This realization sobered me, and I gulped in a deep, shaky
breath.
Tamara's grimness had given way to an odd expression, part
anger, part puzzlement. "You will tell me that your heroism is
all lies?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But it's—well, different. Look, if you
really want to hear my story, we can sit down and I'll tell you
everything, from how I ran about barefoot and illiterate in the
mountains joyfully planning our easy takeover, right down to
how Galdran knocked me clean out of my saddle after I warded a
single blow and nearly lost my arm in doing it. I think he
attacked me because I was the weakest—it's the only
reason that makes sense to me. As for the rest—" I
shrugged. "Some of it was wrong decisions made for the right
reasons, and a little of it was right decisions made for the
wrong reasons; but most of what I did was wrong decisions for
the wrong reasons. That's the plain truth."
She was still for a long, nasty space, and then some of the
rigidity went out of her frame. "And so you are here to, what,
grant mercy?"
I closed my eyes and groaned. "Tamara.
No one
knows
I'm here, and if you don't like my idea, then no one
will
know I was here unless
you
blab. I
won't. I just wondered, if I invite you to come with me to
Savona's picnic this afternoon, think you things might just go
back to how they were?"
She flushed right up to her hairline, a rose-red blush that
made her suddenly look like a young girl. "As his supplicant? I
bow to your expertise in wielding the hiltless knife." And she
swept a jerky curtsy, her hands shaking.
"Life! I didn't mean that," I said hastily. "Yes, I think I
can see it's a bad idea. All right, how's this: You and I go
out for a walk. Right now. You don't even have to talk to me.
But wouldn't that shut up all the gossipmongers—leastwise
pull the teeth of their gossip—if we seem to be on terms
of amity, as if last night was just a very good joke?"
Again her posture eased, from anger to wariness. "And in
return?"
"Nothing. I don't need anything! Or what I need no one can
give me, which is wisdom." I thought of my mistakes and winced.
Then said, "Just let things go back to the way they were,
except you don't have to think of me as an enemy. I'm not in
love with Savona any more than he is with me, and I don't see
myself changing my mind. If I did, I don't believe he'd like
it," I added, considering the elusive Duke. "No, I don't think
I could fall in love with him, handsome though he is, because I
don't accept any of that huff he gives me about my great beauty
and all that. I'd have to trust a man's words before I could
love him. I think."
She took a deep, slightly shaky breath. "Very well."
And so we went.
It wasn't a very comfortable walk. She hardly exchanged five
words with me; and every single person who saw us stared then
hastily recovered behind the remorselessly polite mask of the
true courtier. It would have been funny if I had been an
observer and not a participant, an idea that gave me a
disconcerting insight into gossip. As I walked beside the
silent Tamara, I realized that despite how entertaining certain
stories were, at the bottom of every item of gossip there was
someone getting hurt.
When we were done with a complete circuit of the gardens and
had reached her house again, I said, "Well, that's that. See
you at the ball tonight, right?"
She half put out a hand, then said, "Your brother's wedding
is nearing."
"Yes?"
"Did you know it is customary for the nearest relation to
give a party for the family that is adopting into yours?"
I whistled. "No, I didn't. And I could see how Nee would
feel strange telling me. Well, I'm very grateful to you."
She curtsied. Again it was the deep one, petitioner to
sovereign, but this time it was low and protracted and
wordlessly sincere.
FOURTEEN
ON THE SURFACE, SAVONA'S PICNIC WAS A DELIGHT. All his
particular friends—except Shevraeth—were there, and
not one of them so much as mentioned Tamara. Neither did I.
When a lowering line of clouds on the horizon caused us to
pack up our things and begin the return journey, I wondered how
many notes would be dispatched before the morrow.
Savona escorted me back to the Residence. For most of our
journey the talk was in our usual pattern—he made
outrageous compliments, which I turned into jokes. Once he
said, "May I count on you to grace the Khazhred ball
tomorrow?"
"If the sight of me in my silver gown, dancing as often as I
can, is your definition of grace, well, nothing easier," I
replied, wondering what he would do if I suddenly flirted back
in earnest.
He smiled, kissed my hand, and left. As I trod up the steps
alone, I realized that he had never really
talked
with
me about any serious subject, in spite of his obvious
admiration.
I thought back over the picnic. No serious subject had been
discussed there, either, but I remembered some of the light,
quick flirtatious comments he exchanged with some of the other
ladies, and how much he appeared to appreciate their flirting
right back. Would he appreciate it if I did?
Except I
can't,
I thought, walking down the hall to my room. Clever
comments with double meanings; a fan pressed against someone's
wrist in different ways to hint at different things; all these
things I'd observed and understood the meanings of, but I
couldn't see myself actually performing them even if I could
think of them quickly enough.
What troubled me most was trying to figure out Savona's real
intent. He certainly wasn't courting me, I realized as I pushed
aside my tapestry. What other purpose would there be in such a
long, one-sided flirtation?
My heart gave a bound of anticipation when I saw a letter
waiting and I recognized the style of the Unknown.
You ask what I think, and I will tell you that I admire
without reservation your ability to solve your problems in a
manner unforeseen by any, including those who would consider
themselves far more clever than you.
That was all.
I read it through several times, trying to divine whether it
was a compliment or something else entirely.
He's waiting
to see what I do about Tamara,
I thought at last.
"And in return?" That was what Tamara had said.
This is the essence of politics, I realized. One creates an
interest, or, better, an obligation, that causes others to act
according to one's wishes. I grabbed up a paper, dipped my pen,
and wrote swiftly:
Today I have come to two realizations. Now, I well
realize that every courtier in Athanarel probably saw all this
by their tenth year. Nonetheless, I think I finally see the
home-thrust of politics. Everyone who has an interest in such
things seems to be waiting for me to make
some sort of capital
with respect to the situation with Tamara, and won't they be
surprised when I do nothing at all!
Truth to say, I hold no grudge against Tamara. I'd have
to be a mighty hypocrite to fault her for wishing to become a
queen, when I tried to do the same a year back—though I
really think her heart lies elsewhere—and if I am right,
I got in her way yet again.
Which brings me to my second insight: that Savona's
flirtation with me is just that, and not a courtship. The way I
define courtship is that one befriends the other, tries to
become a companion and not just a lover. I can't see why he so
exerted himself to seek me out, but I can't complain, for I am
morally certain that his interest is a good pan of what has
made me popular. (Though all this could end tomorrow.)
"Meliara?" Nee's voice came through my tapestry. "The
concert begins at the next time change."
I signed the letter hastily, sealed it, and left it lying
there as I hurried to change my gown.
No
need to
summon Mora, I thought; she was used to this particular
exchange by now.
Not many were at that night's concert, and none of Court's
leading lights. By accident I overheard someone talking and
discovered that most of them had been invited to Merindar House
to see some players from Erev-li-Erval.
When I heard this, I felt strange. So, I hadn't been
invited. I suspected that this was a message from the Marquise,
to whom I had given no answer. Either that or she had simply
decided I was not worth her attention after all.
Well, what
had
I done to investigate the rival
rulers and how they might rule? Shevraeth's policies I might
learn something of if I could nerve myself to attend
Petitioners' Court sessions. But how to investigate the
Marquise of Merindar as a potential ruler?
Before my eyes rose an image of the beautiful and utterly
unreadable Flauvic. I felt an intense urge to find him, ask
him, even though I had learned firsthand that he was very
capable of turning off with oblique replies whatever he did not
wish to answer directly.
The problem was, he never left Merindar House, and I had no
excuse to visit there that wouldn't cause all kinds of
speculation.
As the singers spun away the evening with lovely melodies,
my mind kept returning to the problem, until at last I got what
seemed to me to be an unexceptionable idea.
When I returned from the concert I wrote, in my very best
hand, a letter to Flauvic requesting the favor of his advice on
a matter of fashion. I sent it that night, and to my surprise,
an answer awaited me when I woke in the morning. In fact, two
answers awaited: one, the plain paper I had grown used to
seeing from my Unknown, and the second, a beautifully folded
and sealed sheet of imported linen paper.
This second one I opened first, to find only a line, but
Flauvic's handwriting was exquisite: He was entirely at my
disposal, and I was welcome to consult him at any time.
The prospect was daunting and fascinating at the same time.
Resolving to get that done directly after breakfast, I turned
eagerly to the letter from the Unknown:
I can agree with your assessment of the ideal courtship,
but I believe you err when you assume that everyone at Court
has known the difference from age ten—or indeed, any age.
There are those who will never perceive the difference, and
then there are some who are aware to some degree of the
difference but choose not to heed it. I need hardly add that
the motivation here is usually lust for money or power, more
than for the individual's personal charms.
But I digress. To return to your subject, do you truly
believe, then, that those who court must find themselves of one
mind in all things? Must they study deeply and approve each
other's views on important subjects before they can risk
contemplating marriage?
Well, I had to sit down and answer that.
I scrawled out two pages of thoughts, each following rapidly
on the heels of its predecessor, until I discovered that the
morning was already advancing. I hurried through a bath, put on
a nice gown, and grabbed up a piece of fruit to eat on the way
to íerindar House.
Again I made certain that no one knew where I was going.
When I emerged from the narrow pathway I'd chosen, just in view
of the house, the wind had kicked up and rare, cold drops of
rain dashed against my face, promising a downpour very
soon.
The servant who tended the door welcomed me by name, his
face utterly devoid of expression, offered to take my hat and
gloves, which I refused, then requested that I follow him.
This time I visited a different part of the house; the room
was all windows on one side, but the air was cool, not cold,
with a faint trace of some subtle scent I couldn't quite name.
Directly outside the windows was a flowery hillock, down from
which poured a small waterfall that splashed into a pool that
reached almost to the long row of windows.
Flauvic was standing by the middle window, one slim hand
resting on a golden latch. I realized that one window panel
was, in fact, a door, and that a person could step through onto
the rocks that just bordered the pool. Flauvic was looking
down, the silvery light reflecting off rain clouds overhead,
and water below throwing glints in his long golden hair.
He had to know I was there.
I said, "You do like being near to water, don't you?"
He looked up quickly. "Forgive me for not coming to the
door," he said directly—for him. "I must reluctantly
admit that I have been somewhat preoccupied with the necessity
of regaining my tranquillity."
I was surprised that he would admit to any such thing. "Not
caused by me, I hope?" I walked across the fine tiled
floor.
He lifted a hand in a gesture of airy dismissal. "Family
argument," he said. Smiling a little, he added, "Forbearance is
not, alas, a hallmark of the Merindar habit of mind."
Again I was surprised, for he seemed about as forbearing as
anyone I'd ever met—but I was chary of appearing to be a
mere flatterer, and so I said only, "I'm sorry for it, then.
Ought I to go? If the family's peace has been cut up, I suppose
a visitor won't be welcome."
Flauvic turned away from the window and crossed the rest of
the floor to join me. "If you mean you'd rather not walk into
my honored parent's temper—or more to the point, my
sister's—fear not. They departed early this morning to
our family's estates. I am quite alone here." He smiled
slightly. "Would you like to lay aside your hat and
gloves?"
"Not necessary," I said, stunned by this unexpected turn of
events. Had the Marquise given up her claim to the crown, or
was there some other—secret—reason for her sudden
withdrawal? If they had argued, I was sure it had not been
about missing social events.
I looked up—for he was half a head taller than
I—into his gold-colored eyes, and though their expression
was merely contemplative, and his manner mild, I felt my neck
go hot. Turning away from that direct, steady gaze, I just
couldn't find the words to ask him about his mother's political
plans. So I said, "I came to ask a favor of you."