“Which was?”

“As he told you,” Gwenno said. Her eyes shifted; Dorrin suspected it had been worse, but approved Gwenno’s willingness to let it pass. “And so I grew angry and said Roly might be good enough with a map-stick but Serrostins sat their horses like sacks of redroots.”

Dorrin bit her lip not to laugh. “I find you all at fault,” she said. “You are bred of dukes; you inherit wealth and power. You all hope to be knights someday and do great deeds, but now you quarrel over whether someone helps tack up a horse? That is ridiculous.” She let them wait in silence a long moment, then went on. “Beclan, you are the eldest, born to a royal house, and yet I find you setting up the cause of the quarrel and smirking against the wall as if it pleased you.”

Beclan reddened. “My lord—”

“I did not give you leave to speak,” Dorrin said, using command voice; he went still and silent. “You are the eldest, I say again, and it is to you that younger squires—and the children of this house—look for behavior to guide them. Consider the paladin Paksenarrion—is your behavior anything like hers? Do you think she takes pleasure in quarrels or creates them for her own amusement? You may answer.”

“No, my lord,” Beclan said. He looked sheepish now. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t—I didn’t think—”

“You will think hereafter,” Dorrin said. “You want, it is clear, to be seen as the wealthy son of power that you are, to be seen as knowledgeable, capable, skilled, a leader. You must become so, in truth … must be what you would seem. Be an example, be a true friend to your colleagues, your fellow squires.”

“Yes, my lord. I will try.”

“You will do more than try, Beclan—you will do, or I will send you home.” She turned quickly to the others. “And the same is true of you, Daryan, and you, Gwenno. You were all reared in dukes’ houses; you were taught courtesy, as I know, for I know your fathers. So there will be no trying—there will be courtesy, kindness, fairness among you all and to all you encounter. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” they said.

“You will find me understanding of honest mistakes,” Dorrin said, “but I will not tolerate squires claiming precedence they have not earned or making mischief with one another. Now: each of you go, tack up your own mount, and do the work I had assigned you today.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She watched them cross the yard to the stable. Would her rebuke hold them even a day? Maybe. And here came her new steward, no doubt with something else for her to solve. Well, she had accepted the king’s commission; she had been confirmed as duke; she had better, as she had advised Beclan, be what she seemed.

Chaya, shortly after Midsummer Feast