"Hold on, Linde," she whispered in her ear. "Just a little longer. The elevator weakness happens to every new lady in the House, did you know? We'll get used to it, Nan says. She says lady Eleora herself was like this twenty-five years ago."
That lady Eleora had not taken more than thirty days to get used to Qynnsent, Jenne did not mention. The Qynnsent servants must be by now whispering whenever lady Jenelly, formerly of Tremayne, turned her back to them. She used the stairs to go anywhere but to the Council Room, and she would have walked all the way to the Council Room, too, if there were stairs. But the only staircase at the tower did not have an exit for the Council floor. The servants, some having come to the House more recently than Jenne herself, used the elevators without problems, and Jenne was certain that many did not even know where the stairs were. Jenne herself had not known where the stairs were in Tremayne.
"Is this a Scientific device, Jenne?" Linde's so-far glazed eyes had suddenly become sharper. "Like the chair I talked to you about," she urged when Jenne did not immediately reply. "I have never seen an elevator for people before, did not know such existed."
"Oh!" Now Jenne understood Linde's question. "No, dear, of course not ... I mean, I don't know? It is an Artificery device, right? This is what old lord Arnold—Tremayne's First Counselor, that is—told me. The elevator systems are made by the same Ber lords and ladies that make the wristwatches, he said. I guess it is not a Scientific device, then, Linde. A Scientific device has no Magic in it, is that correct?"
"Yes. It does not," Linde whispered, her eyes glazed again, her voice shakier, feebler.
Yet, a few moments later Linde raised a hand to remove a lock of hair from her eyes, and the motion was not weak. It was casual and certain with the certainty and strength of someone who did something without sparing a special thought. The girl's eyes were still glazed, but they were glazed differently from before.
Jenne sighed inwardly, her own feelings of superior age, experience, and strength slipping away. This time she did not even feel much better when the cabin finally halted its disturbing motion and the door swung open, allowing the four of them to exit the elevator's shaft.
Linde, however, did feel better. Her hand now on Rianor's elbow (where the High Lord had put it himself), she crossed the cabin's threshold almost stably. She stopped to stare at the huge metal ropes and other things that extended from the top of the cabin—the ones that were visible only from the outside of the cabin and only on some of the floors reached by an elevator—but then she seemed to remember that the High Lord was waiting for her. He was watching the same thing she watched, while they had the Council to go to and were almost late.
They all went, then, Jenne still faltering somewhat even though she now held Desmond's arm—but Rianor's apprentice strode as if a whole new well of strength had suddenly emerged inside her, her eyes cast far, far away.
Jenelly
Evening and night 79 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705
Entering the Council Room felt, as usual, like entering into an especially bleak and hostile night, even though outside the last daylight had not yet fully left the sky. Like in Tremayne, there were no windows in the Council Room. The silent darkness was interrupted only by the still silhouettes of waiting people and the shadows cast by the single sleep candle on a wall.
Jenne shivered and hoped that Desmond would not notice, but he scowled. He always noticed everything. At least, this time they had come with the High Lord himself, and Inni, Nan, and Master Keitaro were already here. This time, at least, the dark wait would not be too long. Her hand still on Desmond's arm, Jenne trudged the steps to the furthest wall, then let go of her husband and placed her hand on her own fireswitch.
As the First Counselor, Desmond was first. He pressed his fireswitch and, while his candle slowly glowed into full brightness, Desmond fell to his knees.
"High Lord of Qynnsent, my light is yours," Desmond alleged in his deep voice. "The Master has blessed me to be a lord of your House. For the good of Qynnsent and Mierenthia itself, you may take everything from me."
Rianor bowed to Desmond. "Lord Desmond of Qynnsent, First Counselor of the House, I accept your light. May it burn inside you long and bright. Rise now."
Desmond's words had been distinct, strong, uttered so that they resonated in the whole room—words that, from the deep of Desmond's heart, had meaning. The perfect First Counselor; Jenne was so proud of him at times like this. Rianor's words, on the other hand, had been rushed, uninvolved. The High Lord seemed to be thinking of other things. Linde was beside him, her hand still on his elbow, and she was staring at the rising Desmond as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads.
She should not be standing by the High Lord like this. She should indeed not yet be here. She should be waiting outside until the Council Commencement was complete, and then someone not noble, Nan or Master Keitaro, would bring her in for her Inauguration as a Qynnsent lady. And then, for next Commencement, she should take her own place by a fireswitch of her own. It was not and would not be right for her to stand where she stood now.
Jenne tried to swallow her discomfort. The Qynnsent High Lord was so unlike her own father; he paid so little heed to the rituals. Why, today he even seemed adverse to them. Why would he? The rituals—the sameness and familiarity of them, even in a House so different from her other one, the security of them—were all that made it possible for Jenne to go on sometimes. Even the elevator, disturbing and frightening as it was, was still an elevator. It was made by the same Bers. How would Jenne have felt if there were something else instead of it? She shuddered and tried to chase the uncomfortable thought away.
Inni was next to kneel, while Linde still stood by Rianor. It would disturb Inni, Jenne knew. Still, Jenne was surprised when Inni's voice shook and she stumbled through half of her own Dedication, before she took control of herself and finished the words in her usual calm, clear and pleasant voice. Inni had never stumbled through a ritual before, as far as Jenne knew. Rituals existed to praise the Master and to prepare humans to best live in the Master's world, to make humans be the best they could be. Most people knew that, but Inni knew it in her heart. Mentor Octavian, the Qynnsent Mentor, said that Inni herself was an example of the best a person could be.
Mentor Octavian was not here now—yet another difference between Qynnsent and Tremayne. Whereas High Lord Klaus would sometimes invite Mentor Gloriana to Council, High Lord Rianor never invited Octavian. It made sense, for Octavian lived further from Qynnsent than Gloriana from Tremayne, and Octavian himself preferred to only come once every thirty days for the nobles' Prayer and servants' Confession. And yet ...
Once again, Jenne chased her thoughts away, for her own turn had come.
She did the Dedication as usual. She was not particularly stumbling through it, but her words were neither calm and peaceful like Inni's nor impressive like Desmond's.
After she was done, Desmond raised a hand, just before Nan would have lighted her own candle.
"No, Nan, wait. You know the rules. Next is lady Linden." He paused. "Lady Linden of Qynnsent."
Inni clasped a hand to her mouth at that, and Jenne's own eyes widened in surprise. Linde did have a watch with a Qynnsent symbol on her wrist, how had Jenne not noticed so far?
No. She had noticed the existence of both a watch and a symbol, but she had not paid attention to the symbol itself; had thought it another House's. But Linde could not have had one, for she was a commoner, was that not right? Had been.
How?
Some time ago Linde had released Rianor's elbow. Now, something flashed in her eyes, and Jenne did not clearly see what it was but was glad that it was not directed at her.
Then, it was no more.
"All right," Linde simply said and then slowly knelt, just as Desmond asked if she remembered the words.
"I did hear them three times, First Counselor. I am not mindless."
Jenne tugged at her wristwatch. She often needed to hear something
more than three times before she would remember it.
Linde repeated the words quietly, her voice having no emotion at all. Still, she somehow seemed to be struggling. Why? Had she, after all, not remembered the words despite hearing them three times?
Then, before Rianor could say anything, Linde toppled to the side.
Rianor caught her before she would have hit her head, and carried her to a chair by the Council table. Nan followed with her omnipresent wet cloth to put on the girl's face, Inni at her heels. Jenne went after them, too, even though the other two women were better than her and would be of more help.
A moment later, Nan pursed her lips and Inni knit her trembling fingers tightly together. Why? Had Linde fainted?
No. Her eyes were wide open when Jenne came close enough to see them and to hear the High Lord's words.
" ... I don't want everything from you," the High Lord was whispering to his apprentice. "I told you last night what I want, and you are giving me more than enough. Hold on. Stay with me."
These were not proper words. This was not a proper ritual at all. Linde had not even lit a candle.
Then Jenne saw her own hands tremble, goosebumps on her skin, when the High Lord turned towards everyone.
"I am not saying any Ber-imposed words to people I care for, and I am not hearing any such said to me from anyone, ever again."
His eyes were so sharp and hard that they seemed to take over his face, as if forcing Jenne to look into them and them only. As if making her cut herself. Even the High Lord's wound, the thin and ominous one that Jenne now suspected had something to do with all this, seemed thinner and less significant with his eyes like that.
Somehow, Jenne was not surprised by his next words.
"The time has come for this House to defy the Bers."
The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever—until a new, grumpy, voice broke it with, "Just about time, I would say, boy."
Rianor
Night 79 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705
If Rianor had ever in his life especially loved lady Mathilda, Qynnsent's Lady-in-residence in Balkaene, it was now. Her grouchy, quarrelsome voice, her scowl and the sharp eyes presently watching him with suspicion—even the gray hair, strands of which always escaped her overtightened bun these days—he loved them all. They did for him what none of the others' various degrees of shock could do.
They pushed his fury back and let him think again.
"I am glad to see you, too, aunt Mathilda," Rianor murmured, and suddenly the others in the room seemed to start breathing again.
"I must say, Rianor, do you dispose of the Ber words only, or of the kneeling, too?" She scowled again. "I must say that, at my age, this is a very important question. You young fools don't believe the likes of me and don't care, but old bones do hurt. They wobble!"
She was at the table now, having stridden in a manner that implied these particular old bones did not know that they were supposed to wobble, and thrust herself into a chair.
"There we have it. Hey, boy?" The last words were directed at Desmond. "Saying no words is all fine with me, but go light my candle, will you? And hers, too." She nodded towards Linden, who was seated beside her. The girl's eyes were not yet fully focused, and a glass of water that Nan had brought was clasped into her hands. "It will not do, disposing of the light."
Obediently, the First Counselor of Qynnsent lit the candles.
"You, girl." This was directed at Nan. "Bring some food for this child at once." She nodded towards Linden once again. "Shame on you, Nan, you are a commoner yourself. Unlike me, you are too young to be forgetful. Do you know what time it is? It is past evening and into night. The commoners have eaten long ago. No wonder the girl would faint ... What now?"
Mathilda glared at the uncomprehending faces of mostly everyone. "Ah, you don't know. Of course. Commoners outside, and not"—she waved at Nan—"silly nobled servants who know Mierenthia no better than the silly nobles themselves—Commoners, I was saying, eat dinner before the night has fallen. Always have."
She sighed. "It is difficult to set a table, eat, and wash-up on naught but a sleep candle, you know—and a sleep candle is all they have. No day candles past evening, no lanterns but those in the streets, no matter how much money they earn. That's how the commoners' firepipes and buckets work, when they do work." She glared at everyone again. "Commoners, like any sensible people, are afraid of the dark, and with a single sleep candle it is dark. Better sleep through it. Not to speak of having to get up early on the next day for work."
By now Nan had come back with a tray. She had indeed brought the food to the tower earlier, only not yet to the Council Room itself. She always did so, for they all usually ate here after Council. Ate by the light of normal, many candles, whatever the time of day. Rianor remembered now that it had been darker than usual when Linden's father had been bandaging him two days ago, that it had become darker in the middle of it. Occupied by other things, Rianor had not paid attention, and the mobile Healers' candle he had received shortly after had been much more interesting, anyway.
How could commoners exist on naught but sleep candles at night? And had Rianor not read about this somewhere before? Had he not heard it? Again, he had not paid attention.
If he could, Rianor would have glared at himself now. There were too many things that he was prevented from knowing. He could not afford to ignore the ones that he could know easily.
Indeed, he could not afford to not know the rest any more, either.
Rianor waved everyone towards the table and steeled his impatience. Let them eat first. Otherwise, with all that he had to say to them, they would have to wait until breakfast.
* * *
Linden did seem better after eating some bread and ljutika, the dish that had chicken, roasted peppers and tomatoes with oil and garlic in it. Mathilda obviously approved of the food, too. She had taken a plate and a fork even before Rianor had let them all eat, and was now stuffing her body with great speed. Jenelly was watching her mother-in-law with envy, probably wondering how a woman could always eat so much and remain as thin as a quill. Rianor almost envied Jenelly. Amidst everything that was happening in the world, amongst all the unanswered questions, such were Jenelly's worries.
"Jenelly, don't clutch the napkin like this. What are you trying to do, suffocate it? Inni, you wipe your nose. You are young, eat properly! Don't watch me."
Despite everything—or perhaps because of it—Rianor suddenly wanted to laugh. Mathilda had once been a formidable First Counselor and an overzealous guardian of etiquette, including the etiquette of correct eating. It had not been a rare occasion for Mathilda to slap Rianor's fingers back then when his parents were alive and he was little. He was either holding the fork in a skewed way, she said, or he was watching where he should not be watching, or, yes, he was eating too fast ... She herself had always been a perfect example of how things "should" be done in those days.
As if anyone knew anything about "should," or "should not" in the world.
"So," Mathilda said a moment later, laying down her fork and turning towards Linden. "A new lady, I see. Without the new-lady ritual. Or was it only me who missed it?"
Linden, who had earlier taken an immediate dislike to Desmond, did not seem irritated or otherwise discomfited by his mother's sharp, scrutinizing gaze. She returned it, sharpness finally surfacing again in her own eyes, together with what looked like a vague hint of a smile. Mathilda scowled, but Linden did not look away, and finally the corners of Mathilda's mouth tilted slightly upwards.
"Lady Mathilda," Linden said just before Rianor would have answered Mathilda's question. "You came from Balkaene, is that right? Starting from the lands of House Qynnsent? What is that, five hundred kilometers from here? You came so fast. Would you mind telling me what your means of transportation was?"
"A carriage," Mathilda stated, her voice now the loud and clear one meant for small children and fools. "What kind of question is that,
girl, even commoners know about carriages, they're just like stage coaches but fancier ... Ah. I see. No, I traveled for more than six days, not for less than two as you seem to think, and that despite changing my horses at relay stations at least once every day. I could have come faster had I also traveled at night, of course, but that might have arisen suspicion. Why would an old woman be in such a hurry? She is supposedly only going to Mierber to show herself in one of the Night Fire Ceremonies; she is bringing no important news whatsoever ... No, girl, I have been coming for some time now. I did not come here because of you."
Mathilda sighed, and her next words were quieter, friendlier. "Not that I mind you, girl, you don't have to look at me like this. Rituals, trifles. Whoever be a new lady in Mierber—it is none of my business. This is why I have left my son to be a First Counselor here. These things are his job, and the High Lord's. I am an old woman. My care is Balkaene. My poor horse beasts, too, are my care—now, of course, I will not be at rest until those relay station Stablers have fed and rested the ones I left with them, and brought them home to Balkaene."
"A regular carriage, then." Linden seemed to not have heard the rest of Mathilda's words. Rianor's apprentice had not made a singe motion, but her body seemed as tight as a violin's string pulled to its limits.
Then, "A carriage pulled by harnessed animals, even for a lady in a hurry. Not an Artificery device like the Noble House elevators," Linden added, and Rianor rose from his chair, cursing himself for a fool.
"Yes," he spat. "Good point, my lady. Finally do we see something that has always been before our eyes."
The Seekers of Fire Page 26
