She beat the herbs into the fat with brisk strokes of the spatula, taking some of her anger at the women out on the pot of salve. She was very tired of the odd, sideways looks she was getting—tired enough that she had continued to wear Lordan’s castoffs, rather than “proper, womanly” garb, out of sheer perversity.

I’m cleaning, and lifting, and tending the wounded—when I’m not out drilling the boys in bow or in the stillroom, she thought stubbornly. Breeches are a lot more practical than skirts. Why shouldn’t I wear them? Grandmother and that Shin‘a’in woman do—

She had to smile at that. And they are one and all so frightened of Grandmother and her friend that if either one of them even looks cross, they practically faint.

The salve smelled wonderful, and that alone was a far cry from the medicines she used to make here. She sighed, and stirred a little slower, feeling melancholy descend on her. Life was not the same; it didn’t look as if it would ever be the same again.

It isn’t just them, it’s everything. It seems as if no one treats me the same anymore. Not the servants, not Wendar, not even Lordan. Why has everything changed? It doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t changed. Of course, Father—

The thought of Rathgar made her feel guilty. She knew she should be mourning him—Dierna certainly was. The girl had ransacked Lenore’s wardrobe for mourning clothes, and had them made over to fit herself and her women. She’d carried on at the funeral as through Rathgar had been her father instead of Kero’s.

She carried on enough for both me and Lordan, Kero recalled sardonically. Maybe it’s just that I really never saw that much of him when Mother was alive, and when she was gone, he really never had much to say to me except to criticize. Really, I might just as well have been fostered out, for all that I saw of him. I knew Dent and Wendar better than I knew him! She sighed again. I must be a cold bitch if I can’t even mourn my own father.

She heard footsteps on the stone floor outside just then, and the door creaked open. “So here’s where you’ve been hiding yourself,” said a harsh voice behind her. “Warrior bless! It’s like a cave in here! What are you doing, turning yourself into a bat?”

“It has to be dark,” Kero explained without turning, wondering what had brought the formidable old fighter here. “A lot of herbs lose potency in the light.”