Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (131 page)

“That’s when Bircei’s advice struck me,” she continued.  “If you are too wicked to be shamed into propriety, then the only thing left for me to do was to take away your power.”

“You cannot take away the power of a goddess, mageling!” Ishi spat.

“I didn’t
need
to, I realized,” she explained.  “I took away your power as a
woman
.  Your power in court is predicated on your beauty, which is based on the
appearance
of youth . . . and no woman can pretend to be nineteen again, no matter how many glamours she uses, when her twenty-two year old balding son is
standing next to her.”

“You are
such
a bitch!” Ishi shouted.

“But I’m not
wrong
,” Pentandra continued, sweetly.  “You had Anguin enchanted because he saw you as a beautiful, sexually available older woman who facilitated his erotic dreams.  But then he sees almost every woman as an older woman.  All I had to do was give him some reason to eschew his desires for you, and reminding him that he’s old enough to be your own child seemed an oddly ironic way to strike back, don’t you think?  Few men, no matter how old, prefer the maturity of a mother to the vitality of a maiden.  It challenges their sense of romantic idealism,” she pointed out.

“You think I don’t
know
that?” Ishi asked, angrily.  “I
embody
it!”

“Exactly!”
Pentandra agreed.  “So I had to give Anguin - and the rest of the court - a
constant
reminder that you are not, in fact, young yourself any longer.  Having Sir Gydion around Anguin will do that.  No matter how attractive a man thinks you are, as soon as he recalls that your son is man enough to ride a charger against him, he’s going to find eyes for someone younger and prettier.  Your glamours will not survive, now that everyone knows that you are, in fact, old enough to be--”

“Don’t you fucking
dare
say it!” screeched the goddess.

“-- a
grandmother,
” Pentandra finished.  With the pronouncement, Ishi seemed to lose something . . . her confidence, her presence, Pentandra wasn’t exactly certain what it was, but the goddess’ avatar was clearly diminished.

“I still have my girls,” Lady Pleasure said, sullenly, gesturing to the Maidens who followed her everywhere.  There were a dozen or so in the crowd, seducing men in the stands and inviting them to the Street of Perfume for the evening.  “As long as I have them, I still have power!”

“Then you won’t have them long,” predicted Pentandra.  “You see what is happening?  Look at the stands.  Look closely!” she insisted, directing her attention.  I

Ishi glared, but turned to survey the rickety wooden bleachers and other choice spots to watch the thundering hooves of the jousters.  As the goddess’ vision lighted on one of her Maidens, she saw her seductively teasing a couple of men dressed in the garb of the 3rd Alshari Commando.  The two were gaily bantering with her, but there was clearly something between the larger man and the young girl.

Shifting perspective did little for Ishi’s mood.  The next Maiden was likewise smitten with one of the Commandos, sitting in his lap and asking him about his campaigns . . . but not as a whore might.  She seemed genuinely interested in how the big man acquired his scars.

Another shift in perspective saw a waifish young blonde whore in a tight embrace with a dashing young Commando.  Their hands were not employed under each others’ clothes, as she expected, but were wrapped tightly around each other as they just sat and enjoyed the joust.

“No . . . no . . . no . . . no,
no
, no, NO!” Ishi said, as she looked from one of her girls to the next.

“It won’t happen all at once,” promised Pentandra.  “But it
will
happen.  Most of your Maidens will be wed before Luin’s Day.  Indeed, I’ve proposed to Count Angrial that the coronet pay five ounces of silver to every man in the Commando who weds . . . and a married man is a far worse client for a brothel than a single one,” she pointed out.  “Why overpay for a meal at a tavern when you have a pot on the fire at home?”

“You
sicken
me!” Ishi moaned, still watching the crowd.  There was no mistaking what her Maidens were doing, now.  They weren’t looking for clients.  They were strolling arm in arm with soldiers, or kissing artisans without cash being involved, or abandoning perfectly good opportunities to increase their purse with the wealthy and powerful for the simple pleasures of a cup of ale and a bite of fruit with a handsome young guardsman in the square.  

They were not pursuing the clear opportunities for advancement and riches the first tournament in five years provided.  

They were falling in
love
.  That was readily apparent to the Goddess of Love.  

“Why the hells would you,
of all people
, do this, Pentandra?  How the hells
did
you do this?” she demanded, turning back toward the wizard.

“The same way you tried to punish
me
,” Pentandra said with a sneer.  “I got your
mother
involved.  The All-Mother, actually.  I happened to encounter Trygg on my travels.  She told me what I needed to do, and what
she
planned on doing, to drive you away from Vorone.”

“But . . . but why?”

“While you have been helpful here, my lady, your work is
done
.  You may have sparked the desires of the people here, but mere desire alone is insufficient to run a society.  It takes
commitment,
” she declared, nodding toward an older couple in the stands.  Likely tradesman, from their dress, they were reclined against each other on their bench as cozily if they were a lad and a lass.  “Not commitment to pleasure, or the mere fulfillment of your loins, or even to your purse.  It takes commitment between man and woman to build our society together.  It takes
marriage
,” she said, firmly.  “Not infatuation.”

“And what of those women who despise that institution?” the goddess ventured, her voice thick with contempt as she watched the field.  “Would my mother consign them to a hopeless fate against their will?  To be
owned
by a man?”

Pentandra giggled.  “Any more than I
own
Arborn?  You try to present a false choice, Goddess,” Pentandra lectured.  “Those who wish to take a trade or sacred orders are free to do so.  Those women who continue to desire being whores shall, of course, also be free to do so.  They will not lack for clients any time soon.  Let them earn their living that way, if they desire.

“But I warn you, for all the laudable work you’ve put into your Maidens’ education, one thing they have learned above all others:
youth is fleeting
.  
Beauty fades.
 Desire as a commodity spoils quickly, compared to the stalwart security of a single man.”

“
Enslaved
to a single man, you mean!” she said with disgust.  “Really, Pentandra, you disappoint me.  All the world was at your disposal, opportunity lay around every corner, and you give it all up for . . .
him
?” she asked.  “And Minalan, for that matter?  You were committed to him before you even
met
Arborn!  You could have been the most powerful mage in the Kingdom, had you but taken the initiative and seized what you could!”

“Perhaps,” Pentandra conceded, with all seriousness.  “Do you not think I know what I have given up, to be with my husband?  To live this life in this far-off place?  I thought never to wed, and counted myself fortunate because of it.  I understood the opportunistic nature of my own soul, my own desires for love and support, and I cynically thought that I would be content with the bits and pieces I contrived to gain along the way . . . striving alone in this world.

“But when I look around and see all of the accomplishments that I have made, and all the good I have done, and all the success I have garnered by luck or skill,” she said with a contented sigh, “I realize that being anything, even Archmage, means nothing to me.  It doesn’t bring me happiness.  I have slept in palaces and slept in hovels, in dungeons and in beautiful castles and exquisite villas . . . but never was I happier than the night I lay next to Arborn as his wife,” she said, with a mixture of pride and shame.  

“Disappointing,” muttered the goddess, starring at the wizard.  “You had every chance!  You are the most intelligent, most vital of my protégés, and you waste it all on tradition and servitude!  Every opportunity to conquer . . . and you chose a life of domesticity, instead?”

“Will titles and riches bring me solace on my deathbed?” Pentandra suddenly asked, irritated with the divinity.  “Will the number of cocks I’ve had inside me mean anything to me?  Or will I be more fulfilled by holding Arborn’s hand one last time, kissing my children tearfully good-bye, secure in the knowledge that the world I’ve bequeathed them is the finest one I could craft?”  

Pentandra looked at Ishi as if she were a stupid slattern.  “I saw the look of longing in Old Antimei’s eyes.  A woman who followed her head, and not her heart.  Bereft of love and consigned to a lonely death.  I am worth
more
than that, Goddess!” she challenged.

“Fine!”
Ishi declared, her eyes dark with menace.  “If you reject my gifts and turn your back on what I offer you . . . in favor of what that conservative old cunt can give . . . on your head be it!  But why must you condemn my sweet maidens to such a fate?” she pleaded.  “Without me to guide them, they’ll . . . they’ll end up like
you!
 Or worse!  How many will be beaten? Raped? Even killed by their spouses?  What unkind word will turn into a tempest that leaves both lives miserable?” she pleaded.

“That all depends upon the gods.  Or one goddess
in particular
.  If
she
should take an interest,” Pentandra said, wisely, “perhaps the
proper
matches will be made, sparing the conflicts that could lead to more disappointing results.”

“You . . . want me . . . to ensure that each of my girls finds their perfect match?” the goddess asked, scandalized.

“They’re going to go husband hunting with or without you,” Pentandra predicted.  “Without your guidance and encouragement . . . and divine enthusiasm . . . they will soon regress to simple whores, not the courtesans you’ve made them.  Times are good, at the moment.  The Commandos are in town, the garrison, plenty of fodder for their charms and opportunities to increase their purses.

“But the Commandos will be shipped out to various castles, soon.  Many will marry, now that they have a secure footing and a future.  If they are lucky, they will marry your Maidens.  As much as some of them enjoy their work, they aren’t idiots.  They know what an old whore can bring, compared to a young one - you’ve educated them well in that.  The Commandos have coin in their purses and prospects for more to come - especially if they wed.  And I think many will find the security of being a wife is far preferable to pretending to be a maiden long past the day when such a thing was believable.”

“Do you hate your fellow women so much?” pleaded the frustrated goddess.  “Do you not appreciate what I have done for this town?  I have freed your sisters!  I have given them the means of making a living, of accumulating resources -- without the need of a man!”

“By making them dependent on the needs of all men?” Pentandra asked, an eyebrow arched.  “For all of its gilded past, Vorone will not continue to be the cultural capital of the Wilderlands much longer.  The war will re-ignite, the times will change for the worse, and what will you have taught these girls to do to weather those storms?”

“Would you have me make them Kasari maids?  Embroidering patches for their brothers and sons, keeping the hearth tended like a good little wife?”

“They could do worse,” Pentandra shrugged.  “Let them take holy orders, if they wish, and join the Temple of Ishi, or Briga, or any other they desire.  They can find a living in service, if they do not wish to toil at a hearth.  Or they can take a craft,” she proposed.  “Perhaps some will become musicians.  Or limners.  Or copyists.  There are plenty of ways for a woman to make coin without hiking her skirts,” she pointed out.