comments about how
grown-up
I looked in my mother’s dresses, either. We’d known each other since both of us were learning to walk, and I liked him all right.
Someone had to, after all.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong it would be to try and entertain guests in this room,” Toverre said, lowering his kerchief at last. I was surprised he hadn’t spread it out over the bed like a protective doily or something, but then, maybe the thought just hadn’t occurred to him.
Or, miracle of miracles, he was actually loosening up a hair.
That
, however, seemed less likely than me securing an invitation to dinner with th’Esar himself. Even if our reasons for coming to the city had been directly thanks to His Highness, I didn’t cherish any illusions about him wanting to meet us or anything like that.
Apparently, after the war and once all the dust had settled, th’Esar had realized that there were all sorts of people in Volstov—outside of Thremedon—with good heads on their shoulders and no means of expanding their minds. I guess it had something to do with the fact that the man who’d figured out how to stop the magicians’ plague had hailed from somewhere around Nevers originally. All the best minds inThremedon hadn’t been able to accomplish what he did, and th’Esar probably didn’t want to get caught with his trousers down like that again.
Of course, that
wasn’t
how it’d been put in the letter Da got, but it
was
the general thrust of things. It was a postwar scholarship program, and Toverre and I’d been lucky enough to qualify because of our location. Besides which, Toverre was the only young man of age to be found for miles in either direction.
We’d accepted because you didn’t say no to th’Esar. Though, to be honest, Toverre’s father was happy enough to be rid of him, and
my
da would do all right so long as the stableboy didn’t leave his employment seeking other work. Toverre was delighted, but I was reserving judgment—at least until I saw what Thremedon was
really
like.
The letter came in early fall, just after the war ended. Winter term started up, like you’d guess, at the beginning of winter. That didn’t give us much time for getting ready, and everything had happened in a flurry of packing, Toverre’s bags more than triple the size and quantity of my own, before he’d forced me to go deep into my old things and bring along several of the dresses I’d discarded as too fancy or too light for the winter.
Seasons change
, he’d insisted, and even though it seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to—not to mention an awful lot of crinoline and lace taking up space in my bags—I’d agreed to go along with his suggestions.
Dealing with Toverre was remarkably like dealing with a herd of cows when only one of them had reason to be spooked but all the rest panicked anyway. If you just stood to one side and allowed them to do whatever they wanted, both parties would come up smelling like posies. Or at least, no one the worse for wear.
I picked up my new plate and set it on the windowsill, figuring I’d decide what to do with it later. Now, at least, I could probably light a fire in my room without feeling like I’d been transported to a blacksmith’s.
“Are you even listening to me?” Toverre demanded, arms crossed over his chest.
“You said you couldn’t begin to tell me what was wrong with it,” I reasoned, going back to stoke the coals with my poker. “So I just naturally assumed you wouldn’t. Tell me, that is.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Toverre said, wrinkling his nose with a disapproving sniff. I wanted to ask him if he needed to blow his nose, but the mere idea would’ve caused spasms of horror or something worse, probably. And me standing there without any of the cleaning solvents that usually soothed his more serious fits of dirt panic.
Fortunately for both of us, someone knocked at the door.
“Looks like someone already heard I was
grown-up
I looked in my mother’s dresses, either. We’d known each other since both of us were learning to walk, and I liked him all right.
Someone had to, after all.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong it would be to try and entertain guests in this room,” Toverre said, lowering his kerchief at last. I was surprised he hadn’t spread it out over the bed like a protective doily or something, but then, maybe the thought just hadn’t occurred to him.
Or, miracle of miracles, he was actually loosening up a hair.
That
, however, seemed less likely than me securing an invitation to dinner with th’Esar himself. Even if our reasons for coming to the city had been directly thanks to His Highness, I didn’t cherish any illusions about him wanting to meet us or anything like that.
Apparently, after the war and once all the dust had settled, th’Esar had realized that there were all sorts of people in Volstov—outside of Thremedon—with good heads on their shoulders and no means of expanding their minds. I guess it had something to do with the fact that the man who’d figured out how to stop the magicians’ plague had hailed from somewhere around Nevers originally. All the best minds inThremedon hadn’t been able to accomplish what he did, and th’Esar probably didn’t want to get caught with his trousers down like that again.
Of course, that
wasn’t
how it’d been put in the letter Da got, but it
was
the general thrust of things. It was a postwar scholarship program, and Toverre and I’d been lucky enough to qualify because of our location. Besides which, Toverre was the only young man of age to be found for miles in either direction.
We’d accepted because you didn’t say no to th’Esar. Though, to be honest, Toverre’s father was happy enough to be rid of him, and
my
da would do all right so long as the stableboy didn’t leave his employment seeking other work. Toverre was delighted, but I was reserving judgment—at least until I saw what Thremedon was
really
like.
The letter came in early fall, just after the war ended. Winter term started up, like you’d guess, at the beginning of winter. That didn’t give us much time for getting ready, and everything had happened in a flurry of packing, Toverre’s bags more than triple the size and quantity of my own, before he’d forced me to go deep into my old things and bring along several of the dresses I’d discarded as too fancy or too light for the winter.
Seasons change
, he’d insisted, and even though it seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to—not to mention an awful lot of crinoline and lace taking up space in my bags—I’d agreed to go along with his suggestions.
Dealing with Toverre was remarkably like dealing with a herd of cows when only one of them had reason to be spooked but all the rest panicked anyway. If you just stood to one side and allowed them to do whatever they wanted, both parties would come up smelling like posies. Or at least, no one the worse for wear.
I picked up my new plate and set it on the windowsill, figuring I’d decide what to do with it later. Now, at least, I could probably light a fire in my room without feeling like I’d been transported to a blacksmith’s.
“Are you even listening to me?” Toverre demanded, arms crossed over his chest.
“You said you couldn’t begin to tell me what was wrong with it,” I reasoned, going back to stoke the coals with my poker. “So I just naturally assumed you wouldn’t. Tell me, that is.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Toverre said, wrinkling his nose with a disapproving sniff. I wanted to ask him if he needed to blow his nose, but the mere idea would’ve caused spasms of horror or something worse, probably. And me standing there without any of the cleaning solvents that usually soothed his more serious fits of dirt panic.
Fortunately for both of us, someone knocked at the door.
“Looks like someone already heard I was
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