A Posse of Princesses (33 page)

Yuzhyu’s part in our adventures got hardly a
mention, but Sidal says that’s because of the magical side of
things—they don’t want talk about Singing Stones going out—but she
got some king of magical reward that made her happy indeed. Yuzhyu
is a lot smarter than people thought—you should have heard her
jabbering away in some magical language, and all those mages with
the sour faces were listening like she was their chief.

As for me, no one quite came out and said what I’d
done, only that I’d done it well, that I had, ‘with my quick
actions, cemented future alliances’ and so forth. The food was very
good, and the musicians even better than the ones we had at
Eskanda, and I danced every single dance. Not that I cared all that
much, since Lios wasn’t there to dance with. But it was fun anyway.
. .

From Shera to Rhis:

. . . oh, Rhis, you can have no idea how
tedious
this court is. But Mother is
still
angry with me, can you
imagine
? Every time anyone even mentions my visit to
Vesarja, my brother just laughs, and says things like, 'At least I
haven't managed to get myself engaged to three girls at once!' And
I DIDN'T get engaged three times! But People Think They Are So
Clever...

Lios to Rhis:

Dear Rhis.

This is my first letter, but the tenth try at a
first page. I was going to keep a journal for you, except halfway
through describing my yesterday’s breakfast I thought, Lios, you
lettuce-head, this is the best way to ensure she never wants to see
you again. I guess I will end up each day telling you what I did,
and pretend I’m hearing your answer. In fact, I think I’ll put your
answers in this blue ink here. I remember you saying you like blue.
You can tell me if I guess right. Lios, don’t be a clotpole. I
wouldn’t say that! How’s that for a ridiculous idea? But you’ve no
idea how much it cheers me right up: if you can’t be here, then
I’ll imagine you. I won’t look at another girl. Well, maybe look. I
like looking at girls. But if they try to talk to me, I’ll have
them banished, and anyone who mentions marriage will be locked in a
tower until she turns ninety. How’s that? Five years! Who needs
magic, when the possibility of five years feels like fifty?

From Rhis to Lios:

. . . Five years! How awful! Your mother must really
hate the idea of marriage. Or maybe she just hates people our age.
I
know
I’ll never feel any different than I
do now. But I’m determined that I’m going to learn everything Elda
knows in a single year, and just show them all . . .

oOo

A Year Later:

. . . and, oh, Lios, this will make you laugh—at the
end of winter, Elda thought I was sick! She actually complained to
Mother that she was afraid I was studying too hard. Mother was
worried, and was asking all these questions about my health, until
Sidal came in. Listened for a few moments, and then checked that
the door was closed. She said that Elda’s nose was out of joint
because I was passing her daughter up in remembering historical
dates, and working up numbers. Sidal added that it ought to be
quite good for young Shera to have a challenge as she’d been
getting just a little too smug about how much smarter she was than
anyone, and how she’s always right. Sidal told me after, she’s been
bossing the castle children.

One thing for certain. Elda won’t let
me
get smug. But she still is better than any tutor
because she doesn’t just teach one subject, and only that, but she
puts them all together. How did I not notice that before? Well, she
doesn’t do it very interestingly—she has no interest in
why
the people do things, just
what
they did, but then I can always go ask Mama,
especially if there’s any magic involved. She’s given me histories
of the great mages, and suddenly a lot of events in history are a
lot clearer . . .

From Shera to Rhis:

. . . and he was so handsome! I simply could not
help
falling in love with him, though he's
only the younger brother to a duke—but I have never seen a more
handsome fellow, even Andos was a toad next to him. At least
this time
I had the wits not to go blabbing
it All Over Court, but wouldn't you just know it, who would come
out into the Rose Room and see us flirting but Rastian's mother—she
told him—he pitched the most tiresome fit at me, and then
he
blabbed it all over. Don't let anyone
ever tell you boys don't gossip. They are
ten
times worse
than girls. . .

From Lios to Rhis:

. . . your seventeenth birthday, and I tried to
imagine you. Are you taller? If you grow as tall as me you’ll just
fit into my arms the better in four years. But I won’t say any more
as you’ll be as glum about those long four years as I am in writing
about them now. So, to more cheerful subjects. I heard from
Glaen—oh. You did not know this, because it happened not long after
I wrote you last year. My mother sent him off to Ndai to learn how
they build the hulls on their ships. So much faster than ours. Sail
plans better, too. Glaen was miserable the first month, angry the
second, frustrated the third as he wrestled with the language. I
wrote to him in it, knowing how hopping mad that would make him,
but it worked! He’s been writing back in Ndaian, and Yuzhyu told me
in a letter he stopped saying things like “May I hop your design of
a banana?” and “I would like to meet your corn-cake.” This is what
I call success. . .

oOo

End of the Second Year

From Rhis to Lios:

. . . and you would never guess who I got a letter
from—Iardith! She wrote to tell me—she also wrote to Shera—that
she’s being sent to Thesreve as her father’s ambassador for the
renewal of their silk trade treaty, and then on to the Court of the
Empress in Charas-al-Kherval, at the same time I will be in the
imperial capital, studying magical theory with the mages at Twelve
Towers. But in and around all the bragging about the importance of
her treaty mission—and how she will introduce me to some suitable
fellows of respectable birth, if the mages permit me social
activities—she managed to slip in a report of her visit to you in
Hai Taresal and how many pretty duchesses and the like you danced
with. Especially Hanssa. But I’m remembering what you promised . .
.

From Lios to Rhis:

. . . I know this letter is not even half the size
of the first year, but I was afraid our couriers would have an
uprising if I sent another book-length letter. No, I’m joking. The
truth is, there was not the time this year. Yes, you are thinking
that I found the time last year. That is true. It’s also true I
didn’t this year. I can’t say why. You are always in my thoughts.
Anyway, I spent just about all summer all along the borders, with
Taniva and a few of the others, doing a shared-alliance practice
defense sort of thing, in case the King of Damatras declared war.
But Jarvas sneaked into our camp one night, and got into my tent.
You can imagine how that riled everyone up! He said his father is
getting false information supposedly from the King of High Plains.
But when Taniva and he compared notes, it sounds like most of the
insults about the two kings came not from each other, but from the
direction of Arpalon, who stands to gain if everyone has to buy
steel from their forges for all the extra weapons a war would need.
Jarvas and his boys stayed with us as a diplomatic gesture. It was
actually fun. We were in mud up to our eyebrows, playing battle
games every day. Battle is lots of fun when you know no one is
going to get killed. Though it was more fun when Jarvas finally
convinced Taniva and her girls from the High Plains to stop making
us lowland boys look so bad in the riding-and-shooting . . .

Shera to Rhis:

. . . so my mother sent me right back to the Eagle
Mountain house, and this time for the
entire
winter
. How can I help it if I fall in love so easily? I
assure you, I did NOT set out to lure that fellow on. A minstrel!
What happened was this. I told you my uncle sent me a tutor in
tiranthe and harp, since there's nothing else to do in the
mountains—as you well know—and I practiced and practiced. She
played so beautifully, all I wanted to do was sound even a tiny bit
as good as she did. But I kept hearing things I didn't like, and
changing the music, and so the tutor taught me measures, and
phrasings, and before I knew it, I was writing down all those
little melodies I was always hearing in my head.

And then the tutor said that I needed someone more
advanced with music writing, because she was a performer, not a
writer. So this minstrel came—oh, Rhis. He was tall and slender,
with the most beautiful black eyes. Well, next thing I know, he's
making up songs about the tragic and romantic minstrels of history,
especially Floridal and Jessin. I think Floridal was about as
exciting as soggy bread, the way he
mourns
so in that stupid song! Of course Jessin would up and marry the
prince! But Mother threw a tantrum, sent him out (after breaking
his lute, which I must say, was quite horrid, and they talk about
my
lack of self control) and then she made
it a Royal Order, that if any handsome minstrels even
try
to cross the border, she'll order the Guard to
shoot them on sight
. How mean is
that?

oOo

End of the Third Year

Lios to Rhis:

I still talk to you in my head. My, you do say the
most flattering things! There I go, joking again. You call me a
clod and a fool when I am one, of course, because there were never
eyes more true or honest than yours. I don’t know if the imperial
court has made you more sophisticated than me. While her father
does his best to make trouble with everyone, especially between
Damatras and the High Plains, Iardith has been sending Hanssa a
stream of letters that include tidbits about how you’ve been
dancing with every prince who comes by to do his world tour. Dance
away, I say. I would rather you choose me from a wide selection in
two years than from not knowing anyone at all. Yes, Hanssa is often
at court, but you probably know by now that her parents raised her
in hopes that she’d be a queen. And—away from Iardith’s
influence—she’s turned into good company.

But you know what we talk about most often? You . .
.

Rhis to Lios:

It startled me to arrive home after a year that had
never sped by so fast. Everything here seems so small and cramped
after the vast spaces, the ancient artifacts and breathtaking arts
from all around the world that make up the imperial city. What made
me feel the strangest—and maybe a little bit sad—is that Elda’s
wisdom also seems a little cramped. She doesn’t know even a quarter
of the history I’ve picked up just through studying other matters.
But it would not do to say so. I am very sure that, had she the
chance to go to the imperial city, too, she would have gained all
that I gained, so I am not to claim any superiority. What I can
claim is that I am lucky indeed to have these opportunities. Why, I
can even cast a few spells! Oh, just party tricks, illusions,
nothing real. They are very firm about that. But it does come
easily to me.

Speaking of easy, the influence does not go all one
way. Shera sent me the music to one of her songs—and do you know,
it’s all over Erev-Li-Erval? Yes, everyone is singing it! She has a
wicked way with a double melody sung in counterpoint, a song-style
coming back into popularity now that the Imperial Heir seems to be
about to marry one of the Snow Folk. I learned some of their
language, just for a challenge . . .

oOo

End of the Fourth Year, and Last
Letters:

Rhis to Lios:

For a long time after I got your last, I tried to
think what to say. Iardith has been sending me reports of how much
“everyone” expects to see Hanssa become the next queen of Vesarja,
and I finally realized that this would not be so bad a thing, if
one sets aside my sixteen-year-old feelings. How real are those
feelings any more? Do we know one another, or are we writing to a
cherished memory that won’t change—but no longer exists? I don’t
know. What I do know is, the more I learn, the less I am sure
about. But the better I listen. I don’t even hate Iardith—not after
I found out that she was writing to me because I am the only one
who writes back to her. Yes, I know Hanssa doesn’t write back to
her, Iardith complains about that on one page while she tries to
make me jealous by describing her as a future queen on another. Do
you think she tries to make everyone feel like she does? At any
rate, this letter is the shortest of all. I’m not going to bore you
with bragging about what I’ve done, where I went, what I learned.
Those things can wait until we meet—or until we write again, if you
choose. Because you may have decided to court another, and if so, I
know it will be because she is the best and most worthy person for
you in all ways. You were my first friend, during those days at
Eskanda, and my feelings about that have never changed.

Lios to Rhis:

I wonder what is in your letter—whether it will pass
mine on the road between Nym and Hai Taresal. Don’t think I’m
drunk, how terrible my writing is. I just returned from the coast,
where we had to join with Wilfen and Ndai in fighting an incursion
of pirates, and my hand is still recovering. From a mighty duel
with a terrifying pirate captain, you ask? No, from a lee lurch,
when the ship gives a kind of hiccough and throws everyone, and
more importantly every
thing,
askew, and my
fingers were smashed by a barrel of flour.