"Thank you," Linden whispered to Rianor, and he looked at her with surprise, she herself surprised that he did not understand what she was thanking him for. For thinking. For providing her with the rare experience of seeing someone else make the right decision, for giving her the opportunity to not think and make decisions herself for a moment.
Not that she took that opportunity. There was a shadow of a movement on the painting to her left, and her eyes jumped to it instantly, her mind instantly abuzz with the possible reasons and implications—pipes behind the painting, lack of pipes, hidden symbols, stories within stories, Magic, Audric's hints—
She almost jumped, her heart beating wildly, as suddenly she heard a strange young woman's voice behind her back. Linden had felt the stranger's presence later than she should have.
"Oh, but High Lord Rianor. I am really sorry to be starting our close acquaintance by trampling a desire of yours." The woman smiled dazzlingly. "Mister Samuel, our Master Hotelier here, cannot actually offer you four suites at the first floor. There are only six, and we have already occupied three." She stepped even closer, reaching out to tap Rianor's arm with her fan. "Sharing might be the only option."
A fan. She carried a fan in winter. Either heat bothered her even more than it bothered Linden, or she needed the fan solely for tapping men's arms.
"I did not expect to meet you so early, my lady," Rianor said.
The woman pulled the fan away, inclining her head at him, her lips slightly pouted. "I only sometimes meet expectations, my lord."
Rianor looked at her, his eyes unreadable. "Should I accept this as a warning, then?"
The woman smiled at him again, a special smile Linden had seen other women issue before, usually aimed at a man, usually calculated to make the man feel as the greatest man in the world, deservingly or not. "But who am I to tell you what to accept or to not accept, my lord?"
Rianor gave her a slight smile himself, and this time Linden agreed with the look on Inni's face. "Well, I know who you are, lady Marguerite, but not everyone here does—"
"Margot." She did not let him finish, her smile sweet enough to make one's stomach rebel. "Just Margot, for friends. Marguerite is so long and official." Well, any friends of hers probably would not have the capacity to understand long words.
"High Lady. High Lord." The hotelier, back from where he had retreated, his face red and his voice flustered. "My deepest apologies. I was not aware that my subordinate had already assigned such a number of suites to the lady's party and not let me know immediately. I assure you he will be punished most severely. My lord, three suites are available on the first floor, one overlooking the street and two overlooking Temple Square. Please let me offer you another suite on the fourth floor, immaculately prepared to satisfy your every need—"
"No, we will only take those three," Rianor said, just as Linden stepped forward.
"What does 'he would be punished most severely' mean?" She looked at the manager.
"My lady." The man bowed at her, still red-faced but his voice now full of composure. "I assure you I will take any measures necessary to assure continued excellence of service."
"Really?" Her eyes fixed the man's.
"I assure my lady that—"
"Oh, do not assure me, please." She stepped towards him, and something in her bearing made him step back. "How can you assure me of 'continued excellence of service' if your service has not been excellent? Do you think I am not listening to you? If you think so, you should not be talking. And what are you going to do to your subordinate? What has he done? No one deserves 'a most severe punishment' just for forgetting to tell you about some suites being occupied! Do not beat him. Is that clear?"
"Of course. As my lady wishes." The hotel manager bowed again, a vein pulsing on his neck, and Linden should be glad, for her angry outburst had gotten her what she wanted—but she was not.
"My lady." Magic words, words meaning that she could get what she wanted with an angry outburst, no matter if what she wanted was a capricious whim or the right thing. The knowledge of that made her even angrier. Why had she been so angry to start with? Yes, she did not want the manager to beat his subordinate, but she would be a liar if she told herself that was all.
Well, hadn't she truly become a lady. True, she was angered by this slimy, obsequious, servant-beating manager. She had glimpsed his kind before, sometimes, when one or two would come to her school to examine possible apprentices. One such as he would in those times be considered above a mere schoolgirl, and even though she never wanted an apprenticeship with them, if they accidentally addressed her, they addressed her accordingly. She liked them no better now when they cringed upon hearing her voice—but right now she did not like herself, either.
How easy it had been to take her anger out on someone presently lower than her on the social ladder and powerless to do her harm, while she had not even said a word to that eyelid-fluttering, sugary-smiled High Lady.
"Oh, go away!" she exclaimed, and upon a nod from Rianor the man did, bowing to her lord and handing him keys for the suites before that. So, the "High" before "Lady" or "Lord" was so important that in the end he needed Rianor's acknowledgement to her words? Rianor looked at her briefly, then turned towards the Marguerite woman.
"As I said, lady Margot," Margot? Was he her friend now? "Not everyone here knows who you are. Meet lady Linden of Qynnsent, my Science apprentice and, I am not sure whether you know each other, lady Jenelly of Qynnsent, formerly of Tremayne. Linde, Jenne—lady Marguerite, High Lady of Laurent."
Jenne would have curtsied at this point, Linden knew it—and she had learned enough protocol, too, to know this was what you were supposed to do upon meeting the High Ruler of a House.
Well, she had never curtsied to Rianor, even when she had been a commoner.
"Nice to meet you, lady Marguerite." She extended her hand for a simple handshake before Jenne could do anything, and after a moment long enough for everyone to see her hesitation, the woman took it.
"Same here." Marguerite's smile was still sugary, but the eyes that met Linden's were sharp, blue, and cold like shards of ice, even if partly concealed by overpainted lashes. Jenne did not curtsy, herself, but she dared not offer her hand, either. Marguerite simply nodded to her, and Linden was suddenly aware that some power structure had been formed between them. She felt her position in it to be close to the top and she was glad at the first moment. Then she was ashamed. She did not want to participate in power structures, especially ones where sweet Jenne was pushed to the bottom. Putting her energy into something like that was unpleasant, and moreover, it was dangerous.
First irked by Marguerite's overt flirting with Rianor and her own jumping at the hotelier, and then focused on her own exchange with the High Lady and power structures, Linden had forgotten how creepily quiet the High Lady had been when approaching her from behind. She had also failed to notice the two men standing unobtrusively in the corner—a burly man whose big muscles were evident even beneath his shirt, and a slender man who was slouching at first glance but whose hand was positioned to access the slight protrusion at his belt with minimal effort.
These were not normal guards. Something in them told Linden that they'd had special training—and she suddenly realized that she and Rianor had been assuming that Qynnsent was the only House that dabbled in Magic. But the High Lady's eyes were too sharp, and these were days of disquiet.
Inni did not curtsy, either, only nodded with a "How are you, Margot?" Rianor watched everything with what, if you tried to read him hard, might be amusement, while Desmond seemed to try hard to not glare at the women of his House. Sweet Desmond, it would not do for him to bow to the High Lady of Laurent now, and it was at the same time so not in his nature and political machinations to not do it. He must dislike Linden even more that before, and worse, he might like Jenne less. Linden at least was not married to him.
Interestingly enough, Marguerite also noticed Desmond's predicament, and she stepped
closer to him, using her fan to almost caress his shoulder. "Lord Desmond, long time no see. A little belatedly, congratulations on your marriage." The smile again. "The ladies of Mierber lament your loss." Had she truly said that? She was looking at Desmond now as if he were the greatest man in the world, and it seemed to work. Desmond—calculating, manipulating Desmond, whom Linden had not yet seen swayed by a person—was for a moment obviously basking in Marguerite's words.
"Desmond is alive and well, to the best of my knowledge, no need for laments." Rianor, something like a teasing smile on his lips, nothing else in his demeanor revealing the rest of his attitude. Marguerite immediately turned towards him.
"Oh, but High Lord, you do not know how ladies think. Well"—she looked sideways at Jenne, still smiling—"I am sure no one in Qynnsent is too worried about other ladies' feelings. You must all be looking forward to new little lords and ladies of the House." Had she truly said that, too? Further humiliating Jenne, reducing her to no more than a breeding tool? And it was a sensitive topic, too—Desmond would agree with her and not with his wife.
"At least we are glad to have one Qynnsent lord still with us." Marguerite slipped her hand inside Rianor's arm and he let her. "Let me show your suites to you, for they are beside ours, and our dear Mister Samuel is not here at the moment. I am sure your ladies are yearning for refreshment before going out for deserved shopping and entertainment before the Guilds Day Fire Ceremony. I will tell you a secret, lord Rianor, we women have our little needs to fulfill, so that we can be beautiful for you men ..."
Because being beautiful to men is the purpose of women's lives, isn't it? The woman had managed with just a few remarks to laud the Qynnsent lords as far superior to what she had presented as the flimsy, shopping Qynnsent ladies, and she had succeeded in this by putting herself beneath the lords, too. The lords did not seem to mind. Even Rianor.
"All individuals have needs, lady Margot, I would not necessarily split them into women's needs and men's needs, they seem quite similar to me," Rianor said. "I would not pretend to know what the exact needs of an individual who is not myself are, either." At least he was listening to what was being said instead of simply absorbing Marguerite's words with boosted male pride. Only, by the look of his face and the tone of his voice, Linden was not certain whether he had just defended the women of Qynnsent or simply flirted with the Laurent whore.
They all walked further in the corridor, the two Laurent guards following, still unobtrusively, at a certain distance. A distance that was far too close. Linden fell behind, suddenly limping as if there were something in her shoe.
"What is it, my lady?" Rianor turned back to look at her, and maybe he would have let go of Marguerite and come to her, had not Desmond been faster. A man had to help her walk, that much she knew from noble rules of politeness and watching Calia's games—even if it were the wrong man. Well, if it could not be Rianor, it had better be Desmond with her now rather than Jenne or Inni.
"Watch out," she whispered so that only Desmond could hear as she leaned on his arm. Then she turned back, as if to fix the hem of her dress, so that he would have no doubt what she was pointing at. The two men had at least six knives between them from what she had discerned, and the House of Laurent may currently be considered friendly to the House of Qynnsent, but no Houses were truly friends, ever. Desmond nodded almost imperceptibly, while at a loud voice he offered that all noble members of the two Houses meet for lunch after the Fire Ceremony.
"But of course, lord Desmond. My parents and my cousin Armand will be delighted to see you all." Marguerite smiled at him again, supposedly accidentally tossing her head so that her long blonde hair shifted to reveal her naked back, which her dress allowed for freely.
An expression of "I want" seemed to flash on Desmond's face, but Linden was close enough to him now to see him well, and her hand was still on his arm where she could feel his pulse. Nothing. It was all pretense. The two silent men's existence seemed to have awakened Desmond from male stupor, and Linden was so shocked that she was almost fascinated by how he had taken on Marguerite's game. House politics seemed to freely involve the relationships between genders, and Desmond being married seemed to be yet another element in the game rather than an obstacle. Poor Jenne. Interesting how far Desmond would go.
Interesting where and how far Rianor would go. Marguerite was still clinging to him as Linden and Inni entered the suite that the two of them, as the only two unmarried people of the same gender, were supposed to share. Linden walked to one of the windows, all of which faced the street, or rather faced a patch of land somewhat removed from the busy street itself. She stared outside, her hands clenched together, her body still. The patch was covered by dirty snow now, but perhaps in warmer weather it was green.
"That dirty little woman." Inni, coming to stand beside her, while further in the room Felice and Inni's maid Sophie became very quiet, obviously willing to absorb everything that was said. Had they ever heard lady Inni insult another person? No embroidery was immediately visible, either. Linden did not reply, but Inni seemed to not care.
"I cannot believe she is still acting like this, even though she is now a High Lady. Would she not leave men alone?" Inni tossed her head, her hair snapping sharply as it hit the window's glass. Her eyes seemed to be glowing. "It does not matter to her who the man is, or what he is, or what he wants—only what she wants, and she always gets it. And she has always wanted power, Marguerite of Laurent—some say that it was she who killed her own brother, so that she would take his place—and now she wants more power, may the Master damn her and the Lost Ones take her!"
"Oh, but she did not kill her brother, my lady." Felice, flushing worriedly as Inni stared at her.
"The servants at Laurent talk, my ladies—and our Anne heard something once here at the Fireheart stables—that the lord Giles tried to ... tried to do things to the lady Merlevine she did not want him to do, because she was not like his sister at all, and this is why the lady Merlevine killed him. Burned him. They say there was nothing of him left, and then everyone thought the Laurents had killed her, or that the Bers themselves had, but she came back." Felice sighed, her eyes blurry. "She was not a Ber but became one. I wonder what it would be if I could become a Ber myself ..."
"Shut up." Inni, her voice very quiet. "These are not things we talk about here. And be careful what you wish for, for it might come true. The Master is always listening, and he may answer your prayers." She shook her head. "It is Rianor I am worried about at present, with that woman around him." She stared at Linden. "Aren't you worried of what she might trick him into?"
"No." Linden was surprised at her own reply. She looked at the snow outside again, trying to determine why she had not only said but thought that, but Inni did not let her, her fingers gripping Linden's arm, making her turn back again.
"You are lying."
"Am I now, Inni?" Linden carefully but firmly freed her arm. She knew it. She suddenly, finally, knew it. Inni was in love with him.
"No one—no one—is worse than that woman for Rianor!" Ah. Even Linden was better, was that it?
"Inni, I am not worried about what she might trick him into." Linden sighed, too, while Inni watched her with forced calmness. "Because Rianor is not a fool, Inni. It seems so easy to always blame the woman for what a man might do with her, but a man is not necessarily an entity that loses any semblance of a mind at the prospect of sex. Men can make their own decisions."
At least, Rianor could, even though from what she had seen Linden could not determine what his decision would be. Well, whatever it would be, then! If the slutty type who made life worse for all women because they put themselves beneath men and tried to put all other women there as well was what he wanted, if he was like those men who needed a woman to throw herself at their feet because otherwise they would not feel men enough, what did Linden care!
Her hand was trembling when she took the comb Felice had brought her, but she pursed her lips and stilled it.
She did not care about the "dangers" to Rianor, did not care at all. He was not the only man in this place; she could certainly find someone to pay her attention, but why would she? She did not care about any males! Except perhaps about the two that followed Marguerite, the two to beware, but that was different ...
Oh, no. There were dangers to Rianor, real dangers, and she should at least warn him to be careful. She motioned to Inni and the maids to come closer and warned them, too, then turned and stared outside where the snow had started falling again. Perhaps it was still white while high in the air, but when it reached the ground it became mingled with snow that was fallen and gray, and became gray itself.
Rianor
Day 30 of the First Quarter—Guilds Day, Year of the Master 706
The Guilds Day ceremony passed relatively smoothly, the Bers talking the same things they talked every year, passing wine to everyone at the Head Temple at the end of it. Rianor brought the glass to his lips but did not drink, and he made sure he and his party stood close to both a window and the doors at all times.
Only when it was over and they were outside in Temple Square again did he realize how tired he was. He had expected something to happen at any given moment.
Rianor sighed. The lunch with the Laurents was still to be endured.
They all settled in a private dining hall provided to them by the Master Hotelier. Rianor thought of Audric while the lord Maurice and the lady Mabelle of Laurent were talking to Desmond, going round the topic in circles interspersed with so many hints, half-truths, and possible implications that perhaps even Desmond did not quite like it. Laurent knew about the fire outage in Qynnsent, and they knew that Qynnsent had been doing "some interesting things"—that was what Rianor had discerned from the whole exchange. Now he waited for the former High Lord of Laurent and his lady to wrap this up and move on to what they knew, what they offered, and what they wanted.
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