More than anything, the lady wanted children. Though her husband comforted her, she knew in her heart that he too wanted children, and she secretly feared that she might be supplanted by another, a replacement, if she did not provide him with suitable heir. So it was with great rejoicing when finally they conceived a child.

The child turned out to be a girl - a daughter, and if the lord felt disappointment, he neither said nor showed it in the slightest. But though the little girl was a great joy to her mother, still the lady felt keenly the lack of a proper heir.

The girl grew (as children do) and was tutored in the ways of her class. She toiled not, nor did she spin, but she rode and she sewed and she read, was taught letters and languages and numbers and all the rest as would befit a good chatelaine of estate, whether her parents' or her someday husband's. She did these things, and vexed her instructors with a wanton streak of stubbornness that even her mother could not entirely quell.

'Why is it necessary that there be so many pieces of cutlery upon a serving board?'

'Why does one smile and offer encouragements even to those one does not like?'

'Why-'

'Enough whys,' the girl's mother finally told her. 'It is how things must be done. You do not wish to be a disappointment, do you? To fail would be a shame to us all. Now, practice that curtsey again. Someday you shall be presented at court, and we wouldn't want you to seem a peasant, would we?'

Eventually the day of the girl's coming of age was at hand. It was customary among the nobility that their sons and daughters were sent upon the day of coming of age to the court - the girls to serve as assistant ladies in waiting to her majesty the queen, the boys to serve as squires to the king's knights. Once this period of service was ended, many of the girls would become true ladies in waiting, many of the boys in turn becoming knights. Even those who returned home instead were then free to take up their gentrified ways, at their parents' behest.

'Do your best and remember that we love you,' her father told her as she climbed into the loaded coach, kissing her forehead as she went by.

'Make sure not to offend anyone and try to make as many friends as you can. Good impressions are like hard currency,' her mother told her, readjusting the girl's collar critically. 'These are important people and it's important that you fit in. And for goodness' sake, try not to ask so many questions!'

The girl nodded, going away with her parents' words still ringing in her ears, eyes intent upon the scenery outside the coach window. It seemed as if she were in a small, stuffy box and she longed for the freedom which the open countryside away from the road represented. It did not occur to her until long after that she was to trade one small, stuffy box for another.

The coach carried her down the long winding road past any inconveniences or dangers which might have been waiting for unwary girls such as herself. After a long, long time she looked out the window, spotting a small shining dot upon the horizon. 'What is that dot?', she asked the coachman.

'That is the topmost tower of their majesties' palace,' came the reply over the rumbling of the wheels. 'Oh,' the girl replied, settling back again to be lulled by the dull hypnosis of the carriage.

After a long, long while more the shining dot had grown larger, and she could hear, very faintly, a sound as of the softest of bells, carried upon the wind. 'And that sound?', she asked the coachman. 'What is that I am hearing?'

'That sound is the music of the king's hunt. The huntsmen blow their horns when they've spotted quarry, and the horns are said to be the most melodious anywhere in the land,' the reply came again, over the rumbling of the wheels.

'Thank you,' the girl replied, and she again fell silent to her own thoughts, looking out the window as she waited.

She wondered as she waited what sort of quarry the huntsmen hunted. Did they hunt with hawks and hounds? What colours did the king's huntsmen favour? Did ladies of the court ever join in the hunt?

The wheels of the coach ground down against the road rising up to meet them as the day passed on to night. The rays of the setting sun flashed red against something in the distance, leading her to shade her eyes and speak again. 'What brilliance was that?'

'The windows of the palace, they say,' the coachman observed, 'are set with diamonds. The sunset reflects off the stones and is visible for miles around. We are nearly there, my lady.'

The sun had barely set, the last dying rays still illuminating the earth when the massive iron gates of the palace stood open before the coach. The girl had arrived at court.

It was very easy to feel very small and lost amid the pomp and ceremony, the grandiose indifference to yet one more small noblewoman in a crowd of such. The beautiful orderliness of the palace grounds with not one nodding blossom allowed to stray too far from its tree was elegant, but anything other than cozy. She was shown to a chamber which she was to share with three other girls of her own age, and it was explained to her the hierarchy and rules of the court.

Being new, the most rules and tasks fell to her. Not truly menial drudgework - that was, after all, what the common folk were for, scullery maids and tweenies and the rest. But the earliest and latest shifts were for her and the other new girls; she quickly fell into a camaraderie with several of them, and they became by and large inseparable.

Still she had her moods, though - times when the questions bubbled up too quick and thick for her to hold back past the fragile barrier of her lips. Her friends learned to leave her be when such a mood seized her, and not to look for her, because it was rare they'd find her. She had a gift for hiding herself, whether in the gardens or a lonely stretch of tower, or even under a table in a crowded banquet hall where no one somehow would notice she'd slid herself. Even if they did find her, the answers she gave to their queries seldom made much sense to them.

'Why is it that we do these things?'

'What purpose are we serving by going through these motions? It's just work to keep us busy; it serves no real purpose.'

'Why should we curtsey precisely thirteen degrees when we meet a lady only a year older than we are?'

To these questions her friends had no real answers, and sometimes the questions were dismissed out of hand. Other times the questions disturbed them, and in the interests of harmony and peace of mind, they allowed her to slip off and in time stopped noticing it as unusual when she did.

Despite her occasional frustrated questioning, the girl was doing well in her training. Her embroidery received praise, and the queen occasionally requested specifically that she be included in the canticle singers. Even on her occasional visits home her parents seemed pleased with her progress.

One year slid into another in this fashion until she was beginning her final year at court. Depending upon the recommendations of the queen and her retinue she would either be granted a place at court, sent to another court in a neighbouring kingdom, or sent home quietly or in disgrace. The air among the young ladies approaching this point in their training had become one of quiet desperation - everyone wanted to be selected for the prized positions, and not everyone, after all, could be so chosen.
By now the girls had an additional distraction - the young gentlemen of the court. Gradually the two had been taught to mingle. The rewards for proper conduct were evident - more privileges and continued contact. The punishments for improper conduct ranged from isolation through to being shunned and sent home in disgrace; few were foolish enough to risk such except with exceptional precautions.

The young ladies in their final year were given a combined task and privilege - those who were deemed worthy or whose parents had sufficient pull in the court. The knights in training were for their final year assigned to take vigils at various locations around the palace grounds. Each knight would stand vigil for three nights a week, receiving a modest amount of beef and wine brought to them by a young lady.

The young lady could choose to invite a friend to accompany them if they did not wish to be alone with the knight in question; some did more than others, especially if they did not wish to encourage the knight-to-be in romantic thoughts. The shifts rotated so that every knight was paired with every lady at least once. It was during the girl's first such vigil that she became acquainted with the young lord who was the squire to the stone knight.

He was muchly sighed over by the young ladies of the court, and it was rumoured that even some of the established ladies had been more lenient to him because of his handsome looks and his social graces. More than merely successful, he was popular.

The girl turned up at the appointed time, a woven basket covered with a white cloth in her hands. She made her way through the gardens to a bower between trees, seeing him from behind. He wore his armour, standing with his sword held between both hands, and he seemed to her to be something strange and unknowable. Then he turned and saw her, and greeted her casually.

'Hello. Brought my dinner, have you? I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've really met before, have we?'

Her tongue threatened to strangle her, but she nodded and then shook her head, thrusting the basket out to him. 'Yes. No. Here. Dinner.'

He laughed, sliding the sword away and taking the basket, and turned himself to charming her out of her incoherence, inviting her to share the meal with him. It was only hours later that she noticed she'd been beguiled into eating with him and spending half the night's vigil in keeping him company.

She returned the following two nights promptly, spending the time listening to him talk of his training and his family and estates with an astonished pleasure, half fearful that it would prove to be some odd dream. When the vigil was ended, she went away with a curious regret and a lingering infatuation. He was rumoured to be betrothed to another girl, however, and she attempted to put such thoughts from her mind.

She was given plenty to keep her thoughts otherwise occupied soon after. Each young lady of her age was given a task to complete. The tasks were often an excellent indication of what the queen and her retinue thought of each girl's potential; simple tasks were considered an insult, indicative of the girl being capable of no better.

She and several other girls were considered ahead of the rest by several of the instructing noblewomen. To some of the others this was a competition; while she had her competitive moments, she generally did not seek out competitions, choosing to let the others carry the battle to her if they chose. Increasingly, though, they were choosing to do so as the year progressed onwards.

When the naming of the tasks took place, it was no great surprise that she and the other girls were given an immense project to complete. Each girl was to design and embroider a tapestry illustrating some aspect of the kingdom's history and lore, to serve as an example to visiting dignitaries. Considering the relatively short amount of time and that each girl was to work strictly alone and without aid, it was an impressively daunting assignment.

While the other duties of the girls in their last year were sparser than in previous years, they were not reduced entirely to nothingness. The vigils were still held, and so the girls still were assigned to serve the knights' meals. There were banquets as well, and balls to attend, and all manner of diversions which were nonetheless required. It was at one of these that a certain young knight-to-be sought her out.

'I've missed seeing your shining hair during my vigils,' he told her with a smile, bowing and offering her his arm. 'Won't you come and dance with me?'

She managed not to step on his feet, though narrowly averted dragging the tablecloth away behind her. In the course of their conversation, he revealed that his betrothal was at an end, though to preserve the other young lady's reputation they weren't speaking of it openly. He trusted the girl not to reveal it to anyone - he could do that, couldn't he? Especially since he had to confess to a frank admiration for her, with her pale hair and large eyes...

She would have promised him very nearly anything just then. No one had ever paid court to her before. A thousand trembling thoughts were congealed into this moment, this sudden vulnerability.

The year was passing quickly. She had settled upon a design and begun work upon it by the time he asked her to dance; before the winter was halfway through she had gotten it thoroughly laid out and made enjoyable progress upon filling in the colours. At least one night a week she found a way to slip off to meet him, always at his invitation and in suitably discreet places. He did not want her reputation harmed, since it was still not public knowledge that his betrothal had ended. Had he been less of a gentleman to her, perhaps she would have been suspicious, but his touch was seldom, and his occasional kiss seemed chaste. And they discussed a thousand and one things, and a thousand and one plans for the future.

The end of winter was drawing near when she had almost finished the tapestry - well ahead of time, though no one knew it but her. She looked upon the framework with the simple pleasure of achievement, and decided she should keep it a secret no longer. The sun had set and she was not to aid with a vigil that night; however, she knew that the girl who would normally be bringing the knight his dinner was somewhat ill and would not refuse the offer of substituting upon the task. So she went to the girl and gaining her consent, took up a basket to go and find her knight.

He was in a bower not unlike the one where she had first met him, and she heard him speaking before she saw him. He sounded amused, which surprised her; when she looked round the corner, she was more surprised still. He sat upon the ground with his armour and sword laid to one side, a blanket beneath him and a girl upon his lap - his erstwhile betrothed. The sharp pain which she felt rendered her immobile and in all too perfect a position to hear the words which they exchanged.

'So you think that you can gain from her a key to her chambers?'

'Sweetling, by now she would grant me anything she held. Fear not. You will be able to take her tapestry with ease.'

'And of course leave a poorer substitute in place? It isn't enough, you know, just to gain her work when it is complete. She must look the thief and go crying back to her home in disgrace. Imagine, her thinking she ever stood a chance with you.'

'Oh, of course. She's a dull, odd creature - stupid thing, telling me every scattered thought that goes through her mind. As if I or anyone would care. Have no worries, my sweet. My heart knows no owner but you. She'll be sent to ruination soon enough...'

Fire and ice took turns chasing themselves through her bones, up her spine, in her veins. Quietly and with more grace than she ever would have thought she possessed she turned and crept back to her room. All joy in her accomplishment had fled from her. That they had this planned, and so well, that they intended to make her look a fool and a thief - she could not look upon her work. It all was tainted, now.

She knew she could tell no one. She had no evidence; if she spoke, most would believe it the words of a jealous girl, seeking another girl's betrothed. Even if she were believed, there would be the pitying and incredulous stares. She would be branded a fool, taken in by honeyed words.

She realised that she had no use for anyone's pity; not even her own.

As dawn broke through the diamond-studded panes of her chamber's windows, the girl rose from her sodden pillow with a plan in her mind. She threw a cloth over the tapestry and its frame and summoned a pair of maidservants. Without giving explanation as to why, she ordered a ream of paper and a fresh tapestry and materials for working it to be brought to her room. And then she set to work.

For the next two days she did not emerge, working furiously upon a new design and then copying with some careful alterations her original design. When she again came from her room she acted as normal as she could, harbouring her secret within her heart with bitter anger and grievous mourning where it would not show upon her face or in her voice.

She revealed nothing of any of her plans to anyone; to the knight she sent her apologies, saying that she would see him when she could but for now had to tend to her work so as to bring all plans to fruition. To her friends she said only that she had been thinking again and would be thinking again in future; accustomed to her moods, they let this slide by them with the barest of acknowledgments. And she went to work.

She finished the original tapestry quickly, making sure of the quality of her work but without the lingering over it that had been customary of that labour of love. And then she attacked the new tapestry with vengeance in her thoughts. As she sewed, so did she sing. Songs of love and battle, of mourning and great events were woven into this new tapestry as much as any threads. She ate only enough to sustain herself, slept only enough to refresh herself, emerging only seldom. When she sought companionship, it was less with the other young ladies or attendant knights and more among the maidservants and tweenies, the groomsmen and serving boys - cynical men and women of all ages who were at first suspicious, then grudgingly welcome of the cuckoo in the nest.

She told none of them what had occurred either, but allowed her bitterness to fuel her tongue, to flavour the questions she asked. But her grief she kept inside for herself. And briefly she found a kinship with these peasants.

Spring came and dragged on, and finally there were but two weeks left before all projects were to be given to the queen's retinue for judging. They would be held under lock and key until the final day, when judgment would be publicly proclaimed. The knight and his betrothed were becoming concerned for the future of their little plot; it showed in their faces whenever the girl made one of her rare appearances.

With one week to spare, the girl went to one of the chief instructors in the queen's retinue, begging an audience under cover of secrecy. She told the noblewoman very little - that she had reason to believe that someone might have the intention of stealing her design, and so she had entirely changed the nature of her project; that her project was complete and she had it, along with her original project's unaltered notes, that she wished to give both into the lady's keeping. She wished to leave the court before the final judgment was made due to an urgent message from her family - would it be possible?

The lady was much astonished but not lacking in shrewdness. She accepted the girl's notes and project and the unaltered notes for the original project as well and told the girl to wait in her chambers until daybreak for a response which would come by messenger. She then dismissed the girl, who did as she was bid.

With the daybreak came a heavy parchment, sealed with the queen's waxen symbol. Opening it revealed that her majesty was most pleased with the tapestry and considered her graduated with full honours, and should she seek post within the court in future, her application would be most favourably received.

The girl immediately set to work packing up her belongings. There was no time for sleep. She begged a friend to lend her a pet bird for a few days, promising her it would be well cared for even in her absence; that done, she went and found the knight.

'I am going away,' she told him quietly, pale as death. 'There has been an illness and so I will be going home for a few days. Unfortunately I cannot take my canary - would you please tend to it while I am gone?' So saying, she held out the key to him.

He was perhaps astonished, but accepted the key most readily. He kissed her hand and urged her to speed back before the judgment ceremony; to which she gave vague reply, and he made no comment or question at the small shudder which she was unable to contain. And then she went to her coach and bade the coachman speed her home again.

Home seemed much further away than she remembered, though the time passed quickly enough. Her mother saw the coach coming and came out to inquire. 'I've come home for a bit, mother. I've had a bit of an upset with that knight I wrote you about.'

Immediately her mother flew at her, berating her. She'd spoken too much, hadn't she - asked too many questions, done something wrong, been insufficiently charming and lost her chance with one of the best choices for husband she'd have had. The girl stood there, shocked. Then she turned and walked away from her mother in disgust.

Her mother followed for a little way, then turned and went to her chambers with a dramatic announcement of faintness. The girl ignored it, going to the servants' quarters. She measured the serving boys by eye, then went to one of a size with her, handing him a small purse. 'I know my father keeps you well-appointed,' she told him. 'Bring me your spare clean clothing.' Astonished as he was, he obeyed, and she turned and went to her rooms.

Seated upon her bed, she carefully braided the long hair which she prized so highly. Then she selected the sharpest pair of scissors that she could find and chopped it short. She smeared dyes into her hair until it was thoroughly unrecognisable, then changed into the serving boy's outfit. Taking a modest amount of money, she threw the braid into the fire and went to the stables. She selected a horse, leading it out of the stable, encountering as she did so her astounded father.

'I'm leaving, daddy,' she told him as she climbed into the saddle. 'I don't know if I'm ever coming back, but I'm leaving for now. I'm going to the city and I'll make my own way, one way or another - but I can't be this anymore. It isn't true enough and if I keep trying someone's going to get killed.'

He looked at her in silence, then took her hand gently in his own and pressed her palm to his cheek. He turned and went into the manor, and the girl rode off to disappear into the city.