by Jo Walton
The nanny was rebinding Wontas’s claw, and Gerin was helping to keep Wontas entertained through the process. After checking that the smell of the break was still clean, Selendra left them to it.
Amer was alone in the kitchen, making a foul-smelling potion. The other servants were still clearing the dining room.
“Is that for Wontas?” Selendra asked.
“It’s to keep the break clean,” Amer explained. Then she stopped, frowning. “What’s wrong, Selendra?”
“Nothing,” Selendra said, trying to keep her violet eyes from spilling tears. “I have a letter from Haner.”
“What’s happened to her?”
“She doesn’t sound happy. Avan is taking Daverak to law and it’s disturbing her. Daverak has taken flame, look.” Amer could not read, so Selendra could safely show her the drawing.
Amer laughed, and pushed the paper back. “Read it to me,” she said.
Selendra read it, leaving out the teasing about Sher, which she knew her sister had meant kindly but which now felt like a spear against her tender breast. When she finished, Amer shook her head. “She didn’t say a word of greeting to me? And where you had put in your letter that I sent my regards, she put that comment about the institution of servitude being wrong?”
“That’s right,” Selendra said. “I suppose she’s right, it is unfair, but it’s the way the world is. So many things are unfair.” She sighed.
Amer flexed her wings a little in their bindings. “So what unfairness has life brought you?” she asked, with a great deal of generosity. She was fond of Selendra.
Selendra looked behind her to make sure no other servants had come into the room unnoticed. “It seems the numbers were against me with the potion,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Are you sure?” Amer asked.
Selendra gestured to her relentlessly golden flank.
“Who was it? Did he touch you?”
“Sher,” she admitted, in a whisper.
“The Exalted Benandi?” Amer asked. “You’re aiming to do well for yourself, my dragonet!”
“It wasn’t like that at all!” Selendra protested. “I never thought of him that way until he made it plain. I thought he was betrothed to Gelener Telstie.”
“So did his mother, no doubt,” Amer said, and chuckled. “So you didn’t think it in advance? He took you by surprise? That might be reason enough for not coloring.”
“I didn’t expect Frelt either!” Selendra whispered angrily.
“No, but Frelt leaned against you, and he was expecting it. Did Sher lean?”
“No. He came quite close, almost touching, but he didn’t exactly lean.” Selendra’s eyes whirled dreamily as she remembered.
“Did he touch you at all?”
“He put his claw out, but he didn’t touch me. He was much closer than dragons are supposed to come, Amer! He was right next to me, less than a foot away.”
“Get him to come closer next time,” Amer advised. “It might be the potion, but it might not. Cuddle up to him as you might to your sister and see if that makes you blush.”
“I don’t expect there’ll be another chance,” Selendra said. “I told him to go away. And as you just said, he’s an Exalted lord and I am merely the parson’s sister, he’ll think about that and be glad I pushed him away.” The tears spilled down now.
“Well, if you’re not crying to be gold, you’re crying to be pink,” Amer said.
Selendra choked. “It isn’t funny,” she said, laughing despite herself.
“If he cares, he’ll try again,” Amer said, comfortingly. “Give him a chance, and get close to him. Touch him. You can’t lose anything even if you don’t color up.”
“Only my dignity,” Selendra said.
“And what’s that worth in the marketplace?” Amer asked.
“But if I can’t color, then I can’t give him children. It would be very wrong to marry if I can’t.”
“Nobody ever heard of anyone marrying and staying a maiden,” Amer said, quite loudly, as the servant who had been clearing the dining room came back into the kitchen with a pile of bare bones. “Take this potion to ’Spect Wontas, if you would, ’Spec Selendra, it’s done now. And if you’re writing to ’Spec Haner, tell her I’d be interested to hear more of what she was saying.”
Selendra took the pot of potion and left.
44. CONVERSATION IN THE MILLINER’S ESTABLISHMENT
Felin considered as she flew home what she would tell her husband and her sister-in-law with respect to her conversation with the Exalt. Though she had defended Selendra as strongly as she dared, she was not sure how to begin the subject with her. As for Penn, Felin did not know how he would react. He was dependent on the Exalt for his position as Parson of Benandi, which provided the family with both home and income. He might be angry with his sister for causing trouble, and with Felin for not having acquiesced to everything the Exalt wanted. It would be easier not to open the subject with either of them. Yet both of them would notice that no invitations were forthcoming from the Place, and some explanation would have to be given.
On her return home she found Selendra playing with the dragonets. She did not venture any information, and Selendra also kept her own counsel.
When Penn came out of his study, wiping the ink from his claws, she had had time to think of her strategy. She took him aside to the Speaking Room. “The Exalt wishes to keep Sher and Selendra apart,” she said.
“What? Why?” Penn’s mind was still with Avan’s scheme and the risk it posed to his profession.
“It seems she thinks Sher will grow too fond of her,” Felin said.
“Sher? Nonsense. With all the maidens in Tiamath throwing themselves at his head why would he look at a pale little thing like Selendra?” Penn asked, unkindly.
Felin, who had guessed that this would be his reaction, merely spread her hands. “Who knows what makes the Exalt take ideas into her head?” she asked. “But for a little while we’re not going to go to the Place socially. You will, naturally, go up alone for everything you normally would, and so will I, but we won’t visit them as a family for dinner or anything like that, until Sher goes away again.”
“If that’s what the Exalt wants,” Penn said, frowning. “But does she really imagine that of Selendra?”
“Do you think she’s not old enough?” Felin asked.
Penn did not want to discuss the Frelt incident with Felin, so he simply grunted. Husband and wife then joined Selendra for dinner, united in that perfect confidence which the enduring state of marriage inspires in so many dragons.
Several weeks passed in this way. The parsonage family and the Place family met only at Firstday services. The Exalt made sure that Sher stayed by her side on those occasions. Selendra missed no more church, but she sat with her head bowed, aware that Sher was looking at her but not daring to return his gaze. Sher did not attempt to visit the parsonage, and Selendra did not inquire as to her good fortune in not being forced to visit the Place. Freshwinter became Icewinter, and still Sher and the Exalt lingered in Benandi. Icewinter lived up to its name, showering them with snow. In the second week of Icewinter the news of Berend’s death was brought to Benandi, casting Penn and Selendra into gloom, though neither of them had been especially close to their sister since her marriage.
Firstday came two days later, in the regular five-spoked turning wheel of the week. For the first time since the picnic, Selendra raised her head in church and met Sher’s gaze. She did no more, but she allowed herself to look at him. Life was short and death was everywhere. If, by Jurale’s mercy, Sher was there across the church, she would no longer forbid herself from the sight.
The morning after that, Felin announced at breakfast that she would take Selendra to visit the milliner.
“But we are still in mourning for our father, she does not need a change of headgear,” Penn said.
“Not to change into mourning, no, but the few hats she has are sadly shabby. It will be Deepwinte
r in two weeks, and she should have something better to wear on Deepwinter Night than a hat she has been wearing almost daily since Highsummer! It is not so cold today, and it is hardly two hours flight.”
“There is no need, Felin,” Selendra murmured. Her sister-in-law overbore all protests and they soon set off.
It did Selendra good to be on her wings again. She had hardly been out since the picnic, except to church, which was a walk, of course. She had almost forgotten the feeling of the wind in her wings and the way the world looks in sunlight. The world was a whirl of white from above, broken only by the darkness of firs and the straight dark lines of the rails when they passed over them.
“It’s cold, but it’s glorious to fly,” Felin said after a while, and Selendra was pleased to agree wholeheartedly. She felt better than she had for weeks.
“How far are we going?” she asked.
“Not far, unfortunately,” Felin said. “I don’t know why, but I love flying in the cold. My mother hated it. She used to say that before the Conquest her family came from warmer climates, which are all Yarge countries now, and her blood was too thin for up here.”
Selendra laughed. “You must take after your father,” she said. She had heard tales of Felin’s brave father already, most often from Wontas, who bore his name.
The milliner’s establishment was in the little town of Three Firs. Hepsie, the milliner, was neither so fashionable nor so elegant as those in Irieth. She was the widow of a dragon whose ambitions had not been as great as his prowess. She had taken up the profession out of desperation after his fall, hoping to feed her children without needing to take service with a great family. To her own surprise, she had prospered mildly as all the dragons in the region took advantage of her cunning fingers and reasonable prices. Felin had been buying hats from Hepsie for years, and even the Exalt would deign to buy the occasional country cap from her.
Selendra’s hats had all been made at home, or occasionally bought ready-made by her brothers. She had never visited a milliner’s establishment. She could not have imagined the range of hats available, nor the way they were fitted. The establishment was a wonder to her. They had to wait while a maiden was being fitted for a charming red-and-gold Deepwinter cap. The maiden was one of those who had been to the picnic, and greeted them as if they were long lost friends. Felin chatted to her while Selendra just gazed at the hats displayed in the nooks carved into every space in the walls of the little cavern. She had never imagined hats in such a profusion of shapes, colors, and textures. There were berets, tricorns, toques, cloches, sunbonnets, and other styles whose names Selendra did not know.
When their turn came, Hepsie bustled forward. “Blest Agornin! How lovely to see you. What can I do for you today?”
“More black, I’m afraid,” Felin said. “You know what I like. And I’m also looking for something, black fleece, becoming, for ’Spec Agornin here, my husband’s sister.”
Selendra barely acknowledged the introduction, so caught up was she in all the hats. “It’s almost like treasure,” she said, remembering the cave under the mountain. Her chain was safe in her bed at home.
Hepsie and Felin laughed indulgently, then Hepsie scurried off to find materials and patterns. At last she fashioned a cap in several layers or flounces of fleece. “There, that’ll look fine while you’re in mourning, and if you want to put some sequins or jewels in it later, they’d go here,” Hepsie said, indicating by poking bright blue sequins in along the inner flounce.
“It looks lovely,” Felin assured her. Hepsie held up a bronze mirror, and Selendra admired her reflection.
“Thank you,” she said, and gave Felin a shy hug.
Felin arranged payment with Hepsie. “Will you send them to the parsonage?” she asked.
“If you don’t mind waiting half an hour, ’Spec Agornin’s is almost made up, now I’ve done the fitting. You could take it with you.”
Hepsie busied herself about her construction in an inner cave, leaving them alone among the hats. Selendra and Felin sat down comfortably. This was the opportunity Felin had been waiting for. “You look beautiful in that hat,” she said.
“I really like it,” Selendra said.
“I’m sure Sher will be most taken with it,” Felin went on. Selendra looked at her guiltily. “Yes, I know. The Exalt told me something about it.”
“The Exalt? What does she know about it?”
“What Sher has told her. He told her he loves you.”
Selendra’s eyes were whirling so fast they felt as if they could fall out of her head, but she could find nothing to say.
“Don’t you love him?” Felin asked. “Couldn’t you try?”
“I quite clearly don’t,” Selendra said, looking at the smooth golden scales of her curving flank with distaste.
“How could you not?” Felin asked.
Selendra could not argue with that, for she knew she had indeed grown to love him imperceptibly. She hung her head.
“Do you love someone else?” Felin persisted.
“No,” Selendra said.
“Then why not? If Sher loves you enough to brave his mother for you, which he has never done for anyone else—” Which he wouldn’t do for me, Felin thought, sighing inwardly, though she was devoted now to Penn, “—then I think it is your duty to try to love him.”
“Surely the Exalt doesn’t want me to?” Selendra asked, her eyes now wide with horror.
“No, she doesn’t, quite the opposite.” Felin smiled, showing a glimpse of her sharp white teeth. “But if this was one of Sher’s usual shallow infatuations he would have gone away by now to some other distraction. He’s still here, and still looking at you in church. My dear, can’t you see it’s cruel to do this to him? Don’t you love him at all?”
Selendra thought of what Amer had said. Perhaps if he touched her. Yet he had been so close. Her heart had been touched, but her coloring had not. Surely if he was close enough to touch her heart then her scales would have turned if they could? “I like him a great deal, but it’s impossible,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. “I’m sorry, Felin, I would if I could, but I can’t.”
“Most maidens in your position would be only too glad to have any Exalted running after them, let alone one as handsome and amusing as Sher,” Felin said, deeply disappointed.
“There is so little power we have, as females,” Selendra said. “Only to be able to choose to accept or reject a lover. We have to wait for them to ask, even then. You’re telling me to think about wealth and position and disregard what I feel.”
“No. Nothing of the kind. A competence is sufficient for happiness, as I know well. That’s all extraneous to what I’m really telling you, which is that if you could love Sher it’s your duty to marry him and make him happy,” Felin said.
“If I could have loved him I’d have come back from the picnic with blushing scales,” Selendra said, harshly.
“Will you at least talk to him?” Felin asked.
“He hasn’t tried to talk to me,” Selendra said.
“He wants to go flying with you on Deepwinter morning,” Felin said. “Will you go?”
Selendra looked up, tears glimmering in her lavender eyes. “Of course I will,” she said.
Felin wanted to embrace her, but wasn’t quite sure. There was something reserved in Selendra, she thought, something that made her difficult to love as sisters should love one another. Maybe that was what prevented her from loving Sher as anyone sensible would.
Selendra sat blinking back tears and trying to think of her new hat, not of Deepwinter morning, and Sher, and Amer’s numbers, and her obstinately golden scales.
12
High Society
45. A THIRD CONFESSION
In the third week of Icewinter, Sebeth was again in the confession room of the little old church in the Skamble. It was again evening, after the service. Sebeth had made her confession and been absolved.
“Is there news?” Blessed Calien asked, as he took his
claws from her eyes.
“Good news, Blessed One,” she said. “Avan has completely changed his mind. One day he would hardly listen to my suggestion of keeping a few houses, now he is definitely going to keep half the Skamble, including this street.”
The priest blinked in astonishment. “What changed his mind?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Blessed One. It happened overnight, the day after I saw you last. I had been so worried about it, and he wasn’t interested in what I was saying about it. Then suddenly, he would listen to everything you told me to suggest, and he liked it, and most of it is going onto the new plan.”
“Are you sure?” Calien’s dark eyes whirled faster.
“I have copied it twice,” Sebeth said, unconsciously flexing her fingers at the memory. “The upper part, near the railway tracks, by the goods yards, will all be destroyed and turned into warehouses.”
“I could hardly hope to save that, it’s no more than slums,” the priest said. “Besides, though it provides homes to some of the poorest in the city, nobody should have to live to the sound of shunting engines. That is according to my plan.”
“Avan says the houses there scarcely have excavations, the dragons are just sitting on top of the topsoil and loam,” Sebeth said, shuddering a little at the thought.
“Do not despise the poor for what they must endure,” Calien said, sanctimoniously. “Do not despise the servants, for they did not bind their own wings.”
“No, Blessed One,” Sebeth said, subdued.
“What about the rest of the Skamble?”
“It’s saved!” Sebeth said, her eyes lighting up like twin blue stars. “The Office is Planning and Beautification, you know, and Avan’s going to keep some of the money raised from the warehouses and use it to beautify what’s left. Only the worst houses will be razed, and in their place will be better houses, and little orchards near the river. He hopes to bring the area up. There will be grants for those who are prepared to work on their houses.”