“I’m excited,” Ivy said, offering a nervous smile to her lady-in-waiting. “Aren’t you?”
She replied with a demure grin and nod.
“I’m nervous too. Are you nervous?” Ivy asked.
Another smile was her only reply.
“Why aren’t you answering?” Ivy asked.
“Because her role is to see to secretarial matters and those of etiquette. She isn’t to address any members of the delegation directly. That is the role of the diplomats and ambassadors,” Celeste quietly instructed.
“Oh… yes, yes. That’s right. You told me that.” She fidgeted. “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”
“Fold them in front of you. And stand still,” he said gently. “Do you remember the Tresson greeting?”
“I hold out my right hand and clasp their left shoulder, and they do the same to me.”
“Correct. But do not touch their shoulder until they raise their hand to do the same.”
Ivy nodded and took a steadying breath. Almost immediately she started fidgeting again.
“These slippers don’t fit properly. Women’s shoes just don’t fit my feet right. Can I do this barefoot?”
“I would advise against it.”
“I wish they would have let me cut a hole for my tail. The dress is bulgy in the back.” She ran her hands down the dress in a failed attempt to flatten it.
Her breathing became faster, and she began wringing her hands. When the horns sounded, heralding the arrival of the dignitaries at the city gates, she nearly leaped out of her skin.
“This… this was a mistake. I shouldn’t be the one doing this.” Her eyes darted, and though somewhat concealed by the similarly colored dress, a blue aura flared faintly around her.
“It wasn’t your decision. They requested you. It is your duty to serve.”
She looked to him, desperation in her eyes. “You should do this. You’re an ambassador. You can do this!”
“They requested you. It would be an insult to refuse.”
“But what if they don’t like me?”
“They won’t like you. You are a malthrope and a Northerner. You are everything they have been taught since birth to despise. But they are diplomats. If they are well trained, they will behave with respect and decorum.”
“Th-this is going to be a disaster! I’m going to ruin things! I’m going to make all of Kenvard look bad. I-I can’t do this.”
The blue aura was intensifying, flickering and flashing around her as she struggled to control it. Her lady-in-waiting took two startled steps back, gasping.
“I have to go! I have to go away right now!”
She grasped her skirt and hiked it up to keep from tripping over it, then turned toward the back of the church, eying a door she knew led to the alley behind it.
“Ivy.”
Greydon did not bellow the name. He merely spoke it, but somehow it had all of the force and authority of a command called down from the mountaintops. She stopped and snapped her head to him. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked her evenly in the eyes.
“Listen carefully. This meeting, this visit, exists because of you. You are a warrior and this is your land. You helped end the war. You are responsible for the peace we now enjoy. The people who will walk through that door are diplomats. They and a thousand like them were appointed by their king to negotiate an end to the war and they failed. You succeeded. You and the others have done more for the cause of peace than anyone else in either kingdom for more than a century. They should feel honored to stand in your presence. They came here to see you. They selected you because they knew there was no greater honor than to meet you. All you need to do is greet them and let them see the sort of person it takes to change the world. Just be you.”
The aura faded and she slowly caught her breath, taking his hand from her shoulder and clasping it briefly.
“Now I see where Myranda gets it,” Ivy said gratefully.
She released his hand and took her position, smoothing her skirt again and standing straight. “If I do something wrong, or forget to do something, just whisper it under your breath,” she said, tapping her pointed ear. “If you make any sound at all, I’ll hear it.”
“They are nearly here. Are you ready for them?” he asked.
“Yes… No, wait!”
Ivy turned and stepped quickly to the table, selecting one of the carving knives and twisting to reach the back of her dress. With a deft poke she pierced a small hole, then hooked her tail with a finger and pulled it through, fluffing it and swishing it until it was back to shape. She then replaced the knife and kicked her slippers off, padding back to her position and releasing a sigh of relief. Celeste gave her a measuring look. She glanced at him and smirked.
“If I’m going to be me, I’m going to be me,” she said.
A servant quickly snatched the knife and substituted a fresh one, then gathered her slippers and returned to his position. Moments later the door opened, and the small delegation stepped inside.
The ambassador assigned to Ivy was a woman, perhaps forty years of age. She was stately and proper from the tip of her tightly wrapped bun of black hair to the point of her fine leather shoes. Like Ivy she was clad in the colors of her land, a tawny fur cloak layered atop a red-orange gown with peach-colored embroidery. If there was one flourish to her appearance that seemed to be more of an appeal to fashion than tradition, it was her jewelry. There wasn’t an overabundance of it, but each piece she wore was notable for its size and quality. A ruby and gold ring on two fingers of her right hand, a silver and garnet necklace gleaming proudly against her dress, and a topaz earing in each ear.
The woman paced toward Ivy, flanked by two subordinates, who took her coat and handed it to one of the servants waiting beside the door. Though the ambassador’s face was even and neutral, there was something in her eyes and her posture that made Ivy feel as though she was being judged, and that the initial assessment was not good.
Ivy shifted her weight to step forward and greet the visitor, but Celeste touched her leg, reminding her that she was to wait until greeted. The dignitary approached her. Ivy lifted her arm until the ambassador matched her gesture, then gripped the shoulder of her visitor lightly. The ambassador mirrored her, though Ivy couldn’t help but notice she didn’t so much grasp her shoulder as touch it gingerly with her fingertips.
“On behalf of Queen and Empress Caya, I welcome you to New Kenvard,” Ivy said, taking her hand away and offering it for a shake.
“On behalf of King Aamuul, I am honored to visit your fair city,” she said, accepting the offered hand in a dainty shake. “My name is Ambassador Amorria Krettis.”
“I’m Ivy.” Her ear flitted toward Celeste. “That is to say, I am Guardian of the Realm, Heroine of the Battle of Verril, and Ambassador Ivy. And may I introduce Ambassador Greydon Celeste?”
Ambassador Krettis exchanged the traditional greetings with Celeste, then cast her eyes up and down Ivy slowly, lingering at her feet before sweeping her gaze up again. Ivy felt a flutter of anxiety at first, then a blush of pride.
“Oh! My dress,” Ivy said, turning in a circle. “Do you like it? It was made specially for me, and just for this occasion. Your gown is gorgeous by the way.”
“Thank you,” the ambassador said, her eyes drifting briefly to Ivy’s tail.
Ivy’s ear flicked. “Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable.”
The lady-in-waiting stepped forward to lead the ambassador to her seat, and Ivy sat opposite her. Celeste sat to her right. The rest of the servants and attendants remained standing.
“Please, all of you, sit down, dig in!” Her ear flicked. “Err… after we, the diplomats, are through eating, of course. As is custom. We’ll try to hurry up for you.”
The ambassador turned to Celeste. “Is this all the first course?”
He glanced to Ivy.
“No! No, this is everything,” Ivy said. “I know usually they bring out things one
at a time, but I like it better this way. Now you know everything we’re going to eat, so you can save room for—” Her ear flicked. She cleared her throat and took on a more serious tone. “If you like, the chef will describe the dishes and their origins.”
“I’m sure that will be most enlightening,” the ambassador said, again addressing Celeste.
One by one, those responsible for the meal stepped up to the table and described in detail the dish, its significance to the Northern Alliance, and the manner in which it was traditionally served and eaten. When the process was through, serving spoons and forks were set out and the meal began.
“I hope you enjoy it,” Ivy said. “I am starving.”
She reached to load her plate, flicked her ear, and then leaned back and allowed herself to be served.
“So your name is Amorria. That’s a lovely name. Is it common in Tressor…” she flicked her ear again, “Ambassador Krettis?”
“It is quite common, Ambassador…” She looked at Celeste. “I apologize, but is Ivy her family name?”
Ivy looked in confusion to Celeste as well.
“Madam Ambassador, while I would be happy to answer any questions you might have, Ambassador Ivy is the designated representative,” he said. “Both protocol and the will of your king would direct you to address her rather than me. Particularly on matters relating to her specifically.”
“Yes, of course.” She turned back to Ivy. “Is Ivy your family name?”
“No. I’m just Ivy. I don’t have a family name. … Well, there was a time when my family name would have been Melodia, but that was before…” She paused, trying to find the proper words. Finding none that seemed appropriate for the occasion, she simply repeated, “That was before.”
“Yes… they say that you were once human.”
“It’s more complicated than that, but I’d really rather not—”
“They also say that the duke and duchess of this region are great wizards.”
“Oh, that they are! Myranda and Deacon are truly amazing.”
“Is it not within their power to change you back?”
“As I said, it’s more complicated than that. This body is a malthrope. It has only ever been a malthrope. It can’t be changed back.”
“Perhaps if we broker a lasting peace, you might find your way to our land. We have some of the finest wizards in the world. I’m quite sure one of them could treat your condition.”
“I… I don’t have a condition, Ambassador. This is what I am. I like what I am. I don’t want to change.” Ivy swished her tail twice, as if for emphasis, then put her mouth to work on a bite of food before she slipped and said something she might regret.
“May I say, you eat quite daintily.”
Ivy furrowed her brow. “Thank you, I suppose… So do you. It isn’t easy though, with this feast.”
“I must agree. The meal has only just begun and its quality has vastly exceeded my expectations,” she said, sipping at a spoonful of soup.
“And wait until you try the desserts! Eliza cooked them. She’s the personal cook for Myranda and Deacon.” Her ear flicked. “The duke and duchess of Kenvard.”
“The duke and duchess,” Krettis said. “It is a shame I couldn’t meet them during this journey. I would have liked to conduct my first formal diplomatic reception with a more traditional representative of the north.”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed briefly, then her ear flicked. “Guardian of the Realm is one of the oldest and most honored titles in the long history of the Alliance, and is regarded by tradition as one of its most valued diplomatic positions.”
“Of course. My apologies,” Krettis said, without a drop of sincerity.
Ivy gripped her fork more tightly and speared some meat. She’d prepared herself to keep her fear in check. She’d not expected to have to cope with anger.
“You say this is your first formal diplomatic reception,” Ivy said, now not quite able to keep the irritation from her voice. “I wouldn’t have known it to look at you.”
“In Tressor our diplomats are selected and educated based upon the region to which we are to serve as representative. Owing to your empire’s disinterest in diplomacy until recently, I was not given any opportunities to ply my trade.”
“Now that the D’Karon are gone, I think you’ll find our people more than eager to mend the relationship between our nations.”
“Ah, yes. The D’Karon. I wonder if during our tour of your land I might meet any of these D’Karon. Perhaps in a prison?” she asked.
“I’m happy to say that there aren’t any D’Karon left.”
“I see. Rather convenient that you would blame all of the atrocities committed by your nation on a group whom you claim to have entirely eradicated in a matter of months. And this coming from a nation that couldn’t even rid itself of…” She paused, for the first time offering a flicker of regret for her wording.
Ivy’s lip twitched and her fist clenched tightly around her fork. Celeste put a hand on her arm. The temperature in the room suddenly felt considerably warmer, but through some miracle the red aura of anger did not flare. “Say it. Say ‘malthropes.’ Brag to me about killing my kind.”
The ambassador sat quietly, her face still steady, but her eyes betraying more than a bit of concern. Ivy placed her fork on the table. It had been bent effortlessly by her grip.
“I know that you hate me. You hate me because I am a malthrope and you hate me because I am from the north. I’m used to hate. I deal with it all the time. Hating someone comes from not knowing them well enough, and you are here so that we can fix that. But I think we both underestimated just how much needs to be fixed. Mr. Celeste told me you’d treat me with respect and decorum because that’s what diplomats do. You said this is your first time, and I’m sure it shows that it is my first time, too. Mistakes were bound to happen. I’m willing to set this one aside. Peace is much too important to be shattered by a few angry words, right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I agree,” Krettis said, taking a rather large sip of wine.
“But! Since we already broke the respect-and-decorum rule, I don’t see any reason to adhere to some of the other silly little bits of protocol. Everyone. Servants, cooks, everyone. Pull up a chair. Eat. This is a feast after all. Let’s enjoy it properly.”
Ivy tugged off her gloves and reached across the table to heap her plate as the servants and underlings reluctantly joined their superiors. Ivy took the leg from a turkey and tore into it, chewing happily as she turned to Celeste. He had an uncertain look on his face.
Ivy shrugged. “No sense being dainty anymore.”
#
Across the continent, at a border crossing south of Territal similar to the Loom River crossing, a pair of diplomats and a sizable entourage of servants and soldiers were waiting with increasing anxiety for Ether to arrive. They had been informed of her agreement to attend, but owing to her unusual lack of travel requirements, they didn’t know precisely when she would arrive. All involved had assumed she would arrive a day or more ahead of time in order to be briefed and properly prepared for the introduction. Now the carriages of the visiting dignitaries were visible on the road to the south, and the Guardian who was to greet them had still not arrived.
Of those present, the most concerned were the two diplomats, an old man named Gregol and a somewhat younger woman named Zuzanna. Gregol was a rail-thin, hunched-over man who would have looked fit to collapse under the weight of his ceremonial robes even under the best of circumstances. In the face of the looming political disaster, he was shuffling back and forth, wringing his hands and stroking his beard.
“Perhaps… perhaps she has been killed!” Gregol fretted.
“She is an elemental, and a shapeshifter. I am not certain she can be killed,” reasoned Zuzanna.
She was young enough to still have a few strands of blond amid her head of gray hair. She supported her weight on an oak and copper cane and, though equally concerned, was a bit better at maintai
ning her composure.
“Yes. Yes! She can take on any form! Perhaps she is already here! If any of you is Guardian of the Realm Ether, please speak up!”
“Gregol, I believe she is approaching,” Zuzanna said, pointing.
He turned his eyes to the western sky, where the wail of wind was growing steadily sharper. There was a barely discernible form approaching, but it grew more distinct with each moment, coming as a tight rush of air wrapped about a small brown book. When it reached them, all eyes watched in fascination as Ether’s human form coalesced out of the swirling gale
“Guardian Ether, it is an honor,” Zuzanna said, bowing her head reverently.
“An honor and a privilege,” added Gregol, offering the same sign of respect. “We wish only that we might have had the privilege sooner.”
“Oh? This is the time indicated for the beginning of this tiresome errand, is it not?”
“Yes, but you have never performed a task of this sort,” Gregol said. “There is style, protocol. There are things you must do, and things you must not!”
“Then speak. Tell me the rules for this insipid game,” Ether said.
“Might I suggest you begin by avoiding ‘insipid,’ ‘game,’ and other words of that sort when speaking of diplomacy to other diplomats, great Guardian.”
“There simply isn’t time for either of us to tell you all you should know. The carriages will be here in minutes.”
“Then both of you speak at once,” Ether said simply.
“How can you listen to both of us?”
“I am quite capable of splitting my attentions sufficiently.”
“There are interactions we must rehearse, things which will require your undivided attention,” Zuzanna said.
Ether looked wearily from one of the advisers to the other.
“Hold this,” she said irritably, handing the book to Zuzanna.
When the woman accepted it, Ether stepped away and, in blast of brilliant light and searing heat, shifted to flame. The advisers stumbled backward, mouths agape, as the figure of flames separated into two, then shifted back to flesh. Standing before them was a pair of Ethers, each looking expectantly to one of the advisers.
The D'Karon Apprentice Page 7