Court Duel (24 page)

"I was just trying to defend
you,"
I said, and the
others all laughed. "And a fat lot of good it did, too," I
added when they stopped. "He knocked me right out of the
saddle!"

"Hit you from behind," Shevraeth said. "Apparently he was
afraid to confront so formidable a foe face-to-face."

They laughed again, but I knew it was not at me so much as
at the hated King Galdran.

Before I could speak again, Shevraeth raised his point and
said, "Come now. Blade up."

I sighed. "I've already been made into cheese by Derec,
there, and Renna, and Lornav, but if you think I merit another
defeat..."

Again they laughed, and Savona and my brother squared off as
Shevraeth and I saluted. My bout with the Marquis was much like
the others. Even more than usual I was hopelessly outclassed,
but I stuck grimly to my place, refusing to back up, and took
hit after hit, though my parrying was steadily improving. Of
course I lost, but at least it wasn't so easy a loss as I'd had
when I first began to attend practice—and he didn't
insult me with obvious handicaps, such as never allowing his
point to hit me.

Bran and Savona finished a moment later, and Bran was just
suggesting we exchange partners when the bells for third-gold
rang, causing a general outcry. Some would stay, but most, I
realized, were retreating to their various domiciles to bathe
and dress for open Court.

I turned away—and found Shevraeth beside me. "You've
never sampled the delights of Petitioners' Court," he said.

I thought of the Throne Room again, this time with Galdran
there on the goldenwood throne, and the long lines of
witnesses. I repressed a shiver.

Some of my sudden tension must have exhibited itself in my
countenance because he said, "It is no longer an opportunity
for a single individual to practice summary justice such as you
experienced on your single visit."

"I'm certain you don't just sit around happily and play
cards," I muttered, looking down at the toes of my boots as we
walked.

"Sometimes we do, when there are no petitioners. Or we
listen to music. But when there is business, we listen to the
petitioners, accept whatever they offer in the way of proof,
and promise a decision at a later date. That's for the first
two greens. The last is spent in discussing impressions of the
evidence at hand; sometimes agreement is reached, and sometimes
we decide that further investigation is required before a
decision can be made."

This surprised me so much I looked up at him. There was no
amusement, no mockery, no threat in the gray eyes. Just a
slight question.

I said, "You listen to the opinions of whoever comes to
Court?"

"Of course," he said. "It means they want to be a part of
government, even if their part is to be merely ornamental."

I remembered that dinner when Nee first brought up Elenet's
name, and how Shevraeth had lamented how most of those who
wished to give him advice had the least amount worth
hearing.

"Why should I be there?" I asked. "I remember what you said
about worthless advisers."

"Do you think any opinion you would have to offer would be
worthless?" he countered.

"It doesn't matter what
I
think of my opinion," I
retorted, and then caught myself. "I mean to say, it is not me
making the decisions."

"So what you seem to be implying is that I think your
opinion worthless."

"Well, don't you?"

He sighed. "When have I said so?"

"At the inn in Lumm, last year. And before that. About our
letter to Galdran, and my opinion of courtiers."

"It wasn't your opinion I pointed up, it was your
ignorance," he said. "You seem to have made truly admirable
efforts to overcome that handicap. Why not share what you've
learned?"

I shrugged, then said, "Why don't you have Elenet
there?"— and hated myself for about as stupid a bit of
pettiness as I'd ever uttered.

But he took the words at face value. "An excellent
suggestion, and one I acted on immediately after she arrived at
Athanarel. She's contributed some very fine insights. She's
another, by the way, who took her own education in hand. Three
years ago about all she knew was how to paint fans."

I had talked myself into a corner, I realized—all
through my own efforts. So I said, "All right, then. I'll go
get Mora to dig out that Court dress I ordered and be there to
blister you all with my brilliance."

He bowed, lifted his gray-gloved hand in a casual salute,
and walked off toward the Royal Wing.

I retreated in quick order to get ready for the ordeal
ahead.

As the bells for first-green echoed sweetly up the stone
walls of the great hall built round the Throne Room, I passed
through the arched entrance into the room itself. I felt very
self-conscious in my never-worn pale rose satin gown and
gloves. I glanced down at the gemstones winking in the light,
and the cunning silver and maroon embroidery, then I raised my
head carefully so as not to dislodge the formal headdress.

People seemed to be milling about in an orderly fashion, the
rare sunlight from the high window sparking rich highlights
from brightly colored velvets and satins and jewels.

Elenet and Savona appeared, arm in arm, she dressed in
forest green and he in a very dark violet that was almost
black. They came directly to me, smiling welcome, and with a
pretty fan-flourish of Friends' Recognition, Elenet said, "You
look lovely, Meliara. Do come stand with us; we have found a
good place."

And it was a good place, from which we could see all three
Renselaeuses plus the petitioners. We could hear them all
without too much distortion from the echoes in the huge room,
for there were only twenty or thirty of us at most; not the
hundreds that Galdran had required to augment his
greatness.

The throne was empty, and above it hung only the ancient
flag of Remalna, tattered in places from age. Galdran's banners
were, of course, gone. No one was on the dais. Just below it,
side by side in fine chairs, sat the Prince and Princess.

At their feet Shevraeth knelt formally on white cushions
before a long carved table. He now wore white and silver with
blue gem-stones on his tunic and in his braided hair.
He
looks like a king,
I thought, though he was nowhere near
the throne.

Each petitioner came forward, assisted by stewards in the
gold-and-green of Remalna. They did not have to stand before
the Renselaeuses, but were bade to take a cushion at that long
table, which each did, first bowing and then kneeling in the
formal manner.

It really was a civilized way of conducting the business, I
realized as time wore on. The Prince and Princess remained
silent, except when they had a question. Their son did all the
speaking, not that he spoke much. Mostly he listened, then
promised a decision on this or that day; as the number of
petitioners increased, I realized he'd been doing it long
enough to gauge about how long each piece of business was
likely to take. Then he thanked them for coming forward, and
they bowed and rose, and were escorted away to the side table,
where refreshments awaited any who wanted them.

I noticed some of the courtiers with cups in their hands, or
tiny plates of delicately made foods. The room was chill, and
the rain had come back, drumming against the high windows. The
Renselaeuses did not eat or drink, and I realized I was so
fascinated with the process that I did not want to steal away
to get food for myself.

The last petitioner left well before the second-green, which
meant that there would be no Court the following day. I
suspected they'd need to use the time to go over the petitions;
one change was not going to do for all that I had heard that
day.

Nor did it. When the great doors at the other end were
closed, we repaired into a beautiful antechamber of pink
marble, where more food and drink were spread, hot and
fresh.

This time everyone partook liberally and seated themselves
on narrow stools along a long, high table. When I realized that
these were to accommodate the women, I wanted to laugh. Court
gowns, having wide skirts and delicate, costly decoration, are
not made to be sat in, but one could manage with a stool. I
wondered when the stools had been made, and with whom in mind,
as I harkened back to elder days of fashion when it was the men
whose tight, constraining clothing made sitting difficult,
while the ladies knelt at their ease in their flimsy gowns.

The Prince and Princess sat at either end of the table. Both
had foreign diplomats at their right and left hands. Prince
Alaerec caught my eye and smiled a welcome, then he said, "So
who has thoughts about Guild Mistress Pelhiam's request?"

"Seems straightforward," Baron Orbanith said, sounding, as
usual, slightly pompous. "Cloth makers want glowglobes for
their street for night work, citing the sail makers and the
scribes as having glowglobes on theirs. They'll contact the
magicians, order them, pay for them."

Savona lowered his wineglass. "It is straightforward. The
question is, is this the time to be raising prices? Because we
all know that the Guild will duly raise prices in order to meet
the extra expense."

"It is not the time to be raising prices." The Princess's
fluting voice was pleasant but firm. "The people who will be
most affected by the price rise will need another year or more
to recover from the recent hardships."

Several more people spoke then, some of them merely
repeating what had already been said, and one person, Lord
Olervec Elbanek, declaring that if the poor simply worked
harder they could afford to buy more.

Others spoke more sensibly, and then finally Elenet said,
"Perhaps the request should be granted, contingent on the Guild
using some of its own funds and not raising prices. If that's
summarily refused, the subject could be brought forward again
in a year's time."

Shevraeth nodded. "If they want light at night badly enough,
they'll unpocket the funds. If not, then they can wait."

General agreement murmured round the table, and Shevraeth
leaned over to speak to the quiet scribe who sat at his elbow.
He then wrote swiftly on the petition and laid it aside.

The second petition caused longer debate, which led to calls
for more investigation. It seemed that one of the fortresses on
the southern border—I wondered if it was one to which the
troublesome army officers had been sent—was charging
increasing amounts of tax money to the people they protected.
The petitioners, from a nearby town, begged for a royal decree
placing a ceiling on the taxes. "They claim they have more new
recruits than ever before, which accounts for all the supplies
and equipment and horses they are ordering. But we're no longer
at war. So if they really are ordering all this, against what?"
one man had said.

The debate went on, listened to but not commented on by the
three Renselaeuses. Then when all seemed to have had their say,
the petition was set aside pending investigation.

The third petition caused more general talk, led by the
Prince; and so time sped on, the bells for blue ringing before
the pile was half done. There was general agreement to meet the
next day at green in the Exchequer First Chamber and then all
rose and departed.

I left, having not spoken during the entire proceeding. I
realized I was glad that I had gone and that I was fascinated
by what I'd seen. As I walked down the long halls, listening to
the
swish-swish
of my skirts on the fine mosaic tiles,
I wondered how they'd investigate, who they'd hire—and
just how one went about building the unseen part of a
government.

When I reached my rooms, I saw a letter lying on my
table.

Hastily stripping off my gloves, I sank down onto my
pillows, heedless of the costly fabric of my court gown
crinkling and billowing about me, and broke the seal with my
finger.

The Unknown had written:

You ask why there has been no formal announcement
concerning a coronation. I think this question is better
addressed to the person most concerned, but I do know this:
Nothing will be announced until the sculptors have finished
refashioning a goldenwood throne for a queen.

NINETEEN

WELL, I HAD NO ANSWER TO MAKE TO THAT; THINKING about
Elenet, or Shevraeth, or that carved throne, caused a cold ache
inside, as if I had lost something I had not hitherto
valued.

So I didn't write back that day. Or the next. The following
morning I received a letter that did not refer to thrones,
queens, or coronations, to my intense relief. And so, for a
handful of days anyway, things went right back to normal.

Except, what is normal at any given time? We change just as
the seasons change, and each spring brings new growth. So
nothing is ever quite the same. I realize now that what I
wanted was comfort, but that, too, does not often come with
growth and change.

I did not go back to Petitioners' Court the next day, or the
next; and the morning after that, when Nee had arranged a
breakfast for Elenet and me, I moved so reluctantly that I
arrived outside Nee's tapestry somewhat late. From inside came
the sound of Elenet's laughing, and then her voice, talking
swiftly. Either she was happy over something specific, or else
she felt constrained while in my company. Either way, I did not
know how to react, so I backed away from the tapestry and
retreated to my rooms.

"Mora, I think the time has come for me to remain here to
oversee the last of the preparations for the party," I said as
soon as I slipped inside. And there was no mistaking the relief
in her face.

One could, of course, issue orders through servants for this
or that group of performers to appear, promising a sizable
purse. There were many of these groups earning their living in
and around Remalna-city: players, dancers, singers, musicians
whose livelihood depended on their knowing the latest trends
and tastes.