When the young duke finally used his position to intervene, Pentandra stopped relaxing. She was very intrigued by Minalan’s relationship with the Orphan Duke. Part of it was pure politics, of course, but she also knew part of it was his guilt in his part in his parents’ murders, or at least their concealment.
The young monarch was flushed and sweaty from dancing, when he doffed his canine mask. Immediately he held out his hand and one of his gentlemen handed him the cup Angrial had gifted him at Yule. He drained it thirstily, handed it back, and began speaking with Minalan . . .
. . . when he was upstaged by Lady Pleasure.
Without warning the main doors to the hall flew open with a bang. Spilling out of them came a riot of brightly colored dresses filled with precociously adorable girls.
Pentandra’s jaw nearly dropped at the well-executed spectacle. Each girl’s dress was unique, though cut and fitted to flatter in similar ways. Every one of them had bright sprays of wildflowers strung from their hair, their necks, their arms and belts that complemented her dress, and each girl bore a brilliant smile.
They danced in nearly into the room nearly in unison to the spritely number the musicians were playing in concert with their appearance. Though they were completely demure in their dress, the way their hips swayed and their breasts were featured by their gowns left no doubt of their youth, vigor, and femininity. From what some of the astonished and guilty looks the nuns from the more conservative orders were giving the Maidens of Spring, they bordered on the indecent. Even the way they carried their baskets of flowers seemed provocative.
“Oh, Ishi’s tits!” Pentandra whispered to herself. As if summoning them, a tall blonde figure followed the girls into the room, one that immediately inspired riotous applause by the court.
Lady Pleasure was decked out in a beautiful dress of many colors, each picked from a shade of spring bloom, Pentandra noted. The mask she wore to conceal her eyes and the crown of her head was shaped like a flower made of flower petals, and was dusted with gold and silver to make it sparkle in the light. The light seemed to seek her out, craving her attention, and once blessed it bounded away to spread the news of her beauty.
It was a splendid effect. Pentandra wanted to be sick. Ishi was such a showy, self-serving bitch.
“We present Lady Pleasure and her Maidens of Spring!” called the herald to the clapping and hollering of the court.
Lady Pleasure paused, basked in their adulation – ostensibly for her hard work in preparing the most excellent festival – and then invited everyone to enjoy themselves without further discussion.
The girls who were her escort quickly spread out across the room, Pentandra noted, each seeking a knot of courtiers to ennoble with their presence. Wherever the perpetually smiling maidens went, she saw, they instantly gathered attention.
They weren’t just posturing for the men – they carried bouquets of wildflowers and called out even the aged ladies of the court for compliments. And they had the sense to be gentle with their praise for the male courtiers’ manliness, lest they incite resentment among their escorts for the evening.
Pentandra had to suppress the urge to summon Everkeen to confirm her guess, but she was certain that there was some compelling glamour spell at work. She could feel it . . . as if the entire world around her was inviting her to relax and let go of her inhibitions. It was akin to being too drunk, but without the discomfort of an excess of spirits.
She wasn’t the only one being affected, either, she knew. She stared at Minalan and watched the Spellmonger’s jaw slacken, and his eyes flit from one dainty tart to the other. Yet his eyes always seemed compelled to return to Lady Pleasure. She hoped he realized what kind of insidious power she was dealing with, now. As if to answer, he shook his head and wiped his eyes on his sleeve through his lion mask.
Welcome to my trial, Pentandra spoke to him silently as he continued to watch the swaying young Maidens. They are all local girls – Wilderland refugees, for the most part – who Lady Pleasure recruited from the camps and the streets. Some she put to work in her brothel, others she refined into real sharp pains in my ass. Her ‘maidens’, as she calls them, are anything but. They ply their charms among the court and entice even well-mannered ministers to do their bidding. Organized gangs of cutthroats I can contend with, Min, but a goddess masquerading as a madam? And making policy? This is beyond me, she said, bitterly.
I see what you mean, he said, watching the hypnotic movements of the girls across the floor. Has she done anything damaging?
Apart from the court’s morale? No, not quite. But she has caused some serious problems for the domestic situations of a dozen officers and officials, and she’s working her way into the Ducal Council, now. Thankfully the Prime Minister’s addiction is power and control, not sex. The Duke, however . . .
He’s a young man, with a young man’s lusts, Minalan protested. Which Pentandra expected. Men hated to have their sexual possibilities limited. So did women, but they were more practical about it, and less likely to whine. He’s enjoying his power and position.
And he’s had to thank Lady Pleasure publicly for her assistance, she pointed out. It was an adept social move, she had to admit to herself, getting so close to Anguin so quickly. He put forth an appeal for alms to build three new wells around the camps, to keep the people from having to walk more than two miles to the river. She volunteered to donate an entire day’s worth of her house’s proceeds, and advertised it as a civic obligation. She raised enough to dig five wells.
And that’s a problem?
That’s not the problem, she replied, testily. I’m the last one to decry a woman’s right and choice to do what she will with her body – but the ramifications of those dalliances are far-reaching. When ministers come to council too besotted by a nubile beauty to report or consider, or end up in a duel over one, or fights with his wife because his attentions are elsewhere, it starts to affect business.
And you’ve tried speaking to her? he asked, as if that might not have occurred to her.
Oh, yes, Penny said, her mental voice lowering as she watched the exercise in mass flirtation unfolding before her. That’s when she dropped your name. And hints about her real identity I picked up on.
What did she say? he asked, guiltily.
She told me things only the goddess would know, she answered, truthfully. She really didn’t want to go into detail over her early childhood explorations of sexuality. For one thing, they were horribly banal, all things considered. Things that are none of your concern.
Sorry! Just curious. Who else knows? he asked, anxiously.
Just my apprentice, who guessed. I’ll probably tell Arborn. I’ve already warned him away from the place. I have to tell someone, and I need to make him aware of the danger before it’s too late. He’s counseled his men to avoid the house already just because of her little tarts. And he’s agreed to wear charms that make him resistant to them, himself.
That had taken a little cajoling on her part, but once the Kasari realized that they were being singled out for attention by the pretty girls for a reason, they were on their guard. But of course Minalan had to pick up on the one part of that discussion she didn’t want to re-live.
Penny! You don’t think Arborn would—
I’m a smart enough wife not to take chances, when a goddess is involved, she said, her teeth clenching involuntarily. Particularly that goddess. I knew her by reputation before, and now I’ve met her in person.
She knew Ishi would have no problem driving Arborn to infidelity. Or worse. As noble as her husband was, as honorable as he tried to be, no one could resist Ishi’s call if she persisted, and Pentandra knew it.
I would have thought you two would get along famously, Minalan snorted. Smart ass.
You really don’t know much about women, do you? she said accusingly. Nor did she expect him to, or any man, but she’d hoped Min would at least try. Some things, however, you just had to explain yourself if you wanted a man t
o understand it.
Min, she’s the embodiment of female sexuality. And that’s the one thing that women use as both a measure and a method of attack with each other. The problem is, thanks to her divine character, regular social rules don’t apply. I can’t very well start rumors about her, if she embraces them. I can’t ostracize her from society, because she can retaliate through her maidens by seducing my supporters. And I can’t challenge her publicly, because I would lose, right now, and she would conquer. I can’t let that happen.
So what can you do? he asked, partially confused and partially curious. As if he’d never met a woman before, or tried to fathom their methods.
Idiot! she thought to herself, careful not to send the idea to Minalan. Doesn’t he realize what she was doing?
I can call for my good friend Minalan, who apparently unleashed this nightmare on me, right after he convinced me to quit my cushy job and go off into the Wilderlands to rescue a doomed duchy. I’m certain he’ll know just what to say to her to get her to back off.
You certainly have a lot of confidence in me.
So justify it. If you have leverage with her, use it. She’s becoming a nuisance and obscuring our goal to restore and eventually unify the duchy. It was getting worse every day, too. All Pentandra could do was hope her interference abated after this damned festival.
I’m just glad we got most of the kids out of here before she arrived. Pentandra stifled that mental image before it could take root. No telling where this party might end up, she reminded herself.
She hasn’t indulged in that level of vice yet, she answered, frustrated. But the longer she goes, the more depraved things get at her bordello. Not everyone has Arborn’s moral strength to resist their darker urges.
No one has Arborn’s moral strength, Minalan agreed, philosophically. All right. I’ll speak to her. Not that I think I can actually do anything, but I’ll try. Just as soon as she’s done . . . enticing everyone.
Before he could find her, Lady Pleasure had the minstrels cue up a new piece while she went to the center of the hall. With her tarts taking positions around her, the music encouraged them to spin and twirl. That was just a warm-up for the intricately choreographed dance. Whatever lessons Pleasure had managed to teach the girls had paid off handsomely. They moved with little effort and a great deal of grace. And they never lost their smiles throughout the performance.
Lady Pleasure finished her performance by having her Maidens surround the duke, cooing and fawning over him. Anguin was clearly enjoying the outpouring of feminine attention, and ended up kissing several of the girls. After some huddled whispers they continued to amuse the court when the girls scattered in all directions, and the bold “fox duke” chased after their fluttering skirts with obvious intent, all while the girls squealed and laughed.
It was, Pentandra was loath to admit, not only a highly effective performance for the court, but a classic method of boosting a young man’s self-confidence cloud-high.
Female attention was potent magic to a young man, she knew. It provided confidence by the bucketful, inspired envy from other men and longing and attraction from women. Female attention could have an amazingly transformative power over a boy, if carefully applied. She’d seen that repeatedly, thanks to her own research . . . including with Minalan’s apprentice, Tyndal, a few years ago. Tyndal had never been quite the same awkward lad after that night.
What Lady Pleasure was doing here was similar, but instead of using her own body to honor the duke, she was using the multiple bodies of her girls to seduce him from afar with a dazzling array of female attention. Lady Pleasure never did more than offer the boy a chaste embrace, herself. But there was never a doubt in Pentandra’s mind who was really in control of the public flirtation as one pretty maiden after another vied for the handsome young duke’s attention.
Though she was his senior by a lifetime, Lady Pleasure was pleasuring their lad as blatantly as any whore pleased a client in an alley. And the court was devouring the sight hungrily, with great enthusiasm. The public display of feminine attention - nay, she corrected, feminine adoration - served to elevate Anguin’s status among his subjects who witnessed it.
As she watched the spectacle unfold with an academic eye, Pentandra could almost see the esteem in the eyes of the men in the room, and the desire of the women. That was only natural, she realized: when social status was reduced to its essence, she knew, it was a measure of sexual potency through social domination. Putting a virile young lad in front of a crowd of his subjects, and then having him so lavishly fawned over, elicited a fundamental response in those who witnessed it. It was a display calculated to not only portray the lad as a man in his own right, but one to be envied and desired by those he led.
Damn Ishi.
Despite her anger and frustration, Pentandra could see that she really had helped cement the loyalties of the court and his vassals to Anguin. This was not the timid little Orphan Duke, under the thumb of his advisors . . . this was the Fox Duke, clever and canny, bold and arrogant, independent and potent, ready to lead his people into new prosperity and fresh adventures. A man in his own right . . . according to Ishi. Lady Pleasure. Ishi.
Not everyone was pleased, of course. There were plenty of courtiers, particularly the older ladies, who were staring circumspectly at the display, slight frowns on their face even as they laughed at the antics of their sovereign. The twisting and turning limbs of the maidens reminded them of younger days and lighter steps, and the girls’ fresh smiles recalled less complicated, less desperate times in their youth. Pentandra could feel a palpable resentment beginning to arise among them even as they looked upon their young duke with desire.
A few of the men shared their disapproval, particularly some of the more conservative clergymen, but the majority were enthusiastically watching the graceful dancers with undisguised arousal and enthusiasm. Their animalistic desires were working their way to the surface with every flash of ankle or bounce of boob, and the filmy fiction of social propriety was dashed as far older, more primal emotions took hold. Young, old, noble or common, the masculine reaction to such raw beauty and graceful movement was entirely predictable.
As the music worked its way into a climax of rhythm and melody, the girls surrounding the Fox Duke managed to use their combined strength to lift him up and carry him in unison to his throne, then kissed the nose of his mask as if he were a cherished pet before bowing and moving away, wistfully looking back over their shoulders.
The entire court cheered wildly when the music stopped, and Pentandra felt compelled to join them. The dance had been beautiful, and Anguin’s participation in it was politically masterful. She might have hated what Ishi was doing here, but she had to admire the way she did it.
“Thus shall even the wildflowers of the Wilderlands’ fields offer their fealty to the Fox Duke!” announced the self-important bitch, formally. She fawned over the lad like a favorite aunt with unhealthy desires, but Anguin seemed immune to the subtleties of the display. “Let us all support him so as he labors at the challenge of bringing our flaccid realm back to its full and potent form!” she said, eliciting a wildly enthusiastic response from the crowd with her blatant innuendo.
After the musicians turned to more sedate tunes and stately pavanes again ruled the hall, the Maidens broke apart from their mistress and mingled with the guests, bringing their cheer and good nature to each group. If the Duke’s exposure to the attentions of a comely young girl elevated him, the Maidens now shared a taste of that heady spirit with the spectators with their smiles and flirtations.
It was skillfully done, for though the entire court knew they were merely whores, they were treated as honored and respected guests . . . much to the dismay of a vocal minority. The Countess Shirlin, in particular, made a point to criticize as many points about the girls as she could, even if she had to make them up.
While Pentandra earnestly wanted to agree with the conservative old bat and commiserate about Baroness Amand
ice’s temerity, the more she thought about it the more she wanted to avoid the horrid woman entirely. And she had to keep her away from the Spellmonger. As moody as Min was being, she figured, the likelihood he’d say or do something stupid and start a conflict between Alshar and the Queen was too great. He had barely watched the dance, and that just wasn’t like him.
Minalan surprised Pentandra by studiously ignoring Ishi after the dance, while other admirers mobbed Lady Pleasure with acclaim and praise for the successful Wildflower festival. Instead, practicing a studied indifference, he helped himself to food and wine and caught up with a few old acquaintances.
Of course, Ishi could not stand to be ignored, Pentandra saw. In a short time, she sought him out and was soon leading Minalan toward the back of the hall where “lover’s alcoves” were available for intimate conversation in a blind arcade, protected by screens. You had to give the Sea Lords who had built the palace some credit for practicality.
Once they were out of sight, Pentandra’s real worries began. She tried to stifle them, tried to distract herself by talking to Alya (who was enchanted) and Arborn (who was laconic, and uneasy in such occasions despite appearing relaxed) but it did little to reduce her anxiety. The longer Minalan and Lady Pleasure – Ishi – were alone, the more convinced Pentandra was that things were going horribly wrong. She was seriously considering summoning Everkeen and going to track them down when they finally emerged.
Minalan didn’t look particularly pleased, but neither did Ishi. He certainly was under no spell of hers, and if her charms had affected his lusty nature, he didn’t show it much. Instead he continued to ignore Ishi and chat with a few courtiers around the room before he sauntered back over to Pentandra.
“All right, it’s done,” he said, quietly. He looked terribly tired.
“What is?” Pentandra demanded. “What did you agree to?”
“She’s going to stop screwing with you—poor choice of words – and try to honestly help you.”
Pentandra looked at him in disbelief. “Really? You trust her?”
Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series Page 64