“I agree,” Kieri said. “You learned to use power well; the form of power is not as important as your judgment and discipline.”

“Thank you, my lord. I will do my best.” Then her expression changed. “I can’t help remembering how my family used it,” she said, then after a pause went on. “Some things I could not say—that I can say now.” She stopped.

“Do you need to tell me?” he asked gently. Dorrin had never confided much about her past, just that she was estranged from the family.

“Yes. If you have time—”

“For an old comrade? Always.”

The tale she told matched his own in ways he had not imagined: the suffering she’d endured, as a child, the final determination to flee at any cost. He thought back to his first impressions of Dorrin at Falk’s Hall—a difficult, moody girl, not much liked by the other women for what they called her sullenness, her refusal to enter into easy friendships, her distrust of others. Like the other older students, he had dismissed her as likely to fail, as having none of the graciousness Falk’s followers were supposed to show. He had said as much to the Knight-Commander.

“When we older students complained of you,” he said when she’d finished, “the Knight-Commander said we did not understand, and such hasty judgment meant we ourselves were unfit for the ruby. He told us nothing specific, only that our opinions were the opinions of—let me see if I can remember—’rash, callow youths lacking wisdom or mercy, who could be judged as harshly by those without discernment.’ He bade us fast a night and a day for our ungraciousness. It did not, I’m afraid, change many opinions, though we did learn to keep them to ourselves.”

“And yet you hired me.”

“It was seeing you covered in mud, working away in that ditch to get the wagon out, and then the look in your eyes—you still expected me to refuse. There, I thought, is a true Knight of Falk, whatever she seemed before, and I must honor that. As you have honored me, these many years.” Kieri felt tears on his own cheeks and did not brush them away. “You and I, Dorrin, had more in common than either of us knew. I sorrow for your suffering, and I am sorry for my early arrogance, that assumed no one else had also suffered.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Dorrin said. “I was—I was not an easy person to like, back then.”

“No … but now you are, as you have been for years, a Knight of Falk, grave and courteous to all, and I do not think Mikeli could have chosen anyone better able to save what can be saved of Verrakai. Go with my blessing, and know you have always a friend at this court.”

She nodded, and then bowed; when she had gone, Kieri was immediately immersed in the myriad details that now filled every day before his coronation.