***
The following day was very much business as usual, although during the day he found himself looking forward much more than usual to dinner, because Myste had sent down a note asking if she could join him then. He didn’t know why, and she didn’t tell him; probably it had something to do with the players. Since she clearly was comfortable with them and was not going to have to act in order to fit herself into a persona, he had elected to leave her to get used to the situation, and her “employers” to get used to her, before he asked her to actually do anything. He’d told her to let him know when she thought she was ready, and that was probably why she wanted to meet him over dinner.
And yet—well, he wouldn’t be disappointed if it wasn’t the business of the actors that brought her.
When she arrived with the servant that brought his dinner, as usual, helping to carry the baskets, he did note that her step was definitely light, and that there was more than a mere suspicion of a smile on her face. But she only spoke of commonplace things—more rumors about Kadhael, in fact, and more slurs about Alberich himself—until the servant had gone. And when he bent to uncover the first of the supper dishes, she held out a hand, forestalling him.
“Dinner can wait for a moment,” she said, as always when she was with him, speaking in Karsite. It was an effective hedge against anyone who might, somehow, have gotten in close enough to be listening. Not that Alberich expected anyone to manage, for he’d have to get past the Companions to do so, but sometimes Trainees dared each other to particularly stupid pranks and it would be just his luck for one of them to sneak in to eavesdrop on the Weaponsmaster and overhear something he shouldn’t.
“I assume you have a reason?” he replied.
She nodded. “First, I want you to see these.”
And she handed him a folded packet of paper; the paper itself was odd, thin, very light, very strong. He unfolded it.
And knew immediately what it was, because it was in cipher, and there was only one place at the moment where Myste would have gotten a packet of papers in cipher. They were the same papers—or more of the same—that he’d seen passed from Norris to Devlin!
“No, they’re not,” Myste said immediately, as if she had read his mind. Not that she needed to; she would know exactly what he was thinking at that moment. “In this case, it’s a packet that was passed the other way, from Devlin to Norris.”
He looked from it, to her, and back again, speechless for a moment. “But—how did you—”
Her grin widened, and she sat down with an air of triumph. “He gave them to me.”
Alberich also sat down, then. He had to. His knees wouldn’t hold him. “If you’re joking—”
“I’m not,” she replied with satisfaction. “I swear I’m not. He gave them to me with his own lily-white hands. And do you know why?” She laughed, a rich and satisfied chuckle. “Because, my friend, he wanted me to copy them for him.”
Alberich had thought himself too surprised to react to anything by that point, but he felt his mouth gaping open, and shut it, and swallowed. “I think,” he said at last, “that you must tell me this from the beginning.”
But first, he leaned over and poured both of them a full cup of wine. He had a strong need for a drink, just now. Myste laced the fingers of both hands together over her knee, and looked as satisfied as a cat with a jug full of cream in front of her. “Sometimes,” she said, with a touch of pardonable smugness, “the person you need to keep an eye on someone isn’t a spy, or a tough bully-boy. Sometimes it is exactly the kind of middle-aged, dowdy, forgettable little frump that no one looks twice at.”
“You aren’t dowdy or forgettable,” he said without thinking. “Or a frump.”
She looked inordinately pleased at that, but didn’t interrupt her story. “It didn’t take me long to get their books straight, and yes, the innkeeper has been skimming, and yes, he stopped immediately when he knew I was there to check on him. So since I was there anyway, both the players and their other staff started coming to me for other little things. You know, the odd letter from home to be read or written, arranging with a goldsmith to put something away for a rainy day, that sort of thing. And King Norris would come sailing by now and again, vaguely note that I was there, and be off again—and whenever he came by, I always made sheep’s eyes at him, which is exactly what he expected. Women throw themselves at him all the time, and if I hadn’t acted infatuated, he might have suspected something. Well, that was how things stood, right up until last night, when we had an—interesting situation.”
“Oh?” Alberich prompted.
“They’d done a reduced-cast play for a private audience in the afternoon, and all the leads had to hurry back to the inn to do the main play that evening,” she said, her lenses gleaming. He didn’t have to see her eyes to know that there was great satisfaction in them. “So I’m sitting there in the office with folded hands, nothing much to do, and in comes Norris himself and for once, he’s looking for me. ’Can you make a fair copy of something without knowing the language?’ he asks. I gave him a look—”
She tilted her head slightly, and showed Alberich the expression of dazzled infatuation she must have given Norris.
“—and I said, ’Of course I can, I’m a clerk! If we stopped to actually read what we’re copying, we’d never get half the work done that we do! Eye to hand to paper, and no stopping at the brain, that’s us—’ And before I can say anything else, he dropped this in front of me.” She indicated the packet. “And some paper—if you can believe it—that’s even lighter than this is. ’I’m in a hurry,’ says he, ’and I haven’t time to do this myself. I need that transcribed in the smallest hand you can manage onto that paper, then burn the original. And I need it by the time I’m off the stage tonight.’ I looked at him like I didn’t care so long as the job was for him, and didn’t ask why. He didn’t tell me, he just rushed straight out, and I heard the wardrobe mistress screeching for him, so he must have been late for costuming. The rest is easy enough. I made his copy and tossed the original out the window to Aleirian, who carried it away.”
“Good God,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“I didn’t,” she admitted. “Aleirian did. Anyway, then I kept an ear out to gauge the progress of the play, copied as many pages of the original again in the original size as I could fit in the time left, made them the top sheets in a stack of blanks, and when he got offstage and came for his papers, he saw that packet merrily burning away and assumed I’d burned the original the way I was told. He was damned careful, too; he stayed there until all the papers were burned, then broke up the ash until there wasn’t a fragment the size of the head of a nail. Then he went off. I assume that he must have gotten the originals at that private performance. And I guess that my copies must have gone out that night, because he just flew out the door with them. It wouldn’t have been hard. You could have rolled the lot up and hidden them practically anywhere.”
“I can probably find out who and where when we know what is in these,” he replied absently, unable to believe his good luck. “What did he do when you gave him the copy, besides watch the papers burn?”
“Well, he made an excuse for hanging about while he made sure the papers were gone by pouring charm all over me until I was practically gagging on it,” she replied, a chuckle in her voice. “And I gazed at him adoringly like he expected me to, and hung on his every word, and vowed that if I could ever do something for him again, he had only to ask. He went away never thinking twice about having entrusted me with papers in cipher.”
Surely they couldn’t be that lucky. “You’re sure it wasn’t some sort of trap—” he said warningly.
“Well, of course anything is possible,” she replied. “But he wasn’t expecting a Herald, or Aleirian, and, well—Alberich, I know that kind of man. I ran into them all the time when I was a girl and my best friend was the prettiest girl in our quarter.” She sighed, and for a moment, that good humor and sparkle
faded. “The first time, and even the second and third, that a handsome boy came and poured that kind of charm and flattery all over me, I fell for it—but after three times of being fooled and finding out that they were only being nice to me because they wanted to meet my friend, I became immune to it.”
His mouth formed a silent “Oh.”
She shrugged. “It’s one of those things that plain girls learn, Alberich. You just get used to it after a while. Well, your lad Norris might be one of the best in Valdemar at charming people, but someone like me—” she shook her head. “Actually, he’s never encountered someone like me, I suspect, because we won’t throw ourselves at him; we know better. He’ll never even see the plain ones who are on to his little game—they might be at the performances, and they’ll certainly admire his acting ability, but so far as lingering on the off chance they’ll meet him, it will never happen. So he looked at me and saw a plain, frumpy little mouse with a little mouse’s job, who looked at him with eyes of adoration, and figured he knew exactly what I was and how he could use me. And best of all, he wouldn’t have to actually do more than give me a bit of attention, because someone like me would never, ever expect someone like him would want to romance me.” The cynical laugh she uttered at that moment made him wince, and he wondered then about the young girl in lenses who’d been tricked three times by manipulative boys. “Oh, no, a crumb of attention to cherish in the darkness of my little closet of a room, that’s all he needed to give. I’d be his slave forever, and never demand anything out of him.”
“Myste—” He swallowed. “I apologize.”
She started, and stared at him. “For what?” she asked.
“For people like him.” He shook his head. “I am sorry.”
She laughed again, but this time the humor was back in her voice. “Good gods, Alberich, don’t be. Trust me, the injuries to my heart, such as they were, scabbed over a long time ago, and the scar is a useful reminder. If I hadn’t been hurt and used by all those heartless boys back in the day, I’d never have been able to see right through your lad Norris, would I? So don’t think I’m living with a tragic past! Good gods, compared to at least half of the others that have gone through these walls, it’s a teacup tragedy at worst, and a farce at best.” She winked at him. “Besides, I saw my pretty best friend not long ago. She’s tripled in size, she’s had a baby a year, and her handsome husband chases tavern girls. Have pity for her, not me.”
“Ah.” He felt a good deal better. At least she wasn’t likely to reject him out of hand if—
“Besides,” she chuckled again, “it gives me an appreciation for men who blurt out ’you’re not a frump,’ and not some carefully rehearsed speech, who say it without even thinking about it, and who then go on to apologize for the vagaries of their sex.”
“Ah—” he felt his face burning. “Er—”
“I think you might be sitting too near the fire,” was all she said then. “Now, about dinner? We shouldn’t let it get cold.”
***
Lord Orthallen had asked, had requested, in writing, an informal meeting with Selenay. She had invited him to dinner, in her own suite. Not alone, of course; they’d be surrounded by servants, but it would certainly be informal. She was intensely curious; the note had a certain apologetic tone to it that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
The first course arrived, and was complimented, without her curiosity being satisfied. She sipped her wine as the second course was plated and served. She felt she could afford to be patient.
“My dear Selenay,” said Lord Orthallen at last, over the third course. “I have done you a grave disservice.”
She motioned to a page to refill his wineglass. “Yes, my lord,” she said somberly, “I think you have.” She was not going to pretend that she did not know exactly what he was talking about. He had been the prime instigator of that wretched plot to get her married off, and she was not in the least happy about it, and what was more, she intended for him to know it.
He sighed, and grimaced a little. “In my own defense, I was trying to protect Valdemar from being in the precarious position of having no Heir. But I am afraid—truly and sincerely, Selenay, I was afraid, I was dreadfully afraid, and I still am. I never dreamed we would be in this position. Sendar should have been King for decades yet. You are a very young woman, and we have just fought a hideous war—”
“And Valdemar needs to look strong, not vulnerable, I know, Orthallen,” she replied with spirit, and with some heat. “But didn’t it occur to you that rushing me into a marriage is going to do the very opposite of making us look strong? Why would I suddenly wed the first candidate presented to me, if I wasn’t desperate? I might as well send out letters to every likely ally we have, saying that I’m up for sale to the highest bidder!” She frowned at him, and he looked pained.
“I know, I know,” Orthallen replied, flushing. “And if I had possessed any sensitivity or common sense where you are concerned, I would have come directly to you, rather than laying it all out in front of the Council—”
“So it was your idea.” Selenay gave him a hint of the anger she felt in her gaze. She’d been certain it was all along, as had some of the others, but now, at last, he had admitted it.
“To my shame.” He nodded. “Not that the men we presented are not fine—”
“My lord,” she said, interrupting him with exasperation as well as a feeling of real depression, “although I would give a very great deal to be like other young ladies and at least be able to dream of finding a great romantic love, I am not, and I know it.” She heard her own voice retaining its steady, reasonable tone, despite the lump in her throat, and felt a moment of pride at her own self-control. “I am Queen, and when I wed—which I must, for the people would not accept an Heir born out of wedlock—it is for Valdemar, not myself. But my father did find a lady who suited him well enough that he never remarried, and I at least hope to be able to find a friend, if not a lover. I will not find such a Consort by being rushed into an imprudent marriage. And I cannot find one if I have twelve dozen potential husbands shoved at me every time I turn about!”
Orthallen flushed again. “Sendar might not have been in love with your mother when they agreed to marry,” he said quietly, “but he came to love her, deeply, and she him. And they were great, good friends before they wed.”
She spread her hands wide, ignoring the fork in one of them. “So you see that I am right.”
“Indeed, I do see,” he agreed. “And I was wrong, very wrong. I was just afraid that—” he laughed, self-consciously, “—well, there are a number of fine young foreign princes out there, younger sons, whose fathers would be very happy to cement an advantageous alliance with us. Perhaps too advantageous. Especially if one of them managed to make you infatuated with him. My thought was that—Well, at the least, we could keep your interest here at home.”
She sniffed. He took the hint. “Well, you have given me every reason to agree with your point of view, and I believe you have convinced me. I will approach my fellow Councilors and suggest that the subject should be tabled for the foreseeable future—and I will insist that our Queen is wise enough to choose her own future husband without our help.”
She exhaled a long sigh of genuine relief “And I thank you for that, Orthallen. You cannot know just how much easier that makes me feel.”
“Oh, perhaps I do, I little,” he replied genially. “Your father was none too pleased at the prospect himself, and he was not even King when the idea of marriage was first broached to him.”
As the meal progressed, Orthallen first told her about her father’s reluctant search for a prospective bride, and how he had eventually settled on her mother when after a month went by without her throwing herself at his feet, he asked her why—or rather, why not. After all, every other young woman of rank and spirit had. . . .
“And she told him that she would, on the whole, prefer to be his sister than his wife!” Orthallen laughed, shaking his head.
“And when he asked her why, she told him that she had more desire for his library than for him!”
All this was new to Selenay; she stared at him, not quite believing it. “And what did he say?”
“That he would rather at least have someone he could talk to, and that anyone who wanted his books that badly was someone who could hold an interesting conversation.” Orthallen smiled. “She certainly intrigued him; and I think most of what intrigued him at first was that she wasn’t trying to intrigue him, she really felt that way. She was inordinately shy, you know. And then, when she proposed to him, she made him agree that she would participate as little as possible in Court life before she’d even entertain the merest idea of marriage with him.”
“But she was happy?” Selenay felt she had to know.
“Oh, very,” Orthallen assured her. “And by the end of a year of marriage, as much in love with Sendar as any woman could be. And he with her. Remarkable, really. Usually the most one can expect from a marriage of state is an easy partnership—a business relationship, of a kind.”
Her heart sank a little at that, and Selenay couldn’t help wondering if that was what she was fated to have. And she changed the subject.
Nevertheless, before the dinner was half over, she found that she had confided a great deal in Lord Orthallen, and not the least of those confidences involved her own, barely-articulate wishes for—well—romance.
She was rather surprised at herself for spilling so much into his willing ears, and even more surprised when he seemed sympathetic and not at all dismissive.
:He’s certainly easier to talk to than Talamir,: she said to Caryo, after he’d gone.
:On that subject, a doorpost would be easier to talk to than Talamir,: Caryo replied sadly. :At least Orthallen is well rooted in the here-and-now, enough to know that a young woman, Queen though she is, deserves to at least be able to dream. Poor Talamir.:
Poor Talamir, indeed. But at least now, and with Caryo’s tacit approval, Selenay had someone she could confide in.
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