"Everyone will retire those they wore for Galdran's affairs,
though, either giving them away, or consigning them to attics
for their descendants to marvel at, or having them taken apart
and remade into new gowns, for the materials are hideously
expensive. At the coronation of the new ruler everything will
be all new."
"So all these other fashions will change again?" I
asked.
"They change all the time." She watched, smiling, as I put
on my first dinner gown and started lacing up the front.
"Remind me to take you to the Heraldry Archive. There's been
someone to draw pictures of what the rulers wear for, oh,
centuries. It's astonishing to look through those pictures and
see what our ancestors wore. I quite like the silken tunics and
loose trousers of four hundred years ago, when we had Theraez
of the Desert as our queen. Several generations before that,
our climate must have been very warm, for all the hats were sun
hats, and short hair was the fashion. No one wore gloves. Quite
the opposite of the awful things they wore a hundred years
ago—all gaudy, with odd angles, and those huge shoulders
on the men, meant to cover up the fact that the king was as
vain as he was fat. After him the clothes were more attractive
in design, but everything was stiff with jewels and metallic
embroidery. It was probably blinding in the sunlight! But
that's in living memory, and my grandmother talks of how old
all the Court leaders then were, and how very, very
formal."
"And now?" I said, taking down my hair and unbraiding
it.
"Now we're mostly young, for despite all the talk about
Galdran liking young active folk, the truth was, we were there
as hostages so our parents would not gainsay him." She smiled.
"So though we are young, we prize delicacy of speech, and no
one ever gets drunk in public. That kind of behavior, once a
luxury, could get one killed under Galdran's rule. So could
free speech, which is why fans became so popular. Speaking of
fans, now that you know how to open one, and hold it, I'll
teach you how to speak with it."
"Speak? With a fan?" I asked.
She grinned. "There are times when words say too
much—or too little. For example, watch this." She tapped
my wrist lightly with her closed fan. Her wrist was arched, her
hand angled downward. "What does that seem to suggest?"
"That I stay where I am," I guessed, mildly intrigued. She
nodded. "But watch this." She tapped my wrist again, still
holding the fan closed, but this time her hand was angled
differently so that I saw the underside of her wrist.
"It's like a beckon," I said.
"Exactly. The first keeps a suitor at his distance, the
second invites him to close the distance, all without speaking
a word."
"That's flirting," I said in disgust. "I don't have any need
for that. If any Court toady tries that on me, I'll be happy to
use my words to send him to the rightabout. That's not
why—"
I'm going to Court,
I started to say, but
then I closed my mouth.
If she noticed the lapse, she gave no sign. "But it's not
just for flirting," she said. "There are so many modes, all of
which can change the meaning of one's words. I should add that
we often used the fan language to make fun of Galdran or to
give ourselves the lie when we had to flatter him. He had a
habit—more and more in the last three or four
years—of using threats to get flattery. I think he
suspected that the end was near."
I whistled. "So the fan language is a kind of flag code?
Like the navies use?"
"I guess you could think of it that way," she said. "I liked
it because it gave us a bit of freedom, for Galdran never used
a fan. Considered it female foolery, even when Savona and the
other young men used it right before his face. Stars! Your hair
is
long!" She stood back and admired the waving auburn
river of hair that hung just past my knees.
"I promised not to cut it until Mama was avenged, and now I
find I can't," I said, and when I saw her odd expression, asked
forebodingly, "Don't tell me I'll get laughed at..."
"Oh no," she said, brimming with sudden mirth. "It's
becoming a fashion, very long hair—coming from the north,
of course, where Aranu Crown's declared heir's wife has long
silver hair. She's Hrethan, I understand. Not from here, but
from their old world. Anyway, everyone is trying to grow
theirs; and ... someone will be jealous."
"Someone?" I repeated, mentally reviewing her descriptions
of various Court figures. She did not always name them, I had
noticed, particularly when she made
her—rare—criticisms. "Is this the same someone
you've almost named once before?"
She smiled wryly. "I think I've already said too much. Won't
you leave yours down for dinner tonight? It looks quite
lovely."
"Not to kneel on at the table," I said, swiftly rebraiding
it. "Since there's no one to impress. Now, back to the fans.
Let's have some of that code."
"All right," she said. "This mode is called Within the
Circle." She twirled her open fan gently in an arc. "It means
that the speaker regards the listeners as friends. But if you
wave it back—like this—then it alters to the Walled
Circle Mode, which indicates trusted friends. It binds the
listeners not to speak of what they've heard..."
For dinner that night we found Bran and Shevraeth waiting in
the parlor next to the dining room. Nee had probably prepared
them, I realized. This was new for me, but it was according to
the rules of etiquette; and if I looked at it as
rehearsal—more of the playacting—I found it easy to
walk in beside her, minding my steps so that my skirt flowed
gracefully and my floor-length sleeves draped properly without
twisting or tripping me up.
Nee walked straight to my brother, who performed a bow, and
grinning widely, offered his arm.
This left me with the Marquis, who looked tall and imposing
in dark blue embroidered with pale gold, which—I realized
as I glanced just once at him—was the exact same shade as
his hair. He said nothing, just bowed, but there was mild
question in his gray eyes as he held out his arm.
I grimaced, thinking:
You'll have to learn this some
time. May's well get it over quickly.
Putting my
fingertips so lightly on his sleeve I scarcely felt the fabric,
I fell into step beside him as we followed the other two into
the dining room. Though this was my home, I didn't plop down
cross-legged onto my cushion, but knelt in the approved
style.
After I'd fortified myself with a gulp of wine, Bran said,
"Life, Mel, you look fine. Getting some more of those
duds?"
I nodded.
"What have you done with your day?" Nee asked, her fan
spread in the attitude I recognized from our fan lesson as
Harmonic Discourse.
"We had a bout with the group at the garrison, had a squint
at some horses brought from up-mountain. Danric answered mail,
and I went over to town with Calder to look at the plans for
paving the streets."
This was Tlanth business. I said, "Did you talk to the
elders? They want part of their taxes to go to that."
Bran nodded. "It's a fair plan," he said; and I sat back,
relieved.
Nee put her chin in her hand. "'Answered mail,' Vidanric? Is
he referring to that formidable bag your equerries brought in
this morning?"
"We're finishing the last of the dispersal and reassignment
of Galdran's army," Shevraeth said.
"Dispersal?" I repeated, thinking immediately of my plans
for evaluating his forming government. Surely it would raise no
suspicions to ask about it, since he had introduced the
subject. "You've dismantled that gigantic army?"
"A huge standing army with little to do is both—"
"'—a financial burden and a threat,'" I said. "I
recognize the quote—and I agree," I added hastily, seeing
consternation on Bran's face. "I just... wondered what was
happening to them," I finished rather lamely.
To my surprise, Shevraeth said, "I shall be happy to discuss
it with you. My decision did not meet with universal
approval—there were advocates for extremes at either
end—and some of my nearest associates grow tired of the
whole affair." Here he saluted Bran with his wineglass, and
Bran grinned unrepentantly.
"It's boring," my brother retorted. "And I can't even begin
to keep it all in my head. Tlanth's affairs I see as my duty.
Dealing with the affairs of the kingdom I regard as a narrow
escape."
In disbelief I addressed the Marquis. "Don't you have
advisors?h
"Quantities of them," he responded, "most of
whom—nearly all, I very much regret to say—are
precisely the people one wishes to listen to least: former
Galdran toadies who are angling for new privileges, or to keep
the ones they have; troublemakers; and then there are mere
busybodies. I listen to them all, more to find out the trends
of gossip in reaction to what I've done than to seek guidance
for future decisions."
"Who are the troublemakers? People who want to rule?"
"Some of them," he agreed. "Among whom are a few with
legitimate claims. Then there are those who are backing these
claimants, with their own ends in view. Your own names have
been put forth."
Bran grinned. "Grumareth kept after me the whole time I was
in Athanarel."
"Well, maybe he thinks you'd rule well," I said.
Bran laughed. "He thinks I'd be easy to lead by the nose,
yet too stupid to see him doing it."
I looked down at my plate, remembering again the terrible
dinner with the Prince of Renselaeus when I had aired my views
on how my brother would make a much better king than Shevraeth.
Was that argument about to resurface?
But the Marquis said, "Poor Grumareth chose unwisely when he
allied with Galdran. His was one of the duchies drained most by
the 'volunteer taxes' and the forced levies for the army. I
think he dreams of recouping what he lost. His people have to
be clamoring for justice."
"He's a foolish man," Nee said, "but his great-niece isn't a
fool."
Shevraeth nodded to her. "You're right. And I'm hoping that
the duke will remain at Court to busy himself with plots and
plans that won't work, so that Lady Elenet can stay in
Grumareth and straighten things out."
Nee's eyes were sober as she glanced across the table, but
her voice was exactly as pleasant and polite as ever. "So you
will not strip the family of lands and title, despite his
foolishness in the past?"
"The Duke of Grumareth was always a fool and will always be
a fool," Shevraeth said, so lightly it was hard to believe he
wasn't joking. His tone altered as he added, "I see no need to
ruin the family over his mistakes. There is sufficient
intelligence and goodwill among them to see that their lands
are restored to peace and thereby set on the way to recovering
their former prosperity."
Nee smiled. "Trust Elenet for that." That was all she said,
but I had a very strong feeling from both their tones of voice
that there was an unspoken issue between them. Then I realized
that she had been playing with her fan as they talked; I
glanced at it, but if she'd used it to make more plain whatever
it was that I sensed, it was too late now. She sat back, laying
her fan in her lap as she reached for her wine.
"If everyone who compromised with Galdran out of fear, or
greed, or even indifference, were to be penalized," Shevraeth
went on, "Athanarel would soon be empty and a lot of people
sent home with little to do but use their wealth and power
toward recovering their lost prestige."
"More war," I said, and thinking again of my secret cause, I
ventured a question. "Do you agree with Mistress Ynizang's
writings about the troubles overseas and how they could have
been avoided?"
Shevraeth nodded, turning to me. "That's an excellent
book—one of the first my parents put into my hands when
it became apparent I was serious about entering their
plans."
"What's this? Who?" Bran asked, looking from one of us to
the other.
Shevraeth said, "She is a historian of great repute in the
Empress's Court, and I believe what she says about letting
social custom and the human habit of inertia bridge an old
regime to a new, when there is no active evil remaining."
"Sounds dull as a hibernating snake. Saving your grace."
Bran saluted the Marquis with his glass, then said, "Tell my
sister about the army."
Shevraeth saluted my brother with his own glass and a
slightly mocking smile. "To resume: Dispersal and reassignment.
I have relied heavily upon certain officers whom I have come to
trust—"
"Which is why you were up here against us last winter, eh?"
Bran asked, one brow cocked up. "Scouting out the good
ones?"
Old anger stirred deep inside me as I remembered the common
talk from a year ago, about Shevraeth's very public wager with
the Duke of Savona about how soon he could thoroughly squelch
the rustic Tlanths—meaning Branaric and me. Fighting down
my emotions, I realized that yet again I had been misled by
surface events—and again I had misjudged Shevraeth's true
motives.
"Precisely," the Marquis said. "Those who wish to stay are
relatively easy; they await reassignment. Those who are
unhappy, or incompetent, or for whatever reason are deemed
ready for a civilian life are being cut loose with a year's
pay. We are encouraging them to get training or to invest in
some way so that they have a future, but a good part of that
cash will inevitably find its way into the ready hands of
pleasure houses. Still, each new civilian leaves with the
warning that any bands of ex-soldiers roaming the countryside
as brigands are going to find their futures summarily
ended."
"So that's where the surplus money went," I said. "What
about Galdran's bullies who
loved
their work?"
"The hardest part of our job is to determine who has the
necessary qualifications for keeping order, and who merely has
a taste for intimidating the populace. Those who fall between
the two will be sent for a lengthy stint on border patrol down
south, well away from events in the capital."