Lady Isily. Pentandra knew her, back when she was a student at Alar, and they traveled in many of the same circles until Pentandra left for Inrion to pursue research in her obtuse subject, and Lady Isily had joined Duchess Grendine’s court as a lady-in-waiting.
But that was just part of her departure. A powerful High Mage in her own right, armed with a witchstone given over to bribe Grendine into supporting Minalan’s bid to defend the duchies, Isily was a shadowmage who carried out the bidding of her Queen when someone had to die. She was one of Grendine’s best assassins, and the news of her early retirement and marriage didn’t fool Pentandra one bit about the woman’s motivations. Or her ambitions.
Nor was Dunselen a harmless enemy. After many years at court, making connections and establishing a network of supporters, Dunselen was the epitome of the old order’s establishment. He had never really liked Minalan, and from what Pentandra could tell from his encounter with the two of them at Chepstan Fair, he had no problem starting trouble for the Spellmonger. Pentandra told her friend as much, mind-to-mind.
Min, you do realize that he puts your entire family in danger? she warned him. Dunselen hadn’t been the sanest of magi when he’d enjoyed a position at court, and now that he had arcane power, mundane power, and position there was little to keep his ego in check, by all accounts.
I know. So does she. But . . . right now, all I can do is wait. And prepare.
Perhaps, she agreed, reluctantly. But it’s disturbing. There’s a lot going on that’s disturbing. Arborn’s folk brought word that confirms that Korbal the Demon God is alive – or at least not completely dead – and well in the Land of Scars. No doubt whatsoever. There have been some troop movements in the Penumbra that have me worried, although it doesn’t look like they’re gathering for a major assault. And Ishi’s avatar has the entire court dangling from a string. If something isn’t done soon, she could push this entire operation into the chamberpot.
She hated to dump all of her problems on her friend, especially when he was hundreds of miles away and unable to help, but she really didn’t have much other choice.
What do you need from me? Minalan asked, sullenly.
Just be here at the Duke’s ball, with Alya, in a mask, and be prepared to do whatever it is you need to do to stabilize the situation. I’m doing the best I can, but the Spellmonger needs to make an appearance.
I will be there, he promised, heavily. I’ve got one little war to deal with, but there should be plenty of room on my schedule. Shall we plan to stay the night?
Let’s see how things play out, she decided. You might want to beat a hasty exit. Or you and Alya could stay at Koucey’s guest house – we’ve moved our household to the palace as a show of support, and right now it’s being used as a base for the Wood Owls—
The who? he asked, interested but confused.
They’re a group of Kasari who . . . well, they aren’t raptors. But they have a lot of skills other Kasari lack. And far less moral compunctions. Arborn recruited them for me to help crack down on the criminal organizations here. She tried not to sound too pleased about that. Most Kasari weren’t very proud of their miscreants, no matter how talented in the criminal arts they might be.
So you essentially started your own? he asked, amused.
It was easier than taking one over, she said, tiredly. She wondered if he was actually judging her or if he was teasing, and decided on the latter. If you want to rule – or help someone rule – sometimes you have to be willing to hurt people and break things. And sometimes life's just better without some people in it, she added, thinking of falsely-accused Master Luthar sitting downstairs in the dungeon.
Despite feeling the entire affair was somehow wrong, after knowing what he was responsible for she could not think of much argument in favor of keeping them alive. The Wood Owls aren’t cold-blooded killers, but they do what needs to be done. And like most owls . . . they eat Rats. The halls of power are soaked in blood, she added, philosophically, quoting an old Remeran proverb.
And how fares the Duke?
He’s holding power, now – barely. The garrison is loyal, now that Count Salgo has taken charge and cleaned it out. First Minister Angrial is surprisingly adept at the art of bureaucracy, it turns out. Our biggest lack is a good master of intelligence. Arborn does a reasonable job, for local issues, but Anguin really needs a professional overseeing the operation.
How do revenues look? Minalan asked, clearly afraid of the answer.
Surprisingly good, actually, Pentandra reported, pleased to be able to do so. The Duchy collected nearly twenty thousand ounces of gold in tribute at the Midwinter court. Several old local families who are loyal to the Ducal house have been holding back from paying for the last few years, for fear it would enrich Rard’s cronies. We’re expecting more.
How are expenses?
That’s enough to keep us afloat without going back to the temple for more. We’ve only used about half of the line of credit the Order arranged, so far. It’s costing about two-thousand a month to keep the palace and the garrison running, another five hundred for city services. We’re bringing in about six hundred in fees, so this is a big help. We can keep running with what we have for several months without touching the reserve, and we can make payments to the Temple.
That is a big relief. How is he playing in the hinterlands?
Are you kidding? The country knights who are left beyond the Penumbra are his biggest supporters. They’re so damned glad that there’s a Duke in the palace again, they could care less what he does. Not that that’s led to a flood of revenue, understand – coin is pretty thin, up here. Most lords pay their tribute in kind, and since trade has fallen so profoundly, that doesn’t help us much.
Let me think about it, and perhaps I can offer some advice at the ball. We’re doing a lot with enchantment, these days. Maybe we can do something to help.
Whatever you can do, Pentandra agreed. I’m drowning, here. Just make sure that dealing with Ishi is high on your list. And make sure you tell Alya I’m dying to see her again!
I will. She’s been . . . I don’t know, just a little off, lately, he observed, troubled.
She just needs a night of dancing and drinking, Pentandra assured him. Pregnancy is rough on a woman. Give her some fun and she’ll improve. Say at a ducal court function that requires you dress up like a smelly animal . . .
Chapter Twenty-Seven
An Interloper In Court
While Pentandra hadn’t been expecting Dowager Countess Shirlin to invade the court, she wasn’t unprepared for the possibility of someone like her.
Pentandra wasn’t fond of the social games most women played in competition with each other, but she was very adept at them. Her mother had made certain of that - a woman did not thrive in Remeran noble society (even amongst the magi) unless she knew how to defend herself against the insidious attacks by her rivals.
It was easy, once you understood the fears and anxieties most women carried, how they presented them to the other women in their sphere . . . and how to exploit them. While Pentandra had always been cautious about how she dealt with other women, particularly in groups, that caution frequently paid a profit in the coin of position as less-adept players of the spiteful game overplayed their positions recklessly.
She had noted many years ago that when women congregated together they inevitably seemed to slip into roles relative to one another that a wise woman could understand and navigate.
The woman who always needed to be in charge, for instance, or the woman who needed to complain bitterly about everything were both dangerous allies to cultivate in the cut-throat world of feminine court politics. The former put you in peril by your association, while the latter kept you languishing on the periphery of things, just as tarnished by your alliance as by scandal.
While that had earned her a reputation as being somewhat standoffish around court, Pentandra didn’t mind one bit. She had no burning desire to be either in charge or the cente
r of attention. She had enjoyed enough of both experiences in her past to know the limits of fulfillment they offered.
Pentandra wisely allowed Viscountess Threanas to assume the unofficial leadership position of the women of the court without challenge, and she deftly avoided being too closely tied to Coinsister Mereta, who (unlike her coreligionist, Coinsister Saltia) could complain about nearly anything and felt compelled to prove it.
Social positioning at court was important, Pentandra knew, not because she had a burning desire to be popular; but because she also knew the obstacles she would endure attempting to accomplish anything without at least participating in the often-inane antics of the ladies of the court.
Pentandra had long ago figured out that the most powerful position in such unofficial societies was not that of the ostensible leader, but that of a powerful voice in that leader’s ear. It afforded her a goodly amount of influence in the group without exposing her to too much responsibility. Hence her deference to Viscountess Threanas.
That wasn’t a reflection of her laziness; on the contrary, she had too much to do to get mired in the petty politics of the palace women. And any place where there were more than three women had politics, as her father often said. While it pained her to agree with such a contentious observation, her own experiences bore him out.
If Countess Shirlin anticipated a smooth coronation among the Alshari ‘rustics’, she was quickly and savagely corrected at the Tea. Despite their many differences, none of the ladies of the Alshari court could find much flattering to say about Shirlin. She was an interloper attempting to upset the established order, such as it was, and make herself leader without first building a consensus.
Pentandra could see it coming with the accuracy of foresight, thanks to her understanding of her sex’s approach to such things. An important woman from elsewhere suddenly intruding on a pre-established group of women faced incredible scrutiny and criticism . . . not to mention social testing after her acceptance that men simply did not have to contend with. Men tended to test new rivals first, and then extend them membership in the group. Women did things the other way around, usually.
First, Pentandra knew, the established group would extend a fawning invitation to the Countess that implied she was welcome among them with the intimacy of sisters. That had been extended by Lady Bertine, who as the court secretary saw herself as responsible for such things. At Pentandra’s direction she sent Countess Shirlin a prettily calligrapher letter invited her to attend the next Ladies’ Tea, promising friendship, fellowship, and intriguing conversation.
Of course Shirlin appeared with the purpose of dominating that conversation in mind. The mature noblewoman arrived at the function in a new lavender gown in the Wilderhall style, with sharp lines and an efficient cut, with soft leather slippers dyed to match. Her pretty maid followed her in a shorter version of the same gown, only covered with a long apron.
Pentandra immediately noted that the maid, not her mistress, surveyed the room with practiced efficiency. If anyone in Shirlin’s party was one of Grendine’s “family”, it would be the maid, Pentandra guessed.
Countess Shirlin wasted no time in introducing herself and mentioning her friend, The Queen, as often as possible during the process. She repeated the phrase “my good friend, Her Majesty, once said—” so many times that it became a palace cliché before the end of the afternoon.
The ploy to increase her social position through such references was incredibly blatant and impressed no one of her position elsewhere. The few ladies at the function who were impressed tended to be on the margins of court life, while the rest of the court maintained the generally low opinion of the Queen.
The stony reception she garnered during her introductions to the group only got worse when Countess Shirlin began making small comments that amounted to criticisms of the ladies of the court. Such as glancing at Sister Saltia, who was much loved by the ladies of the court despite her usually disheveled appearance, and muttering,
“I don’t know how they do things here, but in Wilderhall the nobility and the clergy dine separately!”
She compounded her social error a few moments later when she attempted a direct strike against the way things had evolved in court by wondering aloud at Viscountess Threanas’ leadership . . . based on her rank.
“In Wilderhall, traditionally the highest ranking lady of the court presides over these things, Viscountess,” she said, rather loudly, as the women seated themselves around the chamber. As only Alshar employed the noble title “viscount”, usually reserved for the nobles in charge of the small but heavily-populated upland regions of Enultramar, it was natural for the Castali woman to employ the smear.
Nearly everyone stopped and stared at her for a moment, until proprietary forced them to continue or make a remark. Threanas countered the veiled attack coolly as she took her seat at the unofficial head of the table.
“As I am the highest ranking Alshari lady in residence at the palace, I’m certain you will find that requirement well met,” she said, in a compelling voice. “Until His Grace takes a wife, or we are joined at court by Countess Jaramine, I think I can manage the responsibilities seniority has thrust upon me.”
“Oh, I was just uncertain of the protocol,” Countess Shirlin assured her, fooling no one.
“We do not stand overmuch on protocol, these days, I’m afraid,” Lady Bertine said, pouring tea for the Countess. “This early in the Restoration there is just too much to accomplish to be worried by such frivolous things.”
Countess Shirlin was not convinced. “There is always time for proper protocol,” she said, smoothly. “Why, Her Majesty was just saying the other day, ‘in matters of protocol and manners we elevate ourselves above the animals, the gurvani and the common folk and closer to the realms of the gods.’”
“Yes, Her Majesty is a stickler for protocol,” Threanas replied, tersely. “Whereas here at Vorone we have always considered all the women of the court our sisters, regardless of rank or class. If a nun is a loyal retainer of His Grace, then denying her equitable participation in the workings of court serves neither her nor the Duchy. We learn much from having our ecclesiastic sisters here,” she said, smiling to the nuns at the table.
“Well,” Countess Shirlin said, clearing her throat nervously, as she began to see Threanas as the reigning power, here. “Let us rejoice in their fellowship, then, for piety is the duty of us all, as Her Majesty often says.”
“Actually,” Sister Saltia said, biting her lip, “when we gather at these weekly teas, we like to . . . ‘take off the habit at the door’, so to speak,” she said, with delicacy. “This is the one place, the one time during the week where we can put aside our piety or our husbands or our work and enjoy each other’s’ company. We’re all just girls, here, noble, common, or ecclesiastic. We’re just women.”
“There is no ‘just’ about us!” Threanas objected. “My dear Saltia, whether we have taken sacred orders, become wives and mothers, or dedicated ourselves to service we are the spine that holds the palace together!” she said, fervently. “Let there be no mistake. Our brave men may defend our walls and command our armies, but if it wasn’t for the ink-stained fingers of femininity behind the scenes, they’d all starve to death in their helplessness. The women of this court are its greatest strength. Respect that,” she suggested to the nun. “Always respect that. Now, my dear, can you let us know about the status of payments to your temple? I understand that we are actually ahead of our terms by a surprisingly large margin . . .”
Apparently Countess Shirlin was not anticipating such serious discussion of policy in a palace ladies’ tea, because as soon as the nun began reeling off numbers and payment schedules and monthly revenue figures, and the conversation turned to those numbers and not to whom they should marry off Anguin, the older woman’s eyes began desperately searching the room . . . as if she was seeking some ally to use as leverage as she was upstaged by a portly nun droning on about interest rates.
“This is delightful,” she lied, as she interrupted Saltia’s stirring tale of alternative repayment plans, “but I cannot believe that you ladies have an important festival approaching in a few weeks and you aren’t worried about your garb!”
Pentandra moaned to herself, but she appreciated the reaction of her fellows around the table.
Sister Saltia snorted in an unladylike fashion. “Entropy! I think I have my outfit picked out,” she said, fingering the simple cloth of her habit she wore constantly.
Viscountess Threanas, already on guard against the Countess, sniffed derisively. “I imagine after thirty years attending balls and masques at this palace I can find something in my press that no one currently living has seen before,” she said, snidely.
Pentandra shrugged. “I’m going to wear something magical. As usual,” she dismissed.
In truth she was actually concerned about her outfit for the masque . . . but not that concerned. One of the advantages of being a mage was the ability to enchant your clothing to produce a number of impressive effects. While she enjoyed that element of both fashion and magic, it was hardly something she spent a lot of time thinking about . . . not when she was chasing Rats, running the arcane bureaucracy, and trying to plan a long-term defense for Alshar.
“But you can’t all be ready, already,” protested Countess Shirlin. “Usually for a ducal ball every woman in the palace is atwitter with what gown they’ll wear!”
“I’m afraid that the Restoration has interrupted the normal social flow, and we’re just getting back to the rhythm of social life,” Pentandra offered the Countess, diplomatically. But like most diplomatic overtures, the friendly tone concealed a dagger. “When the previous duchess was so viciously and cruelly assassinated in her bed, it took us all by surprise. While we are restored, we are not yet recovered.”
Court Wizard: Book Eight Of The Spellmonger Series Page 58
