I shake myself. “No—I mean, yes, my lady.”
“I’m not a lady. You may call me Elayne.” She begins pulling books from her bag. Many of them have childish pictures painted on the covers. “Can you read?”
I can’t decide if she’s brusque or just efficient, but I fold my arms. “Yes, I canread.”
“Don’t be offended. I always ask. Not everyone has access to education, and there’s no shame in that.”
I rather doubt she asked the prince and princess, but that steals some of my vitriol. I unfold my arms.
She slides a leather-bound booklet toward me, along with a wrapped stick of kohl pencils, similar to the ones I used to keep track of projects in the workshop. “As you hear new words throughout the day, I want you to write them down if you can. We’ll sit together at breakfast to go over them. Each night, I’m going to leave you a children’s primer to read—” She breaks off, and I’m not sure what expression is on my face, but it must not be good. She’s frowning. “Is there a problem?”
There might be. If she’s been hired to spend so much time tutoring me, I’m sure it’s costly.
I don’t like that the prince sent her. It feels manipulative.
But my conflict with Prince Rhen isn’t her fault. “I’m sorry.” I look down, fidgeting with the cover on the little book. “I don’t mean to be rude. This . . . this is unexpected.”
She reaches out to pat my hand, and it’s motherly, making me feel like a child—and I can’t remember the last timethathappened. Despite the sternness in her expression, her hand is warm, the motion kind. She reminds me a bit of Master Hugh.
“Shall we sit?” she says, and her voice is a little gentler.
I nod, and we do. Molly brings her a stein of steaming tea and a smallplatter of breads with cheese and jam, but Elayne ignores it all. She taps the book in front of me. “Let’s begin,” she says. “Write down some words you’ve learned. Write them in both Syssalah and Emberish if you can.”
I could cheat and use the words I already know from working in the forge—or simple words likehelloandgoodbye. Or maybe even the first words that Tycho taught me during our ride from Syhl Shallow, likesleepandcampandstarsandfire.
But for some reason my thoughts summon that moment in the forge when Sephran brought me the bench, when he said herememberedhow much I needed one.
Remember, I repeated, figuring out the word.Think . . . of before.Sephran looked so pleased. Then he invited me to shoot with his friends. It was the first time the constant band of tension around my chest had loosened.
Is Sephran a friend? I’m still not sure. But my heart gives a tug at the memory.
Remember.I do.
So I write that down.
It seems to be a day for visitors, because Master Hugh brings a woman to the forge in the afternoon. She’s probably as old as Hugh, and she carries herself like a soldier. She has a satchel like Elayne’s, but this one doesn’t look burdened with books. Nothing about her looks friendly, and when her eyes skip over me in an appraising way, I try not to scowl.
But Master Hugh gives me a warm smile. “Jax. This is Captain Ammax. She brought you a foot.”
I hesitate, unsure what to say. I remember Hugh told me she doesn’t speak Syssalah, so I give her a nod and speak in Emberish. “Ah . . . ?well met, Captain.”
She gives me a sharp nod in return, then speaks in rapid-fire Emberish to Hugh, and I can only pick out every fifth word. But he listens attentively, then says, “Ammax says you will need practice. Clumsy at first. Sore. Little bit longer each day.”
That was a lot shorter than everything she said to him. I glance between them and raise my eyebrows. “That’s all?”
He waves a hand and makes atsksound. “She was telling me about the friends she lost in the war. But you did not cause the strife. It will be fine.”
“Oh.” Now I understand the wary regard in her expression. She hates me like the rest of the soldiers. My hands flex on my crutches, and I want to draw back.
Master Hugh tuts and pats my shoulder. “You are a good boy, Jax. She will see. Sit. Try.”
With anyone else, I always feel so prickly and uncertain. But there’s something about Master Hugh that’s disarming, even when my stomach is tied up in knots. I don’t know if it’s his voice, which is never loud, or if it’s his unassuming manner. Or maybe it’s simply that I can’t remember a single time that anyone has ever said those words to me.You are a good boy, Jax.
As I sit, Captain Ammax begins pulling things from the bag. Woolen socks first, then a length of muslin. Then what looks to be a length of leather wrapped around wood. She’s talking while she unravels everything, and Hugh listens, then translates.
“You’ll wear two stockings,” he says. “Always two! Ammax says using one will cause sores. And the muslin folds underneath. Like . . . ?like pillow? Do you understand?”
No, but I nod.
