These trews fit well enough, and weren’t so much different from the ones she wore beneath her riding clothes. But in those outfits her body remained hidden beneath the skirts. On the other hand, the tunic hid more of her neck and chest than the low-cut court gowns made popular by her mother.
If boys and men paraded about with their legs exposed to the view of all, even if they didn’t have well shaped legs like P’pa, then she could learn to do it as well.
“If the Council brought in witchsniffers, then they are serious in their intent to remove P’pa from the throne.” That horrible idea burst out of Linda without forethought.
“Aye, Highness. They are. Or one among them is talking loud to overcome their objections. The others don’t know their own opinion, so they parrot whoever talks the loudest and longest,” Maisy replied.
“How did P’pa deflect them?” She knew he must have or Maisy wouldn’t be here now, and the palace would be in a greater uproar than usual just before a major gathering.
“Lord Jaylor reminded them of the law. Just ’cause the magicians withdrew from Coronnan, doesn’t make their presence illegal.”
“Lord Jaylor?” Chastet interrupted when Maisy looked to be ready to talk more. As was her wont.
“Aye, milady. Senior Magician Lord Jaylor. Courtesy title it might be seein’ as his family is only farmers. But he’s powerful and wise, and befriended His Grace when they was both just lads. Heard tell they pulled each other out of one scrape after another until His Grace went missing and it took a dragon to find him. And Lord Jaylor. That were some adventure they went on . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure it was.” Linda remembered a comment on the ride from Battle Mound when P’pa had said that Glenndon’s Da had taught him how to swim when he was the boy’s age. An important skill seeing as how Coronnan City was built on a chain of islands in the river delta. Water surrounded them on all sides. The Great Bay washed back up the river with every high tide and sometimes drowned the unwary working the riverbank for fish or boat repair or whatever. Why hadn’t P’pa taught her to swim along with swordplay and reading, mathematics, history, and diplomacy?
“Miri, has everyone gone down to the Great Hall?” she asked, hiding a stab of disappointment.
“Yes, Your Highness,” she replied. “I saw His Grace with your mother on his arm, followed by Glenndon and a broad-shouldered man in a blue robe I do not know, just a moment ago.”
“That would be Lord Jaylor with Glenndon. Making sure the boy don’t flee again,” Maisy said.
“Time for us to join them. We will make an entrance that all will note,” Linda ordered.
“They’ll take note alright,” Maisy grumbled. “But will they note with favor or consign you back to pigtails and a governess?”
Glenndon walked beside his Da down the long staircase toward the Great Hall. Not his Da. He cringed inside. Maybe if he started consciously thinking of him as Jaylor, Senior Magician, he’d eventually learn to accept the tall blond man in front of him as his father. Maybe. He didn’t want to.
But it was becoming obvious the adults in this kingdom were not about to allow him to return to the University and his home. After that scene with the witchsniffers, he knew he was needed here more than ever.
Life was no simpler at the University with master magicians vying for prestige, seniority, and power, just like the lords here.
Da had made certain he knew that he no longer belonged among the magicians. He’d never belong in the palace with its maze of rooms and wings and hundreds of servants bowing and scraping to him at every turn.
He still needed to find a cure for the dragons. When was he to have time to himself to search out the Well of Life and the hidden archives? Every time he turned around, Maisy was there with new clothes for him to wear to a different event.
He guessed he had to stay until he completed his tasks.
He fixed his attention on the magnificent Coraurlia atop the king’s head and tried to imagine himself wearing the all color/no color swirls of glass that suggested a perched dragon watching all that dared look too close, with wings just starting to unfold around the sides. The head and horns blended into the circle, not protruding in a lifelike sculpture, but there nonetheless, ready to extrude at any time, without warning.
“Glenndon.” Da stopped them when the king paused in the arched doorway to the Great Hall. “There is more going on here than I expected.”
Glenndon nodded agreement, almost afraid to speak mind to mind, lest Da . . . Jaylor . . . repulse the thoughts.
“What did you see when you were in the void?”
Automatically, Glenndon shot him an image of the pulsing and twining umbilicals of life.
“Ah, yes.”
Glenndon cocked his head in question.
“I have been in the void a time or two, my boy. Tell me, did you see your own aura?”
What?
“You know what I asked.” Da grabbed his shoulders and shook him slightly, demanding attention and concentration. “Think a moment. There should be one particular cord that seemed to coil around you closely. It originated with you. Did you see it?”
Glenndon closed his eyes and tried to remember everything he saw, felt, heard, and did. He couldn’t keep a tight barrier around the memory even though he knew Da would peek.
“Focus, Glenndon. There, right in front of your mind’s eye.”
Gold. He watched the bright coil a moment, wondering why it clung so close to him. He thought it had to be the king’s.
“Close. It is close to Darville’s color. Look closer.”
Around the bright gold, clinging like an echo but not truly part of the cord, he found a paler cord, almost invisible. Rose gold, Glenndon sighed. Is that weak little thing me?
Jaylor chuckled. “Not so weak if you can see it. Remember, you are not yet eighteen, an apprentice with no lessons in this arcane magic work.”
Is it important?
“Yes, but I do not expect you to understand yet. Just think about it while you reside here in the palace. Think of this as your journeyman’s assignment. Your duty to the University, to all magicians, is to stay here, learn everything you can, and report back to me. Directly to me and no one else. Not one of the other masters, not your sisters or Lukan, and not your mother. Definitely not your mother.”
They both grinned at that. Calm, practical, organized, nurturing Brevelan tended to get more than a little excited when one of her brood stepped beyond her protective skirts.
Glenndon nodded again. He could do this. He could pretend to go along with the idea of becoming heir to the king. Pretend only. All in the name of his duty to the magicians and the dragons.
“When the time is right, I’ll send you permission to row over to Sacred Isle and cut yourself a staff,” Jaylor continued. “You must row, not transport yourself. That’s the way it has always been done. You must spend a night there, communing with the trees and the stars and the Bay. Then in the morning, if you are worthy, the trees will give up a stout branch to you, and you alone.”
“Staff?” Glenndon croaked out. The symbol of a true magician, a journeyman on his way to master. A tool to aid him in his searches!
“Not yet. But I think you are going to need it before this is over. In the meantime, keep your magic quiet, hidden as much as possible. And please, learn to speak. You’ve started. That’s important. Keep it up, son.” Jaylor squeezed his shoulder firmly, man to man, mentor to apprentice.
Glenndon stood straighter, proud and willing to obey. Hope of returning home brightened his perspective. He surveyed with new understanding the gathered court just beyond the stone arch where the king stood. Darville allowed torchlight to strike the Coraurlia and send multicolored prisms arcing around the room.
Show off, he thought.
“Exactly. Half of le
adership and diplomacy is showing the world you aren’t afraid of anyone,” Jaylor chuckled. “Watch and learn.” Then he faded into the shadows. “And remember, you are not the only one who talks to dragons, and he may be your sire, but I will always be your Da.”
The king waggled his fingers behind his back. Glenndon took that as a gesture beckoning him forward. He stepped up beside his king, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with him, letting some of the magnificent rainbows bathe his face. A lot like catching a dragon blessing on a bright sunny day.
CHAPTER 23
A GASP CIRCLED THE GREAT HALL, moving from one mouth to the next without break, like the circular ripples fanning outward from a rock dropped into the river.
Linda stepped back from the archway in dismay. Miri and Chastet caught her retreat and pushed her forward once more.
“They’ve seen us. We have to follow through,” Miri admonished her.
The laughter of derision thrives on embarrassment; Linda remembered her mother’s lessons in court etiquette. By quietly ignoring those who wish to make you look beneath them, you rob them of fuel and they have nothing left to laugh about.
“I have to do this. I can do this,” she said to herself. Twice. Then a third time to firm it up in her mind. Then she lifted her chin, kept her eyes level with the tapestry across the room and took her first step forward into contention for her rightful place as her father’s heir.
Murmurs followed the pattern of the gasp, rippling around the room in ever increasing waves of sound.
Her parents turned to see what had caused such a stir among the nobles and their followers. M’ma raised her eyebrows and sketched a slight curtsy to her, with the right depth and inclination of head the queen should afford an honored child. No more, no less. Then she turned back to face the court with a smile on her face.
One obstacle surmounted.
P’pa, on the other hand, scowled mightily, the corners of his mouth trying to attach themselves to his shoulders; the furrow above his nose pulled his eyebrows inward and downward until they nearly met as they might on a wolf muzzle. Did his queue bristle like a wolf’s tail when scenting the unknown? His keen gaze and expression gave her a deeper impression of wolf that had sighted its prey.
She tripped over the weighted toes in her low boots. Chastet caught her elbow until she steadied. To cover her stumble, Linda whisked the be-feathered cap off her head, swept it before her and bowed low over her arm, extending her right foot forward, as she had seen other young men do when approaching a higher ranking noble.
P’pa nodded for her to rise. She did so slowly, replacing the cap on her scraped-back curls. It landed slightly askew. She left it at the odd tilt to avoid fussing, like a girl.
“Not exactly how I expected you to appear when formally presenting your brother,” P’pa said. His expression returned to neutral. Only the storm that darkened his golden eyes betrayed his true emotions.
Linda braced herself for orders to return to her dressing room and come back only when properly attired.
But M’ma was biting her cheeks to keep from laughing.
Linda’s heart lightened as her mother beckoned her forward to stand beside Glenndon. She did so, keeping a wary eye on her father.
Glenndon, Stargods bless him, didn’t seem to notice anything untoward. Girls wearing boy’s clothing might be the norm out in the wilderness of the University of Magicians for all she knew.
“Be grateful we didn’t order dancing tonight,” M’ma said under her breath.
“That would upset ranking and protocol to no end,” P’pa replied with a glimmer of easing in his scowl.
The herald standing at P’pa’s right blew his long trumpet. The banner bearing the de Draconis crest of a dragon outlined in iridescent white on a light green ground—giving the impression of transparency—with a darker green and gold background proclaimed to one and all that the king had entered the room. “Lords and Ladies of Coronnan, Darville de Draconis, king by the grace of the dragons, and his lady, Queen Rossemikka, are pleased to present to the court their heir, Prince Glenndon de Draconis, and the Princess Royale, Rosselinda Kathleen Mirilandel de Draconis,” he said in his stern voice that projected to the far corners of the great room, even into the musicians’ balcony above them.
All the lords and ladies, their younger family members, and retainers bowed or curtsied as one as they faced the royal family, whispers and scandalized gasps swallowed.
“Princess Rosselinda, please escort Prince Glenndon to the court,” M’ma said. She turned challenging eyes upon P’pa who merely nodded, once, curtly, the storm in his gaze still raging.
But this was court. Neither he nor M’ma ever, ever betrayed by any gesture or expression anything but what they wanted the court to know. Family arguments remained within the family.
Linda had no doubt arguments would rage later. Until then, she had a job to do.
“Brother?” she turned her most vivacious smile on the silent boy. Then she bent her head and gestured for him to accompany her around the room, side by side. He towered over her, nearly as tall as their father, but he matched her stride, step for step, neither pushing himself forward nor drifting behind. Though she thought he might prefer to do the latter.
“Lord Andrall and Lady Lynnetta, allow me to present Prince Glenndon, my father’s son,” she said formally. “Lady Lynetta is P’pa’s aunt,” she added more quietly. Glenndon should know the family tree, but she wasn’t sure how much his other family had taught him.
Glenndon bowed, a bit awkwardly.
“Not so low.” Linda nudged him. “You outrank them.”
Glenndon straightened with a bit of a wiggle, uncertainty in his face and posture.
“Welcome to the family,” Lady Lynetta said loudly. She glanced around to make sure the gathering listened. She didn’t spend much time at court, leaving that chore to her husband, but when she did come, her senior status and closeness to the king meant that lower ranking ladies always listened to her. Then she placed her hands gently on Glenndon’s shoulders and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. Soon we must sit down and catch up. I knew your Da a long time ago. I like to think we were friends before the unpleasantness caused the magicians to withdraw.”
Leave it to Lady Lynetta to gloss over a governmental crisis and turn it into a mere unpleasantness.
“Welcome,” Lord Andrall said heartily. He too embraced Glenndon in that brusque way that men almost hugged and touched cheeks.
Glenndon breathed a bit easier as he looked to Linda to lead him to the next lord in line.
According to seniority and rank that should be Lord Laislac, a widower who had a different lady—never a wife—on his arm at each meeting. This one was closer in age to his fifty-plus years than most. Unfortunately they were on the far side of the room, almost hiding behind several junior courtiers and whispering madly behind hands that effectively covered their faces. To march over to them would be . . . awkward at least. That left Lord Jemmarc and his son Lucjemm eagerly pressing closer.
And who was the young woman behind them, barely sixteen if a day, very close in age to Lucjemm, and almost cowering, with shoulders hunched and hands wringing? She was dressed in a rich gown of faded red and gold brocade with multiple layers of fine lace in three different patterns at cuff, neck, and hem that could have been worn by Rosselinda’s grandmother decades ago. It hung loosely around the girl’s waist but crammed her bustline into too tight a fit. Obviously not new and not made for her. Someone must have dragged it out of storage at the last minute for her to wear tonight.
Linda looked more closely at the way Lucjemm sidled away from her, a step before his father. Jemmarc hung back just a bit from his son, trying to include the girl in the deep bow he offered Linda and Glenndon.
Linda kept her nod quiet and s
light. By all protocols set forth ages ago, the young woman should be presented to the queen before anyone. By offering first introduction to herself and Glenndon, Jemmarc did them both high honor in acknowledging one or both of them as heirs. She wanted to preen at that. But . . . if she accepted the introduction she showed disrespect for her mother.
On the other hand she showed disrespect by garbing herself in male clothing.
On the other hand . . .
Lucjemm obviously did not want himself associated with the lady. His eyes lingered on Linda and flashed with admiration.
Her heart did a silly little flip. She relaxed her shoulders and stood taller, grateful for his approval.
“Who do we have here, my Lord Jemmarc? A new face at court is always refreshing,” M’ma said coming up behind Linda and Glenndon. P’pa stood right beside her, still scowling whenever his gaze drifted to Linda.
Linda released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“My niece, Your Grace. Newly come from the country,” Jemmarc said on a deep bow. “My sister’s stepdaughter, Graciella.”
The young woman sank into a proper curtsy, never lifting her eyes above her hands.
“Welcome, child,” M’ma said. “Visit me tomorrow at the third hour after noon. We shall take refreshment and discuss your role at court. You will join us, Princess Rosselinda, properly attired for the occasion.” M’ma took P’pa’s arm and aimed them both to the other side of the Great Hall.
Linda gestured Glenndon in the opposite direction. He lifted an eyebrow in question, a smile playing with his mouth. In that moment he looked exactly like P’pa when trying not to laugh at an inappropriate joke.
“Yes, it is always like this,” Linda grumped to Glenndon. “Always a dance of politeness trying to sort out who outranks whom and who gets to say what before anyone else.”
An image of a dozen blue-robed men standing in a circle yelling at each other flashed across her mind’s eye.
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