Tales of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “They do,” Alison said shortly, and Jeffrey, seeing the lines of tension around the corners of her lips, forbore to comment further. Alison hadn’t danced once since the death of his father, and although Jeffrey knew that she, too, no longer felt his loss as sharply as she once had, he also knew that nothing reminded her so painfully of Anthony North as a formal dance. He also knew that there was nothing he could do to make it better.

  So he sat and watched the happy couple and calculated how few dances he could get away with that night. He could already see a number of young women whose attention was on him instead of on the newlyweds. Maybe he should take his mother’s advice and dance with some of them. But which ones? He had no way to choose between them. Then he thought with amusement that it hardly mattered; they were probably interchangeable.

  The music faded, and again a murmur of quiet applause went up. The floor filled once again with couples dressed in their finest. Jeffrey cast his gaze around the room. More than half the provincial lords and ladies were here, though it was early yet and he thought more would appear as the night wore on. All his councilors were present. The reception was meant to double as a welcome for those attending the full council meeting in two days. Jeffrey intended to use it to take a sounding of current sentiment among the attendees.

  He didn’t have to look hard for Imogen, whose extraordinary red dress made her stand out in the crowd. It seemed Maxwell Burgess had her in hand and was introducing her to Serjian Ghentali, the Eskandel ambassador. Prince Ghentali was nice enough, but it was his harem who, in Eskandelic tradition, ran the show, and Burgess should have introduced her to them first. Imogen seemed to be enjoying her conversation with Ghentali, though. Jeffrey wished he could eavesdrop on their conversation. What did Imogen think of her first taste of diplomatic life? He made himself look away. Imogen was none of his business. She’d be fine. Right now he needed to make some contacts of his own.

  He stood and then had to wait for the Veriboldan ambassador to pass in front of him and take his seat next to Jeffrey’s. He was very old, his thin hair white and worn long around his shoulders, and his bright green eyes were so sunken in wrinkles he appeared to be peering out of a dark mask. His thin lips were made thinner by the way he pressed them together, as if to keep words from escaping. He wore a long black robe of fine silk over a tunic and skirt of green figured silk, tied with a golden cord. The tips of his bare toes protruded from the bottom of his skirt, the nails lacquered bronze, as were the nails of his right hand.

  “Good evening, Bixhenta,” Jeffrey said, addressing his words to the woman who accompanied the Proxy of Veribold. “Welcome to my sister’s reception.”

  The woman, who was in her fifties, was dressed like the Proxy, though her robe was green and her tunic and skirt were a muddy brown, and her nails were unpainted. Her name was Paoine. She bent to speak into the old man’s ear, listened for his response, and said, “The Proxy of Veribold extends his greetings to you as well, king of Tremontane.”

  Jeffrey bowed politely, keeping his laughter to himself. He knew Bixhenta spoke Tremontanese as well as anyone; Bixhenta, on the other hand, did not know Jeffrey spoke Veriboldan. What Paoine had actually said was -The young king looks well tonight-, and the Proxy had replied -It’s a wonder those good looks haven’t gone to his head-.

  “I hope you’ll receive the ambassador from the Kirkellan,” he continued. “She is interested in meeting representatives from other countries, and I believe she is most anxious to make your acquaintance, as Veribold shares a border with the Eidestal and have been trading partners with the Kirkellan for many years.

  Paoine began whispering in the Proxy’s ear before Jeffrey was finished speaking. -We’re going to be forced to treat with the barbarian girl-.

  Bixhenta nodded. –I imagine she can be fobbed off with some polite but meaningless words. Those Kirkellan aren’t long on brains-.

  Now Jeffrey had trouble controlling his anger. “If you’ll excuse me, Bixhenta, I must greet my guests,” he said, and walked away without waiting for a reply. It was hard treating with the Veriboldans under any circumstances, with their demands to be treated according to strict Veriboldan propriety, but Bixhenta was also a snob, and Jeffrey didn’t think Imogen would fare well against him.

  Jeffrey wandered the room for a few minutes, shaking hands and greeting people. Had he said being the king was mostly paperwork? It was also mostly remembering people’s names, and that was something Jeffrey was good at. Talking to people was where he felt most comfortable, most like the King everyone believed him to be.

  He nodded and waved to a Count and Countess who were too far away for him to gracefully talk to—must remember to speak with them later—and stopped to have a quiet word with Micheline Branston, who as chief of Internal Affairs was responsible for security that evening. Almost all the peers of the realm gathered in one place; if he’d had any enemies, now would be the time for them to strike.

  He wondered if he actually did have enemies, someone other than Hrovald, anyway. Maybe he needed some kind of spy network of his own, something to match the one Foreign Affairs ran outside Tremontane’s boundaries. It was an interesting possibility. He added it to the list of things he’d consider later.

  And there was a familiar face. “Sylvester!” Jeffrey clasped his brother’s hand with a smile. “So you came, after all.”

  “We arrived this morning,” Sylvester said. “Catherine’s not here tonight. Still very unwell, and the journey didn’t make things better.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped.”

  “Catherine knows her duty better than anyone, as do I,” Sylvester said, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice that made Jeffrey’s heart sink. So they were going to have that old argument again. Probably the best Jeffrey could do would be to postpone it for a less public venue.

  “I take it you brought Charles?”

  “Yes, he’s with his nanny back at our townhouse, with Catherine. He thought the journey was wonderful. But he’s barely three, he thinks sleeping under his bed with the blankets hanging down on all sides is marvelous.”

  “I hope you’ll all come for supper one night, if Catherine’s up to it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. So, little brother, still enjoying the Crown?”

  The Crown you should have worn, if you hadn’t abandoned us. “Is ‘enjoying’ the right word? It’s difficult. I’m busy all the time. What of you? Are you still enjoying being Catherine’s right-hand man?”

  Sylvester’s eyes narrowed. “I think being her support is the most important thing I could have done with my life.”

  “Well, obviously, since it’s the life you chose.” Jeffrey knew he was picking a fight, the one he’d wanted to avoid, but being called “little brother” pushed all his buttons, as if he were a Device that was wound up and only needed a nudge to start running.

  “Meaning that you didn’t have a choice in yours.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jeffrey looked away from his brother’s brown eyes, his fists clenched. “If I were, there wouldn’t be much point to it, would there?”

  “I told you I was sorry for how things turned out.”

  Jeffrey bit back something unforgiveable. Elspeth would kill him if he started a fight at her reception, and he would look uncontrolled and rash, not good characteristics to take with him into a full council meeting. “I know,” he said more calmly, “and I apologize for implying that you chose wrong.” Even though I think you did.

  “Well, it’s over and done, little brother, so I think we should enjoy the evening, don’t you? I haven’t seen Elspeth at all. You’d think that oak tree she married would make her obvious, right?” Sylvester scanned the room, then said, “Good heaven, who is that?”

  Jeffrey turned and saw Imogen, standing alone and looking a little lost, and his heart lightened. “That’s the Kirkellan ambassador. Let me introduce you.”r />
  Imogen’s eyes widened when Jeffrey introduced Sylvester as his brother. “I do not know you have a brother,” she said. “He has your face, Jeffrey, and Elspeth’s eyes.”

  “And otherwise I look nothing like the rest of the family,” Sylvester said with a smile. “Madam ambassador, might I have the pleasure of this dance? I will tell you stories of Jeffrey and Elspeth you can tease them with later.”

  “Don’t believe anything he says, Imogen,” Jeffrey said.

  Imogen looked doubtful. “I think I know this dance, but you will have to help me with the steps,” she said, accepting Sylvester’s hand. Jeffrey watched them dance away and suddenly felt a little lost himself. He looked around for more people to talk to and saw Diana Ashmore deep in conversation with Maxwell Burgess.

  “I hope you’re not talking business, you two, because this is meant to be entertainment,” he said as he approached them, claiming a glass of sparkling wine off a passing tray.

  “As if I haven’t watched you taking the measure of the peers since the first dance,” Diana said, saluting him with her own glass.

  “That’s how I entertain myself. Max, how is our Kirkellan ambassador doing?”

  “She’s surprisingly good at her job, considering this is the first time she’s had to be in public. I left her with Ghentali’s harem and I think they had an enjoyable conversation. Not sure what kind of relationship the Kirkellan can have with Eskandel, there being most of Veribold between them, but she’s charmed them and that’s about half of what diplomacy is all about.” He sounded a little surprised that the barbarian ambassador was doing so well, but he hadn’t snubbed Imogen or sneered at her, so Jeffrey forgave him a little snobbishness.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said. “Has she spoken with Bixhenta yet?”

  “No, I was about to introduce them when someone found her a dance partner.”

  “I was being polite. And I wanted to get Sylvester off my back.”

  “Try not to start a fight,” Diana said.

  “I was very well behaved. And now I’m going to take a seat, unless you’d care to dance, Diana.”

  “Thank you, but I have some people I’d like to speak to.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry I interrupted your discussion.”

  “Nothing to interrupt,” Burgess said. “Would you be sure to speak to Ghentali at least once tonight? I think he’s feeling neglected because his harem’s attracting all the attention.”

  “I’ll remember that. Good evening, you two.”

  He returned to his seat and reminded himself to sit up straight instead of slouching as he always wanted to do in this throne-like chair. Alison glanced his way and said, “Not tired yet?”

  “I was talking to Sylvester.”

  “Oh, Jeffrey.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me. He started it.”

  “I have no doubt you were equally to blame. Why can’t you just let it go? Sylvester followed his heart and his conscience. There’s no point going over what might have been.”

  “I wouldn’t if Sylvester didn’t keep pointing out how glad he is that he ‘did the right thing’.”

  Alison made an impatient sound. “Jeffrey, you sound like a six-year-old right now.”

  “He makes me feel like a six-year-old. At least when I was six and he was eight I could beat him up when we disagreed.”

  “Let it go, son. He may not be a North any longer, but he’s still family, and we don’t have enough of it to cast off what we have.”

  Jeffrey scowled, but nodded, and said, “Catherine’s not well. Will you visit her tomorrow?”

  “Of course. She was sick like this with Charles, too. It will pass, though I imagine right now she feels as if it will never end.”

  “I—wait, mother, I think Imogen’s coming to talk to Bixhenta and I want to listen.”

  Alison rolled her eyes. “Eavesdropping is a crude habit.”

  “Yes, and I’m glad you taught me how to do it.”

  Jeffrey looked around the room, pretending to be unaware of Imogen’s approach, but watching her avidly out of the corner of his eye. Burgess had coached her well; she approached Paoine, not Bixhenta, bowed at the waist and said, “I am Imogen of the Kirkellan.”

  Paoine inclined her head. “I am the Voice of Bixhenta, Proxy of Veribold,” she said. “He bids you welcome in the name of our country.”

  Imogen said, “My people are grateful for the relationship with Veribold we have made over the years.”

  Paoine bent and spoke into Bixhenta’s ear. –The fat girl is too young for her position. The Kirkellan do not respect us by sending her here.-

  -Pretend as if we care about her people. We need their trade.-

  Paoine said, “The Proxy acknowledges the link between your people and ours. We respect your efforts in keeping the Ruskalder at bay, though Veribold needs no protection.”

  “If our positions were different, I am sure Veribold would do the same for us.”

  -Brash.-

  -She is bold.- Bixhenta smiled, just the faintest twitch of the thin lips that Jeffrey almost didn’t catch.

  Paoine said, “Veribold does many things for the Kirkellan already. We hope you do not suggest we do more.”

  “I am just…acknowledging our relationship that is one of more than trading partners. Which is tradition,” Imogen said, emphasizing the word just a little. “We are especially grateful for silk. It makes the best undergarments.”

  Jeffrey choked. Undergarments? Bixhenta’s proud patrician heart would explode at the thought of Veribold’s most prized commodity being used for barbarian underwear. But the wrinkles around Bixhenta’s eyes only deepened briefly, and he said, -Undergarments. How is it we have never thought of such a use?- Paoine began to speak, but Bixhenta took hold of her sleeve and said, -If they’re so clever, I wonder what uses they will find for our other trade goods? I wish to arrange a meeting.- Paoine’s eyes widened, and she said, “The Proxy would like to discuss further trade opportunities between our people. He will meet with you at another time to review current policy and establish mutually beneficial alterations.”

  Imogen said, in a pleased voice, “I am happy to meet with the Proxy when it is, um, convenient for him. I am certain the matrian is—no, will be pleased to hear our relation with Veribold is still strong.” She bowed from the waist again, this time directly at the Proxy, and he surprised Jeffrey by inclining his head in her direction. He’d never seen Bixhenta unbend so much.

  Now Imogen seemed uncertain about what to do next, or possibly how to end the conversation gracefully. Jeffrey was at her side in two long strides, and said, “Please excuse use, Bixhenta, the ambassador has promised this dance to me.” He put his arm around Imogen’s waist and steered her away from the Proxy and toward where couples swirled across the floor in a tapestry of color.

  “This is not a dance I know,” Imogen protested.

  “I know. I just wanted to get you out of there diplomatically. And speaking of which, congratulations on your first diplomatic victory.”

  “You were listening. You made that sound.”

  “I was trying not to fall over laughing. If I’d known all it would take to get Bixhenta to loosen up was to talk about underwear, I’d have done it a year ago.”

  “I only said what was true.”

  “And he knew it.”

  “Then it was only by accident that I make an agreement with him.”

  “A part of diplomacy is making use of happy accidents. I think you have a talent for it.”

  Imogen smiled and blushed. He liked it when she blushed; it made her eyes look brighter. “I am enjoying it,” she said, “the talking to people. I have met many people and most of them are interesting. Even if some of them are interesting by what they do not say.”

  “Really? What do—wait, I know this song. This dance we both know.” Jeffrey extended his hand with a smile, and Imogen took it. It really was different dancing with someone whose eyes were level with your o
wn.

  “No, don’t look at your feet, look at me,” he said, and Imogen lifted her chin and met his eyes. “You’re actually more likely to trip if you look at your feet while you’re dancing.”

  “If I trip, you will catch me,” she said.

  “I certainly will.”

  Her gaze left his and drifted past his right shoulder, and a puzzled look came over her face. “I think you Tremontanans take your marriage vows seriously.”

  Jeffrey returned a puzzled look of his own. “We do. We make oath to each other and the lines of power that cross the country bind those oaths. It’s a serious thing, marriage. Why do you bring it up?”

  “I meet—met the Countess of Cullinan and her consort tonight. And now she looks at another man and there is sex between them.” Jeffrey choked, and she made an impatient face. “It is to say, they have sex in the past and when they look at each other the memory is there.” She swung them around, causing Jeffrey to miss a couple of steps, and said, “It is the man at the foot of the steps. In light green.”

  Jeffrey looked, and said, “That’s her steward, the man who manages her estates. I’d heard there was something between them, but it’s the sort of rumor that could be spite as much as truth. You knew that with just a look?”

  She shrugged. “Yes.”

  Jeffrey shook his head in amazement. “Imogen, you have more than just a talent for diplomacy.”

  She smiled as the dance came to an end. “And now I have a talent for dancing as well.”

  “You do. Would you care to sit? There’s a chair for you with the other ambassadors.”

  “I am tired with the diplomacy. King of Tremontane, can the ambassador of the Kirkellan leave now?”

  “If you want.” Again the impulse to offer himself as an escort back to the east wing struck, and again he suppressed it. He still had people to talk to; it wasn’t all that late yet. “Maybe Mother is ready to go. I don’t think you’ll find your way back on your own.”

  Alison was, in fact, ready to leave and happy to take Imogen with her. Jeffrey felt a little deflated, watching the two of them leave; much as he enjoyed political conversation, it was nice to have people you could talk to without worrying about subtext. He sat for a while, watching the currents, then stood and wandered back into the crowd.