Princeps

12

Warmer weather on Jeudi and Vendrei was followed by a blustery wind on Samedi, and a return to freezing temperatures just before sunset when the sleigh sent by High Holder Thurl arrived at the lower gates of the Telaryn Palace where Quaeryt, Vaelora, Straesyr, and Emra waited in the gatehouse. Quaeryt had barely seen the gown Vaelora was wearing because she’d shooed him away from the dressing area until she was dressed, and then had immediately donned a long fur coat he had not seen before that afternoon. He was wearing his finest browns with his formal brown coat, over which he wore a heavy winter jacket.

“Look how gloriously red the sky is to the west!” exclaimed Emra as the four left the gatehouse to walk to the sleigh.

“There was a bit of that last night,” observed Straesyr. “Just a touch.”

Quaeryt looked, turning to face into the light wind, coming out of the west. Indeed the entire western sky was red, a glorious golden red, if with an undertone of a darker red, like that of drying blood … of which he’d seen far too much in the campaign against the hill holders. The brilliance of the color almost totally obscured the crescent of Erion, whose slightly sullen reddish white seemed pale by comparison. He glanced at Vaelora, walking beside him, her coat wrapped tightly around her. Her face expressed more puzzlement than wonder, and he asked, “What is it?”

“That looks familiar. I couldn’t say why.”

“The sunset?”

“The colors.”

“Then you must have seen them somewhere…”

Vaelora nodded. “But I don’t remember.” She turned, and Quaeryt helped her into the sleigh.

As the driver eased the sleigh away from the gates and onto the packed snow and ice of the road, two squads of troopers followed them.

Quaeryt continued to study the western sky, and it seemed to him that the golden red and the darker red took longer to fade than was usual for sunsets, but colors or not, the air was chill. Although heavy fur wraps had been spread across trousers and gowns, after only a quint in the horse-drawn sleigh, Quaeryt’s legs were colder than if he’d been riding. But then, you haven’t been riding at night … or even late in the afternoon.

“Earlier this week, I wondered if we’d be using the carriage,” said Emra. “The snow was melting so fast.”

“That’s the way it is at the end of winter and the beginning of spring,” said Straesyr. “Warm, then cold, then warm. Each time the cold is usually a little less chill, the warm a trace more springlike.”

After another three quints, the sleigh swung through a pair of gilded iron gates flanked by polished marble gateposts set against graystone walls. Torches lit both the entry gates and the way up the snow-packed lane to the estate house, a structure more like a Bovarian chateau, thought Quaeryt. The sleigh stopped just short of the covered entry portico, where the four disembarked and then walked across the stone pavement that had been swept clean of snow and the ice removed, before climbing the three wide marble steps to the entry.

The outer double doors were open, although Quaeryt could see that the decorative ironwork was gilded on both sides, and a doorman opened the inner goldenwood door for them as they approached. “Governor … Lady Straesyr … most honored Lady Vaelora … Princeps.”

Quaeryt noted the difference in address between Emra, whose position was determined by that of her husband, and that offered Vaelora, who clearly outranked him.

Once inside the chateau, they stood in a hexagonal vestibule with a high vaulted ceiling. The walls above the goldenwood wainscoting were smooth plaster tinted to resemble golden-streaked marble, with deep blue velvet hangings.

“The robing room for the ladies…” murmured another functionary, gesturing to the left. “And for … you…” That gesture was to the right.

Two valets stood waiting in the narrow chamber to take Quaeryt’s and Straesyr’s outer coats. From there, Quaeryt followed Straesyr back into the main entry hall, where they waited for a good half quint for their ladies.

Vaelora’s hair was swept back with black and silver combs, and her gown was of black velvet in a cut that accentuated her waist, and with a neckline that was a diamond cut just large enough to allow the silver pendant that held a modest emerald. The sleeves tapered to almost skintight at her wrists. Completing the ensemble was a silvered green sleeveless vest, held in place in front by a silver chain.

Quaeryt found himself staring in admiration.

“I see you like it, dearest.”

“I like you in it.” He dared not think what else he thought.

“You picked a very good seamstress,” Vaelora added.

If by accident. “Thank you.”

“The ballroom is at the end of the main hallway…” murmured yet another functionary, in what was clearly a reminder to move along.

Quaeryt and Vaelora walked quickly until they caught up with the governor and his wife. Then they waited, but for moments, to enter the ballroom.

“Governor, Lady Straesyr … welcome to Thurlhold.” High Holder Thurl was an angular older man with thinning blond hair, who spoke in Tellan, which would not have been the case with a High Holder nearer Solis.

“We’re pleased to be here, and I deeply appreciate the use of your sleigh,” replied Straesyr. “Even more so does my wife.”

“I thought it might be so.” Thurl smiled, before turning to Quaeryt and Vaelora. “Lady Vaelora, Princeps … I bid you welcome. It is not often we entertain a couple who are both of position.” Thurl turned his eyes back to Quaeryt. “The muted finery of a scholar suits you, Princeps, although it does not do justice to your reputation in the field, I understand.”

“That was by necessity,” replied Quaeryt. “We do appreciate your grace and hospitality.” Glancing beyond Thurl, where but a handful of couples stood, generally near the sideboards offering wine, Quaeryt could see that his browns represented the most severe attire of anyone present.

“We can do no less.” With a smile, Thurl turned to those following Quaeryt and Vaelora.

Quaeryt understood that Thurl had meant those words literally, no matter how graciously uttered.

“You would not be here … except…” murmured Vaelora.

“Except for you,” he agreed. “They look down on the princeps as a functionary who deals with factors and low holders and others of less stature.”

“They do not know you.”

“As you suggested, my lady, in your correspondence, even before you knew all you now know about me, you recommended that it was better that people not see one as a threat if one wished to accomplish one’s ends.”

Vaelora laughed softly. “It is a compliment that you not only read my words, but recall them so well.”

“I read them often.”

“I can tell. For that I am grateful.”

“As am I, because your advice and counsel are wise beyond your years.”

“In some matters. Not in others.” Looking over his shoulder, she murmured, “There’s a couple approaching.”

As he turned, he murmured, “Fhaedyrk and Laekyna.”

“Princeps … and this must be the lady Vaelora.” Fhaedyrk bowed.

“High Holder Fhaedyrk … Laekyna,” Quaeryt acknowledged, deliberately bending social niceties by acknowledging Fhaedyrk’s wife in her own right.

Laekyna’s eyes widened just slightly, but she curtseyed, a courtesy Quaeryt had not seen in Tilbor before, but then, until the ball, he’d been at no functions where more than a single woman of position had been present.

“Lady Vaelora,” offered Laekyna after the slightest hesitation, “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“And I you,” replied Vaelora. “My husband has told me of your hospitality and grace when he visited you.”

Laekyna smiled, shyly. Even so, the act transformed her face, and once more Quaeryt was struck by the similarity in expression between her and Vaelora, although the two were not at all alike in appearance. “He is most kind to notice.”

Kind? Hardly. Fair … perhaps. “You were most hospitable.”

“One could hardly be less to the princeps,” said Fhaedyrk smoothly.

“That is true, especially if he happens to be the husband of the sister of Lord Bhayar,” replied Vaelora with a smile. “But, as I recall, Quaeryt was only a scholar assistant at the time, and that speaks to hospitality.”

“What can I say?” replied Fhaedyrk disarmingly.

“That you understand not all wisdom or power resides in those who are High Holders, perchance,” said Vaelora. “Or that offering hospitality is not conditional upon position, but it is better to act than to speak such. Of course, as a woman, that is merely my youthful opinion.”

Quaeryt noted that Laekyna was having difficulty concealing a smile.

“It is an opinion well worth considering.” Fhaedyrk paused for but an instant. “Do you have news on what may be happening in the west?”

“Only through my husband. It appears as though Rex Kharst may be considering actions hostile to Telaryn. What those actions might be is not clear.” Vaelora glanced to Quaeryt. “Is that not so, dearest?”

“That is indeed all that we know at the moment. We have been requested to prepare another regiment for deployment to the west, but not for what purpose.”

“What do you think of Thurlhold?” asked Laekyna of Vaelora.

“It appears tastefully impressive,” replied Vaelora.

After several more exchanges of polite comments, Fhaedyrk and Laekyna excused themselves.

Behind Quaeryt and Vaelora, the group of musicians began to play.

“We should dance,” said Vaelora quietly.

“Perhaps we should,” replied Quaeryt, “but I don’t know how.”

“That part of your education was neglected, dearest, but it’s not hard. I’ll show you how. You take my right hand in your left, and place your right on the middle of my back just above my waist…”

Quaeryt did his best to follow her instructions and her lead, but the best he felt he could have said when the musicians stopped for a moment was that he’d managed not to step on her feet or trip her and that he’d managed to look generally like he knew what he was doing.

Vaelora looked up at him. “You see? It’s not that hard.”

“No. Except that, without your instruction, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to do.” And I’m not certain that I still wouldn’t. “Would you like some wine?”

“Just a little.”

As Quaeryt and Vaelora walked toward the nearest sideboard, the musicians struck up another tune, one livelier than the one played before. Quaeryt glanced at the dancers, still no more than a score, and wondered if he’d ever learn the intricate steps that he observed. With Vaelora’s insistence and instruction … most likely.

When Quaeryt turned from the sideboard holding two goblets of white wine, he found himself facing a High Holder he did not recognize.

“Princeps … High Holder Heskhaeld.” The trim but muscular holder who addressed Quaeryt smiled politely. “We have not met, but the governor suggested that I talk to you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Now that he had the man’s name, Quaeryt knew exactly what Heskhaeld wanted, and he doubted that the High Holder would be satisfied with what would likely happen.

“While a ball is perhaps not the optimal location for discussing matters of property, it is winter, and I so seldom can get to Tilbora…”

Quaeryt nodded and waited.

“… more than a month ago, I inquired about the purchase of a section of land adjoining mine-certain lands belonging to the rebel holder Saentaryn…”

Quaeryt nodded. “And you have not had a response and wondered when you might?”

“Precisely.”

“Those lands now belong to Lord Bhayar, and as princeps, I sent your request to him in Solis. As princeps, I have authority over supplies and other matters here in Tilbor, but not over Lord Bhayar’s lands. Any decision on those he must make, and he will likely consult with his finance minister before doing so. As this is winter, to get a message to Solis takes some time, even with military couriers … and a return message also takes time…” As Quaeryt explained, he understood, once more, how easily procedures could be employed to offer a negative response without ever directly saying “no,” although he had recommended that the lands not be sold for the present, given their proximity to High Holder Eshalyn’s coal mine. “… and when I receive an answer, you will be assured that we will inform you as soon as we can.”

“I can ask no more.” Heskhaeld bowed, clearly mollified, but less than satisfied.

Quaeryt slipped toward Vaelora and handed her the goblet of wine.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“He wants to purchase lands from your brother…” Quaeryt explained quickly.

“At a ball?”

“I’m only a princeps,” Quaeryt said wryly. “He obviously felt the courtesies don’t apply to me.” Unlike Fhaedyrk.

“Lady Vaelora?”

They both turned to see another couple, neither of whom Quaeryt recognized, approaching.

The rest of the evening will be like this. Nonetheless, Quaeryt smiled.