by Trish Mercer
Mahrree tried to sort out the variety of emotions that caught her completely by surprise that afternoon. As her mother-in-law played dress-up doll with Jaytsy, Mahrree mentally created her List of Shame.
Top of her list was the utter embarrassment she experienced in the first shop they walked into. Her dress, which she had always liked, felt terribly ‘old fashioned’. Suddenly she understood the meaning of the phrase as she looked at the variety of dresses and gowns—there was a difference, Joriana told to her—on display. But no one was about to look critically at the daughter-in-law of Joriana Shin.
The next emotion she experienced was surprise at how marvelous the fine linen of the dress she tried on felt against her skin.
Then, when she saw herself all gussied up in the mirror she felt—
Mahrree shook her head again. Yes, that was the humiliating emotion: giddiness.
How completely ridiculous. Forty-three years old and she actually giggled with delight that she could look like a beautiful woman. Jaytsy even pinned back her hair with twisted silver fastenings the shop sold, and clapped her hands in approval.
Mahrree looked Idumean and liked it. Jaytsy insisted she wear the dress out of the shop and Mahrree stuffed her old frock into a neat box.
Now she was experiencing a strange mixture of guilt and glory. She still didn’t know what Perrin would think of the pale green dress with useless ruffles on the sleeves. But as she walked through the busy clothing district of Upper Idumea on to a shop specializing in fashions for younger women, she enjoyed the looks and nods she received as part of her mother-in-law’s complement.
But she knew full well people were merely glancing at her before staring at her daughter.
Mahrree hadn’t realized until this trip just how much Jaytsy had matured. In the company of children her age in Edge, it was easy to think of her as a little—albeit rather developed—girl. But when she saw her daughter as complete strangers did, she realized this tall, shapely child was actually a young woman.
That was a very fast fifteen years.
Sometime during the past couple of weeks her daughter had grown up. Maybe it happened when Jaytsy spent hour after hour moving rock to find someone’s lost toy or another undamaged dish.
Maybe it was when she sobbed with a little girl upon discovering her cat didn’t survive after all.
Maybe it occurred when she was sitting by her grandfather’s bed this morning listening attentively to stories he never told anyone before, but now felt the urgent need to share.
Whatever or whenever it was, there was something changed in Jaytsy, something that lurked under her occasional silliness and rolling eyes, that knew life was much more than clothes and boys and being liked, contrary to what her friends believed. Mahrree could even see it in the way she walked. Jaytsy was developing a sense of purpose; a greater understanding and an appreciation for the fullness of life.
And then there were moments like this. Moments when the ‘young’ in ‘young woman’ reared its head . . .
. . . and giggled.
Jaytsy bounced out of the changing room of the fancy dress shop wearing a fluffy light pink dress and twirled. “Isn’t this pink delicious! I could just lick it!”
Joriana, sitting next to Mahrree on the waiting sofa—not a bench, but a true sofa in a shop of all places—clapped her hands. “Ooh, it’s positively you! Don’t you think so, Mahrree?”
Mahrree still hadn’t mastered the voice of “ooh!” as she was beginning to call it, and had lost the ability to appropriately label things as “cute” by the time Peto was five—although the grandmothers retained that skill—but she could still be genuine.
“It’s very nice, Jaytsy. That pink makes your cheeks even rosier. But I’m a little concerned about the sleeves,” of which there are none, she added to herself. Her mother-in-law was tugging on the narrow strips of cloth on Jaytsy’s shoulders to reveal even more of Jaytsy.
“I don’t think Mother approves of that,” said Jaytsy apologetically to her grandmother.
“Yes,” Mahrree said slowly, trying not to grit her teeth, “that may be how it’s designed to be, but I’m sorry Mother Shin. Shoulders—and especially all points below—remain covered. That’s your son’s rule, by the way. Looking appealing doesn’t mean a-peeling off one’s clothes.”
“He does say that,” Jaytsy muttered. “Frequently.”
“But it’s an event gown!” Joriana exclaimed. “She’s supposed to show a bit of that beautiful skin. It’s not like it’s cut down to here.” She drew an invisible line low on Jaytsy’s chest and Jaytsy’s eyes flared in embarrassment. “Perrin simply doesn’t understand.”
Mahrree sighed. As a tall man, Perrin understood more than most the problems of fashionable cleavage.
“Besides, Mother Shin, where would Jaytsy wear such a beautiful gown? We don’t really have ‘events’ in Edge.”
Grandmother and granddaughter exchanged knowing and dangerous glances.
“Oh, no,” Mahrree said, dread filling her head to toe. “What’s this all about?”
“The Dinner, Mahrree!” Joriana squealed. “It’s still on! With Relf improving every day, he agreed to still hold it next week. After all, we made all the arrangements over a season ago—”
Mahrree frowned. “What dinner?”
“Only The Dinner,” Joriana emphasized. “The Dinner Perrin escaped from the second year we held it, the one we hold every year . . . He didn’t tell you? He didn’t tell you about it ever, did he? Oh, that son of mine. He’s going to hear about this.”
Mahrree growled under her breath.
Joriana sat next to her and put on her teaching face. At least, she likely thought it was a kindly explanatory expression, but really it was a look that said, Obviously you’re clueless in everything that’s truly important in the world, so allow me to set you straight.
“Each year, to celebrate the advancement of the Administrators to power, the High General of Idumea gives a dinner for all of the dignitaries and officers ranked colonel or higher. It’s a yearly tradition, has been for eighteen years. It’s The Dinner!” Joriana gestured wildly with her hands, as if that should say it all.
Two women sorting dresses—or more precisely, gowns—nodded smartly at each other, then looked expectantly at Mahrree as if she’d suddenly remember all about The Dinner in just another moment.
Mahrree saw Perrin’s out. “He’s only a lieutenant colonel, not a full colonel. That’s probably why he didn’t think it would matter to us.”
“Bah!” Joriana scoffed. “He knows that entire families are invited. Always have been.”
Mahrree winced. “Entire families?”
“That means you, my dear!” Joriana beamed. “We’re getting you a dress next!”
Jaytsy squealed again and clapped her hands like her grandmother. How long Jaytsy had been in on this, Mahrree was going to find out later.
“I really don’t know how I feel about that,” Mahrree said slowly. “I’m pretty sure I know how Perrin feels, though. And poor Peto! Oh, I don’t think this is a good idea at all. We came to help, remember? Not get dressed up and be presented to Idumean society.” She shook her head, ill at ease and now feeling fake in her new dress. “We wouldn’t know how to act or what to say! We’re Edgy, Mother Shin.”
“Mother,” Jaytsy whined. “Just once? To see what the other side is like? What could it hurt to dress up and be fancy?”
A part of Mahrree felt herself being tugged over to Jaytsy’s side. She liked to believe it would only be ‘just once,’ but the look on her mother-in-law’s face suggested she expected this to be the first of many Idumean events for her son’s family.
And if Perrin were ever to become High General, and they moved into the mansion, then the responsibility of The Dinner would be—
Mahrree hated it when her mind ran too far ahead. The speed made her head swirl.
“We’ll have to talk to your father about this dinner,” was all Mahrree could think
to say. “He’s the head of our family, the decision must be his.”
“I’ll talk to him first,” Joriana assured Jaytsy. “He has to listen to his mother. In the meantime, I want to see you in that yellow dress next, before we make our decision. Mahrree, start looking around. If you don’t choose something, I’ll choose it for you! This is all part of my plot to keep you here, you realize that, right? Win over the children? Parents will follow?”
“That’s downright sinister of you!” Mahrree teased her mother-in-law.
And very Administrative, too, she worried to herself.
---
It was nearly dinner time when the women returned home.
Relf was outside on the flagstone terrace, reclining upon a sofa he had Perrin and Peto drag outside from the large gathering room and place in the back garden so he could see something besides the study door and breathe something fresher than the air of waiting papers and ink.
When the coach pulled up along the back drive and stopped before the terrace, he shook his head. “Perrin’s not going to be happy,” he muttered and smiled.
Footsteps came from the large gathering room that opened to the terrace. “There you are . . .” and Perrin’s voice dropped off as soon as his feet hit the flagstones.
Peto joined him. “Where are they?”
“Somewhere behind those boxes, I fear.”
“So help us, Perrin!” the muffled voice of Joriana came from behind a stack of brown and gray boxes that jammed the windows.
Perrin and Peto looked at each other.
“This is the worst rubble I’ve seen yet,” Perrin murmured. “Remind me sometime to tell you about a horrifying shopping trip to the hat district I barely survived when I was eighteen.”
“So sorry I can’t get up and help,” the general chuckled, and propped himself gingerly on an elbow for a better view of the coach.
The driver sent a worried look to the High General, and another soldier acting as footman hesitated at the door. All the men cringed as he cautiously unlatched and opened it. A wall of boxes greeted them, and the footman looked warily at Perrin.
Perrin cocked his head to excuse the soldiers. “This is officer’s work,” he said grimly. “Peto, I see you slinking away. Get over here.”
His son tentatively approached the coach which shifted when someone inside stood up. “But I’m not an offi—” A narrow box on the top of the pile popped out and bounced on Peto’s head.
“That one’s for Peto, by the way,” came Joriana’s voice.
“He got it,” Perrin said, watching his son rub his head dramatically. “Not so sure he’s happy about it, though.” Sensing impending disaster, he began to pull down boxes and piled them on the ground. Soon he uncovered his daughter.
“What do you think?” Jaytsy asked, standing in the doorway of the carriage and posing in a bright orange dress.
“I think I could see you in the dark,” Peto snickered. “Who needs a lantern when Jaytsy’s dress is around?”
“Not very clever, Peto. Besides, I don’t care about your opinion.” She looked earnestly at her father.
It was one of those moments men are never prepared for. The “what do you think?” question. Relf held his breath in empathy.
Perrin evaluated her. “I can see that you love it. Good for you!”
Relf released his breath. “Smart man,” he muttered to himself. “More tactful than any Administrator.”
Jaytsy bounded down the coach steps and snatched up some of the boxes. “This one’s also for you, Peto. I chose it out myself,” she said in almost a threatening tone.
“Then I’m not wearing it,” he insisted as Jaytsy handed him a stack of boxes to carry.
“Oh yes you are! Grandmother will make you. Now help me get these inside,” she ordered as she picked up more packages.
“Why would I want to wear something you chose? I don’t need to look like a glowing carrot.” Their bickering echoed in Grand Hall as they carried the boxes to their rooms.
Joriana stood at the door of the coach with two more large packages to hand to her son.
“Mother, what have you done today?” asked Perrin, astounded at the level of shopping that had been committed.
“Just had a little fun,” she smiled. “It’s been such a terrible week, but now so wonderful to have women with me.”
Perrin helped her down the steps and waited at the bottom for the next presentation. “I know you’re in there,” he called.
There was no answer from the dark coach.
“My mother’s had you all day, and I know she’s done something to you. Might as well get it over with. I’m getting hungry for dinner out here.”
Mahrree appeared at the opening, not looking anywhere nearly as orange as her daughter.
Perrin actually smiled. She wore Idumea well.
“Oh, that’s not bad at all.” He offered her his hand. “Not purple now, is it.”
“No, not this one,” Mahrree warned as she came down the steps, another box under her arm.
“I think she looks lovely!” Joriana said. “Not that she didn’t before, but you know what I mean.”
“She always looks lovely,” Perrin smiled at his wife. “What she wears doesn’t change that.”
“And you don’t want to be a general,” Relf said under his breath. “With that ability to twist anything to your favor . . . what a waste of talent.”
“Come Perrin, help your wife with these things,” Joriana ordered. “And then we need to talk about next week.”
Perrin’s eyebrows furrowed. “You mean Jaytsy’s birthday?”
“I mean the day after her birthday,” Joriana said.
Perrin went gray. He looked at his father.
Relf shrugged and wearily nodded.
“You’re still having it?” Perrin nearly shouted.
“What better time? To show everything is still well, that life continues in Idumea,” his mother insisted.
“But, but . . . surely the resources could be put to some better use.”
Joriana waved that off. “Clean up in Idumea is going as scheduled. The outer lying villages seem to be fine—”
“I haven’t heard anything from Edge,” Perrin said tensely.
“No news, son, remember?” the general said. “Standing rule? Grandpy Neeks served under me long enough to know that. Besides, The Dinner will be good for morale. Mind you, I’ll be moving a bit slowly that night, so some of the duties may fall to you—”
“Absolutely not! No!” Perrin declared.
“You said you had come to help, right?” his mother said just as firmly, her hands on her hips. “Or was that just a line? Because if you really want to help, you will help! You will do all that your father needs you to do, and all that the Administrators expect of the Shin family. Honestly, Perrin—it’s just a dinner. How can you be so stubborn and selfish as to object to that?”
He looked down for a moment before meeting his mother’s glare and offering a penitent smile. “Of course I’ll help,” he said quietly. “Just tell me what to do. No complaining.”
Joriana stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek and then wiped it off with her thumb. “Let’s eat dinner and discuss matters. Now go help your father into the house and let’s see how well he does at the table tonight. He needs to start practicing, after all. Only ten more days until the 47th!”
---
Mahrree had committed all the words of her mother-in-law to memory, and the order in which she said them to her son when she insisted he help with The Dinner, because the immediate compliance of Perrin was positively stunning.
But he was unusually quiet at the beginning of dinner.
Mahrree didn’t think it was because of her dress, but perhaps because he was having second thoughts about The Dinner. Or maybe it was because Peto and Jaytsy dominated the conversation. Both tried to outdo the other in what was more significant, the shopping district or the arena.
“We saw this hug
e carriage called a bus!”
“It seats fifty thousand people!”
“One store had all kinds of hats in all kinds of colors!”
“You can even buy food there during the events!”
“Some shops were three levels high!”
“This place was at least four, with at least forty entrances on the side Father and I walked around!”
“The glass is so thin on the windows you can see all the way through, even to the windows on the other sides!”
“It can be flooded for canoe races!”
“Especially when it’s raining, right Peto? At least the shops are enclosed!”
“They’re devising a way to cover up the arena, and the cover might be big enough for your mouth, Jaytsy!”
“Enough!” Mahrree finally said, rubbing away the headache that was forming near her temples.
The family was seated together at the end of the massive table, Relf at the head, Joriana to his side, and Perrin next to her. Across from Perrin sat Mahrree, with her children on either side of her. She wondered how she ended up with them again, both trying to talk louder than the other, and through her head.
“Please—just eat. And it’s not a competition, you two.”
“They always have competitions, Mother. That’s the point of the arena,” Peto said.
“And the shops, um, the uh . . .” Jaytsy stammered not knowing how to outdo her brother without sounding absurd.
“Why?” Mahrree asked. “Why does it have to be a competition?”
Behind her, Jaytsy and Peto stared at each other, having just discovered that their mother was hopelessly stupid.
“To see who’s the best,” Jaytsy reminded her.
“Yeah, what’s the point of . . . running if you don’t know if you run the fastest?” Peto added.
Mahrree sat up and narrowed her eyes.
Jaytsy murmured, “Oh, no.” She knew what that look on her mother meant.
“Interesting,” Mahrree said slowly, putting down her fork. “What’s the point of doing something if you can’t be judged to be the best?”
Jaytsy shot a warning glance to her grandparents and murmured, “Here it comes.”
Mahrree folded her hands in front of her in a modified debating position. “Why not just do something to experience it? You know, running has its purposes, not just as a race.”
“Ah, Mother—you know what I mean,” Peto grumbled, and took a big bite of pheasant to avoid being dragged into the debate.
But there were times when Mahrree saw a lesson could be taught, and some lessons just can’t wait, even if her husband and in-laws were watching her closely.
“No, I don’t think you know what I mean. Peto, how often do the boys in Edge play kickball?”
“Well, besides being part of the Idumean-organized teams that you won’t let me join—” he added bitterly.
“I’m not talking about the teams. See, that’s precisely it. There’s nothing stopping you and your friends from starting your own games. When you were still a baby, children started their own games nearly every day.”
“I’ve heard this before,” Peto muttered.
But Mahrree was never one to cut a good speech short just because someone complained. “They chose their own teams and played just for fun, not hoping to be recruited to Idumea. No one was worried about who was best—they just wanted to have fun.”
“Some of the teams look like they have fun,” said Peto, unconvinced.
Mahrree eyed him. “That’s not what Bloch said last year. Remember? I think it was something like, Thank goodness practices are over so I can do something else with my life for the season.”
“He didn’t say it exactly like that!” Peto scoffed. “Why do parents and teachers always translate what they think teenagers are saying?”
“So what did he say?”
Peto sighed. “I don’t remember. But it wasn’t that.”
“I do remember that his marks improved significantly when he wasn’t obsessed with impressing his trainer,” Mahrree pointed out. “Good marks in school and performing well on the final exams will do far more for his life than being able to kick a ball. What kind of job will the Administrators allow him for something as inane as that? As far as I can tell, it’s only the trainers who benefit from these new teams—and the silver that they’re paid for them—rather than the boys. What a waste of time.”
“Come now, Mahrree,” Relf broke in. Propped up by several pillows squeezed around the chair, he appeared to be more of a stuffed toy than the High General. “If that’s all you see to competition, that’s a rather narrow view.”
“No, that’s not all of it,” she agreed. In the past, she would have felt anxious allowing the High General into her unauthorized debate. But in his present state—gaunt, pale, and with a yellow blanket tucked around his waist to keep him warm—he was as intimidating as a wilting flower.
“In fact, I use competition with my students all the time,” she told him. “Boys aren’t motivated if they aren’t ranked somehow. But there’s a difference: I list the boys’ names on the board for many things. Those whose marks have improved, who’s got into the least amount of fights, whose name I haven’t heard my husband utter in contempt.” She smiled at her husband.
Oddly, he didn’t return it.
Unperturbed, she continued. “But in my competitions, everyone’s pushing each other to improve. The goal is to have each boy’s name on the list of those who are passing the class. I bring cake when that happens,” she added. “Food’s a marvelous motivator. This competition pushes all the boys to succeed.”
“So everybody wins?” Relf asked. “That may work for your class, but in everything else that seems a rather poor system. You have to lower standards to let everyone win. Then if you reward mediocrity, it breeds only more. We don’t lower standards in the army. If a man can’t run fast enough, he’ll bring more harm than help. The group is only as strong as its weakest member, so no one better be weak. Not everyone makes the cut. That’s competition!” He pounded the table in emphasis. In his frail condition, that meant his fist barely bounced off the tablecloth.
“I’m not advocating lowering standards,” Mahrree told him. “Mine are even higher than the Department of Instruction’s. And do you know why? They keep lowering the standards, General, so that it their testing appears successful. They cheat to pass everyone.”
When she caught Perrin’s icy warning glare, she quickly looked back to her father-in-law.
“But General,” Mahrree continued, “don’t you give your new recruits time to improve before you make your cuts? A lot simply don’t realize how strong they can be. I know Shem has pushed many young men to the breaking point, only to discover they could bend and rise to the standard. Everyone who reaches that standard signs up. They ‘win,’ if being a part of the army can be deemed as winning something,” she teased her father-in-law.
He scowled, but a hint of a smile was in his eyes. “You have a point. But even then, there’s always one man who’s the fastest.”
“And why’s that important?”
“So everyone knows who gets to be the messenger,” Perrin said miserably, finally speaking. “Not much glory in that.”
“Perrin was the fastest when he was eighteen,” General Shin said proudly, leaning back onto a poufy flowered cushion. “No one could beat him, not even some of the older, stronger men. Then he spent that Weeding Season with the Densals baling hay in Edge and came back three inches taller and many more inches broader all around. Too many muscles to sprint the fastest anymore.”
Mahrree was speechless.
Joriana squeezed her son’s still-muscular arm admiringly. Perrin was turning red. He glanced at his wife and was greeted by her stunned expression.
But Joriana began her boast. “Yet he was still fast enough to beat you, my dear, when he came home. And nearly every other man in the fort. Only two could outrun him. I’m sure he’s still fast, and he’s even older
than you were when you raced him.”
Peto laughed. “You should’ve seen him last year against Uncle Shem! That was the best Strongest Soldier Race ever.”
“Peto . . .” Perrin said heavily.
“What happened? You know, I don’t seem to remember you telling us about last year’s race,” Joriana said to her son.
Since Perrin was glaring at Peto, Jaytsy took up the story. “Shem finally beat him—by several minutes!”
“Shem’s ten years younger, too,” Perrin reminded her. “And I’d just beaten him in a demonstration duel the night before. Flattened and pinned him to the ground, in front of all his new recruits.” He smiled thinly at the memory of it. “He needed something to make him look good in front of his men again. I had to let him win, to get back their confidence in their sergeant.”
“Ha!” Jaytsy exclaimed. “You lost because you’re getting old. He couldn’t walk properly for the next few days,” she told her grandparents. “He claimed he did something to his back.”
“I did,” Perrin said. “I’d tripped on that stupid little yapping thing Mrs. Tott carries around. It was hiding in her alley when I was trying to clear the ditch.”
Jaytsy giggled. “She was grateful you found him, though. She’d been looking for him for a while.”
“Yeah, but her son was disappointed you didn’t fall on him,” Peto laughed. “He’d been hoping for a proper dog for years. If that thing had been squashed under you, he could’ve had his wish.”
Perrin watched his wife who still wore her stunned expression. “You’ve nothing to add to this? I find that hard to believe.”
“You were in Edge? When you were eighteen?” Mahrree almost wailed.
For sixteen years she’d lived with the man, and thought she knew everything about him. But now there were surprises about him daily. No, hourly! “I thought your first time in Edge was when we met.”
“Before he started Command School at the university,” Relf interrupted her pouting, “he wanted to see the world. Bit of Terryp the explorer in him, I suppose. So I sent him to the edge of the world,” he chuckled. “Figured he’d be pretty safe with Joriana’s aunt and uncle. They nearly proved me wrong.”
“How so?” Mahrree was still baffled and a bit put out that she never knew any of this.
Perrin sipped cider from his mug and didn’t make eye contact with anyone, especially his wife staring pointedly at him.
“They tried to turn him into a rector,” Relf scoffed. “Can you imagine? Perrin as Rector Shin? Had him reading The Writings every morning and discussing it every evening.”
“It was only because they could never have children of their own, Relf. They always thought of Perrin as their grandson,” Joriana told him. “And they took very good care of him that season.”
“I wasn’t about to become a rector,” Perrin said quietly, tearing his bread in half and watching it distractedly. “But it was a good season. I learned some things about myself. That’s why I wanted to go back when the opportunity arose.”
“I don’t remember ever seeing you, and I was at the Densals’ rectory every Holy Day!” Mahrree was on the verge of frustrated tears as she tried to imagine what he would’ve looked like at eighteen.
“Weren’t you already going to the university in Mountseen?” he reminded her. “Started early?”
“Oh, yes,” she grumbled. “I missed you! We could’ve found each other ten years earlier. I think I would’ve enjoyed seeing the eighteen-year-old version of you.”
“I don’t think you would’ve,” said Perrin tightly. “And I certainly wasn’t ready for you. Can we get back to discussing The Dinner?”
Of course they couldn’t get back to discussing The Dinner! Not when such an astonishing nugget of her husband’s past had just been revealed. She was perplexed and fascinated by his reticence. Why did he never tell her about this before?
But being as guarded as he was, she knew he’d never answer such a direct question. Instead she tried, “Well, I didn’t like you entirely when I first met you, either.”
“I wasn’t the same person. You never would’ve married me then.” He shifted uncomfortably and pushed his food around his plate with his fork.
“And I suppose I was a little pushy at eighteen as well,” Mahrree confessed, filling her fork.
“Says the most competitive woman in the world,” her husband intoned, still fussing with his plate.
The room fell silent.
Someone may have whispered, “Uh oh . . .”
Mahrree stopped, her fork in midair, and glared at her husband who still didn’t meet her eyes. She put her fork down with purposeful clatter and sat up straight in her chair.
Relf leaned back into a fluffy pillow and simpered. “Oh, good.” He put down this fork and folded his arms. “I haven’t seen any action for a while. This should be excellent dinner entertainment.”
Mahrree looked at Perrin, aghast. “What did you say about me?”
“What?” Perrin mimicked and finally looked up. “You! Listen to you. ‘I don’t like competition,’ ‘There shouldn’t be one winner,’” he whined. “You, who can never bear to lose an argument, arguing for no winners?” He rolled his eyes more expertly than Jaytsy.
Mahrree’s mouth opened and shut several times trying to find the right words to say. Instead she spluttered, “Prove it!”
He jabbed his finger across the table at her. “Tactic number one! You always want to be right, and when you know you’re wrong, you shift the burden of proof to someone else. Did that at our fourth debate with that stupid midday meal mess you brought to the platform. Couldn’t prove it’d never ‘progress’ into something smarter, so you forced me to prove you wrong. You could never admit defeat. You always have to be right!”
Mahrree was so furious and surprised she instinctively fought back. “Being right is not the same as being a ‘winner’!”
Relf nodded to his wife. “Maybe we can put them on a stage next week. Dinner and a show. Could be a new tradition.”
Joriana fretfully shook her head at him.
Perrin shot his father a warning glance, and Relf tossed it right back.
“There’s a difference between being right and being the best,” Mahrree insisted. “I’m not trying to prove anyone worse than me. I’m not taunting or putting down—”
“Are you sure?” Perrin snapped. “Isn’t being overly opinionated just as bad as someone taunting? ‘My ideas are better than yours?’”
“Overly opinionated? What’s wrong with having opinions?” she said, her voice rising to the pitch of a trapped cat. “What’s more frightening are people with no opinions at all. ‘Oh, that sounds nice, let’s do it! Let’s end all debates. It just feels good!’ What’s wrong with thinking?”
Relf turned to his wife again. “You did say the administrator over education is coming to The Dinner, didn’t you?” He smiled wickedly at the thought.
Perrin skipped glaring at his father and instead launched into Mahrree. “But why do you have to express that opinion everywhere, at every time, and in every situation? You could cause trouble!”
Mahrree threw her hands in the air. “But if it’s the truth, Perrin, there’s more trouble in not expressing it! You know that. That’s why we’re here. To find the truth and live it, no matter what!”
“Gadiman!” Relf snapped his fingers. “That’s who we should invite. Make this dinner truly memorable, except that man never leaves his office.”
Joriana smacked him lightly on the arm.
“But you can’t always know the truth,” Perrin countered loudly. “Some things are just never revealed. You have to deal with what you’re given, and stop fighting it! Stop wishing for what you can’t have!”
Mahrree shook her head in confusion, not sure how that last sentence fit their argument, but also knowing too well that there was a time she faced the truth and shrank away from it.
But that was years ago, and a different situation and, well, w
hat happens when people stop wishing for the truth? She hadn’t given up completely finding it. She just . . . was putting it off for the right day.
But this argument wasn’t about her; something was going on with her husband. She hadn’t seen him this confrontational in years, as if he’d regressed to the duplicitous captain she knew long ago. She couldn’t imagine why, but his behavior enraged her.
“You do the best you can, but if you stop fighting, the truth won’t win!” she yelled. “If you give up completely, who wins? Not the Creator or His will. So whose will are you fighting for, Lieutenant Colonel?”
They stared across the table at each other, a feeling of betrayal hitting both of them at the same time like icy water.
No one had been eating for the past five minutes. Jaytsy and Peto watched their parents anxiously, their eyes shifting back and forth, hoping one of them would end it somehow.
Joriana bit her lower lip in worry, but Relf still smirked, his eyes smoldering in amusement.
Perrin shook his head slowly, his expression softening as he stared at his wife. “How’d we get here?” he whispered.
Mahrree’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know,” she whispered back.
“We’ll finish this later,” Perrin said quietly.
Mahrree nodded.
“I think we should talk about the arena again,” Peto suggested in a timid voice.
Perrin smiled at his son. “Absolutely!”
Mahrree sniffed appreciatively.
Jaytsy released a sigh of relief.
Relf shook his head. “That’s too bad. Great entertainment. I guess we’ll have to have that ridiculous dancing instead of your debate.”
Mahrree wiped away a tear. “Dancing? When?”
Joriana looked up at the ceiling as if she was eating with idiots. “After The Dinner! Tradition? Honestly, do I have to spell everything out? That’s why fifteen is so important—the age when girls can begin dancing! Jaytsy’s dress?”
Couples dancing had yet to gain popularity in Edge, and that was fine with Mahrree. They had dancing, but it was watching an individual or a group moving to music, not couples holding each other.
But in Idumea couples dancing had been around for over twenty years and was the mainstay of every elegant event. Since Edge wasn’t elegant in any stretch of the imagination, couples dancing didn’t fit in there either.
Mahrree began to fume again to realize she’d been misled by her mother-in-law. Not once during that entire day had she said the word “dance,” and now Mahrree knew why.
She looked at her husband, suddenly feeling something they could be united in again.
“No!” they declared together.
“Perrin Shin!” his mother said loudly. “This girl—” she pointed to Jaytsy whose eyebrows furrowed in worry, “—has every right to dance at her grandmother’s house the day after her birthday. It’s tradition!”
“And why is following tradition a marker for something right?” Perrin asked her sharply.
Relf smiled again, this time at Mahrree. “Maybe we don’t need to schedule the musicians after all? The debate might still go on.”
Mahrree shook her head, but Relf winked at her.
“Give me one good reason, Perrin,” Joriana said hotly, “why she shouldn’t enjoy herself that night?”
Perrin sat forward, glancing at his daughter. “Gladly. I don’t like the idea of my daughter in the arms of strange men all night.”
Jaytsy’s eyes grew wide with anticipation. Her mother’s glare put a stop to that. Since when had Jaytsy been thinking about men?
“Perrin, it’s just dancing,” Joriana said. “Don’t you remember? You went to a few and looked very handsome in your dress uniform.”
“Do I have to dress up?” Peto asked.
“Of course, silly!” Jaytsy said. “That’s what the suit’s for. Didn’t you even look at it?”
Peto was appalled. “I distinctly remember Mother saying there wouldn’t be any dinners or anything. When’s this dinner?”
Joriana put on an overly cheerful expression, knowing she was facing a harder sale than when she tried to get Mahrree to try on a hat. “The 47th Day of Planting, and you’ll look as handsome in that suit as your father used to look in his. And this,” she picked up her fork daintily, “young man, is the proper way to hold your fork on that day.”
“The 47th Day?” Peto repeated. “Isn’t that the day King Oren died?”
Joriana’s enthusiasm dimmed.
Mahrree cleared her throat. “Thank you for the history reminder, Peto,” she said hurriedly when she noticed her father-in-law watching his grandson. “Now, about this dance—”
“Yes, Peto, it is,” General Shin said shortly, and took a bite of a pheasant leg.
Peto frowned. “So this party’s happening on his deathday? Like a celebration? That’s kind of morbid.”
“Peto—” Perrin started in warning, but Relf held up his hand.
“Yes, Peto,” he said steadily. “We celebrate the day the old regime ended, and a new one began.”
Mahrree shook her head furiously at her son, and Jaytsy bit her lower lip in worry for her brother who sometimes just didn’t get the hint to shut up. Such as now, for instance.
“Yeah, but the king died and—” Something in the brittle expression of his grandfather stopped Peto, but unfortunately only for a moment as the rest of the history lesson caught up to Peto.
“Wait a minute,” he gulped as he stared at his grandfather. “You executed him!”
Mahrree rubbed her cheeks. “Peto, Peto . . .”
“No, Mahrree,” the High General said coolly to his now-pale grandson, “it’s all right. Yes, Peto, I organized the execution squad, and I gave the signal for them to proceed. It was the only option. Nicko Mal and I had been in negotiations for moons about this. What Mal wanted was for the people to rise up in rebellion and overthrow Oren in a bloody riot. We’d already had a few of those, but they all stopped short of invading the king’s mansion. Mal wanted the army to help incite a truly aggressive attack, one that would kill Oren and likely many of his servants, civilians, and soldiers. Then Mal would gallantly step in and restore order to earn the undying devotion of the people. In the end, executing Oren was the best solution, and the only one I’d support. It was controlled and humane, and only one man lost his life. That was important to me. Every other scenario would have resulted in far more death and destruction. I celebrate that, son, and the fact that since that day I’ve never again had to organize an execution squad. I hope the world never sees another.”
Peto swallowed hard and nodded. Then, because he was an exceptionally slow learner, he added, “This was his house, too. Wasn’t it.”
General Shin had started to take another bite of his pheasant, but paused. “Oren gave it to me himself, when his mistress—”
Mahrree cleared her throat loudly.
“Oh, get over it, Mahrree,” he said impatiently. “Your children are old enough to know that men and women occasionally come up with their own arrangements. Yes Peto, that woman came to her senses and took herself and her two teenage sons and left Oren. He worried about this house being raided in their absence.”
“And he also wanted your protection?” Peto said daringly.
Joriana fidgeted as Relf held the pheasant leg halfway to his mouth. “I protected that idiot for as long as I could. But I also vowed to protect the people, Peto. His senselessness came in conflict with that. It was either the world, or Oren. Rather a simple decision, really.” He bit into the fowl.
Peto gulped again. “Where are those sons now?”
“No one knows,” Relf said indifferently as he chewed. “One, named Sonoforen, was rumored to be trying to kill Mal many years ago, but no one’s seen him for probably a dozen years or more. Likely dead. The other son, Dormin, also hasn’t been heard from for many years. If you’re worried that something will happen on the anniversary, you needn’t be. There’s nowhere
in the world as safe as this mansion, I assure you.”
Peto looked thoughtfully at his plate. “Well, only as safe as a place can be that makes people dress up and eat food with fancy forks and dance afterward.” He looked up at his grandfather with a mischievous grin.
Relf winked back at him.
And just like that, they were fine again.
Mahrree was always a bit envious of males, and their ability to overcome a conflict in the same amount of time it takes to belch.
That just didn’t happen with every kind of relationship—
Mahrree realized that Perrin had twisted to steadily watch his mother who had completely ignored him for the past several minutes.
“Yes, about this dance, Mother,” Perrin intoned, “I remember dances. I also remember what young men think about when they put their arms around a young woman. And back then dresses still came up to a girl’s throat.”
“This one’s modest, Father,” Jaytsy promised. “Mother wouldn’t let me get the pink one.”
Perrin smiled briefly at his wife who returned it.
But Mahrree noticed that Jaytsy’s eyes were still glowing with the wonder of what “young men thought.” It was probably time for another with her daughter, especially if she’d been overhearing Kindiri and Lieutenant Riplak’s suggestive sweet roll and cucumber sandwich discussions, with a side helping of eyebrow waggling. It was just a good thing melons weren’t in season.
“Perrin,” Joriana started again, “Don’t you trust your mother’s judgment?”
“Mostly, yes. But I don’t trust young officers or young men. I used to be one.”
Joriana waved that off. “Then don’t you at least trust your daughter?”
“In the wrong situation, Mother, I wouldn’t even trust myself,” he said soberly. “And I’m many years older.”
“You’ll be there and Mahrree’ll be there the entire time!” Joriana gestured wildly. “You can follow the poor girl around if you want, introducing yourself to every young man who looks at her. You can even wear your sword. But let the girl enjoy herself, just once!”
“Perrin,” his father spoke up. “Listen to your mother. We’ve been doing this for years, and nothing improper has ever happened. It’ll look good if your family is there for once. Some have speculated about what you’ve been doing so far away and for so long. This will show the Shin family is still trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy,” Perrin repeated.
“You know what I mean,” said the general dismissively.
“No, actually, I don’t. What do you mean?”
“General,” Mahrree said quietly, “do you want me to reserve a place on that debating stage for you?”
It was hard to ignore her, but Relf did. “The Administrators need to be able to count on the Shin family to perform their duties, Perrin.” Something in the general’s voice suggested additional levels of meaning.
Perrin’s shoulders twitched. “I’ve never failed to perform my duty, sir. I’ve nothing on record to hide.”
“But you do in your eyes,” the general reminded him. He shifted in his cushions for a better position, while Perrin repositioned himself uncertainly. “All I’m suggesting, son, is we’ve been in a period of relative peace. When there’s no clear enemy to fight, some go looking for one, even to make one. We say we want peace, but conflict’s always been more interesting. Don’t make yourself a target.”
“The Administrators have plenty of enemies,” Perrin said heavily. “They’re called Guarders. Why should they worry about anything else?”
General Shin looked quickly around the table. No one had been eating for some time.
“General, I asked you a question!”
He turned to his son. “Because Guarders aren’t confined to the forests, Lieutenant Colonel! Guarders are in our city and villages, just biding their time. The sooner you realize our security’s been infiltrated, the better off you are. At some point, they will strike again. Not just little bits of thieving here and there, but a full-out show of force. The Administrators don’t want this knowledge out, but it’s crucial that it is.” His voice trailed off to a whisper. His revelation likely didn’t have the effect he expected.
Perrin scoffed. “I’ve heard that before. The Chief of Enforcement in Edge accused Shem of being a Guarder after that first successful raid on Edge. But there was no evidence then, and still none now. And you know Zenos well enough yourself to know he’s no threat.”
Relf shook his head. “I’m not accusing the master sergeant. But . . . there’s growing suggestion of Guarder infiltration, elsewhere.”
“What kind?” Perrin demanded.
“The Administrators have reason to suspect Guarders are living among us as spies. They dress, talk, and act like everyone else, but no one knows their real identities. It seems that even our citizens have joined their ranks.” Relf sighed. “Remember those two lieutenants that were found dead in front of the guest quarters when your mother and I were staying at your fort years ago? Perhaps they were more than just squabbling over a girl.”
His son was unconvinced. “Karna investigated that, and so did Idumea. Brisack even sent a report that there had been problems between them. There was no evidence of anything Guarder related.”
“But maybe others are related to Guarders,” the High General suggested. “Maybe those citizens know of their heritage and are continuing their work.”
Mahrree noticed Peto watching his grandfather with unusual intensity.
“It makes no sense,” Perrin scowled. “If they’re out there, and no one knows who they are, then how do we know?”
The general shook his head. “It’s just what some of the Administrators’ assistants say, Perrin, in whispers to some of my men. I don’t have hard evidence myself, just rumors that run back and forth. But rumors, as you know, quite often begin with a word of truth. If I could reveal our suspicions to the public, we might succeed in finding proof, either way!”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Perrin, you know well enough the Administrators don’t need hard evidence in order to become anxious. Some are looking only for hints and suggestions, and are eager to point their fingers. Anyone who doesn’t follow exactly what the Administrators are directing may be suspected of sympathizing with the other side. Son, they’re looking for disenchanted people just like—”
He glanced at his daughter-in-law who wore a look of dread for the past minute.
Perrin finished his sentence. “Just like me?”
The general exhaled and winced in pain as he did so. He gripped his ribs as he murmured, “No, no, no it’s not like that—”
“Well, there’s no reason to suspect me or my family!” Perrin said loudly. He looked at Mahrree, who trembled in worry.
She couldn’t help it. She remembered her letter-writing occupation of a few years ago. It was fortunate none of those letters questioning the changes in education and debating went past the junior skimmers to anyone of importance in the Administrative hierarchy, or someone could even be suspecting her.
But what if her letters had gone somewhere—
“There’s no evidence in our behavior,” Perrin insisted. “It’s not even as if we had any Guarder ties or family connections.”
The general glanced at his grandson—Peto’s gray eyes big and unblinking—before turning to the lieutenant colonel. He sat up as best he could among the pillows that nearly swallowed him. “Lieutenant Colonel Shin, I’m ordering you, as High General of Idumea, to do nothing that could cause you to be suspected of anything. You must do your duty—even if it means dancing, even if it means eventually moving back here and becoming a general. Is that understood, soldier?”
Mahrree’s hand covered her mouth in dread as she waited for her husband’s response to the direct order.
Jaytsy’s eyes shifted back and forth between her father and grandfather. Peto stared at his grandfather, and Joriana closed her eyes, waiting.
&nbs
p; When the lieutenant colonel finally spoke, his voice was low and steady. “You say I must do my duty, sir. But what if my duty to the Administrators comes in direct conflict with my duty to the Creator?”
The general stared back. “The Creator knows you must follow orders. A child who has neglectful parents isn’t responsible for what he doesn’t know. The Administrators will be held accountable for whatever they order you to do.”
“But what if,” the lieutenant colonel prodded, “despite poor parenting, that child still learns what’s right and wrong? If he then deliberately chooses what’s wrong, the Creator holds him responsible, not his parents. I’m ultimately responsible for what I do. One should not honor one’s ‘parents’ if it means going against the Creator’s will.”
The general was ready for that. “The Creator knows who the authority on the world is, and He knows we’re bound to the authorities.”
“I disagree, sir. The authorities weren’t selected by the Creator. They selected themselves. They don’t even know who the Creator is.”
Joriana couldn’t take anymore. She opened her eyes and gripped his arm. “Perrin, please—”
But her son was unmoved. “My wife suggested earlier that we’re here to find the truth and live it.”
Mahrree gulped and regretted her words.
“And I must agree,” he continued. “It’d be far worse to go against the Creator than against the Administrators. They may have temporary power over my body, but the Creator’s displeasure with me could last a thousand years.”
“Oh, Perrin!” Joriana exclaimed. “Why are you so dramatic? Most of what the Administrators do is fine. There are only a few things here and there that are worrisome. Just work around those. Think about your children!”
He turned to his mother. “I am thinking about them. I’ve thought of nothing besides them.”
“Then don’t they deserve a father who’s still here for them? Who can still protect them?” she pleaded. “Even if you just act like your typically obnoxious self, with the paranoid air that’s growing around the Administrators they may decide you’re a threat! And then what happens to you and to your family?”
Perrin looked at his son and daughter. Both of them were terrified, more so than on the morning of the land tremor.
Mahrree hoped he wouldn’t look at her. She was weeping quietly but didn’t want him to see it.
“Perrin,” his father’s voice had a softness none of them had ever heard before.
Perrin forced himself to turn to him.
“Please, son. You can still do so much, and for many people. But you have to do it in this system. We need you. Just be good.”
Perrin hung his head. After a long and awful silence he said, “I’m trying, Father.”
“Trying won’t be good enough tomorrow, Perrin,” Relf warned. “In the morning when you face those Administrators—”
Mahrree’s gasp was so loud it was nearly a scream. “What?”
Perrin looked up and gave her feeble smile. “Forgot to tell you. I’m supposed to meet with the Administrators tomorrow morning. Not completely sure why, but I’m sure we’ll still have time to take the tour of the city Mother was planning—”
Mahrree was sure she went whiter than the plastered walls around her. Her biggest fear in the world was about to happen tomorrow morning—
She couldn’t breathe anymore. She gasped and gasped again, trying to make her lungs move—
Perrin pushed away his chair and rushed to the other side of the table. He reached her just as panicked tears trickled down her face and one of her gasps finally produced a sob.
“Now, now, none of that,” he said as he crouched next to her and pulled her into him. “Remember, the walls don’t have ears. They know nothing about the nonsense we spout. It’s just our nature. We simply like to argue. Every family does, right? This meeting—it’s only a formality, I’m sure. No, don’t cry, don’t cry. Brisack said it would be a friendly ‘How are you doing’ type of thing. They probably just want to go over the menu for next week. Usually three or four Administrators come to The Dinner.”
Mahrree whimpered at the news and slumped into his arms.
Jaytsy sighed. “They’ll be coming to the Shin Family Dinner War of 335. That should keep them entertained.”
Chapter 10 ~ “Just smile and nod. Smile and nod.”