One Good Knight (4 page)

She hoped that Lady Charis would keep her promise of simple gowns. She didn't think she could bear to be laced into the things her mother wore as a matter of course.

“Your six current Guards will be retired,” Solon continued. This time, it was a surge of dismay that Andie suppressed. Not that she hadn't been expecting just this for some time, but it was horrible to hear it voiced aloud, and so casually.

“They are good and faithful servants, and long overdue for retirement. They were fine for a child, but you will need young, strong warriors who will actually provide a visual deterrent to attack. You will have new Guards appointed, signaling your new
importance to Her Majesty, and they will wear your own colors of—” He looked at Lady Charis.

“Silver and green,” Charis said promptly.

Another relief. Those were colors she could live with. The Queen nodded her approval; her own colors were wine and silver.

“Yes. Silver and green. Your household servants will be augmented, and you will have your own household Steward appointed so that you need no longer concern yourself with the day-to-day trivia of your household.” He smiled, his expression not actually reaching his eyes—but then, it never did. “You will no longer need to go anywhere that you do not wish to if you are busy. From now on, whatever you want or need can and should be brought to you, whether it be a pen, or a person.”

“As is appropriate to an adult Princess,” the Queen said approvingly. “Which leads me to Lady Thalia, who will be your household Steward.”

The third lady nodded. Unlike the other two, she was gowned less for fashion and more for practicality. She did not appear to have been sewn into her gown like the others.

The Queen continued. “She has served us as the Steward of one of our estates for many years now, and I am very satisfied with her competence.”

“The Queen is too kind,” the lady murmured.

Andie didn't see anything in the woman's expression to cause misgivings, and her next words, and faint smile, reassured the Princess.

“As the Princess is not the sort given to extravagance, nor is she spendthrift and frivolous, I anticipate no difficulty in managing her household.”

“You are more likely to have to join with me in urging the Princess to acquire a wardrobe commensurate with her rank and status than to have to curb her passion for gowns and jewels!” Lady Charis laughed. “I fear I have been present at one or two discussions with her dressmaker, if you will recall, Majesty.”

The Queen sighed. “‘But, Mother, linen is so much more practical than silk. Stains bleach right out and it wears so much longer!'” she quoted with a faint air of mockery, and Andie winced.

“She has a point, Majesty,” Solon said unexpectedly, with a glance down at his own linen robes. Not that
his
elegant clothing had much in common with Andie's… “Especially for a—uh—young person who is hard on her clothing. As a young student myself, I chose black linen exclusively, not as an affectation, but because ink did not show.”

Andie felt an unexpected surge of sympathy at that revelation, and she cast a quick, grateful smile at him.

“Indeed, she does, when it comes to everyday wear,
particularly
for someone who will be digging about among dusty books for most of the day,” Lady Charis agreed. “Tunics and divided skirts of linen are quite suitable for such a duty, and practical, although I must insist that you are more than old enough to refrain from bare-legged scrambles about from here on, Princess.”

Again, Andie flushed what she knew must be crimson. Her stomach kept turning over and over, the longer this interview went on. Pleasure that was half pain, followed by embarrassment that made her want to sink into the floor. Good things were followed by blows, so quickly she hadn't the time to recover before another hit her.

“However, Princess,” Lady Charis continued, “your new responsibilities will include more Court appearances, as well as the occasional attendance at conferences and audiences, and your gowns will occasionally need to reflect your status. Silk there will be, and jewels, and other ornaments you would rather do without. You must look the part of a Princess when the Queen requires it. Think of it as armor. You are a kind of guard to the dignity of your nation and lineage, and you must wear the armor for that duty.”

“On other occasions, however,” Solon added, “we will wish for you, although you will be attending similar functions, to blend with the other secretaries and not stand out.” He raised an eyebrow, and she flushed, realizing that
this
meant they were taking her very seriously indeed. “If there is no need for the Princess to be present, then it should not be obvious that the Princess is indeed in attendance.”

“My beauty has consistently caused foreign princes and diplomats to underestimate my intelligence, Andromeda,” the Queen said, unexpectedly, as Solon nodded. “It is a tool I have learned to use,
and use well. That is
my
armor. If they look upon me, bejeweled and draped in costly fabric, and assume that is all I care for, that is all to the good. You have not inherited my beauty, more's the pity, but you have in your very ordinariness another sort of armor. You can make yourself overlooked and ignored, which is just as effective as being underestimated. I do not say these things to hurt you, child, but to educate you. The time for games and running about on the cliff steps is gone. You wish to be treated as an adult, and given responsibilities, I am doing so, and granting you the candor I give Solon.”

Andie looked down at the hands twisting nervously in her lap. Maybe her mother didn't intend to hurt her feelings, but—but they were hurt, all the same.
I'm not that ugly, am I? Or no, she didn't say “ugly,” just…forgettable.

“Now, I believe we have said everything we need to,” the Queen concluded brightly. “Tomorrow, the next phase of your life will begin. And tonight—we will have dinner.”

She touched her knife to her goblet, making it ring, and suddenly the room was full of servants, bustling everywhere with food that Andie barely touched and certainly couldn't taste. There was no more serious talk; the Queen and her ladies and even Solon made light chatter that went right over Andie's head, seeing as she didn't know half the people they were talking about.

She did drink a little too much of the wine,
though. Her mouth was so dry, the lamps were so bright, and she kept flushing for no real reason except an ongoing case of acute embarrassment, and the only thing to drink was the wine, at least until the dessert course came and she was able to cool her flushes with sherbet. She knew she was tipsy because she got light-headed, and after that she said even less and moved with great care. A fine thing it would be for her to spoil the impression she'd made by getting drunk!

Finally, after the dessert, she snatched at the opportunity to ask the Queen's permission to leave; Cassiopeia was deep in conversation with Lady Charis at that point, and simply waved a hand at her daughter. Feeling as if she was trying to balance on the edge of a cliff, Andie got up slowly, and just as slowly sketched a brief curtsy, and walked out, into the shadowed rooms beyond. The Royal Guards at the Queen's door stood like a pair of statues; she murmured a quiet good-night to them, and they nodded back. While she was within sight of them, she did her best to walk steadily, but once on her own, she felt her steps wavering a little, and she didn't bother to correct them until she came in sight of the Guards on her wing. The two Guards on her own door saluted her, and she nodded back, but neither she, nor they, spoke.

The cool breeze felt wonderful on her hot forehead, and it woke her up a bit, but she didn't feel safe until the doors to her own wing closed behind her
and she was able to put her back against them, closing her eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass.

“Princess?” She opened her eyes. One of her faithful Six, Merrha, was standing beside the door to the next chamber, holding a lantern and peering through the darkness at her.

“I'm afraid I had a little too much wine and not nearly enough dinner, Merrha,” she said, her tongue feeling unnaturally thick.

“Thought as much. Come along, dear,” the Guard said in a motherly fashion, coming to take her arm and guide her to her bedchamber. “I know you were on edge about that business you wrote up for old Solon. It seems to have done the trick rumor says, and you're coming up in the world, I heard? I think I might have a glass or two too many if I'd been sitting in your chair, having all that thrown at me.”

She turned astonished eyes on the graying old Warrior woman. “You mean—you already know?” She had been dreading the thought of trying to figure out how to tell them—her head had been buzzing with the problem all during that strange dinner. But now—

“Of course!” Merrha laughed. “You can't keep anything secret from the Guard here in the Palace. Oh, we'll miss you like blazes, my darling girl, but we all should have been retired years ago and
would
have if we hadn't been worried about leaving you friendless with those hateful bitches Her Majesty set as your governesses.”

“She's going.” That, she was able to say with satisfaction.

Merrha laughed. “She's
gone.
Sent packing while you were at dinner. Now we won't have to worry about you anymore. You'll be the one in charge here, not them, you can pick your own people. And we've heard Lady Thalia is all right. It's about time you got a real household of your very own, and it's not as if you need us, old gray dogs that we are—”

“But I do need you!” she wailed, and to her own horror, burst into half-drunk tears.

 

The Queen and Solon lingered over their wine once the other ladies had retired. Not that there was even a hint of impropriety; she had ordered the outer doors to the Great Hall be opened “to let the breeze blow through,” and her two Guards could see them both, if not hear them. Such painstaking caution was how she had kept her relationship with Solon untainted by speculation all these years.

Of course, no one knew of the other ways Solon could come to her chamber, once the last of her maids had been dismissed. They thought all of his amulets and charms were the sign of superstition and a timorous nature. If they only knew…

“That went well, I thought,” she said, idly turning her wineglass around and around.

“I am cautiously optimistic,” Solon replied, steepling his hands on the table. “The Princess is pitiably eager to please you. So long as we can keep
her gaze directed only at what we want her to see, this may work out very well. Certainly giving her charge over her own household will resonate well with the people. And it won't hurt to trot her out for their inspection from time to time. Her physical immaturity will work on your behalf—no one would believe she is older than fourteen, especially not at a distance. That will eliminate those pesky rumors that you've been keeping her locked up because she's feeble-minded.”

“She'll hate that,” the Queen replied with a chuckle. “And it will certainly cure her of wanting to put herself forward in any way.”

“I am concerned about possible marriage offers, however,” Solon continued, with a sharp glance at her. “Apparent immaturity will be no drawback there.”

This time the Queen's throaty laugh sounded like a cat's purr. “And therein lies the genius of assigning Lady Charis to her wardrobe. Lady Charis is much enamored of the styles from her cousin's land of Lytheria, the ones that emphasize waiflike proportions and pale skin. Obviously none of
us
is suited to the style, and none of us wishes to look like draped poles or famine victims, but Andromeda is the perfect model for such garments. Between Kyria's plan to give her oculars that will make her look like an owl, and Charis's Lytherian gowns in colors that will make her look like a ghost, any ambassador that comes sniffing about will think the child is about to fade away from consumption.” She lowered her lids
in satisfaction at his look of surprise. “I've told you a hundred times if I've told you once, Solon, that fashion is a weapon, and you never believe me.”

He spread his hands wide. “Once again, you leave me dazzled.”

“Once again, I demonstrate that our abilities are complimentary,” she replied, sipping her wine. “On the whole, this evening has been entirely satisfactory.”

“Should I put her to a task?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Not yet. She'll be busy with the setting up of her new household. Charis will appear first thing with fabric and seamstresses—she'll feel she has to know
everything
about her household, even though Thalia is perfectly capable of making it all run seamlessly and invisibly. And while I am at it, I believe I will send over some of the furnishings from the Dowager Queen's household that have been in storage, to replace everything that dates from Andromeda's childhood. This will serve two functions—having so much to think about will prevent her from recalling all the servants and Guards I am going to replace, until it is too late to bring them back, and organizing her rooms will keep her a little unsettled.” She licked her lips. “I want her unsettled. I never want her to be comfortable or confident. I want her always to be a little unbalanced. While she is off balance, she will not think to look much beyond what she is told to look for. Ambition—in moderation. I want her ambition to go no further than to please me. I want her controlled.”

“I think that can be arranged, Majesty,” Solon replied dryly. “I am nothing if not an expert at keeping people unsettled.”

“So you are,” she purred, and flicked a curl back over her shoulder with one finger. “So you are.”

 

When Andie woke the next morning, it was in a mixed frame of mind; she'd had odd dreams all night, reflecting her ambivalence. On the one hand, she was about to lose her six dearest friends and protectors, people who had been more nearly parents to her than her own mother. But on the other hand—