ONE CHILD DID befriend me—my cousin Willem, Lady Mother’s nephew. He and his parents lived with us for much of the year, though they had their own home south of our castle, a manor house in the middle of New Lakti. His father, Sir Noll, was Lady Mother’s brother-in-law and Father’s lieutenant, his second in battle.
I couldn’t remember a time without Willem. He dined with us, sitting halfway down the long feast table. Before I was old enough to participate, I watched him and the other children train. I noticed him in particular because he waved to me. Wherever he was, at whatever distance, if he saw me, he waved.
He didn’t need my friendship. All the children liked him.
I continued to watch him, even after I could join in. When I reached a race goal, he was the one I turned to see.
He always finished in the middle, never right behind me. Full of goodwill, I studied his running. His light build should have given him an advantage, but his method had flaws, and I wanted to tell him about them. At least I knew better than to give him advice in front of everyone.
A month passed before I found the chance to speak with him privately, when Mistress Clarra set up an archery target in a meadow beyond the outer castle curtain. A stiff wind was blowing, and everyone’s arrows flew wildly.
Willem shot first, I fourth. With luck (and skill) my arrows fell, as his had, in a stand of pine trees. When Mistress Clarra sent us all to gather them, naturally I went with him. I was eight years old and he ten.
He spoke first. “The wind has made neighbors of our arrows, Perry.” His black hair whipped about his face.
Feeling shy, I nodded.
He went on, “If this were a real battle, the wind would have to blow our enemies, too, so they’d be where our arrows could strike them.”
It took me a moment to understand. Then I had to laugh, which made me feel more at ease. “They’d look funny, being blown in full armor.” Working in the subject of speed, I added, “Your arrows were as fast as mine.”
“Unlike my legs.” He sounded regretful.
We reached the trees.
In a burst, I said, “You could run faster. I can tell you how.”
“Really?” He crouched to pick up an arrow. “Yours.”
Mine were fletched with peacock feathers, everyone else’s with goose.
He handed me the arrow without looking at me.
I forged ahead. “You twist when you run.”
“I’ll try not to, Lady.” He handed up another arrow.
No one called me Lady. I wouldn’t be a lady for years. I thought something had gone wrong but didn’t know what. “Here’s one of yours.” I picked it up.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Lady.”
“All right.” I found one of my own arrows and plunged on. “It’s because your arms almost—”
“I think Mistress Clarra is the one to tell us what—”
I almost shouted. “But I run faster than she does!” In exasperation, I added, “And her legs are longer!”
Finally he looked at me. His dark face had flushed even darker, but after a few seconds his frown smoothed and he laughed. He had a lopsided, likable mouth. “Perry . . . Cousin . . . you can teach me how to run better if I can teach you how to talk to people better.”
I’d never thought about it that way, but that was exactly what I wanted to learn. “Yes. Yes! I wish I could be like you.”
He stared at me. I thought he was pleased, but I wasn’t sure.
He bowed, and I was sure.
“You first,” he said. “Show me what you mean.”
I bent my arms at the elbow and closed my hands into loose fists.
“I do that,” he said, frowning again.
“But you don’t keep your arms at your sides. Your hands almost touch. They make you twist and slow you down. You should lift your knees higher, too.”
He nodded. “I see. I’ll pay attention next time.”
“My turn.” I gave him one of his arrows to see if he’d take it—to make sure he’d forgiven me.
He accepted it. “You shouldn’t criticize people unless you’re sure they want to listen.”
But I just wanted to help. “I—”
“Not even if you don’t mean to hurt their feelings.”
Oh.
“What else?”
He started to answer, but then his eyes shifted to a point above my shoulder.
Mistress Clarra arrived to order us to rejoin the others.
Willem was a faster runner after our conversation and often ended a race right behind me. I learned only the lesson about giving criticism—which was helpful more than once. We both tried to speak alone together again, but Lady Mother kept me apart from the other children, and Mistress Clarra allowed us no free time. Willem and I exchanged yearning looks. I could have helped him with his fencing, too, and I was sure he could make me the girl I wanted to be—liked and admired by all.
True friends, Lakti to Lakti,
Kept apart but never forsaking,
Willem and Perry, Perry and Willem.
I loved linking our names.
Six months after our friendship began, Willem had to leave dinner with a stomachache. I turned to watch him run from the great hall, knees high, arms held tight to his sides, a performance I was sure was for my benefit, and I grinned.
But his stomachache turned out to be the first sign of the pox. The next morning, his parents took him to their home in hopes that others might be spared infection.
I was beside myself with fright. Would the pox steal my friend as it had robbed me of my parents? I plagued both Lady Mother and Annet with questions. Would he recover? Could our physician be sent to treat him? Did it hurt to have the pox? Why did he have to catch it? Might a messenger be sent to find out how he was faring?
Lady Mother answered each question once and without softening. In life there was no certainty; the pox killed many but not all. Our physician would stay with us in case any of us fell ill, too. Willem’s head might ache, and his muscles would be sore, nothing a Lakti couldn’t bear. A messenger would not be dispatched for such a trivial reason. As for why he’d caught the pox, such foolishness didn’t deserve an answer.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. A half hour after Annet blew out the candle next to my bed, I sat up.
“Annet?” She slept on a pallet next to my bed.
Moonlight streamed in through the casement window. I saw her raise herself on one elbow.
“Do the fairies cure Bamarre children who get the pox?” Fairies occasionally visited the Bamarre, never the Lakti.
“No.”
“Why did he get it and I didn’t?”
“You still may.” Pause. “I may, too.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Oh.”
If Willem had given me more instruction, I would have known to tell Annet I hoped she didn’t get sick. I did hope that, but I didn’t think to say so.
She added, “Would Lady Klausine’s physician treat me if I got sick?”
“A Bamarre physician would treat you.”
“We don’t have physicians.” She might have added that the Bamarre had healers, who were sometimes better, sometimes not.
I said, “I’d tell our physician to take care of you,” though I doubted he would.
“Don’t worry. The pox kills or it doesn’t.” She seemed determined to give me no comfort. “Nostrums never cured anyone. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t!”
“Then don’t.”