Romilly chuckled softly. “I am sure he wishes he were, as you do,” she whispered, “but that’s not right, Rael. Look, what is that first letter? Spell it out-”
“The boy is in the kitchen,” he read glumly. “The bread is in the pan?”
“Rael, you’re guessing again,” she said. “Look at the letters. You know better than that.”
“The bread is in the oven.”
“That’s right. Try the next page, now.”
“The cook bakes the bread. The farmer-” he hesitated, moving his lips, scowling at the page. “Gathers?”
“That’s right, go on.”
“The farmer gathers the nuts. The soldier rides the horse. The groom puts the saddle on the horse. Romy, when can I read something that makes sense?”
Romilly chuckled again. “When you know your letters a bit better,” she said. “Let me see your copybook. Yes, your letters are written there, but look, they sprawl all over the line like ducks waddling, when they should march along neatly like soldiers – see where Calinda ruled the line for you?” She put the primer aside. “But I will tell Calinda you know your lesson, shall I?”
“Then perhaps we can go out to the stables,” whispered Rael. “Romy, did father beat you for taming the hawk? I heard Mother say he should.”
I doubt that not at all, Romilly thought, but the Lady Luciella was Rael’s mother and she would not speak evil of her to the child. And Luciella had never been really unkind to her. She said “No, I was not beaten; father said I did well – he would have lost the hawk otherwise, and verrin hawks are costly and rare. And this one was near to starving on its block.”
“How did you do it? Can I tame a hawk some day? I would be afraid, they are so fierce.”
But he had raised his voice, and Calinda looked up and frowned at them. “Rael, Romilly, are you minding the lesson?”
“No, mestra,” said Romilly politely, “he has finished, he read two pages in the primer with only one mistake. May we go now?”
“You know you are not supposed to whisper and chatter when you are working,” said the governess, but she looked tired, too. “Rael, bring me your sheet of letters. Oh, this is disgraceful,” she said, frowning, “Why, they are all over the page! A big boy like you should write better than this! Sit down, now, and take your pen!”
“I don’t want to,” Rael sulked, “My head hurts.”
“If your head hurts, I shall tell your mother you are not well enough to ride after your lesson,” said Calinda, hiding the smile that sprang to her lips, and Rael glumly sat down, curled his fist around the pen and began to print another series of tipsy letters along the line, his tongue just protruding between his teeth, scowling over the page.
“Mallina, go and wash the ink from your fingers. Romilly, bring your embroidery-work, and you may as well bring Mallina’s too,” said the governess, bending over Rael’s desk. Romilly, frowning, went to the cupboard and pulled out her workbasket and her sister’s. She was quick enough with her pen, but, she thought angrily, put a needle in my hand and I might as well have a hoof instead of fingers!
“I will show you one more time how to do the knot-stitch neatly,” said Calinda, taking the grubby, wrinkled linen in her own hands, trying to smooth it, while Romilly pricked her finger threading the needle and yelped like a puppy. “This is a disgrace, Romilly; why, Rael could do better if he tried, I do believe!”
“Then why not let Rael do it?” Romilly scowled.
“For shame, a big girl, almost fifteen, old enough to be married,” Calinda said, glancing over Rael’s shoulder. “Why, what have you written here?”
Startled by the tone in the woman’s voice, Romilly looked over her small brother’s shoulder. In uneven printing, he had lettered I wish my brother Ruyven come home.
“Well, I do,” said Rael, blinking his eyes hard and digging his fists into them.
“Tear it up, quickly,” said Calinda, taking the paper and suiting the action to the word. “If your father saw it – you know he has ordered that your brother’s name is not to be mentioned in this house!”