But″—she caught Tiphaine′s eye and abbreviated the details to—″still cute as a button.″
″Oh, cute as a puppy,″ Tiphaine agreed. ″She′s going to be fair, like Lioncel.″
And this is the last one!
Three was a smallish family these days, and Delia had wanted to try again for another daughter to balance the set, but . . .
We′re retiring that turkey baster, if I have anything to say about it! Which admittedly I may not.
″However, babies are much harder to housebreak,″ she finished. ″Plus puppies don′t need to be found dowries or fiefs when they grow up.″
″And on that note,″ Sandra said more seriously. ″What do you make of the situation? Not the details—the larger picture.″
As always she was in combinations of gray and white, with silver gilt buttons down the sleeves and bodice of her cotte-hardi. A Persian kitten rested in a small basket on her lap, and dodged a paw out at the dangling trails of the wimple now and then.
″The enemy are still not pressing us very hard,″ she added, reaching in a hand and running a finger down its head; the little beast turned on its back and began to wrestle with the digit as she tickled its stomach. ″I expected them to be more aggressive.″
″The dance starts soon,″ Tiphaine said, and went into the details.
Conrad nodded agreement when she′d finished. ″It′s a persisting strategy. Subtle, for an alliance. The sum total of a whole lot of little fights is more predictable than one or two big ones where luck and generalship can overcome the odds.″
Unlike the older noble, Tiphaine reached for a second sandwich. Benefits of an active metabolism, she thought, as she marshaled reports and observations in her mind. Perks of running around wearing sixty pounds of steel half the time. Also good food makes me feel less pessimistic.
Sandra pursed her lips and tapped a finger on them. ″I′m surprised our enemies are being so . . . farsighted. They′re both young men—Prophet Sethaz is barely thirty, and General-President Martin Thurston of Boise is younger still. In my experience, patience isn′t a quality of which men that age show any great fund.″
″Sethaz is . . . I′m not sure if he′s altogether human,″ Tiphaine said. ″He′s certainly mad and I wouldn′t rule out the stories of demonic possession.″
Conrad grunted agreement. Sandra raised one elegant brow; her brown eyes were a little surprised.
″ Et tu , Tiphaine?″
″I′ve had too much contact with the CUT to doubt that something very strange is going on out there in the Valley of Paradise,″ she said. ″Strange and . . . unpleasant. You taught me to evaluate the evidence, my lady, not reject it because it conflicted with my assumptions. And you heard about Lady Astrid′s headache?″
Sandra′s brow went up. ″That was supernatural ?″ she said.
Conrad snorted. ″Damned straight it was. I′ve seen Tiph draw, spin a hundred and eighty degrees, cut a dragonfly in half on the wing, sheath the blade and be back where she started in about a second,″ he said. ″Astrid′s just as good.″
″Just as fast , certainly,″ Tiphaine said with hard-won professional detachment.
The Hiril Dúnedain had killed her lover Katrina during the Protector′s War in the course of the botched first attempt to get Mathilda back from the Mackenzies. Tiphaine didn′t dwell on the memory; it was too stressful.
″Stress″ is mostly the result of not being allowed to kill some asshole you really want to slice and dice.
″ Something is going on,″ Conrad said grimly. ″And I lost my belief in the absolute reign of impersonal natural laws about twenty-four years ago. There′s something else at work in the universe. And it doesn′t seem to like us much.″
″A point,″ Sandra said reluctantly.
She was that rarity these days, an atheist to the core, a complete materialist and rationalist. Tiphaine had been one herself, until recently, though they were both pious
″Oh, cute as a puppy,″ Tiphaine agreed. ″She′s going to be fair, like Lioncel.″
And this is the last one!
Three was a smallish family these days, and Delia had wanted to try again for another daughter to balance the set, but . . .
We′re retiring that turkey baster, if I have anything to say about it! Which admittedly I may not.
″However, babies are much harder to housebreak,″ she finished. ″Plus puppies don′t need to be found dowries or fiefs when they grow up.″
″And on that note,″ Sandra said more seriously. ″What do you make of the situation? Not the details—the larger picture.″
As always she was in combinations of gray and white, with silver gilt buttons down the sleeves and bodice of her cotte-hardi. A Persian kitten rested in a small basket on her lap, and dodged a paw out at the dangling trails of the wimple now and then.
″The enemy are still not pressing us very hard,″ she added, reaching in a hand and running a finger down its head; the little beast turned on its back and began to wrestle with the digit as she tickled its stomach. ″I expected them to be more aggressive.″
″The dance starts soon,″ Tiphaine said, and went into the details.
Conrad nodded agreement when she′d finished. ″It′s a persisting strategy. Subtle, for an alliance. The sum total of a whole lot of little fights is more predictable than one or two big ones where luck and generalship can overcome the odds.″
Unlike the older noble, Tiphaine reached for a second sandwich. Benefits of an active metabolism, she thought, as she marshaled reports and observations in her mind. Perks of running around wearing sixty pounds of steel half the time. Also good food makes me feel less pessimistic.
Sandra pursed her lips and tapped a finger on them. ″I′m surprised our enemies are being so . . . farsighted. They′re both young men—Prophet Sethaz is barely thirty, and General-President Martin Thurston of Boise is younger still. In my experience, patience isn′t a quality of which men that age show any great fund.″
″Sethaz is . . . I′m not sure if he′s altogether human,″ Tiphaine said. ″He′s certainly mad and I wouldn′t rule out the stories of demonic possession.″
Conrad grunted agreement. Sandra raised one elegant brow; her brown eyes were a little surprised.
″ Et tu , Tiphaine?″
″I′ve had too much contact with the CUT to doubt that something very strange is going on out there in the Valley of Paradise,″ she said. ″Strange and . . . unpleasant. You taught me to evaluate the evidence, my lady, not reject it because it conflicted with my assumptions. And you heard about Lady Astrid′s headache?″
Sandra′s brow went up. ″That was supernatural ?″ she said.
Conrad snorted. ″Damned straight it was. I′ve seen Tiph draw, spin a hundred and eighty degrees, cut a dragonfly in half on the wing, sheath the blade and be back where she started in about a second,″ he said. ″Astrid′s just as good.″
″Just as fast , certainly,″ Tiphaine said with hard-won professional detachment.
The Hiril Dúnedain had killed her lover Katrina during the Protector′s War in the course of the botched first attempt to get Mathilda back from the Mackenzies. Tiphaine didn′t dwell on the memory; it was too stressful.
″Stress″ is mostly the result of not being allowed to kill some asshole you really want to slice and dice.
″ Something is going on,″ Conrad said grimly. ″And I lost my belief in the absolute reign of impersonal natural laws about twenty-four years ago. There′s something else at work in the universe. And it doesn′t seem to like us much.″
″A point,″ Sandra said reluctantly.
She was that rarity these days, an atheist to the core, a complete materialist and rationalist. Tiphaine had been one herself, until recently, though they were both pious
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