She did drink a little too much of the wine, 44
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though. Her mouth was so dry, the lamps were so bright, and she kept flushing for no real reason except an ongoing case of acute embarrassment, and the only thing to drink was the wine, at least until the dessert course came and she was able to cool her flushes with sherbet. She knew she was tipsy because she got light-headed, and after that she said even less and moved with great care. A fine thing it would be for her to spoil the impression she’d made by getting drunk!
Finally, after the dessert, she snatched at the opportunity to ask the Queen’s permission to leave; Cassiopeia was deep in conversation with Lady Charis at that point, and simply waved a hand at her daughter. Feeling as if she was trying to balance on the edge of a cliff, Andie got up slowly, and just as slowly sketched a brief curtsy, and walked out, into the shadowed rooms beyond. The Royal Guards at the Queen’s door stood like a pair of statues; she murmured a quiet good-night to them, and they nodded back. While she was within sight of them, she did her best to walk steadily, but once on her own, she felt her steps wavering a little, and she didn’t bother to correct them until she came in sight of the Guards on her wing. The two Guards on her own door saluted her, and she nodded back, but neither she, nor they, spoke.
The cool breeze felt wonderful on her hot forehead, and it woke her up a bit, but she didn’t feel safe until the doors to her own wing closed behind her One Good Knight
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and she was able to put her back against them, closing her eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“Princess?” She opened her eyes. One of her faithful Six, Merrha, was standing beside the door to the next chamber, holding a lantern and peering through the darkness at her.
“I’m afraid I had a little too much wine and not nearly enough dinner, Merrha,” she said, her tongue feeling unnaturally thick.
“Thought as much. Come along, dear,” the Guard said in a motherly fashion, coming to take her arm and guide her to her bedchamber. “I know you were on edge about that business you wrote up for old Solon. It seems to have done the trick rumor says, and you’re coming up in the world, I heard? I think I might have a glass or two too many if I’d been sitting in your chair, having all that thrown at me.”
She turned astonished eyes on the graying old Warrior woman. “You mean—you already know?”
She had been dreading the thought of trying to figure out how to tell them—her head had been buzzing with the problem all during that strange dinner. But now—
“Of course!” Merrha laughed. “You can’t keep anything secret from the Guard here in the Palace.
Oh, we’ll miss you like blazes, my darling girl, but we all should have been retired years ago and would have if we hadn’t been worried about leaving you friendless with those hateful bitches Her Majesty set as your governesses.”
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“She’s going.” That, she was able to say with satisfaction.
Merrha laughed. “She’s gone. Sent packing while you were at dinner. Now we won’t have to worry about you anymore. You’ll be the one in charge here, not them, you can pick your own people. And we’ve heard Lady Thalia is all right. It’s about time you got a real household of your very own, and it’s not as if you need us, old gray dogs that we are—”
“But I do need you!” she wailed, and to her own horror, burst into half-drunk tears.
The Queen and Solon lingered over their wine once the other ladies had retired. Not that there was even a hint of impropriety; she had ordered the outer doors to the Great Hall be opened “to let the breeze blow through,” and her two Guards could see them both, if not hear them. Such painstaking caution was how she had kept her relationship with Solon untainted by speculation all these years.
Of course, no one knew of the other ways Solon could come to her chamber, once the last of her maids had been dismissed. They thought all of his amulets and charms were the sign of superstition and a timorous nature. If they only knew…
“That went well, I thought,” she said, idly turning her wineglass around and around.
“I am cautiously optimistic,” Solon replied, steepling his hands on the table. “The Princess is pitiably eager to please you. So long as we can keep One Good Knight
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her gaze directed only at what we want her to see, this may work out very well. Certainly giving her charge over her own household will resonate well with the people. And it won’t hurt to trot her out for their inspection from time to time. Her physical immaturity will work on your behalf—no one would believe she is older than fourteen, especially not at a distance. That will eliminate those pesky rumors that you’ve been keeping her locked up because she’s feeble-minded.”
“She’ll hate that,” the Queen replied with a chuckle. “And it will certainly cure her of wanting to put herself forward in any way.”
“I am concerned about possible marriage offers, however,” Solon continued, with a sharp glance at her.
“Apparent immaturity will be no drawback there.”
This time the Queen’s throaty laugh sounded like a cat’s purr. “And therein lies the genius of assigning Lady Charis to her wardrobe. Lady Charis is much enamored of the styles from her cousin’s land of Lytheria, the ones that emphasize waiflike proportions and pale skin. Obviously none of us is suited to the style, and none of us wishes to look like draped poles or famine victims, but Andromeda is the perfect model for such garments. Between Kyria’s plan to give her oculars that will make her look like an owl, and Charis’s Lytherian gowns in colors that will make her look like a ghost, any ambassador that comes sniffing about will think the child is about to fade away from consumption.” She lowered her lids 48
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in satisfaction at his look of surprise. “I’ve told you a hundred times if I’ve told you once, Solon, that fashion is a weapon, and you never believe me.”
He spread his hands wide. “Once again, you leave me dazzled.”
“Once again, I demonstrate that our abilities are complimentary,” she replied, sipping her wine. “On the whole, this evening has been entirely satisfactory.”
“Should I put her to a task?” he asked. She shook her head.
“Not yet. She’ll be busy with the setting up of her new household. Charis will appear first thing with fabric and seamstresses—she’ll feel she has to know everything about her household, even though Thalia is perfectly capable of making it all run seamlessly and invisibly. And while I am at it, I believe I will send over some of the furnishings from the Dowager Queen’s household that have been in storage, to replace everything that dates from Andromeda’s childhood. This will serve two functions—having so much to think about will prevent her from recalling all the servants and Guards I am going to replace, until it is too late to bring them back, and organizing her rooms will keep her a little unsettled.” She licked her lips. “I want her unsettled. I never want her to be comfortable or confident. I want her always to be a little unbalanced. While she is off balance, she will not think to look much beyond what she is told to look for.
Ambition—in moderation. I want her ambition to go no further than to please me. I want her controlled.”
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“I think that can be arranged, Majesty,” Solon replied dryly. “I am nothing if not an expert at keeping people unsettled.”
“So you are,” she purred, and flicked a curl back over her shoulder with one finger. “So you are.”
When Andie woke the next morning, it was in a mixed frame of mind; she’d had odd dreams all night, reflecting her ambivalence. On the one hand, she was about to lose her six dearest friends and protectors, people who had been more nearly parents to her than her own mother. But on the other hand—
“Good morrow, Princess!” A brand-new maid dressed in a gown of green and silver swept into the room carrying a tray, which she set down on
Andie’s bed. Then she handed Andie the oculars from the bedside table, something the other maids had never done. Andie put them on and watched her, a bit taken aback while the maid went around the room, flinging back the draperies from the windows. The tray held herb tea, buttered bread, fruit and sheep’s-milk yogurt mixed with honey, something Andie particularly liked first thing in the morning. It was, in fact, breakfast in bed. In her entire life, Andie had never had the treat of breakfast in bed…for that matter, in her entire life, Andie had never had exactly the breakfast she liked best without having to ask for it, and even then, more times than not, she hadn’t gotten it.
“I am your new handmaiden, and my name is Iris,” the girl announced, returning to the bedside.
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She was, truth to tell, a rather plain, freckle-faced girl, big-boned and looking more like a shepherdess than a maid. But she had an infectious smile, and when she added, “Merrha’s my auntie, I’ve been working in the Palace where Lady Thalia’s been the Steward. Auntie told me a long time ago that if Lady Thalia was ever sent for, I was to put myself forward to come along with her, especially if there was a vacancy in your household. Thalia’s a good mistress, and when I did ask if I might be considered, she said she thought we’d suit, you and I.”
Since the maid that had served Andie yesterday had been disinclined to do anything without being ordered, and was impersonal, cold, and as opaque as a stone wall, Iris was a definite improvement. Add to that, she was Merrha’s niece—well, suddenly Andie didn’t feel quite so alone.
“I can do hair in the Gordian Knot, the Kalliope Knot, the Centaur Tail, the Twisted Knot and Twisted Tail with sidelocks, but I can’t do curls,” Iris continued, putting the tray on Andie’s lap, shaking out a napkin and laying it across the front of Andie’s night-dress. “I can do makeup, but someone will have to show me what I’m to put where. I’m good with wardrobe, I mend, and I can make creams and lotions and apply them, and massage. I can’t read, but I can tell stories, and I can play a shepherd’s flute.”
Andie blinked as Iris stepped back. “You already sound much more talented than my previous maid, Iris,” she said, finally.
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“Good. Then that’s sorted,” Iris said with immense satisfaction, giving another broad smile.
“You suit me, and I suit you. Lady Charis is waiting with a seamstress and fabric as soon as you’re done eating, Lady Thalia wants you to look over more servants while you’re being fitted, and that’s all there is for now. Would you like me to select a gown for the day, or would you prefer to?”
“Oh, pick anything,” Andie said vaguely, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Fittings already? And servant interviews? What next?
She ate quickly, drizzling the yogurt liberally over her sliced fruit, and feeling very much as if she was going to need the extra energy. After rejecting several selections in the wardrobe, Iris brought out a plain ankle-length gown, in a blue that looked faded but actually wasn’t, and an embroidered belt that laced up the front that matched. As soon as Andie was finished with her breakfast, Iris whisked the tray away, and briskly got her into her gown, then sat her down at the little stool in front of the dressing table. With fingers that were surprisingly deft and gentle, she brushed out and put up Andie’s hair—not in a knot, but in some kind of tail on the top of her head, with a strand wrapped around the base of it. “Centaur Tail,” said Iris in satisfaction, turning Andie to face the mirror. “Suits you.”
It certainly did suit her. It got her hair away from her face and under control, but it was softer than the severe knot she usually wore. She looked at herself 52
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and smiled a little. This…was a surprise, as pleasant a surprise as the breakfast had been.
“Lady Charis is waiting, and Lady Thalia,” Iris reminded her, and with a guilty start, the maid jumped to her feet.
“No slippers,” Iris said, as Andie looked about for her favorite old sandals. “They’re measuring your feet, too. Matching shoes to matching gowns.
And new under-things, petticoats, under-gowns, stockings, underwear and all. Lady Thalia says yours are a disgrace.”
“I suppose they are. I never think about them,”
Andie admitted guiltily.
“Your maid should have,” Iris replied tartly. “You aren’t supposed to have to. I’ll salvage what I can in here—you go, Princess!”
Andie nodded and got up. Iris ran to the door to hold it open for her with a wink, and closed it behind her. Andie stopped dead, staring around her in shock.
Only three pieces of furniture were left in what had once been crammed full of old, outgrown, nursery furnishings: One low stool, one small table and a chair. The table and chair were already occupied by Lady Thalia; beside the stool were Lady Charis and another woman.
“Come stand on the stool, Princess, so we can measure you,” said Lady Charis, when she didn’t move. “That is a very good hairstyle for you. I believe that your new maid is a great improvement.”
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“I thought she would be,” Lady Thalia observed with satisfaction.
“Where did all the furniture go?” Andie asked, feeling as if she had stepped into someone else’s rooms.
“We’ve had that wreckage taken away,” said Lady Thalia. “You’re to have your wing properly refurnished. You aren’t a child anymore, after all. You don’t need nursery furniture.”
“No,” she said, feeling dazed. “Of course not…”
Obediently, she stepped up onto the stool, where the second woman, probably a seamstress, measured every possible part of her that could be measured, drew outlines of her feet, then made a rather good sketch of her face and took measurements of that, noting the measurements. Meanwhile Lady Charis held samples of fabric up to her face, making hum-ming noises to herself, handing some to the seamstress, tossing most into a basket.
And while all of this was going on, a parade of servants came into the room to be interviewed by Lady Thalia. Some, she had seen about the Palace, others were total strangers. As each interview was concluded, Lady Thalia looked at her with a most penetrating gaze; after the first one, Andie realized that she was supposed to show approval or disapproval, and the realization made her feel dizzy. She had never been allowed to pick any servant before, much less all of them!
A very few candidates she liked immediately. Some she disliked even before they opened their mouths.
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Some seemed utterly unsuited to the positions they were applying for. On the rest—‘‘I haven’t the experience to judge,” she said, deferring to Lady Thalia.
She was afraid that this would lose her the Lady’s respect, but on the contrary, her new household Steward seemed to approve guardedly. It was altogether astonishing how many new servants it seemed she would need. She was going to have her own cooks and all of their helpers, her own housekeeping staff, her own gardener and his helpers, as well as maids and pages, footmen and Guards. Only with the Guards did she feel on firm footing; most of them she knew at least on sight, and several she’d known almost as long as she had known her faithful Six. She was supposed to choose a total of eighteen; she had no difficulty doing so. All presenting themselves were young, and she thought it was going to be rather strange to see no gray hairs among them.
She chose two-thirds male, one-third female, a ratio of which Lady Thalia also approved.
“The men will stand guard at the door to your wing, and in the garden,” Lady Thalia announced.
“The women will serve here within your rooms.”
About the time that Lady Charis and the seamstress left and the interviews concluded, the new furniture began to arrive.
“Leave my bed!” Andie cried in alarm, when she saw serving-men heading into her bedroom with empty hands and a purposeful look in their eyes.
They stopped in their tr
acks.
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Lady Thalia took a quick look in through the door. “The bed is the only piece of furniture in this wing fit to be used,” she pronounced. “Take down the bed curtains, though, they’re a disgrace. And the window curtains. Bring new, in the Princess’s colors.”
And in marched the servants; shortly thereafter, out they came, with every piece of furniture except her bed.
“Have you any particular desires as to how you want things arranged, Princess?” Lady Thalia asked.
Andie stood there uncertainly, then shook her head.
“In that case, I will have them follow my diagram and you and I can retreat from this madhouse to your new study.”
My new study? she thought, dumbstruck. She followed Lady Thalia into what had been the nursery playroom and last night had still been stuffed full of worn and broken toys, child-size furniture, picture books and the like. Now—
Now the warm and sunny room was a study. A real study, like her mother’s. The low bookcases, battered and tilting, had been taken out. In their place stood floor-to-ceiling bookcases, made for adult books and ornaments, and arranged on the bookcases were the books that had once been arranged in piles on the floor in what she had designated as her “reading room.” There was a backless couch, with one high arm to recline against.
There was a real desk, a proper-size one, already set up to take the best advantage of the light, with cub-
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byholes stocked with various sizes of paper, enough pens to have denuded a flock of geese, and three fat-bottomed, heavy inkwells, the kind you couldn’t tip over if you tried, holding red, black and sepia ink. And sealing wax. She went over to it, feeling as if she must be in a dream, to see that there were even two kinds of seals, the kind for wax and the kind for ink. She picked one up. It was the escutcheon of the Royal House of Acadia, inside a lozenge to show it was a Child of the House rather than the King or Queen.
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