"That is not the point," Michael shouted, much louder than he had intended. In a softer tone he went on, "Turo teaches...my mother taught...never before marriage. It is a condition of our covenant with God."
"Never?" Cati repeated sceptically. "You'll never convince me of that."
"Only in rare cases of great passion," Michael confessed. Gabriel had famously forsaken honour out of love for Aurelia, and the Callistus family was the consequence; but Michael sometimes wondered if his flaws did not come solely from his sire but from the lingering taint of Gabriel's madness. "For all of Filia Tullia's virtues I feel no such overbearing passion for her, at least not now when I am in my righter mind."
Cati laughed. "The music doesn't create what isn't there. It simply accentuates it."
Oh, God forgive me. Michael bowed his head in shame. "I... what I feel... Filia Tullia is beyond me. I am not worthy of so admirable a maid. And so I do not risk her health and reputation, nor risk a child be born to shame and sorrow."
"You won't, hmm?" Cati said. "That's a pity, it might have been fun. But I won't force you and I won't lose sleep over it. Do you not chafe against Turo's rules? Dala was never so restrictive."
"The Dalanim may do as they wish, so long as Dala permits," Michael said. "But Turo demands obedience and faithfulness in his servants, and I will give Him both."
Cati nodded. "I can respect that. If you want to get away from the music, I'd advise climbing this hill. There's a grove up there that is protected from the forest's more captivating sounds. You'll be safe there." There was an undercurrent of mockery in her tone, but Michael did not care.
"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Michael said.
"I'd tell you to have fun, but I don't think that you really want to." Cati laughed as she turned and headed back towards the revelry.
Michael went in the opposite direction, and began to climb the hill. He pushed through the bushes and stepped over the tree roots, moving the branches aside as he stomped upwards, the dryad music mocking his retreating back. Thoughts of honour, and of what his mother would have to say about his behaviour, God rest her, kept him from obeying its insidious summons, however.
He reached the top of the hill, which was ringed with a circle of blue stones that glimmered on the ground as they lay amongst the long grass. The hilltop was mostly bare, save for a thick tangle of gnarled oaks in the very centre. Michael stepped into the circle, and the music stopped. It was as if he had been brought to another place, far away where the sound did not carry. Michael frowned, and stepped outside the circle. The music resumed. Raising his eyebrows at the strange warding power of the circle, Michael stepped back into it and heard the music cease. He felt all temptation fall from his shoulders to lie unnoticed on the ground.
"So you made it here too, eh?"
"Amy?" Michael said. There she was, sitting with her back to one of the ancient trees, Magnus Alba resting with his point upon the ground, her helm by her side. Michael approached. "How did you find out about this place?"
"The moment I realised that there was a siren-dance going on down there I knew I didn't want any part of it, and I knew there'd be a place like this somewhere," Amy said. "Every lordly seat has somewhere like this, where passion cannot be inflamed to overwhelm thought. Once Gwawr understood what I meant she directed me here."
"Siren-dance?" Michael asked, sitting down beside her.
"Sirens are great singers and dancers," Amy said. "They have...an unnatural effect upon their audience. If you aren't prepared for it... let's just say the first time I ever saw a siren dancing I made an absolute ass of myself. Never again."
She said nothing more, and Michael - who had come close to doing much worse than making an ass of himself - did not ask. Instead they sat for a few moments in companionable silence as the moon and the stars shone above them.
"Here." Michael plucked a red-and-white flower off the ground, and reached around to pin it in Amy's hair. "Your hair may not be long enough to braid, but it's long enough for this at least."
Amy snorted, but she did not remove the flower. She looked up at the stars set in the firmament above. "Michael, what do you think of this place?"
Michael looked around. "There are a lot of trees."
She gave him a soft punch on the arm. "Seriously. What do you think about it, all in all? Would you want to live here?"
"No," Michael replied. "The music is too loud and the rest...the dryads are nice enough, decent folk, better than decent but... this is not my ideal home. It's too peaceful by a coastal mile. Much too peaceful if one murder, even of a queen, is counted so rare. I crave fight and action too much to tarry long in such a peaceful place."
Amy nodded. "The same goes for me too, I reckon. I mean, how do you prove yourself in a place like this? That Fiannuala, she calls herself a fighter yet never fought before yesterday. They have some warriors at least, but those warriors feared to face Meinir. It's made them soft, the way peace and protection do, like peasants so used to sheltering beneath a powerful lord they have no clue how to fend for themselves." She bit her lip. "Do you think that this is bad of us?"
Michael frowned. "I feel a little ashamed, true, but I don't see why you ought to our Amy. My character, the violent adjunct to the quest, the warrior of passions great and temper fierce, is expected to find peace in a peaceful place, even to the extent of making them his home as Rheoboam did. And yet I cannot find it in myself to crave this place and what it offers. Another way I fall short of expectations I suppose."
"I'm not talking about our character archetypes, you daft prat, this isn't some epic poem no matter what you think," Amy snapped. "I'm talking about us, only being able to fight."
"I am not only able to fight our Amy, thank you," Michael replied in injured tone. "I can cook and sew and fetch and carry and mend boots and-"
"Yes, because I can really see you sitting in a rocking chair mending shirts like your mother used to," Amy said. "Come on Michael, admit it: we're fighters, you and me."
"I'd rather not," Michael muttered. His mother had tried to raise him to be more than a brute with a sword after all.
"Neither would I," Amy said. "Ser Viola, the knight I squired for, can tilt the best lance in all the Whalewatch, she is one of the best swords sworn to my lord grandfather. But she can also play the lyre, sing half a hundred songs and much else besides. She was not constantly waiting for wars so that she would be able to do something useful."
Michael shifted to look at her. "What are you trying to say our Amy?"
"The only people who dislike peace are those who cannot do anything but make war. Doesn't it bother you that that makes us less than people like Jason or Cati, who could still make something of themselves, thrive even, in a world where there was no war, no violence?"
"And if we lived in a world where nobody needed to eat to live then painters would be valued more than bakers, but that doesn't make a blind bit of difference to the world we live in now. People do need to eat and wars need to be fought because violence is embedded in the soul of man. And so the world, the Empire, will always need people like us as well as people like his Highness."
"Maybe it does," Amy said. "But that doesn't make it right the way that everyone judges strength and skill at arms ahead of everything else. The way that nothing else matters besides how well you can fight."
"That I will admit," Michael said. "The blade should not be loved more than that which it defends, the warrior should not be prized higher than the farmer who feeds him because the farmer shelters behind the warrior. The firstborn son, who fights, is less of a man than the second born who creates something worth fighting for. I have always acknowledged those truths. But I will not bow my head in shame for fighting, for all that I love the thrill of it too much." He frowned. "What has prompted this, our Amy?"
"This place," Amy said with a sigh. "I've never been to a place that didn't need warriors before."
"They have warriors," Michael said. "The Imperial Army, beneath whose prot
ection they shelter, along with the rest of the Empire. The warriors are simply far away, that is all. And besides, there is no reason you could not learn to play the harp, or to sing a hundred songs."
"You obviously haven't heard me trying to play the harp."
"I remember you were a magnificent Princess Miranda in the Covenant pageant," Michael said. "You have no bestial temper to combat, no taste for blood, no rage inside you that makes you unfit for society. Even if duty is a balm to my soul, it will still chain me to arms for all the days of my life. You are not so bound."
"No, I'm here because I love the song of swords, and see my fortune in them," Amy said. "I could learn to sing, perhaps, but I will never be as famous as a singer as I would be as a warrior; and my god Michael I want to be known. I want my name on every tongue, I want my tale told round every fireside, I want to be cheered in the street, I want a host of men to follow my banner and a field of peasants to bow at my feet. I want glory and all its trappings. Isn't it terrible?"
"No," Michael said quietly. "I think you deserve it all and more, our Amy."
Amy shook her head. "Of course you do." She might have said more, but at that moment Jason wandered into the circle, his hair askew and his coat rumpled, looking very pleased with himself in a vague, almost dazed kind of way.
"I have just had a rather delightful time," His Highness declared. "Very convivial in fact."
"Has Your Highness seen Tullia?" Michael asked.
"No, I'm afraid not," Jason said. "I was, frankly, not in a position to see much except the sky. After the first young man I intended to go and look for her, but then there were two sisters-"
"Are you sure you're not a hentai'i in disguise?" Amy said with an impish grin. "Any moment now you'll be growing tentacles and trying to feel up passing mermaids."
"I will have you know that they were all as desirous as I was," Jason said, slurring his words only slightly. "I am not a lecher."
"That, Your Highness, is a matter of definition," Michael said.
"You're a very self-righteous prig at times, you know?" Jason said as he sat down heavily beside them. "I suppose you too both clung to unhealthy principles of chastity and sneered at everyone enjoying themselves below."
"What stays do for feeble bodies, firm principles do for feeble minds, weak wills and infirm spirits," Michael said. "I do not force my views and opinions upon others so there is no harm done."
"My eye you don't, hah!" Jason laughed. "What about you, Amy?"
"Don't do anything when the music's playing that you'll regret once the music stops," Amy said. "Hey, Jason, would you like to live in a place like this?"
Jason pondered for a moment. "No."
"Really, we thought this would be your sort of place," Amy said. "Peaceful, free and all that."
"It's true I find those things desirable, and if I had the power to make the world as I saw fit I would make a world full of both," Jason said. "But I would not make a world like this. It is too in the past, and there are too many things about the modern world that I enjoy even if there are also things that I despise. No, I would not choose Eena. Though it is no bad place to spend a sojourn."
Amy said, "I'm kind of surprised that Gideon isn't up here with us. He's never struck me as the party sort."
"It wouldn't surprise me if he was immune to the charms of the dryads," Jason said. "Ice for blood that one." He glanced around, as if he half expected Gideon to appear behind him.
"You do him wrong, both of you," Michael said. "He has a heart as we all do. But he devotes it to the Empire so strongly there is no room for anything else."
"There's room for you," Amy said.
"Is there really?" Jason said. "I do wonder sometimes."
"So this is where you all are, eh?" Fiannuala stepped into the circle, half carrying Tullia, woozy to the point of near unconsciousness, into it alongside her. Tullia muttered something indistinct, ending with a low moan.
"Is she hurt?" Michael said as he and Jason stood up.
"No, but on top of the music someone gave her a skin of unwatered elderberry wine and I don't think she was used to the strength," Fiannuala said. Gently she laid Tullia out upon the grass. "I didn't think about how our revels would affect you, being outsiders and humans and all, I'm sorry."
"It doesn't affect you?"
"It does, but we can still think clearly, mostly; clear enough to control ourselves anyway. I think we have less inhibitions than you do anyway, and that helps," Fiannuala said. "But you... Cati told me about you Michael, and I had to stop Tullia before she did something she'd regret in the morning."
"Thank you for taking care of her," Jason said.
"Don't mention it," Fiannuala waved his gratitude away. "Hey, you're all going to be leaving soon aren't you?"
Michael nodded.
"Can I come with you? On your quest?"
"Really?" Amy said. "You want to leave the forest?"
"I don't want to spend my whole life in a place you can walk across in no more than two days, at best," Fiannuala said. "I want to see things, I want to see the world, I want to do things that get sung of. I'm tired of living in mother and Cati's shadow, and if I stay I'll just be one more shadow for Gwawr. I'm a young tree, I need room to grow."
Michael frowned. "What does your father say to this?"
"He doesn't know yet, but I'm sure he won't mind," Fiannuala said. "Don't worry, I'm not asking you to betray him or anything. I'll get the nod out of him, don't worry."
"Lord Gideon must consent also," Michael said. "He is the leader of our company though he does not always behave so. But, if he will have you and the king will permit your going then I for one would be honoured to fight alongside you again. Welcome to our company, Princess Fiannuala."
XVI
The Dreams of a Princess
"So what made you decide to come back here again?" Octavia asked, as the litter swayed down the road towards the palace. Miranda had insisted that Octavia start sharing the litter with her, now that they were sharing other things besides. "After what Princess Romana said to you the last time?"
"Not the pleasure of her company, to be sure," Miranda said. "It's for Portia. I think she would be very hurt if I abandoned her. You should meet her. She is... she's a very lovely person, as strange as it is to think of such a thing existing in this city."
Octavia frowned. "You're not very happy here, are you?"
"What makes you say that?" Miranda asked.
"If you were happy you wouldn't find the idea of there being nice people in this city so strange," Octavia replied.
Miranda let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, I suppose you've got me there." She sighed. "I don't know, it's...partly I think I'm just worried about Michael and it's making me angry. But then, it isn't just that. It's the way everyone in this place seems to have an agenda. Everyone lies to me, everyone wants to manipulate me, when they don't want to kill me. Everyone except you and Portia. That's why she's so special, that's why I can't abandon her because I don't like her sister in law very much."
"I used to think that Lord Father didn't have an agenda," Octavia murmured.
Miranda shook her head. "Best not talk about that." He has an agenda all right, I'm just not quite sure what it is, yet. Is Abigail right about his relationship with Prince Antiochus? "Anyway, if Lord Quirian is going to manipulate me then at least he is paying for the privilege. And I have survived othe people with agendas, I will survive him too."
"Yes, you will," Octavia said emphatically. "I'll protect you, however and from whoever."
Miranda chuckled, reaching over to put a hand gently over Octavia's palm. "I know. I always feel safe with you. But I don't want to talk about Princess Romana or Lord Quirian now. Leave them until we see them. Let's talk about us." She began to walk her fingers up Octavia's bare arm. Octavia had started dressing in a way that made her wings more comfortable, which generally meant shoulderless, low-backed blouses that left her wings free to spread out and her arms bare. "I ha
ve been thinking that we might get a house together."
"R-really?" Octavia squeaked. "You mean, leave Lord Father's house?"
"Exactly," Miranda said. "I would still be protected by you, but we would have some privacy to..." She grinned. "Be ourselves, without worrying about interruptions." Danaus had come in only a couple of days earlier. It had been quite embarrassing.
Octavia blushed. "I, um."
"If you don't want to, just say," Miranda said quickly, worried that she might be pushing too hard, too fast. "It was just a suggestion."
"No, I just, I'd love to but... I don't know what Lord Father will say," Octavia conceded.
"We'll find out when he gets back, when we ask him together," Miranda said. "It should be quite fun, shouldn't it?"
"I don't know," Octavia said. "I've never lived on my own."
"Oh, I've tried that, living alone is terrible," Miranda said. "Living with someone you love, that should be much more bearable."
Octavia's face deep crimson. "You, you l-l...really?"
Miranda realised what she had said. "Yes, I suppose I do. Is it so surprising?"
Octavia stammered incoherently.
Miranda smiled fondly. "Come here." She pulled Octavia into an embrace, her burning face resting on Miranda's shoulder. "I am going to teach you to recognise what a wonderful person you are, no matter what anyone else says. And I do love you."
"I bet you say that to all the girls," Octavia murmured.
"What girls?" Miranda asked. "You think I'm experienced? Clearly I'm more impressive than I thought."
Octavia's face burned even hotter against Miranda's shoulder. "I, uh, that isn't quite-"
"Personally I thought you were the experienced one," Miranda continued. "Your hands have obviously done that many times."
Octavia's squeaked with embarrassment.
Miranda cackled. "I'm sorry, I just can't help it. You're far too easily flustered. You'd never guess I was raised as a devout Turonim, would you? Honestly, there was only one girl before you."
Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) Page 55