Court Duel (19 page)

"Speak, then," he said, his voice just a shade deeper than
usual.

I looked over my shoulder and realized then that he was
laughing. Not out loud, but internally. All the signs were
there; the shadows at the corners of his mouth, the sudden
brightness of his gaze. He was laughing at me—at my
reaction.

I sighed. "It concerns the party I must give for my
brother's coming marriage," I said shortly, and stole another
quick look.

His amusement was gone—superficially, anyway.

"You must forgive my obtuseness," he murmured. "But you
could have requested your assistance by letter."

"I did. Oh." I realized what he meant, and then remembered
belatedly one of Nee's more delicate hints about
pursuit—and pursuers.
"Oh!"
So he
hadn't
guessed why I'd come; he thought I'd come
courting. And, well, here we were alone.

My first reaction was alarm. I did find him
attractive—I realized it just as I was standing
there—but in the way I'd admire a beautifully cut diamond
or a sunset above sheer cliffs. Another person, finding herself
in my place, could probably embark happily into dalliance and
thus speed along her true purpose. But the prospect simply
terrified me.

He touched my arm, lightly, just enough to guide us back to
his window. "It is not merely the sight of water that I find
salubrious," he said. "Its function as a metaphor for study is
as... as adaptable—"

"You were going to say fluid," I cut in, almost giddy with
relief at the deft change of subject.

Once again I saw that brightness in his eyes that indicated
internal laughter. "I wasn't," he insisted. "I would never be
so maladroit."

Forgive my maladroitness...
For an instant I was
back in that corner room in the State Wing, with Shevraeth
standing opposite me.

I dismissed the memory as Flauvic went on, "As adaptable, to
resume our discourse, as its inherent properties. The clarity,
the swift change and movement, the ability to fill the
boundaries it encounters, all these accommodating
characteristics blind those who take its utility and artistry
for granted and overlook its inexorable power."

As if to underline his words—it really was
uncanny—the threatening downpour chose that moment to
strike, and for a long moment we stood side by side as rain
thundered on the glass, running down in rivulets that blurred
the scene beyond.

Then he turned his back to it. "How may I be of
service?"

"My brother's party. I want it to be special," I said. "I
should have been planning it long before. I just found out that
it's a custom, and to cover my ignorance I would like to make
it
seem
I've been planning it a long time, so I need
some kind of new idea. I want to know what the latest fashion
for parties in the Empire's Court is, and I thought the best
thing I could do would be to come to you."

"So you do not, in fact, regard me as an arbiter of taste?"
He placed a hand over his heart, mock-solemn. "You wound me."
His tone said,
You wound me again.

Once again I blushed, and hated it. "You
know
you're an arbiter of taste, Flauvic," I said with some
asperity. "If you think I'm here just to get you to parrot out
Erev-li-Erval's latest fad, then you're—well, I know you
don't believe it. And I didn't think you fished for
compliments."

He laughed out loud, a musical sound that suddenly rendered
him very much more like the age we shared. It also made him,
just for that moment, devastatingly attractive. I realized that
I had to get out of there before I got myself into trouble that
it would take a lifetime to get out of.

"There's never any one fad," he said. "Or if there is, it
changes from day to day. A current taste is for assuming the
mask of the past."

"Such as?" I looked out at the rain streaming down the
windowpanes.

"Such as choosing a time from history, say six hundred years
ago, and everyone who comes must assume the guise of an
ancestor of that time."

"Well, my mother was a Calahanras, but it seems to
me—and I know I'm not exactly subtle—that it would
not be in the best of taste to assume the guise of royalty for
this party."

"But you have your father's family. For example, Family
Astiar and Family Chamadis have intermarried, ah, twice that I
know of. One of those was a love match, almost three hundred
years ago. Your brother and prospective sister would be
charming in the guises of Thirav Astiar and Haratha Chamadis.
It would also be a compliment to Nimiar, for it was her
ancestor Haratha who considerably boosted the family's prestige
by her part in the Treaty of the Seven Rivers."

"Oh!" I was delighted. "I knew you'd think of something! But
is there a part for me? I have to be prominent, being
hostess."

"You don't know your own family's history?" He raised a brow
slightly.

"We barbarians are ignorant, yes," I retorted, "mostly
because my father burned most of our books after my mother
died."

"He did?" Flauvic's blank gaze seemed curiously intent.
"Now, why was that—do you know?"

"I don't have any idea. Probably will never find out.
Anyway, there was no history of any kind for me to read until I
began last year by ordering new books, and very few of those
mention the Astiar family."

He bowed, gesturing apology. "Forgive me," he said. "I had
not known. As for your part, that's a shade more difficult, for
Thirav had no sisters. However, there were two female cousins,
either of whom you might assume the guise of. Ardis was the
more prominent of the two."

"Ardis. I suppose there are no portraits ..."

"... but you could safely order a gown based on court
fashions of the time," he finished. "The point here is, if
people are to get their costumes ordered in time, you must be
speedy with your invitations."

"Costumes are easily ordered," I said, smiling sourly. "What
you mean is, to give everyone time to dive into their family
histories if they aren't as well read as you are."

"Precisely," he said with a gentle smile. "It is a shame
that so few have the time or inclination for scholarship these
days. There is much entertainment to be afforded in perusing
the mistakes of our forebears."

He said it exactly like he said everything else, but once
again that sense of warning trickled through me. "For what
purpose?" I asked, daring my real subject. "To advise new
rulers?"

"Mere curiosity," he murmured, still smiling. "I never
involve myself in political skirmishes."

So that was that.

"Thanks for the advice," I said briskly. "I'd better get to
my own studies."

"You do not wish to stay for some refreshment?" he
asked.

I shook my head, pointing at the window, which was now
clear.

The downpour, as downpours will, had slackened just as
suddenly as it had come, and there was a brief glimpse of blue
through the tumbling clouds. "I think I'd better go now, before
it comes back."

He bowed, silent and gracious, and I was very soon gone.

I decided that that would be my last visit to the heir to
the Merindars, at least uninvited and when he was alone.
Meanwhile, there was his suggestion for my party to be
researched.

What time was it? Just then the bells for first-green
pealed. Green—time for Petitioners' Court, Nee had said.
Which meant that the Renselaeuses ought to be safely ensconced
in the throne room.

Despite the fact that I was somewhat damp from the rain that
had begun again in earnest just before I reached the Residence,
I sped down the halls to the State Wing, slowing to a sedate
walk just before I reached the areas where the door servants
would be found.

My heart thumped hard when I reached that last hallway, but
the big library was empty. Relieved and grateful, I dashed
inside and started scouring the shelves. I knew I would not
find anything directly relating to the Astiars—they
weren't particularly famous for anything. I'd have to find
memoirs or histories that might mention them. The best source
for researching the Chamadis family, of course, would be a
history of the Battle of the Seven Rivers, or else a history
about relations between Remalna and Denlieff. Chamadis lands
being on the border, there was sure to be mention of
them—and maybe the marriage with the Astiars.

Unfortunately there was only one book that dealt with that
battle, and it was written by the ambassador at the time, who
featured himself so prominently that the negotiations for the
treaty were presented only through a long and self-praising
catalog of the entertainments he gave. There was just one brief
mention of Lady Harantha.

Remembering what the Princess had told me about histories, I
had to grin as I replaced the dusty book for what would
probably be another hundred years. So now where?

Of course I knew where.

I turned toward the corner, staring at the tapestries to the
little alcove where the memoirs for the heirs were stored.
Bunching my skirts in either hand so they wouldn't rustle, I
moved stealthily to the tapestry and stood listening. No
voices, certainly, and no sounds beyond the drumming of the
rain against the near windows.

So I lifted the tapestry—and looked across the room
into a pair of familiar gray eyes. Dressed splendidly in black
and gold, as if for Court, Shevraeth knelt at the desk,
writing.

For the third time that day, my face went hot. Resolutely
reminding myself of my promise not to initiate any quarrels, I
said, "Harantha Chamadis. Thirav Astiar. The Treaty of Seven
Rivers. Is there a record?"

Shevraeth didn't say a word. He lifted his pen, pointed at a
particular shelf, then bent his head and went right back to his
task.

For a moment I watched his pen traversing swiftly over the
paper in close lines. Then my gaze traveled to the smooth
yellow hair, neatly tied back, and from there to the lines of
his profile. For the very first time I saw him simply as a
person and not as an adversary, but I did not give myself the
space to gauge my reactions. The curl of danger, of being
caught at my observations and once again humiliated, caused me
to drag my gaze away, and I trod to the shelf to which I'd been
directed.

A few swift glances through the books, and I found the
memoirs of the queen of that time. A quick glance through
showed the names I wanted repeated on a number of pages.
Gripping the book in one hand and brushing back a strand of my
wet hair with the other, I said, "Do you need my
reason—"

He cut in, lightly enough: "Just put it back when you're
done."

He kept his gaze on his writing, and his pen scarcely
paused. Scrawl, dip, scrawl, dip.

Two or three more words—then the pen stopped, and he
glanced up again. "Was there something else?" he asked. Still
polite, but very remote.

I realized I'd been staring for a protracted time, my
reactions frozen as if behind a layer of ice. I said in a rush,
"The party, for Bran and Nee. Do you—should I send
you—"

He smiled just a little. "It would cause a deal of talk if
you were to avoid inviting any of my family."

"Oh." I gulped. "Yes. Indeed."

He dipped his pen, bent his head, and went back to his
task.

I slipped out the door and fled.

FIFTEEN

FLAUVIC'S REMARK ABOUT SCHOLARSHIP, I DECIDED before the day
ended, was a kind of double-edged sword. When I discovered my
ancestor Ardis was not so much prominent as notorious, my first
reaction was a snort of laughter, followed by
interest—and some indignation.

The queen's memoir, which was replete with gossip, detailed
Ardis's numerous and colorful dalliances. Her ten-year career
of flirtation came to a close not long after she became engaged
to a Renselaeus prince. This engagement ended after a duel with
the third Merindar son—no one knew the real reasons
why—and though both men lived through the duel, neither
talked of it afterward. Or to her. She wound up marrying into a
minor house in the southwest and passed the rest of her days in
obscurity.

She was beautiful, wealthy, and popular, yet it appeared,
through the pages of this memoir anyway, that the main business
of her life had been to issue forth in the newest and most
shocking gown in order to shine down the other women of the
Court, and to win away lovers from her rivals. There was no
hint that she performed any kind of service whatever.

In short, she was a fool.

This made me drop the book and perform a fast and furious
review of my conversations with Flauvic. Did he think I was a
fool? Did he think that I would find Ardis in the records and
admire her?

Or was this some kind of oblique challenge? Was he hinting
that I ought to do more than my ancestor—such as get
involved in a fight for the crown?

The answer seemed pretty obvious. I decided not to
communicate with Flauvic about my foolish ancestor. Instead,
I'd use his idea but find my
own
time period and
historical personages. A much more elegant answer.

This time I planned my foray. When I saw Shevraeth dancing
at the Khazhred family ball that night, I excused myself after
a short time as quietly as I could, retreated to the Residence,
changed out of my gown, lit a candle, and sped through the
library to the alcove.

It was empty. I knelt at the desk, which was bare except for
pen and ink, and leafed through book after book, names and
events filling my mind and overlaying the present until I felt
as if I existed in two times at once—as in a dream.

And I realized that if Flauvic had intended some kind of
obscure statement through his choice of the time and the
ancestors, I could do the same.

For instance, Branaric and I were also descendants of
royalty through the Calahanras family. The Calahanras rulers
had been some of the best kings and queens this kingdom had
ever known; it would be a nice gesture to Flauvic, I thought
wryly, if I were to assume the guise of one of my Calahanras
ancestors. I could select one who was not famous—thus who
wouldn't draw attention to me and away from my brother and his
betrothed.