"Then you'll be back with us. That'll be good. And listen, Paks, you keep in mind what I said. As a yeoman, you have a right to think for yourself. You're supposed to—"

"I do," said Paks. "You—"

"You do, and then you don't. I know what you're thinking, about me and the juniors, and you were right, there. You stand against us—the others in the class—when you think differently. But you don't stand against anyone over you—I'll bet you never argued with your sergeant, or captain, or the Duke—"

Paks found herself smiling. She could not imagine Con arguing with Stammel more than once, let alone with Arcolin. But she defended herself. "I did argue with the Duke once—well, not exactly argue—"

"Once!" Con snorted. "And he was wrong only once in three years? That's a record."

She shook her head at him; it was useless to try to explain. She tried anyway. "Con—privates don't argue with commanders. Not unless it's very important, and usually not then. And we don't see everything, we can't know when the commander is wrong."

"So what did you argue—not exactly—about?"

Paks froze. She had never meant to get close to that night in Aarenis again. "I—you don't need to know," she said lamely.

"Come on, Paks. I can't imagine you arguing with anyone like that—it must have been something special. What was it? Was he going to start worshipping Liart, or something?"

Paks closed her eyes a moment, seeing Siniava stretched on the ground, the Halverics at his side, the angry paladin confronting her Duke. She heard again the taut silence that followed the Duke's outburst, and felt the weight of his eyes on her. "I can't tell you," she said hoarsely. "Don't ask me, Con; I can't tell you."

"Paks," said Rufen quietly. "You don't look ready for supper in the hall; we'll bring something up for you." His gentle understanding touched her; she opened her eyes to see them both looking worried.

"I'm all right," she said firmly.

"You're all right, but you're not well. If you're to make your vows at the Midwinter Feast, you don't need to be scurrying up and down stairs again today. It's no trouble—" he went on, waving her to silence. "If we go now, we can all eat up here in peace. Come on, Con." And the two of them went out, closing her door softly and leaving her to her thoughts.

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-two

Marshal-General Arianya headed the table; three High Marshals, two paladins, and five Marshals (three attached to granges, and two from the college itself) completed the conference.

"Will that new yeoman be ready to test for the Midwinter Feast, Arianya?" asked the oldest of the group, Marshal Juris of Mooredge grange.

"I think so. She says she's well enough now, but the surgeons don't want her fighting for another few days."