her instruments 02 - rose point (23 page)

“But it’s so big!” Irine called from the next room.

“The entourages using them may include up to fifty people.” Hirianthial had remained by the door, as if unwilling to commit to entering the room. “That would include the principals of the family and their servants. The front room is for entertaining guests; the rooms to the sides are private.”

“Fancy,” Sascha said. He flicked an ear back and added, “So, you part of our entourage?”

“Yeah, should we save you a bed?” Irine asked, peeking out of the adjacent room.

Reese waited with interest for this answer and wasn’t surprised to see Hirianthial hesitate.

“Let me guess.” Sascha folded his arms. “It’s complicated.”

“It is,” Hirianthial said. “And if you will excuse me, I will see if I can unravel those complications. Should you need anything, you can use the bell-pulls.”

“Good luck,” Reese said, and let him go. When she turned to pick up her bag, she found Kis’eh’t and Sascha staring at her. “What?”

“Just like that? ‘Good luck’?” Kis’eh’t asked.

“You expect me to pry?” Reese snorted. “We’ve been living with him how long? I think I’ve figured out how much that accomplishes. Exactly nothing.” She looked around. “Besides, I want to check out the new place. Don’t you?”

They did. As a group they trailed from room to room, exploring every corner, and every corner rewarded them with some new delight, from tiny jeweled pomanders on an elaborately carved dresser to a tub lit by stained glass windows and deep enough to need steps. The paintings were real, and smelled of exotic pigments; the tapestries, now that Reese was at liberty to examine them, showed signs of being hand-tied, and were inevitably pastoral scenes, or depictions of Eldritch wandering with unicorns through forests and over fields. It truly was a vast set of rooms, and the riches in it so opulent Reese’s head swam at the thought of itemizing the costs. She was studying a painted miniature on the mantle of the fireplace in one of the bedrooms when Bryer stuck his head in the door. “Have guest.”

“Someone we know?” Reese asked.

“Have guest.”

“Right,” she said, and threaded her way back to the front room, where she found an Eldritch woman in a slim brown gown edged in gold, and with a simple long braid crowning her head. At her arrival, the woman curtseyed.

“Milady,” she said in accented Universal, “does it please you, the Queen has assigned me to your service.”

Taken aback, Reese blurted, “Permanently?”

The woman stared at her, then touched her fingertips to her mouth to hide her smile. “Ah… no! I say this wrongly, perhaps? Temporary service, to help you while you are here. She guessed you have no servants.”

Reese snorted. “I have employees, and mouthy ones.”

“We heard that!” Irine called.

“Like I said.” Reese smiled at the Eldritch, puzzled. The Queen must know she didn’t need servants, so why had she sent her one? “I’m Reese Eddings. What’s your name?”

“Felith,” she said. “I was previously in service to the heir as a lady-in-waiting, so I hope you will find my credentials acceptable.…”

“Previously?” Reese wondered.

“The heir is considering a religious order and is at a monastery now,” Felith said, flushing pale peach. Reese wondered what about that situation was blushworthy, though she guessed that taking vows conflicted with the whole being-an-heir business.

“I didn’t meant to imply anything,” Reese said. “Come on in. Are you supposed to stay here with us or do you just visit?”

“My pardon, Lady,” Felith said, “but I stay here with you. Otherwise, who can help you dress and prepare for the day?” She hesitated, glancing at Reese’s apparel, and added, “The Queen also thought you might appreciate a... native guide. And someone who speaks the language.”

Implying that Hirianthial wouldn’t be around? Or maybe assuming he wouldn’t be forthcoming? Reese wondered. But what she said was, “That sounds very useful, yes. Let me introduce you around... though be warned, most of the crew’s even more alien than I am.”

“I assure you, Lady,” Felith said with all evidence of candor, “none of them can be as startling as you.”

This was a meeting he’d been putting off—had in fact hoped he wouldn’t have to have at all—but it could no longer be helped, so Hirianthial took himself down the hall to the apartments that would once have been assigned to him and were now Araelis’s. A man he didn’t recognize let him in and made him comfortable in the parlor with a cup of hot cider; he was surprised she was out, given the lateness of the hour, and waited with some perplexity for her return. When she did at last arrive, she stopped at the door at the sight of him. There was a moment of mutual astonishment, and then everything fell away from him—every concern, all the tangled and tiresome politics, everything he’d been intending to say—and he rose and went to her. “How long before you’re due? You look second trimester. Maybe four months?”

“Y-yes,” she said, startled. “How did you…”

“Have you had any issues?” he asked, evaluating her aura and that of the sleeping child. He hadn’t done an obstetric round since school but his recent experience on Harat-Sharii had given him cause to refresh himself on the topic. And right now, nothing was as important as making sure that this baby didn’t die, the way his had, the way too many Eldritch children did. “Spotting, cramping, dizzy spells?”

“No,” Araelis said, her voice now thoughtful rather than surprised. “Nothing like that. Though I’m tired and irritable.”

“Tired and irritable is normal,” he said. “Have you a midwife yet?”

“I have one engaged, yes,” she said. “Hirianthial?”

He looked up, found her considering him, her aura gone iridescent with wonder.

“I did not expect you to be interested,” she said at last. “Particularly given your history.”

He smiled, as much at himself as at her confusion. “I know something about these matters now, having spent my time away profitably.”

“To become a midwife?” she asked, incredulous.

“A doctor,” he said. “And I have some tools with me—“ On the
Earthrise
, which he had not packed. Perhaps he could ask Malia to send them down. “—but not all I would wish to support a pregnancy. You and Ceredan have been trying for a long time, I know.”

“Yes,” she said, resting her arms over her belly. She canted her head. “Is that why you’re home, then? Have you come to be our first modern doctor?”

The idea stunned him. It had been the furthest thing from his mind, plying his new profession on his own world, mostly because he’d never planned to come back. There was no question that the Eldritch needed modern medicine, needed facilities as well as people to staff them. But such an infrastructure implied a world that welcomed it, and for that Liolesa had to succeed in her aims. Hirianthial backed toward a chair and paused at it, realizing he couldn’t sit until his cousin had.

“So that’s not why you’re here,” she said, frowning. And then, “Oh, take the chair, Hirianthial. Please. I will too, my feet hurt.”

Nevertheless, he waited for her to settle before seating himself, composing himself as he did so. He had become so accustomed to being clouded by anxiety when confronted with the concept of pregnancy that it was gratifying to discover his training could overcome it. Here was a task, a case, someone he could manage in a way he could not the fretful girl on Harat-Sharii whose miscarriage had most probably been induced by her senior wife. Here was someone who welcomed her pregnancy and would be eager to work with him to support its successful conclusion. He could never bring back Laiselin or the child they would have had together... but he could ensure his cousin never suffered the heartbreak he had. He breathed out and folded his hands together in his lap while she spread her skirts and accepted a cup of tea from her servant.

“I am glad to have you home,” Araelis said once she’d had a sip. “You have been missed. Not just by me, but by everyone in the family… Liolesa as well. Particularly, even.”

The memory of Liolesa’s forgiveness was still tender. “I am sorry to have grieved you and the others,” he said. “But it was necessary.”

She met his eyes. “Was it truly? Really? You deprived us of a great deal, Hirianthial.”

He watched the fire, feeling her gaze on his profile. “Did I? Of what? The sight of me in extremis?”

“The opportunity to
help you
in extremis,” she said. “The chance to demonstrate that we loved you, and we were there for you. The ability to support you when you needed it, after so many years of you sustaining us through your generosity and your leadership of the household. You allowed us ample opportunities to take from you, Hirianthial… but you never permitted us to reciprocate.”

The accusation felt like a dart shot painfully true, all the more deeply because of the months he had spent on the
Earthrise
watching Reese struggle with the very same issue. Had he truly committed the same sin? And he had blamed her for it, and thought himself the superior for noting it. God and Lady. He cleared his throat and said, “I would not have been able to accept it then.”

“And have things changed?”

He thought of Urise and his swift-footed novice… of Reese’s stubborn offers of aid and Liolesa’s happiness at his return. “I hope I am becoming more capable of receiving.”

Her sigh brought his attention back to her. “I suppose that’s better than nothing. Having put that to rest—for now—perhaps you can tell me why I had to have news of your arrival from Surela of all people, rather than from you.”

He hid a grimace. “So she has been bruiting it about.”

“Very enthusiastically,” Araelis said with asperity. “I doubt there’s a soul in Ontine who doesn’t know that the wayward Jisiensire has returned.” She eyed him. “So? Why did I hear it from Surela first? Is there something you’d rather I not know?”

“I’m not here to take Jisiensire back,” Hirianthial said. “I will not have you raise your hopes.”

“I didn’t assume you were, given that you snuck in like a thief,” she said tartly. “I’m not stupid, cousin. So what is it?”

“I had need of a priest,” Hirianthial said. “For this, I shall be staying here until he declares I am fit to go. Which brings me to the matter of lodgings.”

“Surely you aren’t here to ask if you can stay with us?” Araelis said. “You
are
Jisiensire, Hirianthial. It is we who should be asking your permission—”

“God, Araelis,” he said, touching his hand to his brow. “Don’t be ridiculous. I gave you the seal—“

“—which I tried to give back—“

“—and I don’t mean to have it, not now, not ever. Jisiensire needs a fecund head, someone to continue the line. You and Ceredan are far more suited to the task. And I won’t hear any argument about it!” She stopped, mutinous. When he was sure she wouldn’t interrupt again, he finished, “The issue is political, not pragmatic.”

“Oh?” she asked, frowning. “Are you wooing someone who would take it amiss if you were to be housed with your own family?”

“You,” he said, “have not grown more tactful, cousin.”

She grinned. “Unlike Liolesa, I don’t have to be mindful of such things. What then is the issue that so concerns you?”

“I have brought some compatriots with me,” Hirianthial said. “I had thought to lodge them in our townhouse, but Liolesa has asked them to be her guests and intends to introduce them formally. Most probably she wishes to separate us so that any opprobrium is solely leveled at her.”

Araelis stared at him, then sat up, one hand on her belly. “You have brought aliens here!”

“I have,” he said. And smiled at the firework patterns shimmering on her aura. “Two of them are even Harat-Shar, though tigraine, not pardine.”

“There are more?” she asked. “How many? What races?”

“A Phoenix, a Glaseah, one of the Flitzbe… and a human.”

Araelis sat back. “Oh, cousin.” She laughed. “Oh, cousin! Ha! We will take back the torch from Galare! They were far too smug having scored that coup with the Glaseah the scion of the Seni brought home and made kin. They thought that more than made up for Fasianyl’s friendship with Sellelvi, despite our also having supplied the Tams—nine generations of them!—through Meriaen. But now we will be responsible for the arrival of no less than six aliens! Six! The flag will be restored to our House—“

“—save that Liolesa has claimed them,” he reminded her, unsure whether to be amused at her eagerness or appalled at the collection of aliens being turned into a game.

“Lady bless it!” Araelis scowled. “Those were our aliens! She should get her own.”

“She did, in the main,” Hirianthial said. “She reached out to Captain Eddings first. I met them through their association with her. Araelis… please, this is a serious matter. She is introducing them at court. You have some notion what that means.”

“Yes,” Araelis said, and sighed. “Yes, I do.” She grinned. “If I’d known this year’s winter court was going to be so exciting I would have brought Ceredan with me. He loves a fight.”

Her aura was a warm, bright gold, shimmering with health and ease. He studied it and said, quieter, “You look well, Araelis. The family is well too, isn’t it?”

“You heard?” she asked, head canted. Another smile, proud this time. “We’ve been growing. Nessiena had another child—another!—and Foreia had her first, successfully. We haven’t lost anyone to duels or hunts for almost three decades now, and the crops have been good for years running. The House is prosperous, even the junior lines. We’ve even been talking about endowing a few new families.”

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Good.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She shared a fond look with him. “Not quite as good as under your tenure, but we’ve had some fair fortune, and things are improving. And if Liolesa can win her fight and we can open the world…”

“It would be amazing,” he murmured.

“Well,” Araelis said, “Far be it from me to interrupt her plans for moving us toward that end. I will kick you out of our apartments myself if it serves her purpose. Where shall you stay, if not with the aliens or not with us?”

“I have an idea,” Hirianthial said.

Six aliens sat in a semi-circle, spread across floor, hearth and chairs. Their focal point was the single Eldritch in the room, who had resorted to embroidery to keep from fidgeting at their fixed attention. She was speaking in an even voice despite her nervousness, however. “The Queen entertains the nobility twice a year at the summer and winter courts. In summer, because on the coast it is cooler than it is on many of the country estates, so she hosts as a courtesy; summer is a time for arranging marriages and alliances, particularly, and for the introduction of debutantes to society. Summer is a time for the young.” She trailed off and sighed. “Ah, a good time for the young.” She pushed her needle through the fabric and continued. “Ontine rarely gets snow in winter, again because of the sea. But the weather becomes so inclement on the roads that most parties stay for several months. Because of that, winter is the time for politics. Nobles bring their tithes for the year and evidence of their commitments to the Queen, and she reaffirms her own duties to them, including the dispensation of funds, supplies or arms. Any major changes in policy are announced in winter, and any discussions that the Queen is willing to hear on those changes are held then also.”