“Ah! We are in luck. I have something that matches the colors you’ve picked.” Behnaz pulled out a pair of ankle-high soft booties from a chest. They were fawnskin brown and done up with light green lacework. “Your footwear is meant to charm, but trust me: You do not want to chance falling over when you are dubbed.”
“Right.” I didn’t really understand, but I stepped out of my heels and into the booties. They fit snugly, but they were comfortable enough. My impromptu fashion consultant then pulled a new article of clothing from another chest.
“Oh, as for ‘what you’re expected’ to do? I wouldn’t be overly worried. The King will likely send the Lord Pursuivant to you after the ceremony to describe your specific duties.”
Galen cleared his throat. “Given that Dayna has not been steeped in our world’s culture from childhood, then I would venture that a basic explanation regarding her new status would greatly assist her at this point.”
“I suppose…” Lady Behnaz straightened out the fabric and brought it over to me. She held up a shiny, floor-length cloak in a shade of green that reminded me of water drawn from a tropical sea. Seed pearls glinted along the fringe as she brought it around my shoulders. She gave me a direct look. “Tell me what you know of our customs in this matter.”
“Okay,” I breathed. I hadn’t been expecting a pop-quiz, but I figured that it was fair enough. “As best I can tell, ‘Dame’ is a noble title for a woman, roughly equal to ‘Knight’ for a man. In daily parlance, one would use ‘Dame’ in the same way that you’d address a knight as ‘Sir’.”
Lady Behnaz straightened out the cloak so that it flowed over my shoulders. “Very good. Continue.”
“In your world, ‘Knighthoods’ and ‘Lordships’ are based on the exchange of land for military service.”
“That is close, but not in the gold. Lordship is indeed based on an exchange. The lord gets ownership of land, the peasants that live upon that land, and lordly power over his demesnes. In return, he must pay tax monies to the Exchequer and provide knights to serve the King in times of royal need.”
She paused for a moment to fasten the cloak into place with a silver chain and a pair of metal clips shaped to look like snapping dragon heads. “A knight gets a smaller amount of land and fewer peasants to work it. This is exchanged for supplying service in the form of his taxes to the Exchequer and his body for military service. If a man is knighted by a lord, then he must devote himself to serving both his knightly order and that specific lord.”
“But what if that man…that person…is knighted by the King?”
“If knighted by the King, the knight’s title does not change. But he or, in this case, ‘she’ receives a higher status, one akin to the middle rungs of lordship. For example, though you may not order another lord’s knights into battle, you are within your rights to give them most any other command. At a single stroke, you shall be above the salt.”
Above the salt? I frowned, trying to understand. It was probably some local slang meaning ‘above reproach’ or something similar.
“There we go.” Lady Behnaz stepped back to regard her work. “Your basic dress was fine, if a bit unimaginative. Since wearing jewelry is frowned upon during knighting ceremonies, I think we’ll pass on adding rings or bracelets. It is a pity about your corset and bodice, but that requires a more thorough fitting. You’ll just have to make do.”
“My corset? I’m not wearing–”
“Precisely. It would have been better if you’d employed something of the sort to…shall we say, ‘elevate’ the appreciation of one’s charms.”
Abruptly, I felt a little flustered. I wasn’t what the men’s magazines would call ‘stacked’, but I had my bra on, and felt comfortable with what nature had given me. I pointed at the gentle scoop neck that graced the top of my outfit.
“Okay, I didn’t show up with plunging cleavage, but do you really think that would be necessary in a ceremony involving…um…Dame-hooding?”
“The ceremony is called an ‘investiture’.”
“Whatever. Look, I don’t see where the amount of breast I’m showing matters.”
Lady Behnaz gave me a strange look. “Perhaps my advice is needed more than I thought at first. Very well. Are you aware that we of the Kingdom of Andeluvia have no queen at present?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling more than a little nettled by the whole thing. “I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed it if King Fitzwilliam had gotten married anytime recently.”
“Are you aware of whom he is courting, then?”
“I wasn’t aware of anyone he was going out with, actually.”
“That’s because he hasn’t. I have it on good authority that he’s given a skirt-tumble to the occasional palace handmaiden, but that’s it. Do you see what I mean?”
“Well, I won’t say that I’m all that keen on his behavior. But I don’t think you folks have the same laws on the books against sexual harassment.”
A tired sigh. “It is possible that the King is preserving his bachelor status in order to cement an alliance with a neighboring land via marriage. However, it is equally likely that his heart is open and as ready to be plucked as a properly ripened peach. Now do you understand?”
“Wait, wait. Are you suggesting that I ‘cultivate’ his interest? Me?” My stomach took another lurch as I contemplated the idea. “But I’m not of this world! And I’m not even a member of the nobility!”
Lady Behnaz’s face broke out in a smirk. “What say you, centaur wizard?”
“Dayna’s statement is correct,” Galen said, after a moment’s thought. “To be precise, Dayna’s statement shall remain correct for the next twenty minutes or so.”
I gulped. “What do you mean?”
“Dubbing you as a Dame marks you permanently as a member of his court, thus a woman of this world in all but birth. And, given the status of one raised up by the ruler of this land, you thus achieve a social standing that would make you eminently marriageable to the King himself.”
And then, just as I was trying to digest that juicy bit of information, someone rapped smartly on the chamber’s wooden door. Galen trotted forward and swung it open. With a clatter of footsteps, Commander Yervan tromped in, his gold-plated armor glinting in the werelight, s quartet of court pages decked out in robin’s-egg blue tunics flanking him.
“It is time, Lady Chrissie,” he said, with a florid bow that was marred only by the creaking of his armor’s leather straps. “King Fitzwilliam and all the nobles of our fair land await your presence.”
Praying that no one would see my knees knocking under my dress, I joined the group with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner being led to the gallows.
Chapter Five
The light tread of the company’s feet and the swishes of my floor-length cloak were the only sounds to accompany my progress down the long corridors of Fitzwilliam’s palace. The quartet of pages weren’t supposed to talk, so I guess that made sense. Commander Yervan strode proudly at my side, fully immersed in his role as Guarding the Dame Apparent. Even Galen, who clopped along at my other side, looked distracted, as if he were going over lines for a play in his head.
Me, I was doing my best to stay in my happy place.
I wasn’t all that fond of crowds, though with a little discipline I was fine speaking in public. Certainly when push came to shove, I could do my part. According to what I’d been told before by the King, all I really had to do was say ‘I so swear’ at appropriate intervals.
Maybe I was just being a little gun-shy. I’d had more than a little rough treatment at the hands of various courts and councils. The first time I’d ever met the Andeluvian nobility, they’d simply walked out on me en masse.
Now that Fitzwilliam was here, I wasn’t sure how much better things were. What Lady Behnaz had been implying…could there be a grain of truth in there? Fitzwilliam had reacted like a healthy heterosexual male when he’d gotten a gander at me during his coronation, even with my apparently underwhelm
ing scoop neck dress.
And he had been supportive of my employment in Andeluvia. Right up until both his court and the Parliament had dug their heels in. That told me his loyalty to my cause had sharp limits. But as to my ‘investiture’…if he was doing this as a prelude to wooing me, then it was an awfully indirect way to do it. Frankly, it was ridiculous!
So why did the mere prospect bother me?
My thoughts were jarred back to the present by a young man’s voice. One with a ghosting of an accent that I’d always thought of as Gaelic.
“Dayna!” Liam cried. “You wear green, just as I. Surely that is a good portent.”
The Protector of the Forest, now a strapping twelve-point stag, trotted forward a few steps to greet me. I only had to bend slightly to embrace him, all the while being careful not to dislodge the emerald-encrusted headpiece nestled atop his head between his antlers. A similarly jewel-encrusted barding draped along his back, which made my Fayleene friend sparkle.
We now stood in the antechamber outside of Fitzwilliam’s throne room. The great high-arched doors were closed and attended by a pair of royal guards, who had come to full attention now that their commander was present. Behind the doors I heard the fuzzed-out words of a speaker, followed by the dim murmur of a large crowd in response.
“I’m wearing green for luck,” I said, as I let him go. “But even so, I’m not sure that I could face this crowd without a Fayleene leading the way.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” he reassured me. “The ceremony is quite straightforward, and you are well-attired for it. In fact, that’s the second most stunning outfit I’ve seen you in.”
“Second most?”
“Well…” he cleared his throat as he added, “I felt that you filled out the noble form of the Fayleene in a most attractive manner. Goodness, the Lead Does’ antlers would steam if they heard me say that!”
We shared a laugh over the idea before Galen spoke up. “The representative of the Reykajar Aerie draws nigh. He said that he has seen you before, though you do not know him.”
That perked my curiosity. The drake that joined us in the increasingly crowded antechamber did look familiar, though I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen him. He was a recently matured griffin to my eye, with no especially distinguishing marks about him save for three recently healed scars marring his golden coat. Newly sprouted feathers dotted a swatch of one wing, and he limped as he tried to keep his weight off of his right hind leg.
“Greetings, Lady Chrissie,” the griffin said, as he made a clumsy half bow. “I am Gorse, formerly of Ironwood’s Lance. The High Elder felt I would do you honor by my presence.”
Suddenly, I recalled where I’d seen Gorse before. He’d been the badly wounded drake I’d seen after Ironwood’s attack on a horde of wyverns. As best as I could tell, ‘badly wounded’ in griffin terminology meant ‘unfit to fly, at least one broken limb, and bleeding like a freshly slaughtered bull’. I was amazed that Gorse had actually pulled through.
“I am indeed honored,” I said. “You were sent by your Lance Captain to head along the beach towards Kescar and notify them of the attack on their fishing fleet. I’m glad to see that you made it. Honestly, I thought you’d pass out from blood loss along the way.”
A gruff chuckle came from the drake’s throat. “Though it would shame my Lance to admit it, I did pass out. Twice. Luckily, both times the surf rolled in and submerged my head, which worked well enough to rouse me.”
A thought occurred to me. “Didn’t you serve directly under Hollyhock?”
Gorse straightened up a little. A look of both pride and hurt came into his eyes. “I did. I have since learned of the events that took place in the aerie while I was recovering in Kescar. Though I do not approve of her attempt to overthrow the Elders, I shall always be proud of having served under her.”
“As you should be,” I agreed. “If I may…I might like to talk to you sometime. About what it was like serving with her.”
“I would be glad to.”
“And I’d be interested in hearing the latest news from the aerie. When I left, it was in a…well, a troubled state.”
A shrug. “I can only say so much, given how busy I have been. High Elder Belladonna has been busy selecting replacements for her new Council of the Chosen.”
I gave the drake a look. “Wait a minute. Of the Chosen? Not of the Elders?”
“Oh, aye. The High Elder felt that, given recent events, it would be wise to recast it as one based on viewpoint, not on age. At least one representative must come from each of the remaining prides. There were a lot of ruffled feathers when the Korlson Pride sent a True Born, but Belladonna did not object!”
That came close to flooring me. Oddball that Belladonna was, she’d proven to be more open minded than I’d expected. Of course, the rebellion of an entire Pride and the annihilation of another could do a lot to change one’s mind in a hurry.
“That’s amazing, Gorse. You’ve made my day. How exactly has Belladonna been keeping you busy, anyway?”
Another chuckle, this time with a ribald tone. “Since I was in Kescar recovering from my wounds during the revolt of Grimshaw’s True Born, it turns out that I am the only remaining male of prime breeding age in the Reyka Pride. It’s been up to me to help rebuild our numbers as quickly as possible.”
I did my best to keep the smile off my face. “I see. Well, best of luck. That’s a big responsibility.”
“If only I had known before accepting the task,” he sighed. “I haven’t gotten a decent night of sleep in over a week. My flanks are a mat of bruises from mating bites. My poor aching back threatens to buckle. And the chafing around the base of my…”
The blare of trumpets cut off the long-suffering drake’s recounting of his coital problems. Yervan made a motion to the pages, who advanced to open the door to the throne room. Galen came to stand on my left side, Gorse at my right. Liam moved so that the Fayleene Protector of the Forest could lead me in.
“Very well,” Commander Yervan stated formally. “Dayna, you shall enter these doors as Lady Chrissie. You shall emerge as Dame Chrissie. Are you ready for your investiture?”
I set my jaw. “I’m not getting any readier, or any younger, waiting here, Commander.”
A grin flashed across his face as he signaled the pages. With a push, the doors swung open to the brassy fanfare of yet more trumpets. Liam moved out. It was all I could do to force my feet to move, following his gleaming, bejeweled back and his white puffball tail.
Chapter Six
The throne room wasn’t just full. It was packed. In fact, it was a standing room only crowd that any celebrity worth their length of red carpet would have drooled over. And the red carpet treatment was exactly what I’d gotten.
A broad scarlet carpet carved out a path leading from the door to the throne. Although it didn’t have stanchions and velvet ropes to hold the crowd back, no one dared set foot across the black and gold embroidered fringe.
My neck joints felt like they had frozen in place, but my eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of the overwhelming mass of people. Fitzwilliam’s cavernous throne room had a set of odd snake-coil columns that held up the stone roof and a series of stained glass windows that punctuated each alcove. Despite the light from the windows, the icy blue of the alcoves could make the place feel cold as well as empty.
Not today. It was warm from all of the bodies packed in, and most of the people that made up the crowd weren’t nobles. They wore pastel-colored linen gowns or dark brown overcoats, and the smells that wafted through the air included freshly tanned leather, peppery spices, and animal dung. I’d guess they were mostly from the local city merchants, craftspeople, even some well-to-do farmers. Sprinkled in among the masses was the occasional palace guard, each clad in mail or plate armor under red and black livery.
Everyone wore an expectant and happy look upon their face. I doubted that anyone was happy specifically for me. My investiture was simply
the most exciting court event that had happened in a while. The citizens of Los Angeles would’ve reacted the same way to an unexpected Rose Bowl Parade or Academy Award ceremony.
I snapped my focus back towards my front. As the room narrowed, the pastel tints of linen gave way to the brighter dyes that colored the garments of the true nobles. Blood red mantles, short capes, and gold plated belt-and-dagger sets were common among the men. In contrast, the women went more for sky blues and grassy greens for their ankle-length gowns. Said gowns had massive bell-flared sleeves and were trimmed with pearls or little silver bangles.
And there, at the very end of the carpet, waited the King and a retinue of pages.
King Fitzwilliam stood proudly upon the large raised platform next to his jewel-studded throne. He cut a pretty good figure for a monarch, in my admittedly sparse experience. He had inherited his father’s high-domed forehead, long nose and prominent chin. His mane of shoulder-length blond hair had been liberally salted at the temples with a dash of silver that matched his light gray eyes. Taken as a whole, he had a noble, if somewhat weary or put-upon look.
The King had been dressed to the nines for this event. He wore the crown of Andeluvia, a polished-until-it-gleamed gold circlet stamped with the silhouette of a rampant griffin. A fur-trimmed mantle of rich royal purple draped over a tunic the exact color of French champagne. Each satiny piece of cloth gleamed with bands of complex embroidery. Even the King’s distinctive point-toed shoes had been trimmed in shiny gold and black.
Off to each side, a group of trumpeters raised their long-necked instruments to their lips. They blatted out a quick succession of notes. The room fell silent as my party came to a stop at the bottom of the three steps that went up to the platform. Fitzwilliam raised his hands in greeting.
“I greet thee, ambassadors of the Fey, the Centaurs, and the Griffins,” he stated formally. My ears perked a little as I heard him using the archaic speech of the older griffin generation, but it sounded right coming from him today. He lowered his arms as he asked, “Hast thou brought one of noble countenance and pure heart for their investiture?”
A Perjury of Owls Page 3
