Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (106 page)

“Is Cormeeran all right?” she asked, casually, as she used magic to remove the cork and the beeswax that sealed the vintage.   “I picked it up in Castabriel the other day.”

“It will do, for this time of day,” her mother conceded, as Pentandra poured.  She sipped it appreciably.  “First decent cup I’ve had since Gilmora,” she mused.

“I try to keep the creature comforts in stock,” Pentandra said, casually.  “It impresses the barbarians.  Mother, let’s dispense with the verbal fencing, shall we?  It’s exhausting, and I honestly do not have the capacity at the moment.”  That was telling.  Amongst Remeran noblewomen that sort of innuendo-laden duel was a practiced art.  Pentandra had witnessed hours of adept sparring between her cousins, sister, aunts, and friends of the family over the years.  Remeran women rarely spoke plainly, and when they did it was as a last resort, when all of their artful insults and attempts to undermine had failed.

“If you’d prefer,” Amendra conceded, reluctantly, after some consideration.  “Something on your mind, my daughter?”

“I take issue that you disapprove of a man who you have yet to
meet
,” she said, simply, directly, and – to anyone who was familiar with the two women – aggressively. 

Amendra responded in kind.  “And
I
take issue that you turned your back on the family that raised and supported you, and let your future be decided by your loins and your heart, not your head.  And then you compounded your rebellion when you didn’t even have the decency to inform us
yourself
, much less invite us to celebrate.”

“
Celebrate?
  I was reluctant to expose my husband to the withering criticism I expected –
rightly,
I see,” Pentandra added, coolly.  “After what I had to endure to convince him to marry me, I didn’t want to ruin my marriage prematurely by showing him the kind of family he was marrying into.”

“You didn’t want
me
to ruin your marriage, you mean!” her mother said, acidly.

“No, my marriage is
my
responsibility,” Pentandra replied, calmly.  “If it fails, it will be because of what I have done or not done.  And as such, I thought that the wisest course of action was to learn how to
live with my husband
before exposing him to the vitriol I expected from his new in-laws.”

“Live with him?” scoffed Amendra, drinking the dark Cormeeran lustily.  “Pentandra, if my marriage has taught you nothing else, it should teach you that you don’t have to live with a man in order to have a successful marriage,” she said, sagely.  “Trygg’s holy twat, if I had to live with your father every day, there would be blood,” she said, shaking her head at the idea.

“And you count that as a successful marriage, Mother?” Pentandra asked, pointedly.

“We are not peasants, Pentandra!” Amendra scolded.  “In our social position we marry to continue the line, support the institution of the family, and conserve assets.  We cannot let such clutter as love and romance and misguided ideas of happy peasant families distract us from that.”

“And we are not noblemen, Mother!” Pentandra shot back, harshly.  “We’re magi who have been pretending to be for four hundred years!  Now that things have changed, we magi will decide our own society, thank you very much!”

“And that society includes barbarian chieftains and . . .
other
exotic alliances?”

Pentandra thought about the goddess masquerading as a madam down on the Street of Perfume, the blind girl with the troubling secret stumbling around the palace, the quirky little nun of the goddess of gambling who was running her fictitious criminal organization’s underground lending operation – at a profit – and the odd Kasari assassins who eschewed their tribe’s reverence for life for the opportunity to skulk around Vorone and shoot people in the darkness. 

“Yes, Mother, it does.  Everyone from the Alka Alon to gurvani traitors to Karshak builders to wild tribal warriors to illiterate Alshari Wilderlords . . . our world is changing, and we must do what we can to protect it.  With the assistance of who we can find.  That’s made all the more difficult when these . . . exotic allies of ours encounter the prejudiced, bigoted, and ignorant opinions of our nobility.  Which might explain to you why I was reluctant about introducing you to my husband!”

“We . . . can be a bit judgmental,” Amendra conceded.  She’d made her point, and was ready to strike from a different direction.  “But the very idea of a daughter of mine having to
convince
anyone to marry her, when they should be willing to kill for the privilege, is—”

“It wasn’t
Arborn’s
inclination that I had to overcome,” Pentandra interrupted.  “It was his devotion to duty, and obedience to the laws of the Kasari.  Many raptor-ranked Kasari men, and especially their rangers, don’t
ever
marry, or marry very late in life, if they’ve survived the harshness of that vocation.  Arborn made himself an exception, which did him no favors among some of his people.  It was not a welcome pairing to many Kasari, and I did not want to compound the discomfort by showing him just how judgmental my own people were.”

“What?”
Amendra asked, scandalized.  “Do they not realize who you
are?
”

“To them, I am merely another non-Kasari,” Pentandra explained.   “My rank and position means
nothing
within their tribe.  My ability to practice magic means
nothing
.  Social status?  Wealth?  Family?  Title?  They mean nothing.  I still had to go through the same rites that
every
adolescent Kasari girl must, just to be considered.  And even then there were no guarantees that Arborn would select me.  I count myself fortunate I was able to overcome my own sheltered upbringing and manage the basics of domesticity that every peasant girl seems to master before she bleeds.”

“Pentandra, that’s servant’s work!” Amendra dismissed.  “So what does this young man bring to the marriage?” she asked, after a few moment’s thought.  Pentandra was certain she could imagine all of the nosy questions she had discarded in favor of this one – as intrusive as it was.  Asking about her husband’s resources was Amendra’s idea of verbal restraint.

“A kind heart, a strong arm, a keen eye, and a devotion to your daughter that is unmatched,” Pentandra said, proudly.

That did not impress her mother.  “Hmmph.  So, no holdings to speak of?  No estates?  No treasury?”

Pentandra gave an exasperated sigh.  “Mother!  The Kasari do not measure things like that!  They grant rank and position in their society based on achievement, merit, and competence, not wealth!”

“Barbarians,” sighed the Remeran woman, amused.  “No sense of—”

“One of those barbarians is now your son-in-law, Mother,” Pentandra reminded her, sternly.  “And imagine what he would think if he heard you speaking of his people like that!”

“I mean no offense,” Amendra said, unconvincingly.  “I merely want what is best for my daughter.  When we invested in your education, we anticipated something
more
than a kind heart and a strong arm for your dowry.”

“I have more wealth than I can spend in this life,” Pentandra dismissed.  “Between my inheritance, my stipend here, and what I earned as Steward of the Arcane Orders, coin is not a problem for my marriage.  I have more than enough to support us both, when needed.  Nor is Arborn destitute, in Narasi terms.  He is the Master of Wood for the duchy, you know – and the duchy with the most wood.  There is a stipend involved, as well as other remuneration.”

“At least he has a job,” sighed her mother, after a few moments’ consideration.  “He’s not . . .
tattooed
or anything, is he?  Ritual scarification?”

“He’s perfectly acceptable at the
court of a sitting duke
, Mother!” Pentandra said, her jaw clinched.  “If His Grace sees no issue with having him at his table, I do hope you can find it within yourself to extend him the same courtesy.”

“A mere duke is not a choosy as your
mother
, Pentandra!” Amendra corrected.  “If I seem circumspect about your new husband, perhaps it is because I was not afforded the opportunity to make his acquaintance in the
usual
manner,” she pointed out.

Pentandra had little to defend herself with on that.  In Remere, as in most places, weddings were family oriented.  After all, a wedding was as much the union of two families as it was two people, and all the more so when it united the interests of two houses.  To turn her back on all of the hallowed traditions and social obligations usually involved in two families getting to know each other before the event had deprived her mother of much-needed intelligence.

But then another part of her mind chimed in, pointing out the obvious.  “Mother, had I thought you would have given him a fair hearing and an honest, objective assessment, instead of inspecting him like an old horse who has gone out of fashion, I
might
have.  But as it was I had to make my own choices and my own decisions – something I’ve grown comfortable with, over the years.  Surely you can appreciate
that.”

“Not at the expense of your family, Daughter,” she said, flatly, as she sipped more wine.  “I had no problem with your profession – half of my family are adepts.  We
always
expected you would marry within your craft, before your friend the Spellmonger shook up the social order.  But now that your options have opened . . . you choose a
barbarian
from the far side of the world?  When you could have married into
nobility?”

“I
am
married into nobility, Mother!” Pentandra said, flatly.  “Arborn was ennobled before we got here!”

“Oh, surely, but he’s a noble in name only if he has no holdings, no treasury,” Amendra dismissed.  “And yes, I
do
know you have your own money – remember, my mother and aunt granted you quite the legacy when they died.  But a woman who has to support her husband . . .” she said, shaking her head sadly.

“Oh, Ishi’s saggy tits, Mother, I don’t have to support a fellow
officer of the court!”
Pentandra spat angrily.  “Nor do I have aspirations of being landed nobility!  I’m a
magelord,
for Trygg’s tears, I don’t
need
to be a baroness!”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt!” Amendra declared.  “What happens if your fortunes change, and you and your husband are dismissed from service?  How will you eat, then?”

“Well, I’ll just have to fall back on the fact that I’m the
second most powerful mage in the world
and my barbarian husband’s ability to construct an
entire civilization
out of two sticks and a bit of rope!  Honestly, Mother, you haven’t been worried about my upkeep since I left for Alar – why does it concern you so now?” she demanded, hotly.

“Because when you went to Alar, you were just a girl!  Now you are a grown woman who went off and got married . . .
without even telling me!”
her mother exploded. 

“How about you actually
meet
my husband before condemning him?” Pentandra challenged, quietly, after a moment of reflection.  “Perhaps you will be less angry if you see the man who compelled me to give up my lifelong obsession with rebellion against my mother and actually
consider marriage!”

When put like that, Amendra had a difficult time finding an argument.   She calmed, visibly, at the idea.  “Is this husband of yours in the palace?  Or does he sleep in the trees?”

“Only when he’s in the field,” Pentandra replied, calmly.  “And yes, he is in the palace, or was the other day.  He’s still healing from . . . well, it’s a rough job,” she said, lamely.  “He’s around.  How about we have dinner in my chambers tonight?  Then you can decide for yourself if I’ve made my usual horrible mistake and ruined my life or not.”

“I look forward to the opportunity,” her mother said, haughtily, as castellan Birsei knocked quietly on her door.  He stuck his head in cautiously – which bespoke uncommon good sense on his part. 

“My ladies, Lady Amendra’s suite is ready,” he reported, dutifully.  “Sir Antinon has agreed to lodge you in the Hawking Room,” he said, pleased.

Pentandra nodded – she’d have to thank the Chamberlain in person, for that.  The Hawking Room was usually reserved for visiting religious dignitaries, diplomatic ambassadors or nobles of rank.  Needless to say it was empty at the moment.  “That will be fine, Birsei.  Have the drudges take my mother’s luggage there, and see that it is well-supplied – on my account,” she added.

“What a thoughtful and generous gesture,” her mother said, her tone unconvinced.  “If this nice young man will escort me to my quarters, I feel the need to refresh myself before dinner,” she announced. 

“Please ensure my mother has adequate supplies for a bath, Birsei,” she instructed.  “I’ll see you this evening, Mother.  Oh . . . and just how long were you planning on staying?” she asked, lightly.

“Oh, since your sister and your father are preoccupied, I figured I’d stay through the end of the summer,” she replied casually as she stood.  “I’ve never been this far north, and I’ve always been told that this is the prettiest part of natural Alshar.”