“That little . . . all right, all right, let me think . . .” she said, her mind whirling at the possibilities.
It wasn’t unthinkable that Minalan would have attracted the attention of the capricious gods – he’d been a sudden and important player in human politics for a couple of years, now. Not to mention the power he commanded, both arcanely and temporally. That sort of thing traditionally attracted the attention of the human divinities, from what the legends told. Pentandra didn’t know a lot about theurgy, but she knew that religious history was sprinkled with divine revelations and even divine visitations for people at the center of such power.
What was unthinkable was that Minalan would indulge in such relationships without telling her. That seemed a shocking betrayal, and it made her mad at her friend and colleague. After all they had been through . . .
And from the back of her mind, her mother’s voice rang in her head: You know you can’t trust men!
Yet the more rational part of her mind pointed out that when the gods were involved, ascribing free will to any situation became fraught with error.
The gods of man had a long history of popping up, interfering in human affairs, and then disappearing back to whence they came after crafting chaos in the name of religion. Assuming Minalan had been acting with independent agency could be dangerous, or at least mistaken. She resolved to postpone indulging in being really angry at him until she got the truth of the matter. That was only fair.
And it profoundly disappointed the voice of her mother in her head.
“Well, it seems as if I need to have a chat with Minalan,” Pentandra sighed, as the coach pulled up to the front of the palace.
“The Spellmonger?” asked Alurra, impressed.
“Yes, ‘the spellmonger’,” Pentandra said, rolling her eyes. “He’s been a naughty boy, talking to strange goddesses without me. But more importantly, I need to figure out what to do about Lady Pleasure before things get out of control.”
Alurra didn’t look impressed anymore, she looked scornful. “She’s not a very nice woman,” she pronounced with all of the solemnity and judgment an adolescent girl could conjure.
“She’s the goddess of love and beauty,” Pentandra reminded her. “Being ‘nice’ isn’t exactly an important part of her aspect. On the contrary. But if I were you, I’d be more concerned about how she felt about you, than the other way around.”
Alurra started. “Why?”
“Because you just called the goddess of love and beauty a ‘cunt’ to her face,” Pentandra reminded her. “Something that, in all of my years of studying the lore of Ishi, has never happened before.”
“Did she . . . look mad?” asked Alurra guiltily. “Ordinarily I’d never use that kind of language, but—”
“I’m not saying that you were inaccurate, dear,” Pentandra soothed. “Just unwise. I wouldn’t plan on having any boyfriends any time soon,” Pentandra suggested, half-joking. “Or at least no good ones.”
“Boys aren’t often interested in blind girls,” Alurra said, discouraged. “That’s fine. I’m not that interested in them, either.”
“That’s a very thoughtful and wise perspective . . . and one doomed to be short-lived, I’m afraid,” Pentandra said, sympathetically. “You are very pretty, under all of that hair, even if you’ve never been told. You aren’t even done growing yet. Eventually Ishi wins over us all. Save for the very pious. Or the very ugly.”
“It all seems an awful lot of fuss over nothing,” Alurra said, doubtfully.
“Sex always does . . . until it isn’t. Then it becomes the most important thing in the world. And a fine excuse to make really, really terrible decisions about your life.”
“You make it sound so appealing,” Alurra said, sarcastically.
“It has its benefits,” Pentandra said, thinking for a moment about the way Arborn’s huge arms seemed to lovingly crush her within them. “It’s not all bitter disappointment and anxiety.”
“Well, I hope it will be years before I get involved in all of that nonsense,” Alurra declared. “I can’t think of anything more useless.”
“No doubt,” smiled Pentandra. She’d said similar things as a child, she recalled. Before she saw the maid and the groomsman together.
“And she really was kind of a cunt,” muttered Alurra.
*
*
*
Pentandra waited until the next evening before she got around to contacting Minalan. There was a problem with procedure at the Mirror array they were establishing, so she had to straighten it out, and then she had to interview new potential Spellwardens for the town. It wasn’t until the office was closed and she’d retired to her chamber before she composed herself enough to approach Minalan, mind-to-mind.
By that time the damage had already started to be done. Not only were the halls and corridors of the palace filled with pretty young prostitutes working on the Wildflower Festival, but they had quickly moved their attentions beyond the young-and-handsome and toward more affluent and powerful courtiers.
Before the day was out she happened across a pair of Lady Pleasure’s agents giving Ishi’s Blessing to Sir Antinon, the Ducal Chamberlain, in an alcove, and inspiring him to call the lustful goddesses name several times during the event. After that she walked into a privy on the second floor to discover Sir Bestus with one maiden bent over a table in secluded lounge, her skirts raised and his pants down, while another murmured encouragement and watched for interlopers.
By the time Alurra came to her at supper with a half-dozen rumors of similar encounters breaking out all over the palace, Pentandra had had enough. She didn’t know how, but the sudden wave of determined lust had to involve Minalan, somehow. It was time to hold him to account about it.
Are you at liberty? she began. She didn’t want to interrupt him if he was, for instance, in the middle of a moment of passion. Or at least not much. But apparently Minalan was focused on his domestic affairs, not his erotic ones.
From a really good maid, apparently, he sighed into her mind. How goes the restoration?
Well, she admitted, to her own surprise. She hadn’t stopped to think about it in those terms in a few weeks, but Minalan’s perspective gave her an excuse to think about it and venture an opinion. Particularly about the investment of trust and potential Minalan had made in the Orphan Duke. Anguin is more of a Duke than I thought he would be. He has acted with utter confidence. It’s almost scary, how determined he is to be a good ruler. What the hells did you give the boy?
A challenge, he answered, a cocky note in his mental voice. He couldn’t have done it without seeing it so. He was primed to mope his way through his reign, and I convinced him it was more challenging to rule, and rebuild what his fathers left him.
Well, he took your words as counsel, she reported dutifully. Within a week of arriving he had the palace straightened out. Two weeks after that he had the town in hand. There have been a few executions, some exiles, and some imprisonments, and the Iron Band got about a hundred unexpected recruits . . . . but we’re making progress. We’re working on the countryside now – there are bandits everywhere, mostly refugees turned highwaymen for the lack of better options. And the refugees are starving, of course.
Have you ever met a well-fed refugee?
I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that – if you’d seen what I have, you wouldn’t jest.
Thankfully, Minalan changed the subject. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one she was prepared to discuss, and his inquiry caught her off guard. How is married life?
Married life? What married life? Pentandra found herself complaining, when given the opportunity. She realized as the words came tumbling out that she had an abundance of pent-up feeling about it, and virtually no one to whom she could turn for sympathy, advice, or guidance. If Minalan was foolish enough to ask, her subconscious didn’t see any reason to spare him the result. And she had a lot of feeling built up inside her, since they’d come to Vorone.
I see
Arborn maybe two days in a week, as he’s hunting bandits in the woods most of the time. Which is fine, of course, because we don’t really need bandits in the woods, but we’ve got bandits actually running large parts of the town and that’s where we need his focus. When he is here he barely speaks, we sit and stare at each other, and he hasn’t . . . it’s been hard, re-adjusting, she said. She tried hard to sound confident, but she knew it came across as misery.
It takes time, Minalan soothed. You’ll settle in.
It’s even worse now that we’re living in the palace, she complained. But I didn’t summon you to complain, she said, redirecting herself admirably. This is business. Of a sort. I’ve run into someone you know, and she wanted me to give you her regards.
Really? Who is that? Minalan asked, innocently. Pentandra could tell he’d gone on his guard at the question, and the innocence was mere affectation. That confirmed her worst suspicions.
The goddess of love, sex, and beauty? she offered, accusingly. Ishi? She’s been hanging around the palace. Hanging around Vorone. She revealed herself to me, and spoke very highly of her recent dealings with you.
There was a long pause before Minalan answered.
Oh.
That’s what I said! Pentandra exploded. Min, do you care to explain to me how you’ve been consorting with strange divinities and not telling me about it? Because that bitch has the entire town in an uproar, and I’ve just about had enough!
Calm down, calm down! Minalan urged, which did nothing to calm Pentandra down. She reflected about how telling someone to calm down almost never had the desired effect. What’s going on?
Pentandra sketched how her meeting with “Lady Pleasure” had gone, and without confirming too many specifics for him she told him how she was certain of the true identity of the woman. Minalan didn’t sound surprised when she told him. That just made her madder.
You realize that we’re supposed to be doing this . . . this . . . whatever we’re doing, we’re supposed to be doing it together? That was our agreement!
I know, I know! Minalan said, lamely. This was . . . unexpected. And unforeseen. Hard to drop into casual conversation, not in any way that will get you believed. Honestly, Pen, if I had said ‘oh, by the way, Ishi dropped by the other day. We had lunch. It was fun’ would you have believed me?
When stated like that, she could start to see his perspective. It was natural to take accounts of divine visitations with skepticism. But the sudden intrusion of the deity on his life explained some of Minalan’s recent moodiness, she decided. No. Probably not. I’d think you were just bragging.
Exactly. Dealing with . . . her is complicated, by definition. She’s very . . .
Yes, she is, Pentandra agreed coolly, without the need for elaboration. So why does she think possessing an old bag and starting a brothel in the wilderness is some kind of favor to you? That’s what I can’t understand.
It’s complicated, Minalan repeated sullenly. Just keep an eye on her, okay? Let me know if she does anything . . . untoward.
Like seducing half of the Alshari court?
Let’s hope that’s all she does.
You are not inspiring much confidence, Pentandra observed. Minalan, I know you’re under house arrest, or internal exile, or whatever it is right now, but how can I possibly deal with a goddess running roughshod over this town?
I don’t know, Pen, he admitted. If I do, I’ll think of something. Have you considered consulting a priest?
This is a little out of their jurisdiction, Pentandra replied. There isn’t even a real temple to Ishi in Vorone, surprisingly. Just a shrine. And her activities seem far less concerned with religion than they do commerce.
Just watch her, Minalan repeated. If things get really out of hand, I’ll see what I can do.
*
*
*
Pentandra spent the rest of the day in a daze, trying to come to grips with her predicament. She’d expected to have rivals at court – you couldn’t put three women in a room and not have them compete and conspire against each other – but to have one of them also be a reasonably powerful goddess was not something she’d imagined.
The insidious thing about Lady Pleasures slow and pleasant conquest of the court was that the townsfolk genuinely felt a need to celebrate. Not just the coming of the Orphan Duke to the capital, or even the return of Spring, but there was a desperate need to celebrate just being alive after the last few years.
The townspeople greeted Lady Pleasure’s participation in the planning and execution of the festival eagerly. They did not care if she ran a brothel. The old standards that held such enterprises as ignoble or scandalous had eroded under the neglect of Wilderlands society to the point where having a whoremonger as a civic leader was not an impediment to her leadership.
Despite herself, Pentandra watched the preparations with a kind of anxious interest. Regardless of her origins or intentions, Lady Pleasure’s staff of prostitutes and servants was adept at organizing and executing the festival. The many, many obstacles to such an event seemed to melt away with a smile or a whisper when her girls were running errands on her behalf. One by one they melted away like the last of the snowfall.
Over the next few days more tangible symbols of Lady Pleasure’s performance began to be seen around Vorone. One by one the homes and halls of the Market ward began hanging banners portraying wildflowers on their walls or over their doors. The stately residences in the North ward began cleaning and sprucing up for the first time in years, as pairs of maidens sweetly invited them to participate in the festivities.
Pentandra found herself in the middle of an argument at her regular mid-week meeting with the rest of the council over whether or not to attempt a tournament in conjunction with the event . . . and successfully argued that there was not adequate time to promote such a contest beyond the local region. Anguin and Salgo settled for an archery contest and swordplay competition instead. That pleased Salgo, as the Wilderlands folk were adept with their great bows and needed the incentive to practice. That pleased Anguin because he positively hated jousting.
Through it all Pentandra had to suppress the urge to scream in the middle of the discussion You idiots! Can’t you see what she’s doing to you? Can’t you see what she’s doing to us all?
The problem was that what she was doing was working. Not since she had come to Vorone had Pentandra seen such an enthusiastic outpouring of civic pride. People were taking responsibility for the garbage outside of their homes, the muck in their sewers, the herbs and flowers in the quaint planters and window boxes were thriving, and even the weather seemed to cooperate. The normal spring rainstorms mostly came at night, while the days were sunny and warm.
People were excited for the stupid festival. It was almost as if it had the favor of the gods.
In the middle of it all, Lady Pleasure was frequently seen at the palace overseeing the preparations . . . and they seemed to encompass nearly every office, including her own. A request from the Duke for magical entertainments on the night of the festival was received by her office, as was a request for advice about dealing with potential petty crime.
“All of this nonsense is lovely, it really is,” grumbled Sister Saltia at luncheon in the great hall, a few days after her meeting with the madame. “But it all seems so pointless, considering the state the Duchy is in. Thank the gods that tournament idea was killed – that would have lost us coin for certain!”
“I thought Ifnites loved the thought of such contests?” Pentandra pointed out. The temple was almost universally responsible for overseeing the betting at them, for a percentage.
“We do,” the plump nun agreed, fingering her golden infinity symbol. “But only if they’re likely to make money. Enough to justify the work. This one wouldn’t,” she said, flatly. “You were right, there isn’t enough time to promote it properly, and without a slate of popular contestants, it’s not going to draw enough wagerers to make it worthwhile. Maybe next year,” she refl
ected.
“I’m more concerned that we’re fiddling around with this instead of dealing with the critical problems,” agreed Lady Bertine. “We took tribute from four large estates this week, but because the quotas were set by Duke Lenguin, and haven’t been changed, we took them in iron ore and not grain,” she said, miserably. “Now we have a warehouse full of yet more useless rocks and a town full of hungry people. Have you seen what a loaf of bread is going for, Huin forbid?” she asked, scandalized.
“Father Amus assures me that this is a seasonal fluctuation brought on by the need for seed corn,” Sister Saltia said, defensively. “Once the first crop of the season is in the ground, prices will ease up. The grain merchants will import more and costs will stabilize.”
“Not bloody likely,” Lady Bertine, who delighted in sharing bad news, snorted. “I’ve penned at least a half-dozen letters begging Castali merchants to ship grain to deal with the shortage. The replies haven’t been encouraging. Duke Tavard has imposed high tariffs on grain leaving his duchy. And more on iron entering it.”
“Why?” asked Saltia, confused. Her ecclesiastic training had kept her largely insulated from feudal politics, so Pentandra explained.
“Because Prince Tavard – who is also Duke Tavard of Castal – is a jealous little prick,” she provided. “I don’t know if he’s heard about Anguin’s restoration –no, of course he heard, it was on the Mirror Array – but he doesn’t want a strong rival anywhere in sight. If he can use his influence to keep Anguin and Alshar weak and feeble, he will. That includes keeping grain from flowing into Alshar from Castal, and Alshari iron and timber from flowing south into Castali markets.”
“She’s right,” agreed Bertine, between spoonfuls of soup. “The local grain merchants are in league with them, too, to keep the prices high. Our barns and silos are empty and our warehouses are full of ore we can’t sell. Meanwhile Castali silos are bursting with grain,” she said, miserably, “and Alshari ore commands a high price! Tavard is starving Alshar and denying us the ability to sell iron to his own profit.”
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 48