Court Duel (22 page)

My thoughts lengthened into reverie, which was broken only
by the sound of Nee's voice. "Something amiss?"

I turned my back to the shower-drenched garden. Nee laid
down her pen and looked at me from over her cup, held in both
hands. Her manner indicated it was not the abstract question of
one who would hardly spare the time to listen to the answer.
She was in a mood for converse.

So I shrugged, and forced a smile. "Thinking about the
rain," I said.

"Rain?" Her brows arched in inquiry.

"Here I stand, regretting our missed opportunity to walk. A
year ago I would have happily run up in the hills, whether it
rained or not. And I was thinking that I could go out, in spite
of the weather, but I wouldn't enjoy it like I used to."

She gestured in amicable agreement. "There's no fault in
misliking the feel of a water-soaked gown."

"That's part of it," I said, seizing on the image. "Last
year I wore the same clothes year round. My only hat was a
castoff that Julen found me somewhere. I loved the feel of rain
against my face, and never minded being soaked. I never noticed
it! Now I own carriage hats, and walking hats, and riding hats,
and ball headdresses—and none of them except the riding
hats can get wet, and even those get ruined in a good soak. My
old hat never had any shape to begin with, or any color, so it
was never ruined." I turned to face the window again.
"Sometimes I feel like I didn't lose just my hat, I lost my
self
that horrible night when I walked into Bran's
trap."

Nee was silent.

I ran my thumb around the gilt rim of the cup a couple of
times, then I made myself face her. "You think I'm being
foolish?"

She put her palms together in Peaceful Discourse mode. "Yes
I do," she said, but her tone was not unkind. "One doesn't lose
a self, like a pair of gloves or a pin. We learn and change, or
we harden into stone."

"Maybe I've changed too fast. Or haven't changed enough," I
muttered.

"Have you compromised yourself in any important way?" she
asked.

I opened my mouth to say
Of course, when we were forced
to give up our plans to defeat Galdran,
but I knew it
would be an untruth as soon as it left my lips. "I think," I
said slowly, "I lost my purpose that day. Life was so easy when
all I lived for was the revolt, the accomplishment of which was
to bring about all these wondrous miracles. Nothing turned out
to be the way we so confidently expected it to. Nothing."

"So..." She paused to sip. "... if you hadn't walked into
that trap, what would be different?"

"Besides the handsomeness of my foot?" I forced a grin as I
kicked my slippered toes out from under my hem. No one could
see my scarred foot, not with all the layers of fine clothing I
now wore, but the scars were there.

She smiled, but waited for me to answer her question.

I said, "I suppose the outcome in the larger sense would
have been the same. In the personal sense, though, I suspect I
would have been spared a lot of humiliation."

"The humiliation of finding out that your political goals
were skewed by misinformation?"

"By ignorance. But that wasn't nearly as humiliating
as—"
my encounters with a specific individual.
But I just shook my head, and didn't say it.

"So you blame Vidanric," she said neutrally.

"Yes... no ... I don't know," I said, trying not to sound
cross. "I don't." I looked down, saw my hand fidgeting with the
curtain and dropped it to my side. "Tell me about Elenet. Why
haven't I met her before? Or is she another who abjured
Court?"

"On the contrary," Nee said, and she seemed as relieved as I
was to have the subject changed. "She grew up with the rest of
us. In fact, she was my greatest friend until she went back to
Grumareth. As young girls we were both very minor members of
our families, largely ignored by the others. She's solitary in
habit. Serious. Though her humor comes out in her art."

"Art?"

"Yes. She's very, very gifted at painting. The fan she made
for me is so beautiful and so precious I use it maybe once a
year. She makes them only when she wishes to. Screens as well.
They can change a room."

"I remember you talking about her once."

"She went home two years ago, when she was unexpectedly made
the heir to Grumareth." Nee's mouth tightened. "It was another
of Galdran's workings, though no one could point to any proof.
Until two years ago the Duke of Grumareth had been a very
bright man working hard to counter Galdran's worse excesses.
Then there was some kind of power struggle and the Duke had one
of the accidents that has decimated so many of our families.
Galdran got rid of most of the rest of the smart ones in that
family, either by accidents or by sending them out of the
kingdom. Elenet's mother then moved back to her family in
Denlieff, leaving Elenet here. Galdran settled on the present
duke, Elenet's great-uncle, to take the title and quiet,
obedient Elenet to be heir. The new duke stayed here to pay lip
service to Galdran, and Elenet was sent back to run the
province."

The memory of my first formal dinner back in Tlanth, when
Shevraeth and Nee fenced verbally over the question of
reversion of titles, came clear. Nee had defended her friend.
"She's done a good job?"

"A superlative job," Nee said fervently. "No one expected it
of her, except me. Just because she seldom speaks doesn't mean
she doesn't notice, or think. She's saved her people untold
grief, deflecting Galdran when she could, and her great-uncle
the rest of the time."

"Do you know what brings her here now?"

"I don't," Nee said. "I've scarcely had an opportunity to
exchange two words with her. I trust I'll have the chance
tonight. I expect, though, that she's here partly because
Grumareth has finally gone home ill."

I'd scarcely noticed the absence of the obnoxious duke. Full
of patently false flattery and obsequiousness mixed with
superciliousness, he was thoroughly repellent—and stupid.
Luckily he favored the older generation as gambling cronies,
only paying lip service to those young people he thought would
somehow advantage him. He'd apparently decided we Astiars were
not worth his exalted efforts; though he'd courted my brother
all the year before, he'd largely ignored us both since my
arrival.

"Ill? But no one admits to being sick—it always means
something else."

"Probably gambling debts," Nee said, shrugging. "That's what
it usually is, with
him.
Elenet will have informed him
they haven't the wherewithal for his latest squanderings, and
he'll have gone home to save face until they can raise what's
needed."

"You mean they are that close to ruin?"

Nee grinned. "Oh, not as bad as they were, thanks to Elenet.
It's just that his foolishness is now the very last priority,
over land improvement. It's she who governs the finances, not
he. He's so afraid of anyone finding out, he perforce permits
it. I shall make certain the two of you have a chance to talk.
I think you will really like her."

"Thank you," I said, sweeping a curtsy. "I'm flattered."

SEVENTEEN

THE NEXT DAY'S RACE WAS CANCELED ON ACCOUNT of rain. My
invitations had been delivered, however, causing a spate of
notes to cross and recross the elegant pathways, borne by
patient runners under drooping rain canopies.

Bran and Nee were delighted—and I think Nee was just a
little relieved as well. With every appearance of enthusiasm,
they both summoned their clothier staffs to start planning
their costumes.

I also received a note from Azmus saying that he needed to
talk to me, so I asked Mora to help me arrange my schedule for
the following day so that I could see him alone when everyone
else was to be busy. Mora gave no sign that I knew she knew all
my affairs—she just said she'd help, and did.

I also received a note from the Unknown, the first in two
days. I pounced on it eagerly, for receiving his letters had
come to be the most important part of my day.

Instead of the long letter I had come to anticipate, it was
short.

I thank you for the fine ring. It was thoughtfully
chosen and I appreciate the generous gesture, for I have to
admit I would rather impute generosity than mere caprice behind
the giving of a gift that cannot be worn.

Or is this a sign that you wish, after all, to alter the
circumscriptions governing our correspondence?

I thought—to make myself clear—that you
preferred your admirer to remain secret. I am not convinced you
really wish to relinquish this game and risk the involvement
inherent in a contact face-to-face.

I dropped the note on my desk, feeling as if I'd reached for
a blossom and had been stung by an unseen nettle.

My first reaction was to sling back an angry retort that if
gifts were to inspire such an ungallant response, then he could
just return it. Except it was I who had inveighed, and at great
length, against mere gallantry. In a sense he'd done me the
honor of telling the truth—

And it was then that I had the shiversome insight that is
probably obvious by now to any of my progeny reading this
record: that our correspondence had metamorphosed into a kind
of courtship.

A
courtship.

As I thought back, I realized that it was our discussion of
this very subject that had changed the tenor of the letters
from my asking advice of an invisible mentor to a kind of
long-distance friendship. The other signs were all
there—the gifts, the flowers. Everything but physical
proximity. And it wasn't the unknown gentleman who could not
court me in person—it was I who couldn't be courted in
person, and he knew it.

So in the end I sent back only two lines:

You have given me much to think about. Will you wear the
ring, then, if I ask you to?

I received no answer that day, or even that night. And so I
sat through the beautiful concert of blended children's voices
and tried not to stare at Elenet's profile next to the Marquis
of Shevraeth, while feeling a profound sense of unhappiness,
which I attributed to the silence from my Unknown.

The next morning brought no note, but a single white
rose.

Despite Nee's good intentions, there was no opportunity for
any real converse with Elenet after that concert. Like Nee,
Elenet had unexpectedly risen in rank and thus in social worth.
If she'd been confined to the wall cushions before, she was in
the center of social events now.

But the next morning Nee summoned me early, saying she had
arranged a special treat. I dressed quickly and went to her
rooms to find Elenet there, kneeling gracefully at the table.
"We three shall have breakfast," Nee said triumphantly.
"Everyone else can wait."

I sank down at my place, not cross-legged but formal
kneeling, just as Elenet did. When the greetings were over, Nee
said, "It's good to have you back, Elenet. Will you be able to
stay for a while?"

"It's possible." Elenet had a low, soft, mild-toned voice.
"I shall know for certain very soon."

Nee glanced at me, and I said hastily, "If you are able to
stay, I hope you will honor us with your presence at the
masquerade ball I am hosting to celebrate Nee's adoption."

"Thank you." Elenet gave me a lovely smile. "If I am able, I
would be honored to attend."

"Then stay for the wedding," Nee said, waving a bit of bread
in the air. "It's only scarce days beyond—midsummer eve.
In fact, if Vidanric will just make up his mind on a
day—and I don't know why he's lagging—you'll have
to be here for the coronation, anyway. Easier to stay than to
travel back and forth."

Elenet lifted her hands, laughing softly. "Easy, easy, Nee.
I have responsibilities at home that constrain me to make no
promises. I shall see what I can contrive, though."

"Good." Nee poured out more chocolate for us all. "So, what
think you of Court after your two years' hiatus? How do we all
look?"

"Older," Elenet answered. "Some—many—have aged
for the better. Tastes have changed, for which I am grateful.
Galdran never would have invited those singers we had last
night, for example."

"Not unless someone convinced him that they were all the
rage at the Empress's Court and only provincials would not have
them to tour."

"It must be expensive to house so many," Elenet
observed.

"Princess Elestra brought them." Nee picked up her fan,
snapped it open, and gestured in Acknowledgment of Superior
Aesthetics mode, which caused Elenet to smile. "Apparently they
have those children up in Renselaeus every year, and I
understand one or two of their own youth have been deemed good
enough to join the choir and travel the world. It's a long
association." She leaned back on her pillows. "It's been like
that of late, Elenet. You really must stay and enjoy it while
the Princess is still arranging royal entertainments. Remember
those long, hideous nights of watching Galdran win at
cards?"

"I never watched him," Elenet admitted. "I watched the
others, always. It took consummate skill to lose to him."

"I take it people had to lose," I said.

They both looked at me quickly, as if they'd forgotten I was
there.
So
others can lose themselves in memories of
the past, I thought. And obviously not good memories,
either.

"Yes," Nee said. "If you didn't, he got his revenge. Mostly,
though, if you wanted to live—if you wanted your family
to be safe—then you pretended to be much stupider than he
was."

Elenet made a quick gesture of warding. "Banish those old
fears. Let us talk of pleasant things. Have you been keeping up
with your own music?"

"I blush to say no," Nee admitted, "but a beautiful harp
awaits me when we remove to Tlanth, and then I know I will have
the time to practice every day. Maybe even make my own songs
again."