Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series

by Terry Mancour

  “’We?’” Countess Shirlin asked, amused, speaking directly to Pentandra for the first time since her awkward interview in her office. “You are a Remeran, are you not? I’m surprised that you share the . . . Alshari perspective.” The way she pronounced the word Alshari left little doubt in anyone’s mind how she felt about the region . . . and its people.

  A quick glance told her that the rest of the court ladies felt similarly about Shirlin. Pentandra’s ire flared as she saw the sharp looks around the room. “I married an Alshari man,” she reminded the Countess, gently.

  “I thought you married a barbarian Kasari?” Countess Shirlin asked, her tone insulting and confused.

  “As I am certain any of the ladies at this table can assure you, regardless of my husband’s origins and heritage, he is one of the most admired men in Vorone. And we are both wholehearted supporters of the rightful Duke of Alshar,” she added. “Indeed, we are both sworn to do anything in our power to protect him.”

  Countess Shirlin was quiet, after that, finally understanding that the consensus of opinion at the Tea would be against her long before it supported her. Snubbed on her attempts to first put down the clergy and then undermine the ladies of the court in their confidence, Countess Shirlin shrewdly changed her tactics about the time Lady Pleasure arrived, late, for the event.

  That’s when Pentandra started to relax about the entire affair. Between Threanas and Lady Pleasure, Countess Shirlin had irritated two of the most powerful women in the Wilderlands. While she thought Threanas was a stuffy old bat, she was Alshar’s stuffy old bat, and she was more than capable of defending herself from Shirlin’s feeble attacks. If Shirlin thought that Threanas was a vulnerable target in the group, she nearly pounced on Lady Pleasure’s perceived vulnerabilities.

  Knowing both women the way she did, Pentandra looked forward to the social violence about to unfold.

  The Dowager Baroness finally showed up a half-hour late for the Tea – alone for once – in a spectacular pink riding gown embroidered prettily in green around the collar and cuffs. Countess Shirlin was instantly effusive in her praise for the dress, which was cut in a Castali style, and for the beauty and poise of its wearer.

  But she also mistakenly considered the late arrival of a mere baroness to the proceedings worthy of her criticism, and her target more than worthy of her disdain. It was a cheap ploy, Pentandra knew. Shirlin focused her conversation on the younger, less well-positioned ladies of the court and sought to unite them against the older women, through subtle (and not so subtle) social manipulation, implied threats, and flattery.

  When Baroness Amandice insisted on being referred to by the court (and by Countess Shirlin) as ‘Lady Pleasure’, a steely self-assuredness came over the Castali courtier. An old dowager, such as herself, only with the aspect of youth and beauty? One with a quirk for grandiose names? Countess Shirlin smiled, after the introduction. She had found her target.

  Pentandra watched, fascinated, as the bitchy matron from Wilderhall decided to pick a fight with the goddess of love and beauty.

  “Is that the dress you’ll be wearing to the Flower Festival?” she began, cordially enough.

  “The Spring Wildflower Festival,” Amandice corrected, automatically. She picked at the skirt. “This?” Lady Pleasure asked, amused. “Oh, not at all. One must have something new to celebrate the new season, don’t you think, Excellency?”

  “Well, my friend Her Majesty often says that new gowns make new women of us all,” Shirlin quoted, absently, as she tried to discover some point of social leverage against the beautiful woman. Lady Pleasure decided not to wait on the arrival opportunity, and made some herself.

  “Interesting,” Lady Pleasure observed.

  “Oh, Her Majesty is filled with sage advice,” assured Shirlin, finally happy to see her name dropping had gotten some traction with the court.

  “Not the observation – that’s trite and simple-minded – but your enduring fascination with the Queen. It’s almost as if you are afraid of having an opinion she might object to, so you merely borrow hers. Tell me, does she mind? Or do you have her permission to ransack her conversational closet? Oh, those are delightful slippers, are they suede?” she asked, changing the subject of the conversation far too quickly for Countess Shirlin to keep up with.

  A moment later the Castali noblewoman tried again to insist on her social importance, this time through criticizing the palace itself . . . and attempting to segue into a conversation where she felt she had more depth.

  “Has anyone noticed the appalling number of brazen young sluts parading through the corridors?” she asked, sniffing disgustedly. “I understand the worldly ways of court life, but this is unreasonable! It’s like a forest of tarts out there! Why, on my way here I saw two of them doing . . . well, Trygg forbid what they were doing, but it was completely inappropriate for the palace! Someone should speak to the captain of the guard about the number of filthy whores he’s admitting!”

  “Really?” Viscountess Threanas asked, mildly.

  While she was of much the same opinion, she recognized that Countess Shirlin had marched herself defiantly into the jaws of Lady Pleasure. Those were her girls, after all, and even Threanas had to admit that they were well-behaved, compared to the other courtesans who haunted the palace in the past. The Minister of Treasure might have been unpleasant and rigid, but she appreciated the threat to the court by Shirlin’s inclusion. She was clearly looking forward to watching the coming verbal dismemberment. “From what I understand, the palace guard is quite in favor of the number of nubile maidens lingering in our halls.”

  That was a far cry from Threanas’ usual moralizing, Pentandra realized. Threanas had wisely recognized that supporting a mere rival, Lady Pleasure, over the interloping Countess served the court best . . . and if that meant compromising her stated principals for pragmatic purpose, she was more than capable.

  The message was clear: the ladies of the court should stand firm and united in the face of the threat.

  “That is precisely my point!” fumed the Countess. “We simply must restrict those vile sluts to the street where they belong! It’s disgraceful and improper! It puts Duke Anguin in jeopardy. I’ve seen this sort of thing before,” she warned, in a judgmental tone, “and it rarely ends well. When you let disgusting sluts and vile whoremongers into the palace, soon disease and scandal follow! Young knights become allured of the filth and do not even notice the beauty of the ladies of court, or pay them heed! Her Majesty would never permit such indecencies! Why, if no other reason, we must find a suitable bride for His Grace to prevent any of those whores from stealing the throne away from him!”

  A hush fell across the table. While all the women there had felt the pressure implicit in having so many young, pretty and sexually available women around all the time, none of them had been willing to challenge the maidens so rudely, in light of the special position of favor Lady Pleasure currently enjoyed with the Duke. Indeed, many ladies of the court secretly favored or even envied the young whores who ran errands for their mistress on their days off. Likewise, those involved in revenues were aware of the growing monthly tax payments the House of Flowers was now paying to the Duchy, and were cautious of how they spoke of the institution.

  From the look on Lady Pleasure’s face, she had not taken Shirlin’s assessment well. Pentandra was the first who dared speak after Countess Shirlin, who was looking around at the faces of her fellow ladies in vain for support.

  “I’ve actually enjoyed having so many bright-faced young girls around,” Pentandra offered, slowly. “It breaks of the monotony of handsome guardsmen, wrinkled dowagers, and ugly old ministers.”

  It was a conversational peace offering, an opportunity to change the subject to something less provocative. Anything less provocative.

  But having once chosen her topic, Shirlin was unwilling to back away from it.

  “I don’t find anything particularly enjoyable about nasty little sluts slinking aro
und in the shadows, hiking their skirts and preying on our young men,” Countess Shirlin said, stiffly. “But then, you are the one who ‘studies’ such sluts, I believe. What an amusing hobby.”

  With one sentence, the Countess managed to alienate both Pentandra and Lady Pleasure at the same time, and gave them social permission to ally, despite their severe differences. Pentandra wondered idly if the Viscountess would try to stop the impending social carnage or even join in on Countess Shirlin’s side, but Threanas proved too wise.

  She sat back and watched two experts demolish the Countess instead.

  “I study all forms of sex and magic,” Pentandra replied in a low, calm voice. “Even the really boring and pathetic types,” she said, pointedly. She looked the countess up and down. “Somehow I don’t think you would be interested in my work, Excellency. At your age,” she added, casually. The dig struck home. “But if you are, there are a half-dozen monographs I’ve written on the subject available at most magical academy libraries,” she added, softly.

  “I could hardly be interested in something a woman who studies magic and whores for a living wrote,” Countess Shirlin said with a disgusted sneer, gaining confidence in her position as she savaged Pentandra. In other circumstances she might have been on the right track by shaming the sexuality of a ducal court . . . but in Vorone, at the moment, insulting either magi or whores was not a particularly smart idea.

  “You know how to read?” Pentandra shot back in a sharp murmur. “Really, that’s quite remarkable.”

  “I’ve heard the Castali have encouraged a few of their noblewomen to take up the art,” Sister Saltia said with uncharacteristic cattiness. She was far from adept at tearing down other woman in social circumstances. But she was willing to learn for Countess Shirlin’s sake. “Apparently they’re eager to adopt Alshari standards in such matters.”

  “Why would a Castali noblewoman ever need to read?” added Lady Bertine. The elderly secretary might have been an old battle-axe, but she was a loyal Alshari battle-axe, and she did not care for Shirlin’s tone one bit.

  “Perhaps to deal with long nights with Castali noblemen?” offered Lady Esmara with a wicked snicker. “I’ve heard that they just don’t have—”

  “The issue,” Countess Shirlin said, loudly and rudely interrupting, “is not whether or not Castali noblewomen can read, but whether Alshari noblemen can pass a slut in the corridor and not act like a hound!”

  “If you can find a man who doesn’t act like a hound around a perky pair of pumpkins, let me know!” one of the younger petty nobility moaned. She was one of the new crop of young Alshari noblewomen hosted at the palace over the summer to offer them an opportunity to lay claim to once being ‘presented at court; to their future husbands. Most would be gone back to their farms by midsummer and await carefully-considered betrothals. Considering the lass’ lack of perky pumpkins, she would likely be one of them with very protracted negotiations, Pentandra guessed.

  “All men act like hounds,” Lady Pleasure opined. “It’s one of the more reassuringly consistent things about them. It’s their nature. Just as it is our nature to take advantage of their nature.”

  “By hiking a skirt to any bravo in the corridor?” accused Shirlin, contemptuously. “How does that add to the respect of the ladies of the court? It’s insulting!”

  “Would it be better if these ladies were the subject of their crude attentions?” asked Lady Pleasure, smoothly indicating the junior noblewomen at the other table. “You would imperil their virtue, and their chance at a good marriage, rather than allow those better suited for it to contend with the lusts of the men of Vorone?”

  “No woman needs to use her sexuality to prove herself powerful!” insisted the Countess. “It demeans us all. Surely if you had a real duchess in court, she would say the same! How can we, as women, win the respect of the men when they see us in comparison with those sluts?”

  “Would you deny us one of the few advantages we have?” Lady Pleasure implored the Countess.

  “A woman has far more to offer a man than what’s up her skirts!” fumed the Countess, angrily.

  “Such as . . .?” invited Lady Pleasure, sweetly. “Oh, do tell us what sweet allure a woman has for a man, that doesn’t involve her feminine charms!”

  Pentandra never would have stepped into such an obvious verbal trap, particularly not with the avatar of the Goddess of Love and Beauty, but Countess Shirlin was out of her element . . . and she didn’t understand just whom she was arguing against.

  “Well, companionship, obviously!” answered the Castali woman, sputtering at the cool challenge to what she saw as obvious social boundaries.

  “He can get a dog for that, my dear,” Amandice dismissed, amused. “And be better served thereby, for he can have more than one and get a new bitch every few years. What else?”

  “Why, to have someone to share his fortunes and his burdens,” offered Shirlin, who in her uncertainty had reached for the traditional. Those were words directly from the common marriage vows of Trygg celebrating the institution.

  “Do you really desire to share a man’s burdens?” asked Lady Pleasure, pointedly, “or do you wish merely to appear to . . . while making alternative plans? Be honest, my dear, there’s no one here but us girls,” she urged, mockingly.

  “Is that not the point of uniting in matrimony?” Shirlin returned, haughtily.

  “That’s the point you shove into his gut,” Lady Pleasure agreed, casually. “But it’s not often the reason a wife truly seeks a husband. Indeed, in my experience, the last thing a woman wishes to do is take on burdens that are not hers. And a man can confess his cares and burdens to a priest, if need be - he doesn’t need a woman for that.

  “As far as his fortunes, well, few women can resist spending their man’s money on his behalf, so there is little benefit accrued to a man in that. How many husbands count themselves wealthier a year after their wedding? Oh, this is amusing! Do you have another suggestion?” she asked, sweetly.

  “Well, to cook and clean for him, and raise his children!” Shirlin said, crossly, looking around the room for any trace of support. Or sympathy. She found little of either, after her abrupt tirade and insulting attitude.

  “Men can clean for themselves – ask any sailor or soldier,” dismissed Lady Pleasure with a sip of tea. “Nor are they incapable of cooking, though few possess any art in it. As far as raising children, how many men do you know who are eager to become fathers before their nuptials?”

  “I’m speaking about after their wedding!” the Countess shot back, angrily.

  “Yet you list only the things that allure a man after he is wed, not before,” offered Sister Saltia, thoughtfully. “A man could care less of a woman’s companionship, position or her willingness to share his burdens. What he desires in a woman most is . . . devotion. Physical devotion, perhaps, but he seeks devotion in a woman, first and foremost. I shall never take a man as husband, but even I understand that!” she said, scornfully.

  “What, then, has a woman to offer a man before he consents to wed her? What of value?” Lady Pleasure continued, amused, addressing all the ladies in the tea. “If she has wit, then he rarely has enough himself to recognize it. If she has position or wealth, he will be despised amongst his fellows for coveting it through marriage.

  “One might offer that merely being in her presence and gazing upon her smile is sufficient recompense for his trouble . . . but only until we’re old enough to bleed,” she said, viciously. “Then the truth comes out!”

  Everyone laughed at that, even Countess Shirlin, although her heart wasn’t in it. She was still searching for conversational leverage in this unconventional court. Nor did she feel defeated, yet. Still she strove to win the debate.

  “So then why permit such deviance in the palace?” asked the Countess. “It encourages disrespect, licentiousness, and unworthy behavior amongst our men. This is why we need to see His Grace wed, and quickly! Else the people will begin gossiping a
bout the court, and eventually His Grace himself! As Her Majesty says, ‘the people rely on the grace and decorum of the nobility to give their world stability’.”

  “Funny how that noble sentiment doesn’t seem to include political assassination or subversive plotting,” Pentandra observed aloud, ostensibly to herself. “One might think of those things as adding to instability, if one is as unsophisticated in such matters as I am.”

  “Do you wish to see this ancient palace turned into a brothel?” demanded Shirlin, angrily. “For that is the way you are headed, with these wild women roaming and rutting like animals!”

  If the Countess had crossed a line with Pentandra over Arborn’s origins, with Lady Pleasure the boundary was the nature of her girls. She was justifiably proud of them and what they had learned, despite the nature of their education, and she was highly protective of them. Lady Pleasure would hear no ill of her precious Maidens.

  “My girls do not ‘rut like animals’, Amandice said through clenched teeth. “They conduct themselves with dignity and respect, as ladies, regardless of their social class, or what they might be doing. Or whom,” she added.

  “Your girls?” asked the Countess, astonished and confused. “What do you mean ‘your girls’?”

  “Those ‘little sluts’ you are complaining about running all over the palace are mostly employees of the House of Flowers, on Perfume Street,” Sister Saltia reported, dutifully. “Which is the top revenue-producing and tax-paying businesses in that region of town,” she added. “And it is owned entirely by Dowager Baroness Amandice.”

  “Yes, my house alone has paid over three hundred ounces of silver this month as our rightful tax,” Lady Pleasure pointed out to the Countess with satisfaction. “Yet all of my girls have volunteered their time and energy during their days off to advance the Wildflower Festival unpaid, in a show of civic responsibility. Tell me, Countess, do the Castali whores take such pride in their towns?”

  “Why, no—yes—This isn’t about Castal!” the confused old bag finally bellowed, as she battled against the confusion the goddess’ words inspired. “This is about Alshar, and from what I see – and will report to Her Majesty -- the state of the court is deplorable! We must find a bride for this poor boy, and soon, else the court risks descending into chaos under such . . . lurid influences!” she finished, glaring at Lady Pleasure.