by Melanie Rawn
“Mieka? You haven’t said what you think.”
He shook himself free of his ponderings and looked at Rafe. “Whatever you like.”
“I thought Cayden was the only one who went all blank-eyed and otherwhere,” said Jinsie, and Mieka was stunned to find her seated just beside him on the grass.
“Elsewhen,” he corrected. “And why should he be the only one to Think Great Thoughts?”
His voice supplied the capital letters. Jinsie elbowed him a good one. “Fool! Do you have a clean shirt to go to lunching in?”
“Someplace or other. What did we decide about the pamphlets?”
“Not much. We’re all just sitting about, waiting for Jez.” Cade picked up the last of the fruitcake. “New recipe, Rafe?”
“Chopped plums. Huge crop this year, so they’re cheap. What’s Jez got to do with anything?”
“He went to see Black Lightning last night with his new girlfriend.” Jinsie glanced towards the house and waved. “And here, in happy hour, he is.”
“His limp isn’t bad at all,” Mieka observed gratefully.
“Oh, it’s always worse when Ardyssian is around.”
“The better for leaning on her?” Cade asked. “Or to turn her all sympathetic and solicitous?”
“Well, you can’t expect somebody his size to conjure up the mothering instinct without some help,” Jinsie observed. “She doesn’t coo over him, I’ll give her that. In fact, I like her quite a lot.”
Jezael greeted everyone, complained over the total lack of anything to eat or drink, and sat down on the grass. Mieka offered him his own plate—naught but crumbs—and Jez playfully threatened him with his cane.
“I hear you’ve been—well, not consorting with the enemy,” Cade said, “but going to see them perform.”
“And a good thing, too.” He stretched out his bad leg and placed the cane beside his knee. “Their new piece is a rework of something called ‘Winglets.’ Ever heard of it?”
“It’s pretty old,” said Cade. “Nobody’s done it in a long while, but I remember reading about it in Lost Withies. One day a couple’s new baby is seen to have sprouted wings. They’re astonished—can’t figure out what happened, because they can account for the Elfen ears but not for wings. Husband suspects wife of indecent colluding with a Fae.”
Jez nodded. “Turns out the Fae baby was substituted for the couple’s own child, only the Fae forgot to do something about the wings. And the Human baby turns out to be a real screamer, which annoys the Fae so much that he gets stashed in the hayloft and abandoned. The couple raises both children, emphasis on the Fae child who in spite of his wings can’t fly until he comes into his magic.”
“The wings are just for show,” Cade said. “It’s magic that lets the Fae soar about as they please.”
“Remember the wings on that one we met, Cade?” Mieka asked. “All leafy-like, not enough heft in them to lift a daisy off the ground.”
Cade snorted a laugh that told Mieka he remembered becoming a Knight of the Most Noble Elfen Order of the Daisy.
Jinsie looked from one to the other of them, frowning. “You’re serious? You met a Fae?”
“Long story,” Mieka assured her. “Tell you some other time.”
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “You will.”
Cade grinned. “Better you than me! Anyway, as for ‘Winglets’—the lesson is that sometimes you have to wait to do the things you’re meant to do until you’ve the wherewithal to do them. One version adds the idea that everybody has wings of some kind, and you just have to figure out exactly how you were meant to fly. A bit sicky-sweet in the wrong hands, but I’d imagine there would be some interesting visuals.”
“’Twasn’t the visuals last night,” Jez said grimly. “’Twas the words. Right at the beginning—and believe it or not, it got worse and worse all the way through—when the husband is told that his son now has wings, he plays out the bewilderment and says, ‘Wings? Whatever shall we do with a baby that has wings?’” He drew in a long breath. “And someone in the audience yells out, ‘It’s Fae-born! Kill it!’”
The shocked silence was eventually broken by Mieka, who indeed had some trouble kicking his brain back into action. But it was his job to lighten dark moods, ease tense situations, and go as far as he had to for a laugh. So he said, “It’s a right shame, it is, that Princess Miriuzca’s brother wasn’t there. Sounds like the sort of thing that would suit him down to the ground.” He waited a moment, then sat up straight as if something horrible had just occurred to him—which, in a way, it had. “Good Gods—you don’t think he’ll be at lunching again, do you?”
* * *
He wasn’t, though not for lack of his sister’s invitation.
“He went to the horse fair today,” she explained when Rafe made a polite inquiry about her brother’s health in this wretched summer heat. “He’ll be taking back a dozen yearlings for the stables at home.” She fanned herself with what looked like a huge clamshell made out of painted sticks and lace. “How he can rush about in this weather, I truly do not know. I have been hoping this part of the garden would be cooler, but the shade is making very little difference, don’t you think? And the cook wanted to be serving hot soup! Anyway, if my brother had been here, we would have been fourteen at table, rather than lucky thirteen.”
These thirteen—the four members of Touchstone, Derien, Crisiant, Kazie, Blye, Jedris, Jinsie, Jezael, the Princess, and Lady Megs—were seated at a large, square table in a garden retreat walled on three sides by blue-flowering hedges. The fourth side was a long expanse of grass to the river. The table was just the right size for everyone to join in the same conversation without raising their voices or straining to hear. Lunching consisted of cold meats and cheeses, chopped vegetable salad, iced drinks, flatbread, and bowls of berries dusted with mocah powder. A very casual meal, and very casual talk round the table—but Miriuzca was chattering away as if she’d just pricked bluethorn mixed with whitethorn and a little something else on the side. Ridiculous to think she would ever do such a thing, but Mieka was at a loss to understand her somewhat fevered vivaciousness.
It was a relief not to have to carry the conversation all by himself. In fact, it hadn’t been necessary for him to say much at all. That left him free to observe Cayden and Megs, who were deeply engrossed in not looking at each other. Mieka found this infinitely entertaining, but he knew better than to tease Cade about it in front of the others. Truth be told, he also had a healthy respect for Lady Megs’s equally sharp tongue. And besides all that, Jinsie was here, and any breach of manners would be reported to their mother. One would think, he mused as he speared another bite of carrot with a golden fork, that Mishia Windthistle would have given over scolding him—or simply given up—by now. He was almost twenty-three, and she had four children much younger than he to lesson as she saw fit. He had a moment of shock when he realized that Cilka and Petrinka were fourteen and Tavier and Jorie were nearly seven. How had the time gone by so fast? This Wintering, his own Jindra would be four years old. Astounding.
“Mieka!”
His twin sister’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. Jinsie had turned to the Princess, saying, “He’s taken to doing that. Must be premature old age setting in.” Then, to Mieka once more: “Her Royal Highness had the kindness to ask about your wife and daughter. Are you back from wherever it was you went, or should I be a good elder sister and make a reply for you?”
“Elder?” He made a face at her. “By a scant half minute, and only because I kicked you out first so I could finally have some room! How was I to know the birthing-wife would yank me out by the ears just as I got comfortable?”
Jedris shook his head at the foolery of his younger siblings and told the laughing Princess, “Not a word of it true, of course. What really happened was that our poor long-suffering mother called in the birthing-wife and told her that she absolutely refused to be burdened with those two for one more day. Little did she know they’d be ev
en more trouble to her once they were born!” When Mieka and Jinsie both began to complain, he said, “Hush up. I was there.”
“And so was I,” Jez put in. “And you weren’t. Hush up.”
Mieka and Jinsie traded glances, and Jinsie said to the Princess, “We wouldn’t accord them half so much deference, being our oldest brothers, if they weren’t so uncouthly tall.”
“Your house must have been lively!” Miriuzca looked as if she would ask more about growing up at Wistly Hall, but something or someone coming into the garden caught her attention. Her soft mouth thinned for an instant before she stretched her lips into a smile; she couldn’t hide the mingled worry and annoyance in her blue eyes.
Mieka looked round. Tregrefin Ilesko and, of all people, Archduchess Panshilara were approaching the lunching table.
“Oh, splendid,” Cade muttered so quietly that only Mieka and Blye, seated on either side of him, heard.
All the men got to their feet and bowed to the Archduchess. Servants leaped forward to offer chairs. It was difficult to tell which it gave her more pleasure to ignore—the men of the working class or the men of the servant class—in favor of greeting Miriuzca almost as a sister, with a clasping of hands that she continued even when the Princess began to pull away. Mieka smirked inwardly, wondering if she would officially notice that none of the women had stood in her presence, just exactly as if they were all ladies.
“So lovely to see you enjoying yourself, and with all these nice people, also,” said Panshilara. “I was seeing and speaking with a Good Brother and on my way back home when I saw His Highness the Tregrefin in a carriage riding to the North Keep here, and now I shall not be interrupting you, because he has a book to show me from our own land, that I am thinking to give to Her Royal Highness the Princess Iamina.”
“How kind,” Miriuzca murmured.
“There is much talk all over the city,” the Archduchess went on, still gripping Miriuzca’s hands in her own bony fingers, “about the celebratings, and I know everyone would be glad to know that Your Royal Highness is taking some time for yourself, and for pleasure, also, considering all your duties.”
“Just a few friends who’ve come to join me at lunching,” said the Princess, and if there was a gentle emphasis on friends, Panshilara didn’t hear it—or chose not to.
“Her Grace and I,” said the Tregrefin, “have been discussing the sad plight of unbelievers.”
“A thing that is concerning Princess Iamina, also,” added the Archduchess.
Mieka stared resolutely down at his hands. He ought to have guessed that this self-righteous little ferret would get on with the newly pious Iamina. Add Panshilara, who was from the same country as Ilesko, and married to the highest-ranking nobleman in Albeyn, and one had a charming threesome indeed.
Panshilara was still talking. Mieka wondered how the Archduke ever shut her up, or if he even bothered trying to untangle her sentences that never actually worked themselves into sentences. One thing was for certes: She was rude. All the men were on their feet, unable to sit down again because Panshilara was still standing.
“What has emboldened so many disbelievers and unbelievers is that with the doubling of the cost of everything in the last years and months, putting the celebratings on a path towards so much debt, then Chapel, High Chapel and Low Chapel and all, where so much good is done and lifting spirits towards the Lord and the Lady also, which is the fundamental transformation of Albeyn.”
Mieka looked round the table. Everyone wore expressions of polite interest, though a corner of Derien’s mouth was twitching towards distaste. Jed and Jez were trying to hide bewilderment; Crisiant suddenly seemed to find her empty plate fascinating. It was perfectly clear that no one had understood a word this woman had said, and frankly didn’t care to make the effort.
Cayden had not only not understood, he hadn’t even heard. He swayed slightly, and when Mieka looked up at him, he saw that the cloud-gray eyes had gone out of focus. He was in the middle of an Elsewhen. Somehow his knees had locked, and this kept him upright, but there was no conscious mind to steady him. Mieka got his arm around Cade’s back and hoped he didn’t unbalance them both right onto the grass.
Rafe, directly across from them, had seen it, too, and looked at Mieka with a worried frown. Everyone else was still attending courteously to the Princess, who was murmuring well-bred nothings. Her brother said something in their language, and just as he finished and Miriuzca frowned, Cade gave a start. He was back.
Mieka sent heartfelt praises to whichever deity was watching over them.
A moment later, he was cursing whichever of them had seen fit to abandon them. For Cade spoke, interrupting the Archduchess.
“Don’t,” he rasped. “Don’t do it.”
Anger, surprise, confusion—and abrupt frightened comprehension on the faces of those who had seen Cayden return from an Elsewhen before. Rafe opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Mieka found himself equally at a loss. It was Jeska, the masquer, who improvised at will, who smiled and wagged an admonishing finger at Derien.
“You heard your brother. Don’t steal all the cakes before the rest of us have had a chance at them!” He turned to the Princess. “We most humbly beg Your Royal Highness’s pardon. I daresay you’ll find out in a few years that boys of Derien’s age grow an inch between one dinner and the next, and eat like starving dragons in between!”
“And your pardon, again, Your Royal Highness,” said Crisiant, “for we have not yet asked about the Prince and Princess. They are well and strong, yes?”
“Oh, very. And I understand about boys and food,” she told Derien kindly. “It isn’t so long since this one was eating our father out of house and home!” She freed one of her hands—Panshilara had held on to her this whole time, Mieka noted with amazement—and tapped her brother’s nose. He looked as if he would have slapped her hand away if there hadn’t been people around. “Ilesko, on your way to see Her Grace to her carriage, could you have them send out another plate of cakes, and more berries? Oh, just more of everything! Beholden. So nice to have seen you today, Your Grace. Please, gentlemen, do sit down, and we’ll continue our lunching after we’ve been resupplied by the kitchens.”
The Tregrefin escorted the Archduchess none too gracefully from the garden. The men sat back down—Cayden almost collapsing into his chair—and Crisiant engaged the Princess in chat about little boys. Derien had learned a lot at the King’s College, Mieka reflected; he had every right to be miffed at being singled out as the excuse for Cade’s words, but the only emotion in his eyes was worry when he looked at his brother.
At last Jed spoke up, saying, “Please forgive me, Princess, but … what was the Archduchess talking about?”
Miriuzca laughed rather ruefully. Mieka glanced from her to Megs, who was staring at Cade, not even trying to hide her confusion.
“It’s been suggested,” Miriuzca said, “that the Good Brothers and Good Sisters hold special services all over Albeyn on the appointed day, High Chapel and Low, so that everyone can have a chance to celebrate King Meredan’s rule. But they are wanting to be paid for this. Oh, your pardon—not paid for but donated to.”
Blye snorted inelegantly at the cynical correction and tapped a burn-scarred finger on the table. “They balk at showing their loyalty, and at giving everyone else the chance to do the same?”
Miriuzca waited to reply until the servants had placed more platters and bowls on the table and departed. “They say it’s the cost of refreshments—cakes and ale only—they’re wanting. I believe that it’s the opinion of His Majesty that—how did he put it? Oh yes. ‘They can bloody well cough up.’” Laughter danced in her eyes.
“His Majesty is bloody well right,” Mieka said. “But let’s go back to talking about children, because that’s what we came here to tell you.” He stuck his fork into a succession of berries—red, black, blue, and yellow. “Well, that and the food, of course.” He grinned across the table at her, and she grinn
ed back.
Crisiant rose to her feet. “I think we’ll leave you to it, if Your Royal Highness doesn’t mind. I hear quite enough about Touchstone as it is, and I’ve a hankering to see the gardens. Mayhap you’ll be our guide, Lady Megueris?” She curtsied, collected everyone else with her gaze, and they set off across the lawn to the river, leaving Mieka, Rafe, Cade, and Jeska to beguile the Princess with their plans.
A scant hour later, she was suitably beguiled and they were in hire-hacks returning home. Mieka rode with Cade and Derien, and was impressed when the boy didn’t instantly demand to know why he’d been singled out as a conversational distraction. He really was learning how to be a courtier, Mieka thought. But he’d compliment him later. Right now he had something he wanted to say to Cayden.
“So,” he said, leaning back, arms folded. “Lady Megs. She looked rather well, didn’t she?”
“Did she? I didn’t notice.”
“Nice try, Quill! I was watching you both. She watched you not watch her, while at the same time you watched her not watching you, which means you were both watching each other pretend not to watch each other. I’m sure it was exhausting, all that effort spent keeping watch on not watching—”
“Enough!” Cade exclaimed.
Derien eyed his crimson-faced brother, then looked at Mieka. “You really will have to teach me how to do that.”
Before Mieka could reply, Cade pointed a finger at him. “Don’t even consider it.”
“You never let me have any fun.”
They were at Redpebble Square, and Dery had jumped out to go tell Mistress Mirdley all about the afternoon, when Mieka stopped Cade in the middle of stepping out of the hack.
“You’ll tell me about that Elsewhen?” he asked softly.
Cade hesitated, then nodded. “Tomorrow at rehearsal.”
