“Kero,” Tarma said, in a neutral, even voice, “This is Darenthallis—Daren to us. He’ll be training here with you.”

Kero’s first reaction was of resentment. Why? Her second was of jealousy. We were just fine with the two of us.

She stepped forward slowly, keeping her expression neutral, but not her thoughts. They don’t need the money—and now Tarma is going to be spending half her time with him, which means I won’t be learning as much from her. It isn’t fair! By the look of him, he could have any teacher he wanted! Why should he steal mine?

She eyed his armor with envy; up close, it was even better than she’d thought, combination plate and chain mail, the chain mail so fine it looked to have been knitted, with articulated plate that had to have been specifically fitted to him. And he wasn’t finished growing yet—which meant that someone, somewhere, didn’t care how much it cost to keep fitting him with new armor every time he put on a growth spurt. Then she recognized the name—after all, there weren’t that many young men named Darenthallis in the world, and there was only one likely to have armor of that quality.

His Highness, Prince Darenthallis, third son of the King.

Which explained how he’d gotten Tarma to agree to teach him, and virtually guaranteed that the Shin‘a’in would be spending the lion’s share of her time with him.

The privilege of rank. Kero’s resentment trebled. I have to earn my way here, and he walks in and takes over.

But she kept it out of her face and manner; she’d learned to school her expressions long ago. Rathgar took a dim view of resentment and rebellion in his children.

Daren smiled; he looked self-confident and sure of his superiority. Kero’s temper smoldered. Well, we’ll just see how superior you are. Especially once we get into the woods. If you’ve ever had to track anything in your life, my fine young lord, I’d be very much surprised.

She cleared her throat, and made the first move. “I’m Kerowyn,” she said, nodding a little, not holding out her hand; she could have freed one to shake his, but she chose not to.

“Daren,” he said. “Are you one of Lady Kethryveris’ students?”

Ignoring the fact that I’m carrying armor. Assuming I couldn’t possibly be anything other than a nice little ladylike mage.

“I’m her granddaughter,” she replied acidly. “And I’m Kal‘enedral Tarma’s student.”

Tarma’s left eyebrow rose a little, but otherwise her face was completely without expression. “Well, now that you’ve met,” she said quietly, “why don’t we get down to business.”