“Things have gotten so much better in Vorone since that handsome young man came back to lead us,” Lady Pleasure said, expansively. “And this festival has really given some energy to the local economy. Inns are booked in advance, the nobility are preparing parties and fetes, and we’ve decided to make the Ball of Wildflowers . . . a masque! With a woodland theme!” she boasted, proudly, as if half of the town wasn’t already devoted to depictions of nature. “I’ve just come from His Grace’s chambers, and we’ve agreed! Simply everyone will wear animal masks for the fete! I’ve heard that they’ve become very popular in Vorone again!”
The oblique reference to the Woodsmen, who were continuing their nighttime patrols through places in town the Guard feared to tread, started a smoldering fire in Pentandra’s belly. It was insulting, what Lady Pleasure was doing. It was almost as if she was making fun of Pentandra’s efforts.
Several courtiers paused in their errands to watch the two women meet from afar. Pentandra got the impression that they saw the two of them as rivals. She affected her friendliest air to the baroness, and did her best to seem enthusiastic about meeting her. That should utterly confirm the idea to the cynical minds of the court.
“Certainly your own business must be doing well,” Pentandra ventured. It was conversational bait, and she delivered the line cautiously . . . but Ishi took it.
“Oh, thank the gods, yes! My girls are working night and day, bless their twats, and the demand always seems to be more than we can fulfill. We’re recruiting twice as many new girls to help meet demand over the festival. But the daily revenue is promising, and our reputation for exquisite luxury has spread across Vorone. Every evening is like a festival at the Hall of Flowers. Food, wine, dancing . . . romance . . .”
“And all at very reasonable prices, I hear!” Pentandra continued, a little more loudly than was appropriate.
“Well, we do charge a premium price for a premium service,” admitted the woman, with a smile, “but there are frequent and generous discounts available, as well. For members of the Palace Guard, for instance,” she said, loudly enough for several members of that corps patrolling the corridor to overhear.
“And hardly any pox among the girls, either!” Pentandra continued. “Very few of them possess Ishi’s Curse, from what I hear. Isn’t that true?”
“What?” asked the baroness with a shriek at the idea. Ishi’s Curse was a catch-all term for a variety of diseases and ailments known to favor prostitutes and their clients. “That’s not true at all!”
“So they do have Ishi’s Curse?” Pentandra asked in an even louder voice, her tone plagued with scandal, shock and surprise. “That’s terrible! Someone should do something!”
“My girls are as clean as any lady of the court!” Lady Pleasure insisted, not realizing how her outburst sounded to everyone until it passed her lips.
“Oh, good, then,” Pentandra said in a quiet voice.
All around her she could feel the reaction from the passers-by at the declaration. If Ishi had meant to charm her way into power here, she would have to contend with Pentandra’s ability to confound her. There were plenty of women in the palace who were already upset about the whores running rampant all over the place. Reminding them, publically, of the dangers implicit in such commerce only served to humiliate the baroness in front of them. Now the talk around court would involve Ishi’s girls and their alleged state of cleanliness . . . not how they foiled an uprising.
Too late Ishi realized what Pentandra had done. Her pretty blue eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.
“It was such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Pentandra!” she continued in her false tones, a hint of mockery in her voice. “Do feel free to stop by the House of Flowers again anytime – and do bring that hunky husband of yours, too. No doubt he could find some real amusement there.”
“He already has,” Pentandra assured her. “He heard that you told someone you were only thirty years old.”
With that Pentandra left before the goddess could lose patience. She had no idea of the extent of her powers in this form, but from what the legends said, she could be as vicious in battle as she was in romance.
By the time Pentandra made it back to her chambers, she was exhausted. And she knew she had to do something about . . . that woman before it was too late.
But what? How can you get someone in trouble when the only appeal to authority at your disposal involved prayer? Finding some way to keep Lady Pleasure from flooding the court with sexually promiscuous maidens and dictating policy from behind the bedchamber curtains was rapidly becoming Pentandra’s priority.
The Goddess of Love and Beauty was notoriously capricious, and the lore suggested little that was helpful in the way of arresting her power. She didn’t have a studly male god around to tempt her, for instance, nor was there a woman whose beauty rivaled the goddess.
After considerable thought on the subject (while inspecting the parchment files on each of the new candidates for an Adept certification) Pentandra realized that one area in which Lady Pleasure had shown weakness and attachment was obvious: Minalan the Spellmonger.
While Pentandra didn’t know the extent and level of intimacy of the relationship, she knew Minalan. If he had a shot with Ishi, not even his precious marriage vows would stop him from acting on his desire for her . . . or any man. That was implicit in Ishi’s phenomenology.
But it did suggest that Minalan had some sort of authority – or at least leverage – over the wayward goddess.
Pentandra realized, depressingly, just what she had to do: call on Minalan for help. Feeling annoyed, she contacted the Spellmonger.
Min, we’ve got problems, she began, as soon as she made contact with him mind-to-mind. She knew he was busy – by all accounts he was forming a full-fledged bouleuterion to oversee his many endeavors into enchantment. He sounded tired and a little argumentative.
What kind of problems? he asked, complainingly. Alka Alon? Royal? Ducal? Military? Cultural? Economic?
Take your pick, she sighed, realizing that any of them might be involved. But those aren’t the problems I need help with. Those are real problems that can be solved by real people doing real work. Our problem has big boobs and the meanest perspective on human mating I’ve ever seen.
Ishi.
Yes Ishi. Or Lady Pleasure, as she’s calling herself. Which is the tackiest pseudonym I’ve ever heard. You’re certain she’s a goddess?
I’ve recently gotten confirmation. That’s her.
First, I want to know how you know that. The way she said it told me that there was no room for dissembling . . . and the price of dishonesty would be high, she added, warningly. She expected Minalan to tell her everything, just like he always did. But he surprised her by telling her up front that he wasn’t going to tell her everything.
Pen, I have to be honest – there are some things I can’t be transparent about. For your safety, among others. All I can say is that yes, I have had divine encounters in the past that have aided our various causes. Some of these bore amazing fruit. Some produced . . . well, ‘Lady Pleasure’. Believe it or not, it’s not my fault.
He made it all sound so casual, as if associating directly with divinities (as opposed to the more regular sort of worship) was a curious hobby of his, not a bit of momentous news.
You’re consorting with gods, and it’s not your fault . . . you think? Minalan, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to mix magic and religion? she asked, pleadingly. He should damn well know better than that! Shall I list all the horrible, horrible ways it can go wrong from history? Shall we start with the collapse of the Magocracy, or shall we confine our discussion to early Perwyni history?
Pentandra, I told you it wasn’t my fault! A lot has happened, since you went to Alshar, and I’m doing my best to manage it without complicating your life. That doesn’t mean I’m trying to keep secrets, it’s just a bit . . . awkward, at the moment, he complained.
It had to be Ishi. Very well, then, since you unle
ashed this beast on me, you can help me contain it. Duke Anguin is holding a masque in a few weeks, and half of Lady Pleasure’s enchanted minions will be slobbering around the palace. I know you aren’t supposed to be away from your estates, but I think you should take the chance to slip away and come see what I’ve been dealing with.
Is it really that bad? he asked skeptically.
Of course it’s that bad! She’s got every woman in town tarted-up and every man following them! The cosmetics makers and the dressmakers are among our most prosperous businesses, now! The inns and taverns have enjoyed an explosion of business, because of all the courting, and . . . and . . . She tried to come up with more damning examples of the woman’s insidious nature, but couldn’t.
It doesn’t sound like much of a problem, Penny, Minalan told her gently.
That’s because you aren’t here, she shot back bitterly. Gods, how could a man not see an impending political disaster when he was staring right at it? Perhaps because he wasn’t staring right at it, she reasoned.
That cinched her plan. She had to get Minalan here, in Vorone, and set him against Ishi. She changed her tone to one more conciliatory and persuasive.
If you come and see it, you’ll see what I mean. How can the Duke make policy when a flick of a skirt will change it? How can a woman keep her husband happy at home when every maiden inside the walls believes herself to be breathtakingly beautiful? Things are under strain, Min, in ways I never thought I’d see, because of that selfish bitch!
All right, all right, I’ll come! Minalan finally agreed, sounding highly reluctant. But you realize, after my last encounter I’m not particularly eager to face her?
I can see why, Min, she said, understanding perfectly. If she made the women of the palace continuously doubt themselves and find fault with everything about themselves, she could only imagine the effect Ishi’s presence would have on an ordinary man. Even an extraordinary man like Minalan. She was sympathetic. She’s utterly intimidating, to man or woman. That’s why I need you here.
What about Arborn?
Keep him out of this! she insisted. I have him doing . . . other things, things better suited to his talents. Things that will keep him out of that bitch’s claws. Cleaning up the underworld here, for one thing. I may have turned him into a murderous assassin, but I’ve kept him away from her and her nasty little—
What does Duke Anguin think about all of this? Minalan interrupted, brusquely. Pentandra suppressed a snarl. Did he honestly think she could not contend with this challenge without oversight? From a fifteen year old boy? She took control of her emotions and tried to give an objective response. It didn’t come out well.
Anguin? He thinks it’s great, of course! Within months of his return to the summer capital, everyone is getting laid and making money. As far as what the people think, they see him as a savior. And now whatever it is she’s done has spread to him . . . he’s got mistresses falling all over the place. Which is all very well and good for the lad’s disposition – don’t get me wrong – but in a generation that’s going to play havoc with the succession!
One thing that had become quite clear in the last week: whatever shreds of Anguin’s sexual innocence had once been there were long gone. The Orphan Duke was getting cocky, by all accounts, since his evenings became so invested in the antics of the “maidens” of the House of Flowers. While there had been no reports of pregnancy yet, with that many young maidens haunting his bedchamber it was only a matter of time.
That’s part of the problem – everything Ishi is doing seems perfectly reasonable and rational, on the face of it, but it’s starting to have dramatic consequences that those fools at court can’t see! I need your perspective, Min, and whatever leverage you can bring to bear on her.
I’ve got to go to the Chepstan Fair next week, he told her, after a moment’s thought, and thanks to Arathanial’s little war, I’m obligated to go. But I can attend this masque, in honor of my good friend, Duke Anguin. I’ll risk my own duke’s wrath, for that. If he’s even paying attention to me, he added, sounding like a sullen little boy.
You just need to get out in the world for a night or two, she proposed persuasively. Bring Alya, make up a costume, bring a few gifts, be your charming self . . . and get this damned love goddess out of my hair for me so I can do my godsdamned job!
I will, I will, Minalan assured her. I promise. I’m not sure how, yet, but I’ll at least study the situation.
While it wasn’t the resounding endorsement of her efforts and pledge of support she wanted, she also knew getting Minalan involved held dangers of its own.
He’d been moody and wracked with melancholy lately, and Pentandra had no real idea why. His lands were secure, his children and wife were safe, and he was doing some truly spectacular things with enchantment, now – things that hadn’t been done since the Magocracy. He had the unflagging respect of his peers and colleagues and wealth beyond his wildest dreams.
So why did he sound so damned depressed? Perhaps he really did just need to get out of Sevendor, come to the Wilderlands for a few days, and get his bearings.
Whatever you can do, Min, she said, gratefully. Now just get this goddess out of my face, and half of my problems will melt away.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Conspiracy Unmasked
“You,” Pentandra said, a smile cracking her face, “look like a proper young lady of the court, now!”
“I hate it!” Alurra complained. “My skin feels raw, my hair feels naked, and these clothes . . . they itch . . .”
She picked at the smart new day gown, in sturdy mustard-yellow cotton. The shade suited her tanned skin and blonde hair, though not perfectly. The three other bolts of cloth Pentandra had chosen for Alurra were far more complementary, once they were turned into gowns fitted to the girl. Until then, this was acceptable.
The dress had been made by the palace seamstress for a courtier’s wife years ago, paid for, but never collected -- the poor woman was consumed in the invasion Though not a perfect fit, it was a lot better than the shapeless shift and bag-like overtunic Alurra had worn since she’d arrived in Vorone. It actually demonstrated that she had a shape, for instance, under her baggy clothes. And there was room to grow. Pentandra guessed by Alurra’s frame and age that she would need it, sooner rather than later.
“It won’t itch so much when your proper underthings are delivered,” Pentandra promised as she eyed the dress critically. “You’ll just have to endure for a few days. Just . . . try not to scratch in front of other people,” she suggested.
Alurra faced her, her eyebrows cocked critically. “Why not?”
“It’s considered impolite. As are a few other things I’ve seen you doing,” she added, with a sigh. “The dresses and the shoes--”
“Oh, Ishi’s saggy titties, the shoes!” wailed Alurra, miserably. Lucky the raven, exiled for the fitting to the top of the unused looking glass, squawked his sympathies with his mistress. “Why does anyone wear shoes if it isn’t snowing out?” Alurra demanded, crossly.
“Because we are civilized folk,” Pentandra lectured, firmly, “not wild barbarians or freeholders. You might have been born a Wilderlands peasant, my dear, but that is no excuse for not handling yourself in public with poise and manners, especially in the palace.”
“I just don’t see the bloody point!” Alurra fumed, squirming in the gown uncomfortably. “Is this how noble folk dress all the time?”
“That’s how most folk dress most of the time,” Pentandra assured her. “But to return to my earlier point, our social awareness -- how we talk and act around other people -- communicates just as much as our words. Often much more. In court that can be particularly important. At court, you should assume first and foremost that everyone you meet is working for their own best interest, and if they can see an advantage in exploiting even perceived flaws, they will. Letting such folk know our true selves is a vulnerability few can afford. So we conceal our true selves behind a system of c
onformity and society, while we each strive to further our true goals.”
“But that means you’re just lying to each other all the time to get what you want,” accused Alurra.
Pentandra frowned. “Consider the importance of what we do here,” she began. “This is the center of politics in the Wilderlands. That might not sound important, but that’s because you do not understand the nature of politics. At its root, politics is the peaceful allocation of scarce resources. The Duke acts to ensure that the people, the nobles, and the clergy each have what resources they need to uphold their part of society. The Duke’s job, as mandated by holy writ, is to ensure that the common folk have peace and order, the clergy has stability and resources, and the nobles have swords, horses, and castles.
“In Vorone, that is particularly difficult, because right now there is a desperate need . . . and few resources to speak of. So unless we want to see what little society we have devolve into pure warlordism, under which no one really gets what they need, politics becomes keenly important. And our business here at court becomes all the more vital.”
“So that’s why you get to lie to each other all the time to get what you want,” Alurra said, crossing her arms.
Pentandra struggled for patience and took a deep breath. “In the pursuit of order and security,” she continued, beginning to wonder if Alurra would work out here at the palace, after all, “those charged with the task of ensuring them must meet, plan, and allocate what resources they have in common, under the Ducal household.
“That’s the court. It’s made up of the senior officials, usually appointed by the Duke, who make policy and hire people to execute it. It’s comprised of the senior clergy, who provide a number of essential services to the people and require the duke’s maintenance, oversight, and guidance. But also his support. It's made up of the military, who are charged with defending the people and the clergy. It’s made up of commercial interests, who see to the transportation and delivery of vital supplies and goods. It’s made up of a Court Wizard, responsible for overseeing the magi of the realm and regulating their affairs.
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 52