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courted one
or two of them when he was younger, before considerations of what
they might do to him if he slighted them not to mention a quiet but
firm lecture from Adhara and a few disapproving looks from Edith
had convinced him that it might be wise to back off. Still, at
least he knew that those women respected him as a fighter, that
they didn't see him as little more than a means to their
advancement in power.
    Men were a rare commodity in Farlan, and
every male he knew had his own way of dealing with that. He thought
briefly of Marcus, and wondered how many years it would be before
the kid was the cause of his own bout of rumors. Then again, maybe
Marcus would be smart and learn to keep his head down quickly, as
Dorran almost hadn't.
    He found himself asking Myriel one morning
what she thought of some of the other servants; her responses were
diplomatic, but she didn't sound as though she were very close to
them. From there, though, the topic somehow shifted to women, and
Dorran found himself explaining the way he felt around women. "Do
you think I'm shy?" he asked.
    She didn't look up from the area of the floor
she was sweeping; in the corner some rags and a bucket waited for
her to finish this task. "I don't know if 'shy' is the correct
word," she said diplomatically.
    "Really? What would you call it, then?"
    She cocked her head slightly to the side and
gave him a wry grin. "Call what?"
    "The way I feel around women."
    "You feel that they want something from you."
She bent down with a dustpan and took the broom near the neck,
sweeping dust and stray hairs into it. "Feeling nervous around
people like that isn't shyness, it is simply having good
sense."
    When he didn't answer right away, she smiled
up at him briefly, then continued with her dusting. "So...I guess,"
He considered, "by that argument, I should feel nervous around
every single person in the duchy.”."
    "That doesn't sound wrong," Myriel agreed.
She carried the dustpan over to the balcony, balancing it
carefully, and then tilted it out the half-open window, letting the
contents fall to the cobblestones below.
    "So, then...maybe the noblewomen won't be as
intimidating when I actually know what they're talking about." He
sighed, looking over at the stack of books at the foot of his bed.
"I don't know how many years they spent learning all of this,
though."
    Myriel continued cleaning the floor in
silence, and since Dorran didn't ask her a question, he readied
himself for their conversation to die out. But instead,, she
unexpectedly asked, "Did you not study all of this before?"
    He'd gotten so used to Myriel's innocent tone
by now that the sting against his pride he would have felt had
someone else asked him this question was entirely absent. He
repeated his story of his father's final advice to heed his mother,
and his grandfather's reinforcement of the same statement. "It made
me think that all I had to do was follow my mother's orders and
keep my ears open for advice. Now, though...I'm beginning to think
that I was very wrong about that."
    "I don't know," she said mildly, walking to
the corner to fetch the bucket. "It's obvious that you are
extremely loyal...but doesn't that just make you a good son?"
    "Maybe," he replied, frowning. "But I
shouldn't ignore the fact that up until now, I've only been
training myself to be a good soldier."
    Myriel gave him a look that he would almost
call approving as she rolled up her sleeves. "I'm sure your mother
will only approve of your dedication," she said.
    "Maybe." He stood then, waiting to catch her
eye before smiling at her. "Want a hand?"
    She blinked at him. "What?"
    "A hand, with the floor. I've done this at
the barracks before, and even with a full team of people working
together, it's quite the chore." He pulled off his boots and socks,
pushing them under the bed. "My room is smaller, but it's still a
lot for one person by herself." He walked over and held out a hand
for one of the cloths. "May I?"
    Her dark eyes