"You ready to listen?" Tavi asked him.
"Sure, sure."
"Anthropomorphic Theorem," Tavi said. "Okay, you know that furies are the beings that inhabit the elements."
"Yes, Tavi," Max said drily. "Thanks to my extensive education, I did know that one."
Tavi ignored the remark. "There's been debate among furycrafters since the dawn of Aleran history as to the nature of those beings. That's what the various theories try to describe. There are a number of different ideas about how much of the furies are truly intrinsic to their nature, and how much is something that we cause them to become."
"Eh?" Max said.
Tavi shrugged. "We command furies with our thoughts." He went ahead using the inclusive plural.
We
. Though he was arguably the only Aleran alive who could have said
you
instead. "That's what Imposed Anthropomorphic Theory states. Maybe part of our thoughts also shape how our furies appear to us. Maybe a wind fury on its own doesn't look like anything much at all. But when a crafter meets it and uses it, maybe that crafter, somewhere in his head, believes that it should look like a horse, or an eagle or whatever. So when that fury manifests in a visible form, that's what it looks like."
"Oh, oh, right," Max said. "We might give them form without realizing, right?"
"Right," Tavi said. "And that's the predominant view in the cities and among most Citizens. But other scholars support the Natural Anthropomorphic Theory. They insist that since the furies are each associated with some specific portion of their element—a mountain, a stream, a forest, whateverùthat each has its own unique identity, talents, and personality."
"Which is why a lot of folks in the country name their furies?" Max guessed.
"Right. And why the city folk tend to sneer at the idea, because they regard it as
paganus
superstition. But everyone in the Calderon Valley named their furies. They all looked different. Were good at different things. They're also apparently a lot stronger than most city furies. Certainly the Alerans living in the most primitive areas of the Realm tend to command much more powerful furies than in other areas."
"Then why would anyone think that the Imposed Theory was correct?"
Tavi shrugged. "They claim that because the crafter is imagining a separate creature with a form and personality and range of abilities, even if he won't admit to himself that he is, that he is capable of doing more because so much less of it relies totally upon his own thought."
"So the crafter with a named fury can do more because he's too stupid to know he can't?" Max asked.
"That's the
view
of those in favor of Imposed Anthropomorphic Theory."
"That's stupid," Max said.
"Maybe," Tavi said. "But they may be right, too."
"Well. How do the Natural theorists explain why so many people have furies without a specific identity?"
Tavi nodded at the question. It was a good one. Max might not have had an ounce of self-discipline, but there wasn't a thing wrong with his wits. "Natural theorists say that the furies of increasingly domesticated lands tend to break down. They lose their specific identities as they get passed down from generation to generation and as the natural landscape becomes more and more settled and tamed. They're still present, but instead of being there in their natural form, the furies have been broken down into countless tiny bits that a crafter calls together when he wants to get something done. They aren't as strong, but they don't have the quirks and foibles, either, so they're more reliable."
Max grunted. "Might make some sense," he said. "My old man had some things to say when I named one of my furies." Max's voice took on a hard, bitter edge that Tavi could only barely hear. "Insisted that it was childish nonsense. That he had to break me of the habit before it ruined me. It was harder to do things, his way, but he wouldn't hear of anything else."
Tavi saw the pain in his friend's eyes and thought of all the scars on his back. Maybe Max had his reasons not to pay attention in that particular class that had nothing to do with his carousing. Tavi had thought himself alone in his painful sense of isolation when listening to the basic theory and history of furycrafting. But perhaps it dredged up as many painful memories for Max as it had for him.
"So"—Max sighed after a moment—"which is it?"
"No clue," Tavi said. "No one knows for sure."
"Yeah, yeah," Max said impatiently. "But which one does Gaius think it is? The Board of Speakers is going to be having some kind of debate."
"They do that every year," Tavi said. "I was there last year. Gaius doesn't take sides. They all get together to try to convince him with whatever they think they've learned, and he always listens and nods and doesn't make anyone angry and doesn't take sides. I think that the Board of Speakers really just wants the excuse to drink the First Lord's best wine and to try to one-up their opponents and rivals in front of him."
Max grimaced. "Crows. I'm glad I'm not the First Lord. This stuff would drive me insane in about a day and a half." He shook his head. "What do I do if someone tries to pin me down for an answer?"
"Evade," Tavi suggested, enjoying the heartlessly vague answer.
"What if they start talking about some kind of theory I have no clue about?"
"Just do what you do when the Maestros ask you a question during lecture and you don't know the answer." Max blinked. "Belch?"
Tavi sighed. "No. No, Max. Divert the attention. Stall for time. Only try not to use any kind of bodily function to accomplish it."
Max sighed. "Diplomacy is more complicated than I thought it would be."
It's just a dinner party," Tavi said. "You'll do fine."
"I always do," Max said, but his voice lacked some of its usual arrogance.
"How is he?" Tavi said.
"He hasn't moved," Max replied. "Hasn't woken up. But Killian says his heartbeat is stronger."
"That's good," Tavi said. He chewed at his lip. "What happens if…"
"If he doesn't wake up," Max said grimly.
"Yeah."
Max inhaled slowly. "Legions fight for the crown. A lot of people die."
Tavi shook his head. "But there is law and precedent for the death of a lord without an heir. The Council of Lords and the Senate would put forward candidates and determine the most fit to take the lordship. Wouldn't they?"
"Officially, sure. But whatever they decided, it wouldn't stick. The High Lords who
want the throne
might play nice for a little while, but sooner or later one of them would lose the political game and take it to a military venue."
"Civil war."
"Yeah," Max said. He grimaced. "And while we waited for it all, the southern cities would just love to cut the Shield cities loose. And without that support…" Max shook his head. "I served two tours on the Shieldwall. We hold it against the Icemen, but we aren't as invincible as everyone down in the rest of the Realm seems to believe. I've seen more than one near breach of the Shieldwall with my own eyes. Without Crown support, it would fall within three years. Four, at the most."
They walked in silence through the tunnels for a few moments. Tavi tended to forget that Max's knowledge of the military disposition of the various High Lords and their Legions was a match for his own knowledge of Aleran society, politics, and history, or for Gaelle's knowledge of the trade crafts and the movement of money, or for Ehren's knowledge of calculations and statistics. Each of them had their strengths, in accordance with their inclinations. It was one reason why they had been chosen to train for the Cursors.
"Max," Tavi said quietly, "you can do this. I'll be there. I'll help if you get into trouble."
His friend inhaled deeply and looked down at him. His mouth quirked in a half smile. "It's just that a lot depends on this act, Tavi. If I get this wrong, a lot of people could die." He sighed. "I almost wish I'd been paying attention in class."
Tavi arched one eyebrow.
Max winked. "I said almost."
All in all, things could have gone worse.
"Gaius" received the Board of Speakers in his own private reception chambers—which were as large as one of the Academy's lecture halls. Between the Board of Speakers, their wives, assistants, and
their
wives, there were fifty or sixty people in attendance, plus a dozen members of the Royal Guard. Max played his role well, circulating among the guests and chatting pleasantly while Tavi watched and listened from an unobtrusive seat in a curtained alcove. Max faltered once, when one particularly intent young Speaker brought up some obscure technical point of furycrafting, but Tavi promptly interceded, hurrying to pass the false First Lord a folded piece of paper with a scribbled missive. Max opened the paper, looked at it, then smoothly excused himself from the conversation to draw Tavi aside and issue apparent instructions.
"Thanks," Max said. "What the hell does inverted proportional propensity mean, anyway?"
"No idea, really," Tavi said, nodding as though in acknowledgment to a command.
"At least now I don't feel quite so stupid. How am I doing?"
"Stop looking down Lady Erasmus's bodice," Tavi said.
Max arched an eyebrow and sniffed. "I didn't."
"Yes, you did. Stop it."
Max sighed. "Tavi, I'm a young man. Some things just aren't in my control."
"Get them there," Tavi said, and inclined his head deeply, taking two steps back, then withdrawing to the alcove.
Beyond that, things had gone fairly well, until the midnight bell rang, signaling the guests that it was time to depart. Guests, serving staff, then guards cleared out of the reception chamber, leaving a pleasant quiet and stillness behind them.
Max exhaled noisily, picked a bottle of wine from one of the tables, and promptly flopped into a chair. He took a long pull from the bottle, then winced and stretched his back a little.
Tavi emerged from the curtained alcove. "What are you doing?"
"Stretching," Max growled. The tone sounded decidedly odd coming from the First Lord's mouth. "Gaius is about my size but his shoulders are narrower. After a while it starts to hurt like hell." He guzzled some more wine. "Crows, but I want a good long soak."
"At least get back into your own clothes and such before you start acting like that. Someone could see."
Max made a rude noise with his lips and tongue. "These are the First Lord's private chambers, Tavi. No one is going to come wandering into them uninvited."
No sooner had the words left Max's mouth than Tavi heard footsteps and the soft click of a doorknob turning from an unobtrusive doorway on the far side of the room. He reacted without thinking, and ducked back into the curtained alcove, peeking through a small gap.
The door opened, and the First Lady walked calmly into the room.
Gaius Caria, the First Lord's wife, was a woman not ten years older than Tavi and Max. It was widely known that her marriage to Gaius had been a political matching rather than one of romance, and Gaius had used it to drive a wedge between the High Lords of Forcia and Kalare, shattering a political alliance that had threatened even the power of the crown.
Caria herself was a young woman of impeccable breeding, formidable skill at furycraft, and stark, elegant beauty. Her long, straight, fine hair hung in a heavy braid worn over one shoulder, a strand of gleaming firepearls woven through the black tresses. Her gown was of the finest silks, the pure, ivory cream of her dress accented with royal blue and scarlet, the colors of the House of Gaius. Jewels gleamed upon her left hand, both wrists, her throat, and her ears, sapphires and blood-colored rubies that matched the colors in the dress. Her skin was very pale, her eyes dark, and her mouth was set in a hard, dangerous line.
"My lord husband," she said, and gave the false Gaius a little curtsey. There was restrained fury vibrating from every fiber of her.
Tavi's heart stuck in his throat. Stupid, stupid. Of course the First Lord's wife would be admitted to his presence. Their private chambers were linked by a number of hallways and doors, which had been the practice of the House of Gaius for centuries.
And crows take it all, in all that had happened he had never stopped to consider that Max might have to deceive Gaius's own wife. They were about to be discovered. Tavi hovered on the brink of emerging, telling the First Lady everything, before she discovered it on her own.
But he hesitated. His instincts screamed warnings at him, and though he had no reason at all to do so, he found himself feeling almost certain that exposing the charade to the First Lady would be a disastrous idea.
So he waited behind the curtains and did not move. He barely breathed.
Max managed to rise to a more believable seated position on the chair before the First Lady had entered the room. His expression became reserved and sober and he rose with a polite little bow that duplicated Gaius's own dignity perfectly. "My lady wife," he replied.
Her eyes flicked from his face down to the bottle and back. "Have I displeased you in some way, my lord?"
"Gaius" frowned, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And why should you think that?"
"I awaited your summons to the reception, my lord. As we discussed weeks ago. It never came."
Max raised both eyebrows, though it was an expression with more weariness than genuine surprise in it. "Ah. That's right. I'd forgotten."
"You forgot," Caria said. Her voice rang with scorn. "You forgot."
"I'm the First Lord of Alera, my lady," Max told her. "Not an appointments calendar."
She smiled and inclined her head, though the expression was a bitter one. "Of course, my lord. I'm sure that everyone will understand why you have insulted your own wife in front of the whole of the Realm."
Tavi winced. Not once had anyone asked about the First Lady's absence. Indeed, if the First Lord had apparently forbidden her to appear at his side at such a comparatively unimportant function, word of it would rapidly spread.
"It was not my intention to humiliate you, Caria," Max said, and rose from his chair to walk over to her.