A Posse of Princesses

by Sherwood Smith

  Rhis bit her lip. She did not want to complain about Elda, but she did not look forward to extra lessons.

  Her mother took both her hands in her cool, strong fingers. “Part of being a ruler is to recognize that everyone has something of value to offer. What isn’t as valuable can be . . . overlooked.”

  Overlooked. Did that mean that the queen knew as well as Rhis did that Elda was a sour-pie?

  The queen gently squeezed Rhis’s hands. “I see you understand what I mean.”

  It was all she said, but suddenly Rhis felt a lot more grown up. “All right, Mama,” she promised. “I’ll learn as much as I can.”

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  CHAPTER THREE

  Within a very short time the girls had established a good understanding.

  “My letters,” Rhis said apologetically. “Elda had to read them before she would let me put them in the courier bag.”

  Shera grimaced. “And my governess had to read mine. But when Elda wrote to me, it was always to tell me how much you were learning, and how grateful you were for her lessons, and how I ought to work hard to be just like you.”

  “That’s what she said to me about you,” Rhis exclaimed.

  “Mama is always twitting me about my behavior.” Shera curled her legs beneath her in a fashion that would have caused gasps of dismay from Elda. “I guess I take after my Uncle Kordey, who Mama always calls that frivolous, dream-touched, undutiful brother of your father’s when no one else is around. Try as I might, I just couldn’t measure up to Mama and Elda.”

  “In your letters, all you talked about was your garden,” Rhis said cautiously.

  “It was the only place I could be alone,” Shera explained. “Planning elaborate gardens is now fashionable, so I could write about it. But actually I left all the planning to the head gardener, and I really spent as much time as I could there to dream and sing,” Shera admitted with a quick, merry grin.

  “I have a tower,” Rhis confessed, liking her sister-by-marriage more with every exchange. “That’s where I keep my books, and my tiranthe. Elda’s too stout to go up there, and her awful maid Sazu refused to climb all 538 steps.”

  “Sazu.” Shera wrinkled her nose. “How I remember her! She used to spy on me, and report every mistake to Elda and Mama. It’s her sister who I have as governess, and let me tell you, if nothing pleasant—besides meeting you at last—happens on this trip, at least I will have this time away from her.”

  “Poor Elda.” Rhis’s conscience gave her a pang of regret. “Tried so hard to turn us into proper princesses. Well, at least we’ll know how to behave when we get to Hai Taresal and meet Queen Briath, because I’ll wager anything she doesn’t play a tiranthe or daydream in her garden.”

  “No!” Shera clapped her hands. “But we won’t be going to the capital. Didn’t you get word? No, I guess you couldn’t, for the letter arrived just before I left home, and you would have already been traveling. We’re to go to Eskanda, which is Crown Prince Lios’s own place. The celebration will be there.”

  “Is it? But we’ll still be meeting the queen, won’t we?”

  Shera shook her head. “Papa says she never leaves Hai Taresal.”

  Rhis tried to picture the map. Hai Taresal, the capital of Vesarja, lay right in the center of the kingdom where two great rivers met, a city whose beauty was legendary. She remembered vaguely that Eskanda lay in the north-western quarter of Vesarja. “I wonder why they changed it? We’ll have a lot farther to travel.”

  Shera shrugged. “And we can enjoy every moment of it. As for why, who knows? But this I’m sure of: if the queen stays behind, all the older, stuffy courtiers will probably stay too, unless they have daughters to try to marry off, which means that things ought to be much more fun in Eskanda.”

  Rhis gave a sigh of pleasure. “So it will be all people our age? How wonderful!”

  Shera wrinkled her nose again. “Well, don’t count on that, for I know that Iardith will be there, and probably we’ll find others like her.”

  “Iardith?” Rhis remembered the name from her lessons. “Princess Iardith of Arpalon?”

  “That’s the one.” Shera fluttered her fingers on either side of her head. “You’re lucky that your father and the king of Arpalon are mad at each other over some trade agreement, because you haven’t had to meet Iardith.”

  “What’s wrong with her? Is she evil?”

  “Oh, nothing so interesting,” Shera said with a laugh. “She really is a perfect princess—and if you don’t happen to notice all her perfections, she will tell you about them. But only in private. In public, she’s just as sweet and dignified and proper as Elda and the others could wish. We don’t have a hope of attracting Prince Lios’s attention while she’s there, which doesn’t matter to me—much—because I’ve been twoing with Rastian, the son of the Duke of the Northern March, for eight months and seventeen days—ever since I was formally introduced at Mama’s court.” She waved her hand vaguely northward.

  “Is Iardith very beautiful, then?”

  “Very.” Shera rolled her eyes. “Hair blacker than midnight with no moons, and glossy, and never messy, though it is quite long, and light brown eyes—the boys who like poetry call them topaz, how disgusting. She has long, dark lashes, and perfect features, and a perfect figure, and she dances perfectly, and uses her fan perfectly, she has perfect manners—when others are around. And she knows more than you do—as she will tell you, ever so nicely—about every fashionable subject, whether flowers or artists.” Shera sighed. “When she came to visit us for my mother’s birthday, every one of the fellows at court acted like puppies around her. Disgusting!” She grimaced. “Even Rastian got a little silly after she started looking at him over her fan and blinking those long and perfect eyelashes. I thought she looked like a cow, but the effect on Rastian was like he’d walked into a wall.”

  “Did you get mad at him?”

  “I certainly did. He pointed out that I haven’t yet met a prince who is quite that comely, and if I did, and I got silly, too, he’d forgive me, so I forgave him. But still, it was lowering because she did it on purpose. When he followed her right out of the room and into the garden, she looked back at me and gave me such a nasty smirk.”

  “I suppose she’s already met and fascinated Prince Lios, then?” Rhis asked.

  “She couldn’t have.” Shera poured out more chocolate for them both. “Didn’t you know? He’s only just returned from overseas, after years and years. Now that he’s the heir, he had to come home—and stay home.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Rhis admitted. “That is, about people. I can tell you what father thinks of every ruler’s trade policies, and I can also tell you a lot about what Mother thinks of the various royal mages in each kingdom, but they don’t talk about people as people, and Elda, of course, thinks mere gossip quite improper. A princess, she says—”

  “—Needs only to behave with dignity and grace, and the worthy suitor will recognize her merit.” Shera pinched her nose. “Didn’t I hear that one a million times! But in a court there’s gossip, especially from those who travel, and so I hear things. Not much about Lios, but then,” she added triumphantly, “neither has Iardith, since he’s been so long gone.”

  Nevertheless, Rhis felt the last of her dreams of attracting the unknown Prince Lios fade away. Who would possibly prefer a tall, angle-faced beanpole with hair the color of a wooden plank to such a paragon as Iardith? She shrugged, resolving not to let it bother her. “Well, as my sister said, quite rightly, at least there will be dancing, and picnics, and lots of fun.”

  Shera nodded vigorously. “And lots and lots of music!”

  oOo

  While the girls chattered far into the night, ending with playing and singing of their favorite songs, their entourages made all the preparations for the long journey to the northwest.

  They set out the next day. Rhis asked Keris to put the tiranthe into the carriage, and not pack it. Keris complied with
out betraying any shock or horror. Once again Rhis gave silent thanks to her mother for putting her into the care of this calm, kind-hearted woman.

  The days stretched into a week, and then a second week, as the girls crossed the length of Vesarja, but they were happy in each another’s company. Rhis had never met an eligible young man in Nym’s isolated fastness, so she was fascinated by Shera’s descriptions of what her Rastian said and did—and of course Shera loved to talk about him.

  When they weren’t talking they were singing, or playing the tiranthe. Shera learned rapidly. Rhis found out that Shera wasn’t really interested in history—or great deeds—only in great love matches, the more fraught with perils and sufferings, the better. Those made the best songs, she pointed out. Sometimes, when their fingers tired of playing and they tired of talking, Shera hummed absently under her breath as she stared out her window. She didn’t have a great singing voice—neither did Rhis—but Rhis discovered she liked listening to these little pieces of melody.

  Twice heavy spring rainstorms caused them to halt for a day or two along the road. The last inn had hired musicians and promised nightly dances, and there were plenty of travelers also caught by the rain, so Rhis got her first chance to practice with real partners. The men were mostly older, and none were princes. Rhis was self-conscious, and spent most of her dances looking over at Shera and giggling. Shera did the same. At the end of her last dance, she dared to look up at her partner—a balding fellow with a pleasant face and a silvery beard. He had begun by complimenting her on her grace, but he’d gone quiet soon after. When she glanced up he suppressed a yawn as he stared over her head at the other dancers.

  Annoyance flushed through her, but she just curtseyed politely when the dance came to an end, and the man bowed equally politely and then promptly moved away.

  She thought about that after she and Shera parted to sleep. Dancing well really wasn’t enough, she realized, remembering what her tutor had said. Part of the art of dancing was to converse well with your partner. And—she had to admit—she hadn’t even tried to talk with him, but had spent her time peering at Shera and her partner, and laughing when their eyes met.

  What will I talk about when I dance with Prince Lios? She burrowed into the pillow, sleepily wondering what he’d be like, and what she’d say, and what he’d say, until she slid into dreams.

  oOo

  Slowly the great forests of the east changed to rolling farmland. The air smelled much different than mountain air—like grass and herbs—and Rhis liked it very much. There were lots of gardens along their route, and Shera, who had learned much from the gardener in Gensam, gave Rhis names and properties of different plants. Rhis found herself gradually taking an interest as they compared size and hues of various blossoms. Reading about plants you’ve never seen is boring, but seeing gardens in all their brightness and variety was like discovering surprise after surprise. Beautiful surprises.

  Finally they turned north, heading toward a more mountainous region. It did not make Rhis homesick—she was enjoying herself too much for that—but she loved the broad trees with their complicated leaves, so different than the ever-present pines of home.

  The two days before they reached Eskanda caused the girls much excitement. By then they had gone through each other’s wardrobe to determine which gown ought to be worn for their first appearance in company. In Rhis’s mind was that mental image of the perfect princess Iardith. She did not really expect to make a stir (much as it was fun to imagine universal gasps of admiration when she first walked into the grand parlor), but she did want to do credit to Nym, so she tirelessly discussed the pros and cons of each outfit with Shera, who had the better knowledge of what was the very latest fad, and what wasn’t.

  At last their carriage rolled through the gates of Eskanda Palace, a vast structure built of a warm gold-veined marble that glowed in the westering sunlight. The sun reflected off hundreds of arched windows, which made the palace look like it was decorated with firestones. A magnificent garden of grand proportions made Shera draw in her breath in admiration. This kind of garden, she pointed out, was only achieved after at least a hundred years of being constantly tended.

  The garden was pretty, but Rhis saved her attention for the people. Not that many were in view, except for liveried servants moving back and forth. The courtyard was quite empty when their carriage clattered to a stop. The girls stepped out onto a mosaic pattern made of a variety of bricks of different shades. As they shook out their gowns they were approached by an impressive man who wore the blue and white of Vesarja’s royal family. Otherwise, Rhis thought to herself, she would have thought him some royal relative.

  He stopped to briefly address the girls’ outrider, then came forward with stately step and bowed low. In a sonorous voice he said, “Prince Lios bids me welcome you to his home, Your Highnesses. If you will consent to follow me, I will show you to the quarters prepared for you.”

  “Thank you,” Shera said in a small voice.

  Gensam might be a lot more sophisticated than Nym, Rhis thought, but Vesarja and its royalty were even moreso. She kept resolutely silent as she followed behind the dignified steward.

  Once inside, she stared in silent amazement. She’d thought the Royal Inn at Gensam’s border fine, but it was nothing compared to this palace.

  No stone was in evidence, except in carved columns supporting stairways, each of which was wide and curving. Those were all marble. The ceilings far overhead were splendidly painted with graceful decorative figures of intertwined plants and birds.

  They progressed down several very long halls, up three flights of stairs, and at last the steward threw wide two carved doors and they walked into a large circular parlor with four great windows that looked out over the garden. The ceiling here was made of inlaid wood, in complicated geometric patterns. On the walls hung painted still lifes, and the furnishings were all carved and polished darkwood, with pale blue satin coverings.

  “When you are ready to join the company, Your Highnesses,” the steward said with another low bow, “here is the bell pull. A runner will conduct you.”

  He soon withdrew, and Shera said, “At least we don’t have to disgrace ourselves stumbling about getting lost.” She dashed to the window. “Oh, it’s fabulous!” She whirled and clasped her hands. “I don’t think I ever want to leave!”

  “But we haven’t met the people yet,” Rhis said, feeling a tight sensation in her middle.

  “Let’s do it quickly,” Shera said. “Before we lose our courage.”

  They found that the adjoining rooms were bedrooms, each with its own little bath chamber and dressing room. Keris was already in the one that had been selected for Rhis, laying out the gown she’d chosen for her first appearance.

  Rhis’s heart thumped as she got ready. She forced herself to sit patiently as Keris brushed out her long, straight hair and wove into it white ribbons embroidered with silver.

  At last she was ready. Her gown was a very deep midnight blue, edged at neck and sleeves with silver-embroidered white lace. Shera appeared, wearing yellow, white, and gold, all trimmed with contrasting ribbons. Her rich curls hung down charmingly, only decorated with two tiny bows, one holding a lock just above one eye, the other at the back of her head. The girls admired each other, and then Shera reached for the bell pull.

  The liveried runner, a very young girl, knocked a short time later. With a solemn face she bowed and silently indicated that they follow her.

  Another long walk through increasingly splendid surroundings brought them at last to another set of high, carved doors. This time another liveried steward threw open the doors, and after a quick whisper from the runner (Shera didn’t seem to notice, she was so busy peeking through the doors, but Rhis did) he announced the girls: “Their Highnesses Princess Rhis Lanvred of Nym, and Princess Shera Tevoriac of Gensam!”

  Rhis stepped inside first. Her eyes were dazzled by what seemed to be thousands of crystal chandeliers. She realized that on
e wall in the chamber was mirrored, throwing back light and glitter, then she dared a glance at the assembled people.

  Young faces stared back at her, some with smiles, some blank, some curious. Jewels gleamed in hair and on clothes, and here and there a fan waved slowly. She didn’t have time to look any longer, for first she had to proceed down the length of the room toward an elegant chair higher than the others.

  From this distance all she could see of Prince Lios was dark hair and a tunic of silver brocade.

  “Oh,” Shera breathed softly next to Rhis.

  The girls walked toward the dais. Rhis looked at her toes, feeling intensely shy. But when they reached the end of the room, she forced her chin up, spreading her skirts and making the curtsey proper to a royal heir who was also her host.

  Then she looked into dark-lashed eyes the color of chocolate, framed by glossy dark hair. Prince Lios smiled, a dashing smile in a face so devastatingly attractive that by the time Rhis had straightened up from her curtsey, she had fallen happily and quite painlessly in love.

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  CHAPTER FIVE

  The girls walked out into the garden where they wouldn’t be overheard. When they reached a little dell shaded by aromatic trees, Shera expertly hummed the tunes as she demonstrated the new dances. Rhis picked up the moves quickly. Then, encouraged by Shera, Rhis talked in tireless detail about Lios—the way he looked, how he had smiled at her at breakfast, and they speculated happily on what he might think and do.

  They also talked a little about Vors. Shera explained that he had introduced himself to her during the dancing, asking a lot of questions about Rhis—about her home, her likes and dislikes.