Competitions (6 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nialla returned with a sniff, abruptly changing her position when she discovered how flat her breasts looked in the old one. “No one in their right mind would choose a weak Blending, not when they have to be strong enough to defend us from all those crises the Prophecy always talks about. You’re just jealous because you’ll be nothing but stage dressing for the performance the Advisors will put on.”

“Of course, Nialla, you’re correct as always,” Bron said smoothly, not about to try to explain the difference between strong in talent and strong in character to the featherhead. Nialla had just one talent, and Bron had already made use of it. “It’s been as marvelous as always, and I’ll certainly see you again soon.”

“
If
I’m free,” Nialla put in, her pretty face set in a sulk, getting the last word as she so loved to do. Bron ignored it as he left her bedchamber, but his mood was far from light and forgiving. There were quite a few things Nialla didn’t know about, and the uncertainty of one of them had been keeping him in a perpetual temper.

So, after closing her bedchamber door, when he saw the antique piano in her sitting room, he suddenly got an idea. She’d had to wait years to get her hands on that piano, it had cost her a fortune in gold, and it was her pride and joy. But she’d called him stage dressing and pettily jealous, and for that she needed to be punished.

It took only an instant for Bron to embrace the power, and then he directed his flames to the piano’s sounding board. He didn’t want to burn it to ash, and also made sure nothing else in the instrument was damaged. He simply worked to fire-harden the wood, which would render it useless as a sounding board. The entire piano would be useless until the board was replaced, but replacing it would destroy the instrument’s value as a fully-original antique. Nialla would have the choice of giving up playing the thing as she so loved to do, or losing half the investment she’d made.

Feeling how much his mood had lightened, Bron left Nialla’s house and called over his carriage and driver. The man was there and waiting for him, of course, and would have been in the same place even if Bron had been twice as long in coming out. His drivers were either constantly and immediately available or they were dismissed, something they were all well aware of.

It wasn’t necessary for Bron to tell the driver where to go next, as he’d already listed his itinerary for the man this morning. That was another thing his drivers had to have, a good memory. He was a busy man, and didn’t care to be constantly interrupting his thoughts to give directions.

Once Bron was settled the carriage moved off in the direction of Kambil Arstin’s house, where the meeting was being held this week. The Advisors had appointed fools from the lower nobility to work with their group of five and strengthen their talents, and once a week an Advisor’s agent held a meeting in one of their homes to discuss the group’s progress. It was usually a rather unpleasant time, as agents had a tendency to act as if they were one of the Advisors themselves. Bron hated to be told how badly he was doing because of his laziness, but this week’s meeting ought to be different.

He smiled at that thought, knowing the meeting ought to be different for all five of them. It was certainly true that Bron’s parents knew how much he hated to be pushed and rushed and so had never distressed him with unreasonable demands, but now he had a special purpose for pushing
himself
. The five of them had decided, privately, of course, that
they
would become the Seated Blending. Adriari and her five were weak in all ways, and their competition would be very public. When Bron’s five defeated Adriari’s in front of hundreds of people, they would become the ones who were ultimately Seated on the Fivefold Throne.

And there would be nothing the Advisors could do about it. Bron’s smile changed to a grin as he pictured the way they would all assure the Advisors how loyal and obedient they would be once Seated. That would mollify and silence all protests from the Advisors, but once their Five was Seated their first official action would be to arrest that pack of fools. Simply dismissing them and sending them home would be a good deal more satisfying, but Delin said they were too dangerous to be treated lightly.

Bron’s grin disappeared as his thoughts turned to Delin Moord, high lord and Earth magic practitioner. Delin might have been the one to first suggest that they go against the Advisors wishes, but Bron couldn’t swear to that. For some reason he thought of it as his own idea, one that Delin simply supported. Bron sometimes found himself confused in Delin’s presence, but most often he felt flattered. Delin’s power and social standing were a bit higher than his own, but it was always clear that Delin admired him. Most certainly as he should.

And Bron was certainly the leader of the group that everyone looked up to. Delin made that clear every time they got together
without
the agent, just as he quietly took over handling things when the agent did happen to be there. Lord Rigos and his high-handed ways tended to upset Bron, and it was a relief to have Delin handle the man for him. Especially since Delin made no effort to
keep
control.

Bron smiled again, pleased that Delin’s loss was his gain. Almost every member of the nobility Bron knew was as ambitious as he to gain independent gold and power, but not Delin. He seemed content to let others take the lead, which was probably very wise of him. As unassuming as the man was, he’d never get very far.

But the carriage was moving too slowly, Bron suddenly noticed. A glance at a clock before leaving Nialla’s house had shown that Bron was running late as usual, something his driver should have known without being told. He’d certainly have to dismiss the man tonight, no matter that the low-class peasant had worked for him for years. The man deserved to be dismissed, but now he needed to be hurried.

Bron leaned forward to shout at his driver, picturing how upsetting Lord Rigos would be when Bron walked in late again…

CHAPTER SEVEN

Selendi Vas, Air magic

“Selendi, dear, why
are
you rushing around like that?” Mother asked from where she sat at her precious loom, paying more attention to the weaving than to her own daughter. “I did remind you of your appointment just when you asked me to, you know.”

“No, Mother, I don’t know any such thing,” Selendi retorted, throwing the scarves she didn’t want to the floor. The chest was piled high with them, every scarf ever bought except for the one she wanted. “You were supposed to have reminded me over an hour ago, not ten minutes ago. Since you know how I hate to be late to appointments, I’m convinced you waited the extra hour on purpose.”

“But dear, you were with that marvelous young what’s-his-name, the son of Alette Rumil,” Mother protested in that high voice she used when she felt unjustly accused—and which never failed to jangle Selendi’s nerves even more. “He’s going to be a very important man some day, just like his father, so how
could
I interrupt?”

“You could have done it easily, and he probably wouldn’t even have noticed,” Selendi told her with an angry glance her mother never saw. “He’s as thick in the head as Alette has always been, and he’s only good for one thing. He may well be a very important man one day, but only if he can perform as he does now, face down in a bed.”

“Don’t be crude, dear, it isn’t ladylike,” Mother corrected absently, the same thing she always said when she’d driven Selendi into the foulest of moods. “Alette is simply a bit … easygoing when it comes to understanding things, and her son obviously takes after her. But he also takes after her in looks, you’ll have to admit. He’s one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve always been partial to blondes, and if you weren’t sitting there doing manual labor I would have brought him in to meet you,” Selendi said, partially distracted by the fact that she’d now discarded every scarf in the chest, and still hadn’t found the one she wanted. “What could have happened to it? I know I saw it in here only a few days ago.”

“Please don’t be disgusting, Selendi,” Mother protested, finally looking up from the ridiculous contraption. “I’m not doing manual labor, I’m indulging in one of the most popular current hobbies. I’m sure the boy would understand since his mother does almost the same thing when she remembers, so next time do bring him in to meet me. After that I’ll handle the matter myself, but What
are
you looking for?”

“I want that pale blue scarf of yours,” Selendi answered, turning away from the scattered mess. “It’s the only scarf that goes really well with this dress, and I’m not leaving here until I find it.”

“You should have told me what you were looking for sooner, dear,” Mother said with that defensive reproof she was so good at producing. “I loaned the scarf to your sister two days ago, and she hasn’t returned it yet.”

“Mother, how could you?” Selendi demanded, finding that the last straw. “You should have known I’d want the thing, you were there when I had the final fitting on this dress! Now there’s nothing decent to go with it and I’ll look like the frump of the ages, all because you never think about me. If I had the time, I’d cry. My own mother, caring nothing about me…”

Selendi let her voice trail off, actually almost as wounded as she’d said she was. Every time Mother gave something to Leta, it was one less thing to be given to
her
. She didn’t know how Mother could treat her like that, but at least her protest had silenced the silly woman with well-earned guilt. And she had to leave right now, otherwise she really would be late.

“But dear, can’t you simply change your dress?” Mother began, trying to throw off responsibility the way she always did. “It seems to me—”

“We’ll have to continue this discussion later, Mother,” Selendi interrupted as she headed out of her mother’s bedchamber. “And you can be sure I’ll remember this the next time Emar Rumil comes to visit. Do enjoy your manual labor.”

The sound of Mother’s indrawn breath of disappointment gave Selendi a good deal of satisfaction, but she hadn’t the time to enjoy it now as thoroughly as she would have liked. Her carriage would be waiting outside, so she used thickened air to push the stupid servants out of her way, including the one carrying the tea service. Both service and tea ended up on the floor with a crash, but it didn’t matter in the least. Selendi was already past the mess and halfway out the door, so she didn’t even get her hem splashed.

Her driver knew the way to Kambil Arstin’s house, so she simply had to say where she was going and they were on their way. Her driver was an absolute delight, and not too bad in bed, either. She’d used him a time or two when no one else was available, and the way he’d strutted afterward had amused her. Most peasants knew when they were more than ordinarily privileged, and his strutting would remain amusing as long as he didn’t try to put on airs with
her
.

Not that he would, unlike some of the men of her own class. Most of them were absolutely insufferable, even the thick-headed ones like Emar Rumil. Bron Kallan was one like that, and as soon as she tried him in bed she’d probably tell him exactly what she thought of him. Unless he was as good as she’d heard. If he was she’d wait until she tired of him, which wasn’t likely to take long. It never took long with any of them, probably because they were so insufferable.

Selendi made herself more comfortable on the carriage seat, finally having the time to think about where she was going. The rest of the five she’d been forced to join were men, but they seemed to want as much out of life as she did. It was difficult to imagine men being dissatisfied when most of them at least had the chance to do anything they pleased.
Their
mothers were never constantly at them, insisting this or that wasn’t ladylike or refined enough. She was beyond being sick of hearing about limits, and had hated it even more when the Advisors’ agent had forced her to do what she had no real interest in.

But that made their secret plans all the more delicious. When she and the men defeated that stuck up Adriari’s five to become the Blending that would eventually be Seated, they’d be able to begin their plans for absolute freedom. The Advisors would regret having made them participate in this stupid waste of time called competition that only the peasants took seriously, and
her
parents at least would regret how little they’d cared about her over the years.

Selendi smiled at that thought, wondering what she might do to them first. Her father did something or other in the government, so dismissing him would be easy. And if she told him it was happening because Mother had been so cruel to her… Yes, that should settle Mother’s hash nicely. The least she would lose would be her collection of “handsome” boys, which would certainly make
her
regret that she hadn’t been more generous with her most important daughter.

That still left Leta to be gotten even with, which would certainly turn out to be something of a problem. Selendi frowned and shifted in annoyance at the thought of her older sister, whom everyone said took mostly after Father. Leta had no more magical talent than anyone else, but somehow she’d always managed to do exactly what she wanted to. The one time they’d had a serious argument, Selendi had lost.

She still had to take a deep breath at the memory of that, to calm the rage tinged with fear she always felt when thinking about it. They’d both been a lot younger, Selendi barely into her teens with Leta three years older. They’d been arguing about something Selendi couldn’t quite remember the details of, but it had been an important something to Leta. She’d usually shrugged over and ignored anything Selendi did, but that time she’d refused to back down. Yes, now she remembered. It had been when Selendi had told the servants to throw away that useless stand of books in the solarium, to make room for the new lounge chair Selendi had just had delivered.

“No, those books will
not
be touched,” Leta had announced coolly, sending the servants away. “I haven’t finished reading them yet, and I won’t want them thrown out even when I
have
finished.”