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“I’m glad you agree with my reasons,” he interrupted calmly. “I told Father you’d probably accept.”
Alanna swallowed hard.
“Before we left, I told him I wanted you for my squire. He didn’t seem very surprised.” Jonathan wriggled, trying to find a softer spot on the ground.
“B-but,” Alanna stuttered, “isn’t it different? Now
that you know—”
“That you’re a girl? No, not in the way you mean. Girl, boy or dancing bear, you’re the finest page—the finest squire-to-be—at Court.” He chuckled. “I almost had to fight Gary for you. He said it wasn’t fair, me getting the best because I’m the prince.” He took her hand. “Alanna of Trebond—I will be honored if you will serve as my squire.”
Alanna kissed his hand, blinking back tears. “My life and sword are yours, Highness.”
He spoiled the dignity of the moment by ruffling her hair. “Now, get some sleep.” He settled back and closed his eyes. “You know,” he murmured, “I’d almost rather face old Ylon again than Lord Martin in a temper.”
“I’ll blame it all on you,” she replied sleepily. “See if I don’t.”
He dozed off quickly. Alanna lay awake a little while longer, watching the dark towers of the Black City in the distance. If there were any more Ysandir about, she was too tired to care. She wished she had Jon’s faith in Duke Roger, but knew she wasn’t going to get it. Still, she could figure out the Duke of Conté later. As Jon said, there was morning and Lord Martin to face, and it was time at last to sleep.
The Beginning
