The D'Karon Apprentice (9 page)

“I feel as though my compliment was not taken
in the spirit in which it was offered,” Deacon said.

“Under the circumstances, I think the
observation served its purpose. There was never any doubt they’d be
taking precautions, but it never hurts to let them know we’re aware
of them…”

#

Ivy stood anxiously in the foyer of a small
church a short distance down the main street from the southern gate
of New Kenvard. As the largest and most formal of the buildings
that had finished their restoration, it was chosen as the meeting
place for the diplomatic envoy. Efforts had been made to decorate
it in a manner befitting so historic a moment. The colors of both
Kenvard as a kingdom and the Northern Alliance as a whole were hung
as banners and pennants, swathing the walls and tall ceiling of the
church in two shades of blue and an icy white. At some point long
in the past, the northern kingdoms had agreed that blue should be
the color of the north. Ostensibly it was to invoke the frigid
temperatures that hardened the populace. More likely it had been a
means to illustrate the wealth the mountains provided, as blue dye
had been and remained highly expensive. Thus the mere ability to
swaddle their meeting place in blue was evidence of the Kenvard’s
steady recovery. Seven months prior, during the small ceremony in
which Myranda and Deacon had been wed, this church was nearly bare
and still badly in need of repair. It had come a long way in a
short time.

Chandeliers and torchères loaded with tallow
candles filled the space with warm yellow light. The pews were
pushed to the walls, and a long banquet table was placed in the
center of the room, set with all of the delights the Northern
Alliance could provide. There were fine wines, roasted meats, fresh
breads, and rich desserts. It was as grand a welcome as any
dignitary could hope to receive, but that did little to set Ivy’s
mind at ease.

She was dressed elegantly. Her gown was
Alliance blue with Kenvard blue accents. The skirt fell to just
above her ankles to reveal tasteful blue slippers with low heels.
The sleeves were short, just long enough to meet the full-length
blue gloves she wore. Her long white hair had been tamed, woven
into an intricate braid and topped with a silver chain headpiece.
To her left, standing carefully away from Ivy, was a young woman in
similar but lesser attire. To Ivy’s right was Greydon Celeste,
dressed in formal but, again, lesser attire.

“I’m excited,” Ivy said, offering a nervous
smile to her lady-in-waiting. “Aren’t you?”

She replied with a demure grin and nod.

“I’m nervous too. Are you nervous?” Ivy
asked.

Another smile was her only reply.

“Why aren’t you answering?” Ivy asked.

“Because her role is to see to secretarial
matters and those of etiquette. She isn’t to address any members of
the delegation directly. That is the role of the diplomats and
ambassadors,” Celeste quietly instructed.

“Oh… yes, yes. That’s right. You told me
that.” She fidgeted. “I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

“Fold them in front of you. And stand still,”
he said gently. “Do you remember the Tresson greeting?”

“I hold out my right hand and clasp their
left shoulder, and they do the same to me.”

“Correct. But do not touch their shoulder
until they raise their hand to do the same.”

Ivy nodded and took a steadying breath.
Almost immediately she started fidgeting again.

“These slippers don’t fit properly. Women’s
shoes just don’t fit my feet right. Can I do this barefoot?”

“I would advise against it.”

“I wish they would have let me cut a hole for
my tail. The dress is bulgy in the back.” She ran her hands down
the dress in a failed attempt to flatten it.

Her breathing became faster, and she began
wringing her hands. When the horns sounded, heralding the arrival
of the dignitaries at the city gates, she nearly leaped out of her
skin.

“This… this was a mistake. I shouldn’t be the
one doing this.” Her eyes darted, and though somewhat concealed by
the similarly colored dress, a blue aura flared faintly around
her.

“It wasn’t your decision. They requested you.
It is your duty to serve.”

She looked to him, desperation in her eyes.
“You should do this. You’re an ambassador. You can do this!”

“They requested you. It would be an insult to
refuse.”

“But what if they don’t like me?”

“They
won’t
like you. You are a
malthrope and a Northerner. You are everything they have been
taught since birth to despise. But they are diplomats. If they are
well trained, they will behave with respect and decorum.”

“Th-this is going to be a disaster! I’m going
to ruin things! I’m going to make all of Kenvard look bad. I-I
can’t do this.”

The blue aura was intensifying, flickering
and flashing around her as she struggled to control it. Her
lady-in-waiting took two startled steps back, gasping.

“I have to go! I have to go away
right
now!
”

She grasped her skirt and hiked it up to keep
from tripping over it, then turned toward the back of the church,
eying a door she knew led to the alley behind it.

“Ivy.”

Greydon did not bellow the name. He merely
spoke it, but somehow it had all of the force and authority of a
command called down from the mountaintops. She stopped and snapped
her head to him. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked her
evenly in the eyes.

“Listen carefully. This meeting, this visit,
exists because of you. You are a warrior and this is your land. You
helped end the war. You are
responsible
for the peace we now
enjoy. The people who will walk through that door are diplomats.
They and a thousand like them were appointed by their king to
negotiate an end to the war and they failed.
You
succeeded.
You and the others have done more for the cause of peace than
anyone else in either kingdom for more than a century. They should
feel honored to stand in your presence. They came here to see
you
. They
selected
you because they
knew
there
was no greater honor than to meet you. All you need to do is greet
them and let them see the sort of person it takes to change the
world. Just be you.”

The aura faded and she slowly caught her
breath, taking his hand from her shoulder and clasping it
briefly.

“Now I see where Myranda gets it,” Ivy said
gratefully.

She released his hand and took her position,
smoothing her skirt again and standing straight. “If I do something
wrong, or forget to do something, just whisper it under your
breath,” she said, tapping her pointed ear. “If you make any sound
at all, I’ll hear it.”

“They are nearly here. Are you ready for
them?” he asked.

“Yes… No, wait!”

Ivy turned and stepped quickly to the table,
selecting one of the carving knives and twisting to reach the back
of her dress. With a deft poke she pierced a small hole, then
hooked her tail with a finger and pulled it through, fluffing it
and swishing it until it was back to shape. She then replaced the
knife and kicked her slippers off, padding back to her position and
releasing a sigh of relief. Celeste gave her a measuring look. She
glanced at him and smirked.

“If I’m going to be me, I’m going to be
me,
” she said.

A servant quickly snatched the knife and
substituted a fresh one, then gathered her slippers and returned to
his position. Moments later the door opened, and the small
delegation stepped inside.

The ambassador assigned to Ivy was a woman,
perhaps forty years of age. She was stately and proper from the tip
of her tightly wrapped bun of black hair to the point of her fine
leather shoes. Like Ivy she was clad in the colors of her land, a
tawny fur cloak layered atop a red-orange gown with peach-colored
embroidery. If there was one flourish to her appearance that seemed
to be more of an appeal to fashion than tradition, it was her
jewelry. There wasn’t an overabundance of it, but each piece she
wore was notable for its size and quality. A ruby and gold ring on
two fingers of her right hand, a silver and garnet necklace
gleaming proudly against her dress, and a topaz earing in each
ear.

The woman paced toward Ivy, flanked by two
subordinates, who took her coat and handed it to one of the
servants waiting beside the door. Though the ambassador’s face was
even and neutral, there was something in her eyes and her posture
that made Ivy feel as though she was being judged, and that the
initial assessment was not good.

Ivy shifted her weight to step forward and
greet the visitor, but Celeste touched her leg, reminding her that
she was to wait until greeted. The dignitary approached her. Ivy
lifted her arm until the ambassador matched her gesture, then
gripped the shoulder of her visitor lightly. The ambassador
mirrored her, though Ivy couldn’t help but notice she didn’t so
much grasp her shoulder as touch it gingerly with her
fingertips.

“On behalf of Queen and Empress Caya, I
welcome you to New Kenvard,” Ivy said, taking her hand away and
offering it for a shake.

“On behalf of King Aamuul, I am honored to
visit your fair city,” she said, accepting the offered hand in a
dainty shake. “My name is Ambassador Amorria Krettis.”

“I’m Ivy.” Her ear flitted toward Celeste.
“That is to say, I am Guardian of the Realm, Heroine of the Battle
of Verril, and Ambassador Ivy. And may I introduce Ambassador
Greydon Celeste?”

Ambassador Krettis exchanged the traditional
greetings with Celeste, then cast her eyes up and down Ivy slowly,
lingering at her feet before sweeping her gaze up again. Ivy felt a
flutter of anxiety at first, then a blush of pride.

“Oh! My dress,” Ivy said, turning in a
circle. “Do you like it? It was made specially for me, and just for
this occasion. Your gown is
gorgeous
by the way.”

“Thank you,” the ambassador said, her eyes
drifting briefly to Ivy’s tail.

Ivy’s ear flicked. “Please, take a seat, make
yourself comfortable.”

The lady-in-waiting stepped forward to lead
the ambassador to her seat, and Ivy sat opposite her. Celeste sat
to her right. The rest of the servants and attendants remained
standing.

“Please, all of you, sit down, dig in!” Her
ear flicked. “Err… after we, the diplomats, are through eating, of
course. As is custom. We’ll try to hurry up for you.”

The ambassador turned to Celeste. “Is this
all the first course?”

He glanced to Ivy.

“No! No, this is everything,” Ivy said. “I
know usually they bring out things one at a time, but I like it
better this way. Now you know everything we’re going to eat, so you
can save room for—” Her ear flicked. She cleared her throat and
took on a more serious tone. “If you like, the chef will describe
the dishes and their origins.”

“I’m sure that will be most enlightening,”
the ambassador said, again addressing Celeste.

One by one, those responsible for the meal
stepped up to the table and described in detail the dish, its
significance to the Northern Alliance, and the manner in which it
was traditionally served and eaten. When the process was through,
serving spoons and forks were set out and the meal began.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Ivy said. “I am
starving
.”

She reached to load her plate, flicked her
ear, and then leaned back and allowed herself to be served.

“So your name is Amorria. That’s a lovely
name. Is it common in Tressor…” she flicked her ear again,
“Ambassador Krettis?”

“It is quite common, Ambassador…” She looked
at Celeste. “I apologize, but is Ivy her family name?”

Ivy looked in confusion to Celeste as
well.

“Madam Ambassador, while I would be happy to
answer any questions you might have, Ambassador Ivy is the
designated representative,” he said. “Both protocol and the will of
your king would direct you to address her rather than me.
Particularly on matters relating to her specifically.”

“Yes, of course.” She turned back to Ivy. “Is
Ivy your family name?”

“No. I’m just Ivy. I don’t have a family
name. … Well, there was a time when my family name would have been
Melodia, but that was before…” She paused, trying to find the
proper words. Finding none that seemed appropriate for the
occasion, she simply repeated, “That was before.”

“Yes… they say that you were once human.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but I’d
really rather not—”

“They also say that the duke and duchess of
this region are great wizards.”

“Oh, that they are! Myranda and Deacon are
truly amazing.”

“Is it not within their power to change you
back?”

“As I said, it’s more complicated than that.
This body is a malthrope. It has only ever
been
a malthrope.
It can’t be changed back.”

“Perhaps if we broker a lasting peace, you
might find your way to our land. We have some of the finest wizards
in the world. I’m quite sure one of them could treat your
condition.”

“I… I don’t have a condition, Ambassador.
This is what I am. I like what I am. I don’t want to change.” Ivy
swished her tail twice, as if for emphasis, then put her mouth to
work on a bite of food before she slipped and said something she
might regret.

“May I say, you eat quite daintily.”

Ivy furrowed her brow. “Thank you, I suppose…
So do you. It isn’t easy though, with this feast.”

“I must agree. The meal has only just begun
and its quality has vastly exceeded my expectations,” she said,
sipping at a spoonful of soup.

“And wait until you try the desserts! Eliza
cooked them. She’s the personal cook for Myranda and Deacon.” Her
ear flicked. “The duke and duchess of Kenvard.”