“How?”
“She cannot appeal to his heart, because it belongs to his wife. So she wishes to appeal to his nobility by using her powers on behalf of humanity.”
“Uh, but isn’t she the goddess of . . . y’know . . .” the girl said, guiltily. Being blind did not stop her from looking away uncomfortably.
“Love, beauty, and sex?” snickered Antimei, enjoying the maiden’s discomfort the way only a crone could. “Yes, my dear, she wishes to employ lust in service of humanity.”
“How . . . ?” Alurra asked, confused. “Why?”
“She, herself, ponders that very question, actually,” Antimei said, smugly. “The gods are bereft of true foresight, thankfully, though their divine vision is near to it. Ishi pines to impress her lad, and conspires to do so by indulging her nature. She knows the Spellmonger’s attention is drawn to wounded Alshar, and especially the Wilderlands. So like a butterfly seeking a flower, she searches for some way to shine in the Spellmonger’s eye.
“First she must find a vessel,” she continued, forestalling the eager girl’s prompt. “And as she seeks the proper avatar for her scheme, a vessel is about to offer herself: Baroness Amandice. Once she secures a willing and devoted servant, and the right kind of servant, she will begin her display. For display it is. Her feelings are hurt, and she seeks to restore herself by alluring the Spellmonger’s affection and admiration, and eventually his love.”
“That’s so . . . romantic . . . and . . . obsessed . . .”
“You are not the first to say so,” chuckled Antimei. “And those are the traits – among others – Ishi seeks in her avatar.
“Luckily for her, one who is obsessed with love now seeks her favor. In far Vorone, once fair, now in fallen estate, lives one Dowager Baroness Amandice, a widow in residence and in retirement. Whether she knows it or not, she represents Vorone’s fortunes to the goddess. And when she invokes the goddess in her desperation and despair, her utter faith in the power of love and pleasure to conquer over all adversity is irresistible to Ishi.
“Neither heroine or villain, nothing will remain the same after tomorrow night . . . when Ishi comes to Vorone in person.”
The Fair Maid of Lamar
The decrepit old hall on the far end of Perfume Street in Vorone had once been glorious. Built a generation before by the Sealord Baron of Chaldan for his beloved mistress, the miniature mansion was spacious and ornate. Three stories tall, with two bays protruding from the rear, it featured a wide front porch and a second-story balcony upon which the Baron’s long-dead mistress could sit in the afternoons and greet her neighbors and simply enjoy the sunshine.
Some secret lover’s joke between the paramours had resulted in the entire front of the manse being decorated in a riot of flowers. Buds and blooms were carved into every wooden surface, from the shutters to the doorposts, and the short walkway from the street to the porch was laid in a beautiful mosaic tile imported from Enultramar that represented the view of a colorful and fanciful flower garden from above. When viewed from the balcony, the shapes of the flowers revealed themselves to conceal erotic designs in the mosaic, if one knew where to look. The design was gaudy and utterly feminine, though in perfect harmony with the naughty nature of Perfume Street.
The quaint hall quickly become known as the Flower Bed, and for nearly two decades the Baron of Chaldan and his mistress reigned there when he was in town. Even the Baroness of Chaldan had enjoyed the entertainments there.
When the Baron died in the War of the Docks, his mistress followed in grief a year later, and the property was sold by the Baroness at a good price. A string of ladies had since occupied the manse, but for the last twenty years or more it had been home to the Dowager Baroness Amandice, who herself had once been known as the Fair Maid of Lamar.
Her father was Wilderlord, a knight banneret of three small domains in the far northeast during the crest of the Narasi settlement of the Wilderlands. Lamar Castle was a rough two-story tower without moat or wall, and her father spent every spring plowing the rocky fields alongside his few peasants, just to feed his family.
While poor in coin, Amandice’s father was a doughty warrior who felt blessed with the beauty of his youngest daughter. When she was introduced to his baron at thirteen, the man was utterly taken with the golden-haired lass’ delicate beauty and promising feminine form, and pronounced her the Fair Maid of Lamar. Though he was married, he was smitten enough by her face to invite her and her sire to Vorone as part of his entourage when he went to swear fealty. It was a high honor for a country knight in the remote Wilderlands. Amandice was thrilled by the adventure, if quite innocent of the baron’s designs.
In Vorone, that spring, thanks to the Baron’s patronage, her beauty attracted attention in the capital’s jaded society. The Baron did his best to aid her, telling her father he hoped to find her a good marriage. Paying for the best seamstresses to garb her in beautiful clothes in vibrant colors, and bedecking her in simple but elegant jewelry, the baron lavished her with fripperies her impoverished father could never afford. When presented her at court the Fair Maid of Lamar was fourteen and breathtakingly beautiful.
A summer of balls and parties followed, where she was courted by dozens of handsome lords from the Wilderlands and the south alike, enchanted her girlish heart and led to many clandestine lusty encounters.
Her memories of that summer lingered in her mind like a heavenly dream of perfect maidenhood: desired by all the most handsome and powerful men of the summer court for her beauty and feminine grace, utterly envied by every other painted maiden trying to draw their eye. Two duels were fought over perceived slights to the Fair Maid of Lamar, though neither (unfortunately) resulted in the fatality that would have assured her fame across the lands. She went to fetes and luncheons, balls and hunts, dancing with every nobleman who asked for the honor of the favor of the Fair Maid of Lamar.
She even enjoyed the hospitality of the contemporary resident of The Flower Bed, twice, and was struck with the bright beauty of the place. Even then the manse was showing signs of age, but the lingering vitality of the Baron of Chaldan’s mistress made Amandice look past the wrinkles on her forehead.
But all summers must end, as must all maidenhoods. When the aging Duke departed Vorone with his children at the end of that glorious summer with his ministers and horses and his handsome gentlemen, and the Wilderlords who had come south to swear fealty had departed, Amandice was bereft of the attention she’d become accustomed to. She feared her return to the mean little domain in the dirty little corner of the depressingly unpeopled Wilderlands.
She began to slide into despair . . . until the Baron revealed that she, too, would be departing south with one of the last baggage trains of the season. Her fame had attracted enough attention so that he was encouraged to secure her place in court. To that end he had arranged for her education, he explained. He had paid her tuition and upkeep for her to attend classes at the Temple of Ishi in the distant town of Inmar, in southern Alshar, to give her rustic mannerisms a layer of refinement under the careful eyes of the Scarlet Sisters.
Her father had agreed, reluctantly, in exchange for the solace a new suit of armor and two dozen cattle can bring to a man’s heart. She tearfully bid him farewell for the last time as she boarded the coach in Vorone. The Fair Maid of Lamar wept the entire journey south, into the thriving heartland of the duchy.
In Inmar, Amandice thrived. Inmar’s famed Temple of Ishi, known more colorfully as the Temple of Passions or the Scarlet Temple, had educated the daughters of the Alshari elite for centuries, preparing them for marriage or taking holy orders, as their families dictated.
Among the many services the priestesses of the Temple of Passions taught were the erotic arts, so that once a maiden did pledge herself to her husband, she would come to the marriage bed educated in all of the arts of pleasure. Reading, calligraphy, painting, dance, and music were taught, as every noble maiden was expected to be conversant in those disciplines,
but the classes that Amandice excelled at were in the arts of physical pleasure.
For five years she studied intensely, not just the theory but the practice of seduction. The Temple had many social functions designed to assist in their patron’s divine purpose of matching male and female, and Amandice eagerly enjoyed every one. The gallant young gentlemen who came from all over the duchy to participate were enchanted by the young novice’s beauty and spirit. Amandice was zealous in her passions, teaching numerous young men the finer points of kissing and courting through her maidenhood. The Fair Maid of Lamar had become the supreme coquette.
As she neared eighteen years, her Wilderlands life all but forgotten as her harsh accent had been replaced by the smoother, more refined tones of language in the south, Amandice’s life changed again. She was contemplating taking holy orders with the Temple and becoming an initiate, when word arrived from the Wilderlands: the baron’s wife had died in childbirth, and she was summoned back home to attend to him.
Everyone in the temple knew what that meant.
Amandice was not the only girl in the temple who served as a potential replacement wife for a rich and powerful man. With a tremendous amount of excitement and eagerness, she was feted by the Scarlet Sisters at the temple on the eve of her journey and sent north with a bounty of blessings from their red-painted lips.
Amandice was to become the new Baroness, it was known. The Fair Maid of Lamar would finally have title to match her beauty.
The wedding was brief, a small ceremony in the castle chapel attended by her older brother and a jealous sister, who had been married the previous year to the baron’s castellan. Her father had died two years earlier. The Baron, while older than her now-deceased father, was still a hale and hearty man. And lusty. Her wedding night was as blissful as all of her years of training had taught her to make it.
But life in the dark and gloomy castle in the Wilderlands was a far cry from the exciting urban existence she had grown to love in the south. The rustics surrounding her just did not appreciate the fineries she had grown accustomed to. Amandice tried desperately to organize entertainments suitable for her new husband’s rank and importance, but her new daughter-in-law (the baron’s heir’s wife, and a favorite of the first Baroness) contended with her for position at every turn. For a year and a half the two women struggled for control of the household of the castle.
While her husband dutifully supported her, when asked, he quickly grew tired of the acrimony in his house. Though he bedded Amandice passionately, he did so rarely, owing to his age. Amandice was scheming to find some way to banish her rival outright when one night her husband collapsed on top of her, dead in the midst Ishi’s Embrace.
It was supposed to be considered an especial blessing, when a man died in the middle of an act of passion. It seemed fitting, at the time, somehow. The Baron had been a great man, and if he had been denied Duin’s Blessing on the battlefield, dying in bed between the legs of his comely young wife must have been some consolation . . . at least, that’s what the man-at-arms she was having an affair with told her. To Amandice it was more than a little traumatic . . . and heralded another change to her life.
With the baron’s death, her power within the distant keep evaporated. Her step-son and daughter-in-law graciously gave her a fortnight to grieve, bury her husband with proper honor . . . and then leave the barony forever. The meeting after the reading of his Will was tense, but cordial – and their terms were not subject to negotiation. Amandice could retain the title of Dowager Baroness, if she liked, so long as she did it elsewhere. Her step-son (who was two years her senior) wished to avoid competing loyalties while he took power, but he was a fair man. The Baron’s legacy included her, of course, granting her a handsome gift of a thousand ounces of silver and a stipend from the estate he gifted her upon their marriage.
But other than her clothes and personal jewelry, nothing else from her husband’s estate would accompany her as she journeyed . . . elsewhere.
Amandice considered traveling all the way back to the Temple of Passions in Inmar, and knew the Scarlet Sisters would have her back as a novice, even at this late stage in her life. But she also knew that her generous legacy would only last her a few years in the expensive southern city, even as a novice in the temple. And she knew in her heart that her days as an irresistible maiden were nearly over. Amandice was no longer the Fair Maid of Lamar, and would never be again. She was a homeless widow, now, and she had to make the best life for herself she could. That was the teaching of Ishi.
She elected instead to return to Vorone, site of her magical summer of maidenhood. Though she was no more known as the Fair Maid of Lamar, she was still extraordinarily beautiful. Amandice knew that catching the attention of a powerful widower at court, using her beauty and her wiles (not to mention her title) might be the very best thing she could hope for, now. She arrived in the capital prepared accordingly. She took a string of lovers early that spring, eagerly waiting for the Duke to return to the Wilderlands with the court that was the heart of the social life in Vorone . . . but then news came that the summer transfer of government would not be accomplished that year, due to the marriage of Grendine and Rard, in Castabriel.
Vorone was still a gay place, when the Duke was not in residence . . . but the level of social activity was dramatically reduced. Wilderlands counts and great nobles still threw parties and balls, and the temples and brothels of the city kept the affluent entertained, but without the court driving the social world of Vorone there was little enough to recommend it.
Amandice was fortunate, however, to begin a secret liaison with a married burgher who became more infatuated with her charms than those of his dumpy wife. It had been an unpleasant experience, but he doted on her enough to make it financially worthwhile. When she complained of her quarters to the dumpling masquerading as a civic official, he tried to prove his devotion to her by buying The Flower Bed for her as a gift. He had taken possession of it when the previous resident defaulted on her loan, and in truth he was having a difficult time finding a buyer for the decrepit old property. Gifting it to his mistress solved several problems at once.
It was far more than Amandice had expected, but she could not turn down the man’s generosity – that would be an affront to Ishi, she new. Lover’s gifts were always to be accepted graciously, the goddess taught. And his needs were modest enough. The gay old hall was showing its age, the floral carvings cracking and the pretty mosaic fading and chipping with long use. But when he presented her with the deed to the property, as well as a confession of undying love, she knew better than to refuse such a gift.
Amandice thanked her lover sincerely and thoroughly, with all of the skills the Temple of Passions had taught her . . . even as she conspired to break away from the wealthy commoner. But Amandice loved the place fondly from her girlhood memories, and it allowed her a far more genteel existence than her previous quarters. More, it was hers.
The Temple had also taught her when to quit while she was ahead. Once a lawbrother assured her that the deed conveyed ownership to the property to her, and her alone, unattached from anyone else, she knew it was time to end things.
Amandice was too nice to be cruel to the earnest little burgher, however. Instead of rejecting him, she ensured that one of his maidservants reported their lusty business to his wife, and within a week the affair was over. She agreed to meet the woman at market, agreed to stop tempting her husband, and promised to report any further indiscretions to the poor wife if she witnessed them.
But she was keeping the house.
At first she sunk much of her savings into sprucing up and repairing the old place to meet her standards. New paint was applied to the outside, the porch was expanded slightly, and she had a new fireplace installed to help heat the draughty hall in the winter. But Amandice’s funds were not limitless, and before another summer came she was already restraining herself in her visions for restoring The Flower Bed.
At last the Duke and D
uchess returned to Vorone (without their notoriously manipulative daughter) when Amandice was in the prime of her womanhood. It was time to act, she knew, and use the last of her capital and fading beauty to ensure her fortune. At nineteen, a widow, she had precious little time.
At first she haunted the sidelines of court life, but within weeks of the Duke’s return to Vorone she began carefully cultivating friends and allies in the halls of power. The novelty of the independent-minded, beautiful baroness delighted the court, and her widowhood provided some social cover from the disapproving judgments of the senior ladies there when they witnessed her many flirtations.
The Duchess liked her – that was what mattered, she knew. She played rushes and garden games with her, and with subtle flattery and deft social wit, won her favor. The old woman even promised an invitation to meet her handsome young son, Lenguin, heir to the coronet, when he arrived for the summer. It was Amandice’s crowning achievement.
That summer was a more mature reflection of her first introduction to court society. Only this time it was not handsome young gentlemen who courted her, but older men; lords, barons, senior courtiers, married Wilderlords of wealth and power. While she used these opportunities to her best advantage, assuring discretion and devotion, she kept her ultimate aspirations in mind with every secret kiss. In quick succession Amandice had an affair with a secretary in the Minister of Treasure’s office, and then his assistant. Before a month was out she was the clandestine lover of the Minister himself, and a regular at the palace.
From there, attracting just the right eye was a matter of luck and timing . . . and Ishi’s grace.
Ishi was with her. She met young Lenguin, their heir to the coronet of Alshar, in the palace gardens at Midsummer. He invited her to a swimming party at one of his many local estates (a fashion at court at the time, embraced for its dual pleasure of the opportunity for illicit embrace and inciting the ire of the conservative clergy, who saw the practice as an invitation to licentiousness) and the two spent an intoxicating few days together in rustic leisure.
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 3
