Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  She went to the kitchen and scooped a handful of raisins from a bin. At this time of day the kitchen was quiet, almost empty. Two of Cook’s helpers were scrubbing the worktables, and they paused to bow, but she gestured that they should return to their work. As she stopped in front of the main firepit, she remembered how sometimes, when she was a child, she would escape Nan to sit on this stone hearth and push a stick through the ashes, making patterns.

  Nan was gone now, but pushing sticks through ashes was not something a lady did. The chapel bells had not yet tolled the hour, but maybe it was growing close to the time for her Telgardian lesson. She might as well wait for Marjorie and Baron Louard. She summoned a servant to follow her back up the stairway, through the gallery, and past the guardsman in the palace foyer to reach the door to the library. After the servant had lit all the lamps in the reading room, Tabitha sat down in the only comfortable chair and heaved a great sigh.

  She should not have ruined the portrait. But what else could she have done? It did not look like her. It did not show her true beauty. It was a lie. Master Emon did not like her and had made her look bad on purpose. And if her father thought it did look like her, then he did not know her at all.

  Well, why should he? He was only her father. Nan would have understood.

  She was still thinking gloomy thoughts when she heard someone approaching on soft slippered feet. Looking up, she saw Marjorie at the door. Her hair, almost exactly the same golden blonde as Tabitha’s, was braided and coiled around her head, setting off the blue eyes she had inherited from her Telgard mother that made her look so exotic. Today she was in a wine-red gown. She had such pretty clothes, in such stylish, grown-up designs that Nan had never allowed Tabitha to have. “Lady Tabitha,” her friend curtseyed.

  “Fair day, Lady Marjorie.” She still had not heard the bells. “Where is your father?” Normally he was here early, laying out the books they would use.

  Marjorie’s smile slipped. “He said he had to talk to the exchequer.” She sat down next to Tabitha at the table. “You seem sad today.”

  “Master Emon finally finished the portrait.”

  Marjorie’s eyes widened in excitement, but then her face fell. “It was not good?”

  “It was terrible. He made me look like a baby.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “But my father liked it! He said it looked just like me! I told him that I hated it but he was not going to make Master Emon do it over. So I—” She stopped. Her father was worried that this story would make it to the ambassador’s ears. But Marjorie certainly would not be the one to tell him, if he ever found out at all. “I was so angry, I ripped the canvas apart.”

  Marjorie gasped. “No!”

  “I hated it. He has to do it over. I could not let anyone see it.”

  “But what if the next one he paints is even worse?”

  Tabitha had not thought of that. “It can’t possibly be worse. All the same, I will have Jenevive paint one too, and make sure the ambassador sees it. I am sure he will agree which one is better.”

  Marjorie nodded. “Was your father angry at you?”

  “Yes. He was very angry.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He yelled at me. And I am sure he will order my supper served cold tonight.” She sighed heavily. “He does not understand.”

  “I am so sorry, Tabitha.”

  “Is it so bad to care about how I look? Is it so bad to worry about what the prince might think when he sees my portrait?”

  “Not at all,” Marjorie said firmly. “If the prince is going to fall in love with you—”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “Of course he will. You are so beautiful.”

  Marjorie was such a good friend. Tabitha could not imagine having this conversation with any of the other girls. Pamela would try to talk about something else to try to make her feel better, Beatris would say something that would make her feel worse, and Jenevive would not know what to say at all. But Marjorie always said just the right thing. “Oh, Marjorie, I wish you could live in my chambers with the other girls.”

  Marjorie seemed startled at this. Tabitha had had no say in the matter when Pamela and Beatris, and then Jenevive, had come to be fostered at Betaul Keep. Nan had done that, convincing Tabitha’s father that she should not play with the servants’ children anymore and that she needed friends close to her own station. Beatris was impossible, Pamela and Jenevive just above tolerable, but Marjorie was a friend Tabitha would choose for herself. On an impulse, she said, “Well, why not? There is enough space for another cot. You could even take lessons with us in the mornings. You would not have to ride up from town anymore, and those lodgings can’t possibly be as comfortable as here. I would love having you with us! Please say yes.”

  Marjorie was staring at her. She clearly understood that this was a sign of high favor, but she could not seem to believe it. She looked down to her lap, where her hands were clenching together against the dark red of her skirt. “I would like to live here very much.” She lifted her gaze to Tabitha again. “Thank you. You honor me. But I am sure my father will say no.”

  “Oh, never worry about that. I will have my father speak to him.” Her father might still be angry at her, but he would not refuse her this. Would he? No, of course he would not. Even if he did not want another fosterling, she would remind him how well she would learn Telgardian if Marjorie lived with her.

  “But—but my father is not your father’s vassal. If he does not agree—”

  “My father is a duke, Marjorie. Even if your father does not have to agree by duty, he will agree by courtesy. Besides, there are so many good reasons for you to live with us! My father is very pleased with my progress in Telgardian, and I will tell him I owe it all to you.”

  “Oh, Tabitha, I mean, you are learning the language very quickly, but that’s because of you, not me.”

  “We will practice together in the evenings. It will be fun.” Especially since Sister Tilde would not know what they were saying. “Please say yes. I will make sure your cot is closest to the fireplace. And you can have all the pillows and blankets you want.”

  Marjorie smiled. “It sounds wonderful.” But she still seemed anxious. “Are you—are you sure your father will allow it?”

  “Of course he will.” Of course he would.

  Marjorie glanced at the door, then looked back at Tabitha. “All right, but please, say nothing to my father. Not until you have asked your father. Please?”

  It was silly to think that Baron Louard would object, since it was a sign of high favor. But Marjorie looked very worried, so Tabitha nodded. “I promise I will not say anything until I have talked to my father. And I will do that tonight. Maybe you can move in tomorrow!”

  “I would like that very much. Thank you. It’s such an honor to be your friend.”

  Yes, Marjorie always said exactly the right thing. Tabitha was feeling less upset now. She could forget about Emon’s portrait. Jenevive would paint another one, a good one, while Tabitha concentrated on learning the language and doing everything else possible to impress the Telgard ambassador. Marjorie would help her do that. It would all be perfect.

  “Tabitha, please stop pacing.” Marjorie stood right in front of her, her expression earnest. “Come sit down on my cot.”

  Tabitha pressed her hands together and held her mouth shut tight so that she would not scream at Marjorie. She had already screamed at Sister Tilde and the chambermaids to the point of driving them out of the room, and her friends had helped her finish getting dressed. If she drove them out too, she would be alone, and she could not endure this torture alone.

  The chapel bells had rung the hour not once, not twice, but three times since Pamela had scurried back into the sitting room to breathlessly announce that the Telgard ambassador’s ship had docked. Three hours! What could the ambassador have to discuss with her father before he even met her? She was the whole point of his visit!

  “We could
play something else,” Pamela suggested, drifting toward the bookshelf and the box of games. But she stopped at the look on Tabitha’s face, a look that said they were not going to play another stupid game to pass the time. Enough time had passed already.

  None of them understand. None of them! She marched back over to the standing mirror. She studied her reflection and nearly gasped aloud at how flushed her face was getting. She forced herself to stand still and take a deep breath. She had to look perfect. She had to look perfect. Her father had not allowed her to see the new portrait that Master Emon had painted, so she had to assume it was as bad as the first one, or even worse, since he had had only had a week to do it. Then Jenevive had thoroughly disappointed her by saying she was unable to find the right paint colors or a canvas of high enough quality. Only by looking absolutely perfect in person now could Tabitha undo any bad impression Emon’s portrait might have already made.

  The sky-blue gown was simple but elegant, very suitable for a maiden not yet of age, and the hemline brushed the floor as it should. But her sleeves were still too short, by nearly half an inch! She tugged at the cuffs and hissed in frustration. If she was not careful, her wrists would poke out, which was not fashionable. The seamstresses had lengthened the sleeves twice, but still not enough. What did it take to get anyone to do anything right around here?

  “Please,” Marjorie implored her, coming to her side again. “You will pull the stitching.”

  “What’s taking so long?” Tabitha burst out, all but stomping away from the mirror and back to the table in the middle of the room. “Why do men talk so much?”

  Jenevive, sitting cross-legged on her cot with her embroidery hoop, suddenly burst out laughing. “They say that we talk too much.”

  “Be quiet!” Tabitha snapped. “This is not funny!” Jenevive bent her head and hid her ruddy cheeks behind her curtain of hair, but then Tabitha saw Beatris rolling her eyes. “You will not roll your eyes at me!” she snarled, marching over to Beatris’s bed. “You have no idea what I am going through!”

  At that, Beatris got up and glared down at Tabitha from her three extra inches of height. She was even uglier when she glared, the features of her face too small for her head. “You are not ‘going through’ anything, Lady Screechy Cat. Do us all a favor and just stay in your bedchamber.”

  “How dare you talk to me like that!”

  “Someone has to.”

  “Please, please stop fighting,” Pamela begged.

  “It does no good,” Marjorie added faintly.

  Beatris smirked. “It makes me feel better.”

  “Stop talking!” Tabitha wanted to slap her so hard she would spin. “Whenever you talk, you make things worse!”

  Beatris opened her mouth again, but stopped. “I promised Nan I would not fight with you,” she muttered. She sat back down on her cot.

  That just infuriated Tabitha all the more because what she really wanted, needed, right now was a good screaming match. She took a deep breath, not knowing if she was going to calm down or actually scream at the end of it, and just then the door to the sitting room opened.

  “M’lady.” It was Lise. Her uniform of dark blue and white was heavily starched, and her apron rustled as she curtseyed. With her blonde hair in a tight bun atop her head, she looked a lot like her mother Aime. Both had such strangely wide foreheads. “Your father the duke requires your presence in his council chamber.”

  Tabitha rushed back to the mirror. She prodded at her veiled hair and tugged at her sleeves. Her back prickled with sweat, and her heart raced, but no hint of her agitation could show. She had to be the perfect lady. Once she was certain she was calm and in control, she glided out of the room without looking back at any of her friends. Lise shut the door behind her, then scurried in front of her to lead her into the corridor and down the stairs, holding out Tabitha’s blue skirts so that she would not trip over them. At the bottom was Sister Tilde in her drab gown and veil, laughing with Lord Daniel, who was to escort Tabitha to the ambassador. Lord Daniel looked up the stairs at her and smiled. “Lady Betaul, how lovely you look tonight.”

  “Thank you, Count Tibault.” She tugged at her sleeves again while Lise and Sister Tilde arranged the heavy folds of her skirts.

  “Shall we?” He offered her his arm. His hair was actually combed back out of his eyes today in honor of the occasion, and Tabitha had to admit, despite his blonde beard not matching his brown hair, that Lord Daniel did have quite a handsome face. Too handsome for Pamela, actually, with her baby cheeks and thick eyebrows.

  Sister Tilde went back upstairs. With Lise following them, Tabitha and Lord Daniel took the well-lit formal route to the council chamber, through the blue receiving room and down the gallery connecting it to the green receiving room. Tabitha kept her pose of perfect serenity, but as they moved at a stately pace past the servants who were setting the room’s dining table, her anxiety suddenly got the better of her. “Tell me about the ambassador,” she murmured.

  “He is bald with a long black beard,” Lord Daniel said, in that falsely solemn tone of his.

  Today of all days, she did not have time for his teasing. “I meant, is he stern, or does he make jokes, or—”

  “I think he might have made a joke. It might even have been a bad one.”

  Tabitha wanted to slap him. He could have just answered her question seriously! Against her better judgment, she tried again: “Did my father give him the new portrait? Did you see it?”

  “Oh, I saw it,” he said with a knowing lift of his eyebrow.

  “Did it look all right?”

  “It was rectangular, with dried paint on canvas on the front and a piece of wood attached to the back. It looked just like a portrait should.”

  Choking back a scream of fury, Tabitha fixed her eyes straight ahead and decided that she would never, ever speak another word to Lord Daniel. This was the most important night of her life, and he was laughing at her. Laughing at her! Well, tomorrow night, at the grand reception in the great hall, she would laugh at him when he asked her to dance. She would laugh out loud, right in his face, and she would tell all her friends to laugh in his face too. Even Pamela.

  With great, silent effort, she composed herself as the guardsman at the door to the council chamber bowed to her, and she was again the model of perfect serenity when she made her entrance. Everyone turned to greet her, bowing deeply while she curtseyed gracefully in reply. Then her father, whose layers of formal clothes included a dark blue tabard displaying the white swan of Betaul, took her hand from Lord Daniel and led her to the ambassador. Her father did not seem tense, which Tabitha took to mean that so far everything was going well. “Lord Warrich, it gives me great pleasure to present my daughter, Lady Tabitha de Betaul.”

  The ambassador was indeed bald with a long black beard, and even taller than her father. His eyes were deep blue like Marjorie’s and Baron Louard’s. “The Jewel of Betaul,” he greeted her with a bow over her hand. His accent was nice and mild. “With the silver eyes and golden hair of your ancient house. Truly, you are even more beautiful than I expected, dear lady. Your father was not exaggerating.”

  Did that mean the new portrait was as bad as the old one? “Thank you most kindly, my lord,” she said in her sweetest voice. “I am so pleased to meet you at last.”

  The ambassador introduced two other Telgard lords who had accompanied him from the embassy. Tabitha also nodded to Elder Frederic, then to another priest who had probably come from the basilica, and then to two more of her father’s advisors before lastly greeting Baron Louard, whose bristly black hair was so unlike Marjorie’s golden locks. Her father then escorted her to a chair, and they all sat down. The ambassador looked to one of his own servants and gestured, and the servant left the room. “I have brought some small gifts for you, my lady, as a token of my esteem. I hope they please you.”

  “I am sure they will, my lord,” Tabitha smiled. “You clearly have excellent taste.”

  First ther
e were baskets of fine candies, cheeses, and sausages, and she gushed over them even though she did not intend to eat any. She was a very picky eater, but the ambassador did not need to know that. The sugared almonds got her attention, though. She wondered if she could get the box to her bedchamber without her friends seeing it. But she forgot about the almonds when she opened a velvet-covered box containing a necklace of fine teardrop pearls. They were in all the shades of blue that made Telgard pearls the most prized, and Tabitha’s gushing was genuine now. Jenevive would be so envious when she saw it, since it was so much nicer than her little pearl bracelet.

  Another bundle contained a luxuriously soft polar bear pelt, and Lord Warrich told a story about how the bear had been captured, but had nearly escaped when its cage was overturned at a festival. The pelt was lovely, but even lovelier was the next package, an entire bolt of the most beautiful fabric Tabitha had ever seen. It was watered silk, Tolandish silk, not the inferior kind from Adelard. The rippling pattern shimmered in the lamplight, and it was the purple-blue color of the evening sky in summertime. It was absolutely stunning.

  “Finally, I have one more gift that I hope you like, my lady.” The ambassador nodded at his servant, who left the room yet again.

  “My goodness, my lord, you are too generous already,” Tabitha cooed, stroking her hand over the silk and wishing she could call for the seamstresses right this moment to talk about the gown they would make for her. The color was so vibrant. Suddenly she worried that it was too bright for her complexion. Maybe they should make just the skirt from this bolt.

  A strange noise came from the door, and Tabitha looked up to see the ambassador’s servant carrying a dog. A dog? She did not like animals, since they were all so smelly, but she quickly smoothed the dismay from her face before the ambassador could see it. Her father saw it, though, and smirked behind his hand.