother as if she were the servant, and lana her mistress! But Mother is smiling. 'I am honored, Mother.'
Why is Mother calling lana Mother? Perrin is confounded.
'I trust your judgment, Daughter,' says lana. 'If you believe the boy is ready ...'
'I believe it.'
'He may not attend until his tenth birthday, you know.'
'That is only two years from now.'
lana smiles. 'It is a good thing. For him to be brought up in Aba's light. But we must be careful.'
'Yes, Mother.'
lana curtseys, and she is a servant again.
