Tahlia wondered if she would be able to reach the knife in her pouch and make a slash at the soldier's hand before he realised what she was doing. The place was quite busy. There were a lot of hand-carts standing about the field, and a detachment of Field-hands were working with their shovels to tidy up the mess left that morning by the massing of Klinberg's prides. Maybe she could tip some carts over on her way and cause a little confusion for her escape.

She moved her hand slowly towards her pouch.

As her fingers slipped beneath its flap and began searching for the knife's hilt, the soldier suddenly stopped, the tent of Commander Galder still some way distant.

"And here we are," he said.

Tahlia looked around, somewhat bemused, at the tent they had halted beside. She shook her head. So concerned had she been with the presence of Commander Galder's pavilion ahead of her, she had failed to notice her father's tent and standard, which both seemed somehow drab and colourless compared to the opulent splendour of Sir Galder's.

"Would that be all, my lady?" asked the soldier, his smile broad and the sly twinkle still in his eye.

Tahlia looked up at the soldier, and then at her father's pavilion.

"Yes, of course," she said. "You may leave me here."

The soldier gave a half bow and a mocking salute.

"You're welcome, my lady," he said, before turning and strolling off across the arena-field.

Tahlia turned to her father's tent. Ordinarily, she had no trouble talking to her father, but she found that she had to steal her nerve before pushing open the tent flap. Her memory of her time in the dark tent was now so hazy it had somehow taken on the quality of a dream, and her sighting of Tasker was hardly proof of any wrongdoings. Still, she was sure she would know what to say when she saw her father's face.

She pushed through the heavy outer tent flap and went inside. The tent was well lit, having the outer trap of the roof thrown back to let in the sunlight. Her father was not there.

She walked further into the tent. The space inside was large, though half was taken up by the armour of Hakansa, hanging on its rack at the side of the chamber. An empty stand for her father's own armour stood beside it. The rest of the space was taken up by a rack of lances, another rack for her father's sword and rail-shield, and a chair and small writing desk, neatly piled with books and paper.

She peered behind the tarp that separated the end of the tent from the rest, but found only her father's simple bed laid out with a frame wardrobe beside it. Inside hung her father's clothes, all nearly identical in both style and sombre grey or black colour. Another bed was laid out at the foot of her father's, a grey squire's tunic folded neatly at its foot, with a short scabbarded sword beside it.

"Can I help you, my lady?" came a deep rich voice from behind her.

She jumped and spun around, her hand going to the pouch at her belt. Standing in the tent's doorway was Zemrossa, her father's squire.

"I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to startle you."

"I was not startled," replied Tahlia. "I was looking for my father."

Zemrossa came into the tent. He was carrying a large wooden bucket filled with fine sand. He carried it, seemingly without effort, to the rack holding Hakansa's armour, and placed it on the floor next to a low stool.

"You have just missed him, I am afraid. He has recently left for the temple."

"Oh."

"Are you all right, my lady?"

"Yes, I am fine of course. Why?"

"You do not look well."

"I am fine, really; I have been out all day. I was only really looking for father."

"Should you not be preparing yourself, my lady?"

Zemrossa looked down at her, and Tahlia followed his gaze.

Her dress was grass stained, with the dark marks of the nadidge's blood spattered across its front. Her hands were similarly begrimed, but the blood was dark like hohova oil, so it looked more like she had been staining wood rather than cutting off assassin's tails. She had no idea what her face and hair must look like, but she assumed their appearance would be similarly messy.

She looked up at the sky, where it showed through the tent's open trap. It was the darkening blue of late afternoon.

"Oh dear," she said, then, to Zemrossa. "Where is my mother?"

"I believe she is still up at the Fortress."

"Right!" said Tahlia, going to the tent flap and pushing her way outside.

Then she paused and stuck her head back through.

"Thank you," she said to Zemrossa, who was still standing watching the tent flap, a slight frown on his face.

"You are welcome, my lady."

Tahlia ducked back outside and looked around the arena-field.

She peered carefully into every shadow, but could see nothing lurking.

She was not reassured.

For the first time in her life, she did not feel safe.

She considered going back into her father's tent and asking Zemrossa to escort her to the Fortress, but balked at the idea. The thought of her being in need of protection around her own home made her recoil inside, then flash with anger. She checked to ensure that her mother's knife was still in her pouch, then set off across the field, towards the arenas and the chain-carriage station.

She would find her mother. She would be in trouble for her appearance, but surely her mother would forgive her when she heard the news she brought.

Tonight we will have her brother...

What did they want with Grifford?

There was something going on, and Tasker was involved.

Him! Who is him?

Sir Galder! It must be Sir Galder, and it must have something to do with the Contest tomorrow, but what did her idiot brother have to do with anything?

Her brain was feeling hazy again, and the landscape around her was strangely blurred.

A sudden pain cracked at her shin, and with the pain came focus. She had nearly tripped over a hand-cart being pushed by a scruffy Field-hand.

"Watch where you are going!" she yelped.

"Watch where you're going!" retorted the Field-hand.

They both stood glaring at one another.

"You!" said Tahlia at the sight of the boy's bruised face and unkempt hair.

"You!" said the boy, still glaring.

Tahlia tried to focus on his wounded face.

Wounds that Tasker had given him.

"Are you all right?" said the boy.

He is far too cocky about being able to get to Hakansa...

"You look done in!"

Tahlia grabbed the front of Maddock's grubby tunic to steady herself.

"Where is Hakansa?"

"What?"

"My father's steed!"

"Yes, I know who Hakansa is..."

"Where is he?"

"He will be at the Enclosures tonight, at the Infirmary pens."

Maddock took her hands and pulled them roughly from his tunic.

"Have you been at the hive wine? You look two planks short of a fence!"

Tahlia frowned at the impertinence, but let it go. After that morning, she was struggling to know just who in the Order she could trust, but despite the fact that she disliked him immensely, she felt, for some unknowable reason, that she could trust the scruffy boy in front of her.

"I need you to do something for me," she said.

"Why should I do anything for you?" replied Maddock.

Tahlia stumbled back a little way.

"Because I'm asking you to, of course. I need you to keep a watch on Hakansa tonight."

"What!"

"Hakansa. I think he is in danger."

"Now that's just stupid. What can he be in danger from?"

"You do not need to know the details. It is Order business. "

The boy simply shook his head and hauled on the handles of his dung filled cart. He pushed it away, circling towards the arenas.

"Well if it's Order business, then it's none of mine," he said over his shoulder. "You'll have to sort it yourself."

Tahlia followed after him, her legs feeling suddenly unsteady.

"Do it for me," she persisted.

"Why should I?"

"I saved you from a beating from my brother, and my brother saved you from a beating from those squires."

"And I saved you from drowning, so we're all even now."

They had reached the far side of the field, and Maddock set off down the arena's encircling avenue. Tahlia stopped following.

"Please!" she shouted after him.

"We're even!" he called back over his shoulder, still not stopping.

Tahlia just stood and watched him go.

"Bothersome boy!" she said under her breath.

Never mind. She would just have to tell her mother about Hakansa. She did not need that borak's help.

She hitched up her too long skirt and started to run towards the chain-carriage station, but she staggered wildly to one side and her head suddenly began to spin again. Her legs barely had the strength to walk, let alone run, but she managed to reach the observation tower's terrace and haul herself up its steps. It seemed that all the knights, like her father, had left for the temple to begin their anointment, but the terrace was still crowded with ladies waiting to join them. There were so many of them, they had begun to spill down the stairs and out onto the fringes of the arena-field.

Tahlia pushed her way through, the bright colours of their dresses blurring and hurting her eyes. She tried to look for her mother, but could not see her anywhere. From what she could remember of her lessons in protocol, the ladies of the Pride-commanders would be the last to descend from the Fortress to lead their companions in procession to the temple.

She still had time.

She whispered a brief communiqué of thanks to Fortak when she saw that a carriage had recently arrived at the station. The ladies inside had disembarked to disperse across the platform, and there was no one waiting to ascend, so she ran as fast as her leaden legs could convey her, ignoring the combined looks of distaste and mirth from the ladies she passed.

She made it to the carriage, where a Junior Engineer waited to close the final door and gate. She muttered a brief word of thanks as she stumbled inside and fell onto the nearest seat. She lay there panting for breath, her head pounding and her body feeling like it was filled with stone.

She barely noticed as the carriage began to move.

Her head was still jumbled with the memories of the past hour. She would have to organise them if she were to tell her mother anything coherent, and have her words believed. She tried to pull herself to a sitting position, but her limbs seemed to have no strength, so she lay back down and closed her eyes again. Maybe she should have a quick rest. Just to gather her thoughts.

The carriage carried her upwards, rocking gently.

* * * * *

"Your daughter continues to be problematic," said the Lady Mandassa.

Her black hair was immaculate, as was the yellow and red dress she wore. At her shoulder stood her only daughter, fifteen summers old and a replica of her mother, save that her hair was not pinned. It tumbled down her back in thick tresses, black against the yellow of her dress.

"I have been remiss in my leniency towards my daughter's attitudes," said Tahlessa. "That is something I will change when I see her next."

"Do not be so hard on her, Lessa," said the Lady Kell, who sat on a nearby bench, two of her daughters on either side of her. The youngest, not yet six summers old, lay sleeping with her head in her mother's lap, her golden hair bright against the fine blue of her dress. "I am sure she will turn up."

"Doubtless with numerous excuses," said the Lady Mandassa mildly.

Though she was harshly tempted, Tahlessa chose not to turn the conversation onto Sir Zembulla's wife, regarding the necessity for excuses. Though she was sure they were all tempted to, none of the ladies had broached the subject of her husband's sudden unexpected withdrawal from the Tourney, and along with it, his challenge for the Order's command.

"I have spent far too long these past weeks worrying over my children," she said instead. "Today, my mind in on my husband."

"Justly so," said the Lady Clemita, who had taken a seat on another bench, the voluminous green and black material of her dress spread around her. Neither of her two daughters accompanied her; they were each old enough to have husbands and children of their own, and Tahlessa could not help feeling a slight pang of envy at the older woman's freedom from worry.

A maid appeared silently at Tahlessa's shoulder.

"My lady?"

"Yes!" she snapped at the servant, more unkindly than she had intended, and the girl quickly averted her eyes to look at the path at her feet.

"Mistress Oleander has requested your presence at the chain-carriage station."

"For what purpose?"

"It is your daughter, my lady."

The maid looked up to meet her eye, and Tahlessa could tell by her look of scared apprehension that the news was not something that would improve her mood.

* * * * *

The station was filled with ladies waiting to descend, but they parted as she approached, opening a path between the hexagon tower and the open door of the chain-carriage waiting at the platform. She strode with her head high, not meeting their eyes, but she could sense their amused gazes upon her as she passed, and her anger grew.

A Junior Engineer stood beside the open door of the carriage, looking anxiously, first up at the clock below the gear house, and then at the two people waiting within. When he saw her striding down the platform, his look turned to one of relief, and he gave the slightest of bows as she passed him and entered the carriage.

Mistress Oleander dominated the space within, the brightly jewelled orange of her dress emphasising her enormity. The soldier who stood at her shoulder, in his bland grey uniform, seemed insignificant in comparison. He bowed when he saw her, and stepped aside.

His movement revealed her daughter, lying on the long seat opposite the door, with her legs tucked up and her head pillowed on her arms. Her hair was splayed chaotically on the soft tragasaur hide, the pins and clips that had once bound it looking like flotsam caught in a fisherman's net. Her dress was a similar wreck, missing its bodice and stained with grass and some other filthy substance, the same stuff, by the looks of it, which mired her daughter's hands and smeared her face and neck.

It took the greatest of efforts for Tahlessa to keep her emotions from showing on her face. The last thing she wanted was to give the ladies, watching on the platform outside, any sort of satisfaction.

The maid, who had followed Tahlessa down from the gardens like a nervous shadow, put her hand to her mouth to stifle a small cry of anguish when she saw Tahlia.

The movement only drew Tahlessa's attention.

"You should have kept her in her room once you had finished with her hair."

It was hard for the maid to look any more wretched, but she somehow managed it.

"I am sorry, my lady, but I did not know and she left in such a hurry..."

Tahlessa sighed and held up a hand to halt the outpouring of excuses.

"I suppose I cannot blame you for my daughter's inconsideration."

Mistress Oleander gave an unladylike snort.

"The girl refuses to wake up," she said.

Tahlessa had taken part in many heated altercations with Mistress Oleander in the long years since Tahlia had first been delivered into the care of the Warden of the ladies' quarters. In that time, their attitude towards each other had settled to one of cold courtesy, but at that moment she felt nothing but sincere empathy for the woman.

"My Lady Tahlessa," said a deep courteous voice behind her.

She turned to find the heavy bulk of an Engineer taking up the doorway. He bowed his head politely.

"The carriage is meant to be leaving now. The schedule cannot be adjusted."

"Of course, Engineer."

She turned back to the sight of her slumbering daughter.

"Mistress Oleander. Could you please have my daughter taken to her room?"

"Of course, my lady. Do you wish her cleaned up and redressed?"

"No. Put her in her bed and leave her there. I do not wish to set eyes on her for the rest of this day."

With that she turned and left the carriage. Her features were composed, but inside her, anger boiled. The child had gone too far this time. Her behaviour had gone beyond mere inconvenience.

After tomorrow, things would change.