“And now?” I said, taking down my hair and unbraiding it.
“Now we’re mostly young, for despite all the talk about Galdran liking young active folk, the truth was, we were there as hostages so our parents would not gainsay him.” Her smile turned wistful. “So though we are young, we prize delicacy of speech, and no one ever gets drunk in public. That kind of behavior, once a luxury, could get one killed under Galdran’s rule. So could free speech, which is why fans became so popular. Speaking of fans, now that you know how to open one, and hold it, I’ll teach you how to speak with it.”
“Speak? With a fan?” I asked.
She chuckled. “There are times when words say too much—or too little. For example, watch this.” She tapped my wrist lightly with her closed fan. Her wrist was arched, her hand angled downward. “What does that seem to suggest?”
“That I stay where I am,” I guessed, mildly intrigued.
She nodded. “But watch this.” She tapped my wrist again, still holding the fan closed, but this time her hand was angled differently so that I saw the underside of her wrist.
“It’s like a beckon,” I said.
“Exactly. The first keeps a suitor at his distance, the second invites him to close the distance, all without speaking a word.”
“That’s flirting,” I said in disgust. “I don’t have any need for that. If any Court toady tries that on me, I’ll be happy to use my words to send him to the rightabout. That’s not why—” I’m going to Court, I started to say, but then I closed my mouth.
If she noticed the lapse, she gave no sign. “But it’s not just for flirting,” she said. “There are so many modes, all of which can change the meaning of one’s words. I should add that we often used the fan language to make fun of Galdran or to give ourselves the lie when we had to flatter him. He had a habit—more and more in the last three or four years—of using threats to get flattery. I think he suspected that the end was near.”
I whistled. “So the fan language is a kind of flag code? Like the navies use?”
“I guess you could think of it that way,” she said. “I liked it because it gave us a bit of freedom, for Galdran never used a fan. Considered it female foolery, even when Savona and the other young men used it right before his face. Stars! Your hair is long!” She stood back and admired the waving auburn river of hair that hung past my knees.
“I promised not to cut it until Mama was avenged, and now I find I can’t,” I said, and when I saw her odd expression, asked forebodingly, “Don’t tell me I’ll get laughed at…”
“Oh no,” she said, brimming with sudden mirth. “It’s becoming a fashion, very long hair—coming from the south, of course, where Queen Yustnesveas Landis has very long hair. She’s young, you know, and so she leads fashion as well as rules. Anyway, everyone is trying to grow theirs. And…someone will be jealous.”
“Someone?” I repeated, mentally reviewing her descriptions of various Court figures. She did not always name them, I had noticed, particularly when she made her—rare—criticisms. “Is this the same someone you’ve almost named once before?”
She smiled wryly. “I think I’ve already said too much. Won’t you leave yours down for dinner tonight? It looks quite lovely.”
“Not to kneel on at the table,” I said, swiftly rebraiding it. “Since there’s no one to impress. Now, back to the fans. Let’s have some of that code.”
“All right,” she said. “This mode is called Within the Circle.” She twirled her open fan gently in an arc. “It means that the speaker regards the listeners as friends. But if you wave it like this—then it alters to the Walled Circle Mode, which indicates trusted friends. It binds the listeners not to speak of what they’ve heard…”
oOo
For dinner that night we found Bran and Shevraeth waiting in the parlor next to the dining room. This was new for me, but it was according to the rules of etiquette; and if I regarded it as rehearsal—more of the playacting—I found it easy to walk in beside her, minding my steps so that my skirt flowed gracefully and my floor-length sleeves draped properly without twisting or tripping me up.
Nee had probably prepared them, I suspected as soon as I saw Nee walk straight to my brother, who performed a bow, and grinning widely, offered his arm.
This left me with Shevraeth, tall and imposing in dark blue embroidered with pale gold, which—I realized as I glanced once at him—was the exact same shade as his hair. He said nothing as he bowed, but there was mild question in the space between his gray eyes and his long brows as he held out his arm.
I grimaced. You’ll have to learn this some time. May’s well get it over quickly, I told myself.
Putting my fingertips so lightly on his sleeve I scarcely felt the fabric, I fell into step beside him as we followed the other two into the dining room. Though this was my home, I didn’t plop down cross-legged onto my cushion, but knelt in the approved style.
After I’d fortified myself with a gulp of wine, Bran said. “Life, Mel, you look fine. Getting some more of those duds?”
I nodded.
“What have you done with your day?” Nee asked, her fan spread in the attitude I recognized from our fan lesson as Harmonic Discourse.
“We had a bout with the group at the garrison, had a squint at some horses brought from up-mountain. Danric answered mail, and I went over to town with Calder to look at the plans for paving the streets.”
This was Tlanth business. I said, “Did you talk to the elders? They want part of their taxes to go to that.”
Bran lifted a shoulder. “It’s a fair plan.”
I sat back, relieved.
Nee put her chin in her hand. “‘Answered mail,’ Vidanric? Is he referring to that formidable bag your equerries brought in this morning?”
“We’re finishing the last of the dispersal and reassignment of Galdran’s army,” Shevraeth said.
“Dispersal?” I repeated, reminded of my plans for evaluating his forming government. Surely it would raise no suspicions to ask about it, since he had introduced the subject. “You’ve dismantled that gigantic army?”
“A huge standing army with little to do is both—”
“‘—a financial burden and a threat,’” I said. “I recognize the quote—and I agree,” I added hastily, seeing consternation on Bran’s face. “I …wondered what was happening to them,” I finished rather lamely.
To my surprise, Shevraeth said, “I shall be happy to discuss it with you. My decision did not meet with universal approval—there were advocates for extremes at either end—and some of my nearest associates grow tired of the whole affair.” Here he saluted Bran with his wineglass, and Bran grinned unrepentantly.
“It’s boring,” my brother retorted. “And I can’t even begin to keep it all in my head. Tlanth’s affairs I see as my duty. Dealing with the affairs of the kingdom I regard as a narrow escape.”
In disbelief I addressed Shevraeth. “Don’t you have advisers?”
“Quantities of them,” he responded, “most of whom—nearly all, I very much regret to say—are precisely the people one wishes to listen to least: former Galdran toadies who are angling for new privileges, or to keep the ones they have; troublemakers; and then there are mere busybodies. I listen to them all, more to find out the trends of gossip in reaction to what I’ve done than to seek guidance for future decisions.”
“Who are the troublemakers? People who want to rule?”
“Some of them,” he agreed. “Among whom are a few with legitimate claims. Then there are those who are backing these claimants, with their own ends in view. Your own names have been put forth.”
Bran grinned. “Grumareth kept after me the whole time I was in Athanarel.”
“Well, maybe he thinks you’d rule well,” I said.
Bran laughed. “He thinks I’d be easy to lead by the nose, yet too stupid to see him doing it.”
I looked down at my plate, remembering the terrible dinner with the Prince of Renselaeus
when I had aired my views on how my brother would make a much better king than Shevraeth. Was that argument about to resurface?
But Shevraeth said, “Poor Grumareth chose unwisely when he allied with Galdran. His was one of the duchies drained most by the ‘volunteer taxes’ and the forced levies for the army. I think he dreams of recouping what he lost. His people have to be clamoring for justice.”
“He’s a foolish man,” Nee said, “but his great-niece isn’t a fool.”
Shevraeth inclined his head toward her. “You’re right. And I’m hoping that the duke will remain at Court to busy himself with plots and plans that won’t work, so that Lady Elenet can stay in Grumareth and straighten things out.”
Nee’s eyes were sober as she glanced across the table, but her voice was exactly as pleasant and polite as ever. “So you will not strip the family of lands and title, despite his foolishness in the past?”
“The Duke of Grumareth was always a fool and will always be a fool,” Shevraeth said, so lightly it was hard to believe he wasn’t joking. His tone altered as he added, “I see no need to ruin the family over his mistakes. There is sufficient intelligence and goodwill among them to see that their lands are restored to peace and thereby set on the way to recovering their former prosperity.”
Nee smiled. “Trust Elenet for that.” That was all she said, but I had a very strong feeling from both their tones of voice that there was an unspoken issue between them. Then I realized that she had been playing with her fan as they talked; I glanced at it, but if she’d used it to make more plain whatever it was that I sensed, it was too late now. She sat back, laying her fan in her lap as she reached for her wine.
“If everyone who compromised with Galdran out of fear, or greed, or even indifference, were to be penalized,” Shevraeth went on, “Athanarel would soon be empty and a lot of people sent home with little to do but use their wealth and power toward recovering their lost prestige.”
“More war,” I said. Thinking of my secret cause, I ventured a question. “Do you agree with Mistress Ynizang’s writings about the troubles overseas and how they could have been avoided?”
Shevraeth turned to me. “That’s an excellent book—one of the first my parents put into my hands when it became apparent I was serious about entering their plans.”
“What’s this? Who?” Bran asked, looking from one of us to the other.
Shevraeth said, “She is a historian of great repute in the Queen of Sartor’s Court, and I believe what she says about letting social custom and the human habit of inertia bridge an old regime to a new, when there is no active evil remaining.”
“Sounds dull as a hibernating snake. Saving your grace.” Bran saluted Shevraeth with his glass, then said, “Tell my sister about the army.”
Shevraeth saluted my brother with his own glass and a slightly mocking smile. “To resume: Dispersal and reassignment. I have relied heavily upon certain officers whom I have come to trust—”
“Which is why you were up here against us last winter, eh?” Bran asked, one brow cocked up. “Scouting out the good ones?”
Old anger stirred as I remembered the common talk from a year ago, about Shevraeth’s very public wager with the Duke of Savona about how soon he could thoroughly squelch the rustic Astiars—meaning Branaric and me. Fighting down the reaction I reminded myself that I had been misled by surface events—and again I had misjudged Shevraeth’s true motives.
“Precisely,” Shevraeth said. “Those who wish to stay are relatively easy; they await reassignment. Those who are unhappy, or incompetent, or for whatever reason are deemed ready for a civilian life are being cut loose with a year’s pay. We are encouraging them to get training or to invest in some way so that they have a future, but a good part of that cash will inevitably find its way into the ready hands of pleasure houses. Still, each new civilian leaves with the warning that any bands of ex-warriors roaming the countryside as brigands are going to find their futures summarily ended.”
“So that’s where the surplus money went,” I said. “What about Galdran’s bullies who loved their work?”
“The hardest part of our job is to determine who has the necessary qualifications for keeping order, and who merely has a taste for intimidating the populace. Those who fall between the two will be sent for a lengthy stint on border patrol up north, well away from events in the capital.”
His readiness to answer my questions caused my mind to glitter with new ideas, like a fountain in the sunlight. Eager to try my own theories of government, formed during my half year of reading, I launched a barrage of questions related to the merits of an all volunteer army paid from crown revenues, versus each noble being responsible for a certain number of trained and equipped warriors should the need arise. To each question Shevraeth readily responded, until we had a conversation—not quite a debate—going about the strengths and weaknesses of each method of keeping the country safe.
Very soon I began to see where my lapses of knowledge were, for he knew the books I quoted from. Further, he knew the sources’ strengths and weaknesses, whereas I had taken them as authorities. Still, I was enjoying myself, until I remembered what he’d said about listening to busybodies. Immediately full of self-doubt at the thought, I wondered if I sounded like one of those busybodies. Or worse, had I betrayed my secret quest?
Abruptly I stopped talking and turned my attention to my dinner, which lay cold and untouched on my plate. A quick glance proved that Shevraeth’s dinner was equally cold. I picked up my fork, fighting against another surge of those old feelings of helpless anger and awkwardness.
After the pause turned to silence, Branaric laughed. “You’ve left me behind. What have you been reading, Mel? Life! You should go south to Sartor and help take the field against Norsunder. Unless you’re planning another revolution here!”
“Were you thinking of taking the field against me?” Shevraeth addressed me in his usual drawl.
Aghast, I choked on a bite of food. Then I saw the humor in his eyes, and realized he’d been joking. “But I’m not,” I squawked. “Not at all! I like, well, reading and thinking about these things.”
“And testing your knowledge, Danric,” Bran added.
“Whether you are testing mine or your own, you really will get your best information firsthand,” Shevraeth said to me. “Come to Athanarel. Study the records. Ask questions.”
Was he really inviting me straight out to do what I’d resolved so secretly? I had no idea what to make of his words. “Promised Nimiar I’d come,” I mumbled, and that ended the subject.
oOo
Later, Nee sat with me in my room. We were drinking hot chocolate and talking about music, something I usually enjoy. But the dinner conversation was on my mind, and finally I said, “May I ask you a personal question?”
She looked up in query and made the graceful little gesture that I had learned was an invitation.
“Isn’t Shevraeth a friend of yours?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
“Then why the fan, and the careful words when you asked about your friend Elenet?”
Nee set her cup down, her brow slightly furrowed. “We are friends to a degree…Though we all grew up at Court, I was never one of his intimates, nor even one of his flirts. Those all tended to be the leaders of fashion. So I don’t really know how close he was to any of them, except for Savona. It took everyone by surprise to find out that he was so different from the person we’d grown up with.” She shrugged. “He was always an object of gossip, but I realized recently that though we heard much about what he did, we never heard what he thought.”
“You mean he didn’t tell anyone,” I said.
“Exactly. Anyway, Elenet is an old friend, of both of us, which is complicated by her family’s machinations. Her safety is important to me. Yet in referring to it, I don’t want to seem one of the busybodies or favor-seekers.”
“I don’t think you could,” I said.
She laughed. “Anyon
e can do anything, with determination and an inner conviction of being right. Whether they really are right…” She shrugged.
“Well, if he wants to be king, he’ll plain have to get used to questions and toadies and all the rest of it,” I said. Now wondering if I’d made an idiot of myself at dinner, I added crossly, “I don’t have any sympathy at all. In fact, I wish he hadn’t come up here. If he needed rest from the fatigue of taking over a kingdom, why couldn’t he go to that fabulous palace in Renselaeus? Or to Shevraeth, which I’ll bet has an equally fabulous palace?”
Nee sighed. “Is that a rhetorical or a real question?”
“Real. And I don’t want to ask Bran because he’s so likely to hop out with my question when we’re all together and fry me with embarrassment,” I finished bitterly.
She gave a sympathetic grin. “Well, I suspect its to present a united front, politically speaking. You haven’t been to Court, so you don’t quite comprehend how much you and your brother have become heroes—symbols—to the kingdom. Especially you, which is why there were some murmurs and speculations when you never came to the capital.”
I shook my head. “Symbol for failure, maybe. We didn’t win—Shevraeth did.”
She gave me an odd look midway between surprise and curiosity. “But to return to your question, Vidanric’s tendency to keep his own counsel ought to be reassuring as far as people hopping out with embarrassing words are concerned. If I were you—and I know it’s so much easier to give advice than to follow it—I’d sit down with him, when no one else is at hand, and talk it out.”
Just the thought of seeking him out for a private talk made me shudder. “I’d rather walk down the mountain in shoes full of snails.”
Crown Duel Page 24