be angry long.
She plunked herself down next to Delis, another kitchen friend, a pastry-maker.
At the other end of the table, Birdy’s sister leaned forward. “… and the Gaszins are taking wagers that Jurac of Chwahirsland will not know how to dance. They all intend to ask him at the Dance of the Spring Leaves.” She was tall, long-nosed, her eyes so close together they seemed crossed, her smile as merry as her brother’s.
“Which the Duke of Gaszin is hosting.” Garsun raised his forefinger, signifying a shadow kiss—everyone knew the Gaszins were trying to win concessions from Queen Hatahra.
Tall, craggy-faced Garsun had indeed been hired as a scribe by the Duke of Altan—but like several of the ducal families, the Altans left their staff to eat at crown expense when the family was in Alsais attending on the queen.
Kaleri said on an outward sigh, “Well the Ice Duke and his daughter won’t be there to see it.”
“The Alarcansas are leaving?” Garsun asked. “Before the court season has officially begun?”
Kaleri laid down her fork. “It’s Willow Gate for her,” she said, laughing. “You did not know? That’s why I’m so late—several of us got summoned to help their people pack them up.”
“Why?” Birdy asked. He turned sideways on his cushion. Out came the bags—
“Birdy, might I request you perform your… your practice after our meal?” said his sister.
Birdy looked startled. “Oh.” He looked around at all of us, then put away the silk bags, grimacing a little.
His sister patted his hand. “It’s just that we like our dishes to remain where we set them when we eat. You will forgive me, will you not?” And to the others, “The Duke of Alarcansa sent a page to request an interview of the queen before I went off duty. I assumed it was more demands or more complaints about protocol slights.”
“Protocol slights?” Birdy leaned toward me. “Do you share the sense that we are coming at the news backward?”
Garsun said, “This is what I know. The Gaszins were laughing about how furious old Alarcansa had been when the queen accepted the Duke of Gaszin’s offer to host the Dance of the Spring Leaves. But I didn’t think he’d depart over it—not scarcely three weeks after their arrival.”
“They’re going to say that the Duchess is ill.” The drop in tone on the nickname “Duchess” (for Lady Carola had not been granted any such rights, she was heir only) made it clear that she had not endeared herself to the servants. “But the hall page overheard Tatia Tittermouse warning the second chambermaid not to gossip about…”
At this juncture I will shift the narrative to Carola’s memory (again, I promise I will record how and why I was able) which turned up in her nightmares over the next several years. She stood before her father, her muscles locked tightly lest she tremble, or weep, or reveal any emotion.
“It is not just the betrayal of our name,” he said, “by lowering yourself to the sort of subterfuge that entertains the vulgar.” He used a silver letter opener to lift Carola’s scroll from the letter salver. It was written on the most expensive rice paper and tied with heart’s red. He refused to touch the invitation with his own fingers, but flicked it into the fire from the letter opener, which he then wiped on a cotton silk handkerchief. “It is the vulgarity of your taste, chasing the tail of someone so indiscriminate that if he, and his father, hadn’t chanced to be born to titles, they would no doubt be employed on their backs in a common doss house.”
His voice on the word “common” was like the snap of a whip, and Carola recoiled as if she’d been struck.
“Honor lies in our reputation. I will not have Definian besmirched by the noisome mirth that you would have stirred up had this thing been delivered. It is clear that you cannot be trusted in court. You will write an appropriate letter to the queen, regretting a summer illness.
She plunked herself down next to Delis, another kitchen friend, a pastry-maker.
At the other end of the table, Birdy’s sister leaned forward. “… and the Gaszins are taking wagers that Jurac of Chwahirsland will not know how to dance. They all intend to ask him at the Dance of the Spring Leaves.” She was tall, long-nosed, her eyes so close together they seemed crossed, her smile as merry as her brother’s.
“Which the Duke of Gaszin is hosting.” Garsun raised his forefinger, signifying a shadow kiss—everyone knew the Gaszins were trying to win concessions from Queen Hatahra.
Tall, craggy-faced Garsun had indeed been hired as a scribe by the Duke of Altan—but like several of the ducal families, the Altans left their staff to eat at crown expense when the family was in Alsais attending on the queen.
Kaleri said on an outward sigh, “Well the Ice Duke and his daughter won’t be there to see it.”
“The Alarcansas are leaving?” Garsun asked. “Before the court season has officially begun?”
Kaleri laid down her fork. “It’s Willow Gate for her,” she said, laughing. “You did not know? That’s why I’m so late—several of us got summoned to help their people pack them up.”
“Why?” Birdy asked. He turned sideways on his cushion. Out came the bags—
“Birdy, might I request you perform your… your practice after our meal?” said his sister.
Birdy looked startled. “Oh.” He looked around at all of us, then put away the silk bags, grimacing a little.
His sister patted his hand. “It’s just that we like our dishes to remain where we set them when we eat. You will forgive me, will you not?” And to the others, “The Duke of Alarcansa sent a page to request an interview of the queen before I went off duty. I assumed it was more demands or more complaints about protocol slights.”
“Protocol slights?” Birdy leaned toward me. “Do you share the sense that we are coming at the news backward?”
Garsun said, “This is what I know. The Gaszins were laughing about how furious old Alarcansa had been when the queen accepted the Duke of Gaszin’s offer to host the Dance of the Spring Leaves. But I didn’t think he’d depart over it—not scarcely three weeks after their arrival.”
“They’re going to say that the Duchess is ill.” The drop in tone on the nickname “Duchess” (for Lady Carola had not been granted any such rights, she was heir only) made it clear that she had not endeared herself to the servants. “But the hall page overheard Tatia Tittermouse warning the second chambermaid not to gossip about…”
At this juncture I will shift the narrative to Carola’s memory (again, I promise I will record how and why I was able) which turned up in her nightmares over the next several years. She stood before her father, her muscles locked tightly lest she tremble, or weep, or reveal any emotion.
“It is not just the betrayal of our name,” he said, “by lowering yourself to the sort of subterfuge that entertains the vulgar.” He used a silver letter opener to lift Carola’s scroll from the letter salver. It was written on the most expensive rice paper and tied with heart’s red. He refused to touch the invitation with his own fingers, but flicked it into the fire from the letter opener, which he then wiped on a cotton silk handkerchief. “It is the vulgarity of your taste, chasing the tail of someone so indiscriminate that if he, and his father, hadn’t chanced to be born to titles, they would no doubt be employed on their backs in a common doss house.”
His voice on the word “common” was like the snap of a whip, and Carola recoiled as if she’d been struck.
“Honor lies in our reputation. I will not have Definian besmirched by the noisome mirth that you would have stirred up had this thing been delivered. It is clear that you cannot be trusted in court. You will write an appropriate letter to the queen, regretting a summer illness.
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