The largest of the pages stopped slouching by the far wall and walked over to her.

"You're Miervaldis' page." It wasn't a question.

"Lord Miervaldis," Alyn said, unable to stop herself correcting him. He scowled, and then he hit her casually, across the mouth. Alyn spun, not ready for the violence although she realised she should have been. She fell to her knees, and had the absurd presence of mind to push her papers and quills to one side before they started in on her. But there was no more violence - at least, not for the minute. The tall page boy crouched down and pulled her head up by the hair.

"He's here to spy on Lord Cassian. That means you're here to spy on us. We don't want him here. We don't want you here. This is none of your business," and he spat, quite deliberately, at her face. Alyn made a strangled noise of outrage, then, ignoring his grasp on her hair, she surged towards him and headbutted him on the chin. He fell backwards to sprawl on the floor and hold his chin; she had heard his teeth click and thought he might have bitten his tongue. Her own head hurt sharply where it had hit his chin, more than she had thought it would, and she had left several tangles of hair in his hand. She staggered to her feet as the other pages converged on her, and managed to land several kicks and punches as they came in, throwing attacks wildly around in an attempt to keep the pages at bay. She had the advantage that whatever she hit was a target, where they had to be careful not to hit each other, and did not always succeed. But there were still too many of them, and eventually she subsided, sat upon by two of them, bruised and battered but feeling a glow of vindication upon realising how many of them would also be bruised the next day. The tall boy came over, looking thunderous.

"You keep out of this, you hear?" As warnings went, it wasn't very scary, Alyn thought, but she hurt too much to argue, so she just nodded. He glared at her for a moment more, then signalled to the others and they got off her. She writhed on the floor for a moment, catching her breath. The pages left her there, and she didn't see them go.

After a few moments, she sat up, wincing at the pain in her side. It had been, she reckoned, an amateur punch-up. Not that she had much experience, but she had tussled with her older brother for years, and although there had been seven of them, these pages were all her age. They didn't know, she thought, feeling superior, how to land a punch properly. Although that didn't mean it didn't hurt. She eased herself to her feet, picked up her papers - a bit battered now - and limped out of the door, hoping it wouldn't take too long to find her way back to her lord.

In the end, she found her way to the kitchen instead, and ran across Bensen again. He took one look at her, and scowled.

"The other pages, was it?"

"I fell down the stairs," Alyn said, straight-faced. She knew the rules. Bensen gave her a long, unconvinced look, and shrugged.

"If you want it that way," he said. "Did you come for ice, or food, or are you lost?"

"I - actually, ice would be good, please," she admitted. "But I'm a bit lost too..." He gave her a quick grin, and went to fetch ice for her, then led her back to her rooms. By the time they reached the guest suite, she was staggering. He knocked on the door, and Miervaldis opened it with a smile, which vanished when he saw her state.

"What happened?" There was an undercurrent of anger in his voice. Bensen helped Alyn into the room and made her sit down in the nearest chair. She held the ice pack to her cheek, where she thought the worst swelling was.

"She says she fell down the stairs, my lord," Bensen said in reply. He put her papers and quills down on the table. She hadn't remembered him taking them from her.

"Did she now. Well, thank you for the ice pack, and for bringing her back. You are Bensen?"

"That's right." He sounded impressed, Alyn thought fuzzily. So he should.

"I'll look after her. Will you please ask Evan Hughes to step up here when he can?"

"Yes, my lord," said Bensen, sounding a little disappointed at the dismissal, and she heard his footsteps as he went out. Miervaldis followed, and she heard the door lock. He came back to kneel by her chair.

"I take it the lessons went badly?"

"They weren't very interesting, my lord."

"This happened later, then? Don't bother with the stairs, Alyn, I was a page once too. I know what that means. How many were there?"

"Seven," said Alyn, giving up the pretence. He raised an eyebrow.

"That's quite impressive. Well, my apologies for being the cause of this." There was a knock at the door, and he stood up to answer it. The physicker came in and knelt down by Alyn; there was a murmured conversation while he examined her bruises.

"You'll mend," Evan Hughes said, when he had finished. He sounded quite cheerful. "I've seen worse from, ah, falling down stairs. Don't drink any wine tonight, and don't eat too much, all right?"

"Yes sir," Alyn whispered. She felt shaky now, much worse than just after the fight. The physicker turned his attention to her lord.

"Keep an eye on her, and if she gets sick, call me again. Don't let her drink wine until tomorrow evening. There's some ointment here for the bruising, let her put it on after bathing."

"Thank you," said Miervaldis. "What's in the ointment?"

There was a pause. Alyn glanced up, to see the physicker giving her lord a very odd look.

"Arnica," he said eventually, "and witch hazel. It will help relieve the inflammation and bring the swelling down."

"Thank you," said Miervaldis again, and didn't ask any more question. Evan Hughes left, and she heard the door lock, then Miervaldis came back to her chair.

"You should lie down," he said, and it wasn't a suggestion. Alyn tried to stand up but her legs weren't working properly; she clung on to him and he half-guided, half-carried her to her bed, where she either fell asleep or passed out. She was never sure which it was.