“It’s different here,” Dorrin said. She had explained this once to all three squires, but then Beclan had gone off to Lyonya with her. “He’s my kirgan, yes, but he’s also my squire. And since he has not grown up here, with the knowledge of this domain he would have if he were my son, he cannot take on the responsibilities of kirgan without more time and experience. As far as you and Gwenno are concerned, he’s a squire—the same as you two—and you owe him no deference, only the courtesy due a fellow squire.”

“It’s sad,” Daryan said. “I didn’t realize that at first.”

“Yes, it is. But it’s also sad that you were captured and tormented and had to have Kuakkgani healing.”

“I don’t know…” Daryan looked down at his hands, the scar on one and the peculiar-looking thumb on the other. “Nobody else I know has a thumb with bark. I hope the other one buds. Dressing will be easier with two thumbs.”

Dorrin struggled not to laugh. “I’m glad you accept it that way,” she said. “Though if you turn Kuakgan, your father will be angry with us both all over again.”

“Oh, no,” Daryan said. “I want to be a knight, like Roly. I don’t think Gird will mind.”

After he left, Dorrin wondered if Beclan would be next but remembered he was off learning surveying with Natzlin. She had seen them start out that morning with a collection of ropes and sticks and other necessary gear. With no more interruptions, she finished the morning’s work with the account books.

In the kitchen she found Farin Cook chatting with Sergeant Natzlin. Natzlin looked brighter than she had since Barranyi left the Duke’s Company. She saluted Dorrin. “My lord, Squire Beclan has learned to make square corners three ways this morning and will show a creditable plat of the orchard.”

“Excellent. If my kirgan can learn accurate surveying, I may not need to hire anyone. Did you come in to report to me?”

“Yes, my lord. I just stopped here to … to…”

“You’re a soldier; it’s a kitchen,” Dorrin said, chuckling. “You notice where I am—we eat when we can, eh?”

A look passed between Farin and Natzlin, and then Farin said, “She was telling me about the old Company. And I said, stop a bit and have a bun. Those scars she’s got—takes good food to heal up.”

“Indeed,” Dorrin said. She felt she was intruding, but it was her kitchen. “Any leftover buns for your duke?”

“Always something,” Farin said. She looked at the kitchen workers. “Efla—fetch the duke some sib and a plate of those pastries with honey and nuts.” She looked back at Dorrin. “In your study, m’lord?”