Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (69 page)

"No," Michael replied. "The music is too loud and the rest...the dryads are nice enough, decent folk, better than decent but... this is not my ideal home. It's too peaceful by a coastal mile. Much too peaceful if one murder, even of a queen, is counted so rare. I crave fight and action too much to tarry long in such a peaceful place."

Amy nodded. "The same goes for me too, I reckon. I mean, how do you prove yourself in a place like this? That Fiannuala, she calls herself a fighter yet never fought before yesterday. They have some warriors at least, but those warriors feared to face Meinir. It's made them soft, the way peace and protection do, like peasants so used to sheltering beneath a powerful lord they have no clue how to fend for themselves." She bit her lip. "Do you think that this is bad of us?"

Michael frowned. "I feel a little ashamed, true, but I don't see why you ought to our Amy. My character, the violent adjunct to the quest, the warrior of passions great and temper fierce, is expected to find peace in a peaceful place, even to the extent of making them his home as Rheoboam did. And yet I cannot find it in myself to crave this place and what it offers. Another way I fall short of expectations I suppose."

"I'm not talking about our character archetypes, you daft prat, this isn't some epic poem no matter what you think," Amy snapped. "I'm talking about us, only being able to fight."

"I am not only able to fight our Amy, thank you," Michael replied in injured tone. "I can cook and sew and fetch and carry and mend boots and-"

"Yes, because I can really see you sitting in a rocking chair mending shirts like your mother used to," Amy said. "Come on Michael, admit it: we're fighters, you and me."

"I'd rather not," Michael muttered. His mother had tried to raise him to be more than a brute with a sword after all.

"Neither would I," Amy said. "Ser Viola, the knight I squired for, can tilt the best lance in all the Whalewatch, she is one of the best swords sworn to my lord grandfather. But she can also play the lyre, sing half a hundred songs and much else besides. She was not constantly waiting for wars so that she would be able to do something useful."

Michael shifted to look at her. "What are you trying to say our Amy?"

"The only people who dislike peace are those who cannot do anything but make war. Doesn't it bother you that that makes us less than people like Jason or Cati, who could still make something of themselves, thrive even, in a world where there was no war, no violence?"

"And if we lived in a world where nobody needed to eat to live then painters would be valued more than bakers, but that doesn't make a blind bit of difference to the world we live in now. People do need to eat and wars need to be fought because violence is embedded in the soul of man. And so the world, the Empire, will always need people like us as well as people like his Highness."

"Maybe it does," Amy said. "But that doesn't make it right the way that everyone judges strength and skill at arms ahead of everything else. The way that nothing else matters besides how well you can fight."

"That I will admit," Michael said. "The blade should not be loved more than that which it defends, the warrior should not be prized higher than the farmer who feeds him because the farmer shelters behind the warrior. The firstborn son, who fights, is less of a man than the second born who creates something worth fighting for. I have always acknowledged those truths. But I will not bow my head in shame for fighting, for all that I love the thrill of it too much." He frowned. "What has prompted this, our Amy?"

"This place," Amy said with a sigh. "I've never been to a place that didn't need warriors before."

"They have warriors," Michael said. "The Imperial Army, beneath whose protection they shelter, along with the rest of the Empire. The warriors are simply far away, that is all. And besides, there is no reason you could not learn to play the harp, or to sing a hundred songs."

"You obviously haven't heard me trying to play the harp."

"I remember you were a magnificent Princess Miranda in the Covenant pageant," Michael said. "You have no bestial temper to combat, no taste for blood, no rage inside you that makes you unfit for society. Even if duty is a balm to my soul, it will still chain me to arms for all the days of my life. You are not so bound."

"No, I'm here because I love the song of swords, and see my fortune in them," Amy said. "I could learn to sing, perhaps, but I will never be as famous as a singer as I would be as a warrior; and my god Michael I want to be known. I want my name on every tongue, I want my tale told round every fireside, I want to be cheered in the street, I want a host of men to follow my banner and a field of peasants to bow at my feet. I want glory and all its trappings. Isn't it terrible?"

"No," Michael said quietly. "I think you deserve it all and more, our Amy."

Amy shook her head. "Of course you do." She might have said more, but at that moment Jason wandered into the circle, his hair askew and his coat rumpled, looking very pleased with himself in a vague, almost dazed kind of way.

"I have just had a rather delightful time," His Highness declared. "Very convivial in fact."

"Has Your Highness seen Tullia?" Michael asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," Jason said. "I was, frankly, not in a position to see much except the sky. After the first young man I intended to go and look for her, but then there were two sisters-"

"Are you sure you're not a hentai'i in disguise?" Amy said with an impish grin. "Any moment now you'll be growing tentacles and trying to feel up passing mermaids."

"I will have you know that they were all as desirous as I was," Jason said, slurring his words only slightly. "I am not a lecher."

"That, Your Highness, is a matter of definition," Michael said.

"You're a very self-righteous prig at times, you know?" Jason said as he sat down heavily beside them. "I suppose you too both clung to unhealthy principles of chastity and sneered at everyone enjoying themselves below."

"What stays do for feeble bodies, firm principles do for feeble minds, weak wills and infirm spirits," Michael said. "I do not force my views and opinions upon others so there is no harm done."

"My eye you don't, hah!" Jason laughed. "What about you, Amy?"

"Don't do anything when the music's playing that you'll regret once the music stops," Amy said. "Hey, Jason, would you like to live in a place like this?"

Jason pondered for a moment. "No."

"Really, we thought this would be your sort of place," Amy said. "Peaceful, free and all that."

"It's true I find those things desirable, and if I had the power to make the world as I saw fit I would make a world full of both," Jason said. "But I would not make a world like this. It is too in the past, and there are too many things about the modern world that I enjoy even if there are also things that I despise. No, I would not choose Eena. Though it is no bad place to spend a sojourn."

Amy said, "I'm kind of surprised that Gideon isn't up here with us. He's never struck me as the party sort."

"It wouldn't surprise me if he was immune to the charms of the dryads," Jason said. "Ice for blood that one." He glanced around, as if he half expected Gideon to appear behind him.

"You do him wrong, both of you," Michael said. "He has a heart as we all do. But he devotes it to the Empire so strongly there is no room for anything else."

"There's room for you," Amy said.

"Is there really?" Jason said. "I do wonder sometimes."

"So this is where you all are, eh?" Fiannuala stepped into the circle, half carrying Tullia, woozy to the point of near unconsciousness, into it alongside her. Tullia muttered something indistinct, ending with a low moan.

"Is she hurt?" Michael said as he and Jason stood up.

"No, but on top of the music someone gave her a skin of unwatered elderberry wine and I don't think she was used to the strength," Fiannuala said. Gently she laid Tullia out upon the grass. "I didn't think about how our revels would affect you, being outsiders and humans and all, I'm sorry."

"It doesn't affect you?"

"It does, but we can still think clearly, mostly; clear enough to control ourselves anyway. I think we have less inhibitions than you do anyway, and that helps," Fiannuala said. "But you... Cati told me about you Michael, and I had to stop Tullia before she did something she'd regret in the morning."

"Thank you for taking care of her," Jason said.

"Don't mention it," Fiannuala waved his gratitude away. "Hey, you're all going to be leaving soon aren't you?"

Michael nodded.

"Can I come with you? On your quest?"

"Really?" Amy said. "You want to leave the forest?"

"I don't want to spend my whole life in a place you can walk across in no more than two days, at best," Fiannuala said. "I want to see things, I want to see the world, I want to do things that get sung of. I'm tired of living in mother and Cati's shadow, and if I stay I'll just be one more shadow for Gwawr. I'm a young tree, I need room to grow."

Michael frowned. "What does your father say to this?"

"He doesn't know yet, but I'm sure he won't mind," Fiannuala said. "Don't worry, I'm not asking you to betray him or anything. I'll get the nod out of him, don't worry."

"Lord Gideon must consent also," Michael said. "He is the leader of our company though he does not always behave so. But, if he will have you and the king will permit your going then I for one would be honoured to fight alongside you again. Welcome to our company, Princess Fiannuala."  

XVI

The Dreams of a Princess

"So what made you decide to come back here again?" Octavia asked, as the litter swayed down the road towards the palace. Miranda had insisted that Octavia start sharing the litter with her, now that they were sharing other things besides. "After what Princess Romana said to you the last time?"

"Not the pleasure of her company, to be sure," Miranda said. "It's for Portia. I think she would be very hurt if I abandoned her. You should meet her. She is... she's a very lovely person, as strange as it is to think of such a thing existing in this city."

Octavia frowned. "You're not very happy here, are you?"

"What makes you say that?" Miranda asked.

"If you were happy you wouldn't find the idea of there being nice people in this city so strange," Octavia replied.

Miranda let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, I suppose you've got me there." She sighed. "I don't know, it's...partly I think I'm just worried about Michael and it's making me angry. But then, it isn't just that. It's the way everyone in this place seems to have an agenda. Everyone lies to me, everyone wants to manipulate me, when they don't want to kill me. Everyone except you and Portia. That's why she's so special, that's why I can't abandon her because I don't like her sister in law very much."

"I used to think that Lord Father didn't have an agenda," Octavia murmured.

Miranda shook her head. "Best not talk about that."
He has an agenda all right, I'm just not quite sure what it is, yet. Is Abigail right about his relationship with Prince Antiochus?
"Anyway, if Lord Quirian is going to manipulate me then at least he is paying for the privilege. And I have survived othe people with agendas, I will survive him too."

"Yes, you will," Octavia said emphatically. "I'll protect you, however and from whoever."

Miranda chuckled, reaching over to put a hand gently over Octavia's palm. "I know. I always feel safe with you. But I don't want to talk about Princess Romana or Lord Quirian now. Leave them until we see them. Let's talk about us." She began to walk her fingers up Octavia's bare arm. Octavia had started dressing in a way that made her wings more comfortable, which generally meant shoulderless, low-backed blouses that left her wings free to spread out and her arms bare. "I have been thinking that we might get a house together."

"R-really?" Octavia squeaked. "You mean, leave Lord Father's house?"

"Exactly," Miranda said. "I would still be protected by you, but we would have some privacy to..." She grinned. "Be ourselves, without worrying about interruptions." Danaus had come in only a couple of days earlier. It had been quite embarrassing.

Octavia blushed. "I, um."

"If you don't want to, just say," Miranda said quickly, worried that she might be pushing too hard, too fast. "It was just a suggestion."

"No, I just, I'd love to but... I don't know what Lord Father will say," Octavia conceded.

"We'll find out when he gets back, when we ask him together," Miranda said. "It should be quite fun, shouldn't it?"

"I don't know," Octavia said. "I've never lived on my own."

"Oh, I've tried that, living alone is terrible," Miranda said. "Living with someone you love, that should be much more bearable."

Octavia's face deep crimson. "You, you l-l...really?"

Miranda realised what she had said. "Yes, I suppose I do. Is it so surprising?"

Octavia stammered incoherently.

Miranda smiled fondly. "Come here." She pulled Octavia into an embrace, her burning face resting on Miranda's shoulder. "I am going to teach you to recognise what a wonderful person you are, no matter what anyone else says. And I do love you."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Octavia murmured.

"What girls?" Miranda asked. "You think I'm experienced? Clearly I'm more impressive than I thought."

Octavia's face burned even hotter against Miranda's shoulder. "I, uh, that isn't quite-"

"Personally I thought you were the experienced one," Miranda continued. "Your hands have obviously done that many times."

Octavia's squeaked with embarrassment.

Miranda cackled. "I'm sorry, I just can't help it. You're far too easily flustered. You'd never guess I was raised as a devout Turonim, would you? Honestly, there was only one girl before you."

Octavia leaned away from her. "Just one? But you're so wonderful."

"Yes, well, it's a lot easier being open about these things in the city than in a village full of Turonim," Miranda said idly. "And the girl in question turned out to find my money more appealing than my looks or charm. It put me off looking, until I met you. I know that you won't ever hurt me."

"Never," Octavia agreed.

Miranda looked down at her hands for a moment. "So what about you?"

"No," Octavia shook her head. "I've never met anyone who made me feel the way you do."

The litter stopped.

"We're here," Aelia said from outside.

"Thank you," Miranda said, as Octavia leaped from the palanquin first before helping Miranda climb out. The palace gardens were fragrant, the colours of the flowers much more vibrant and impressive in daylight. Miranda peered through the foliage, hoping for another sight of a unicorn, but she could not see one.

"Just so you know," Aelia said. "I heard everything the two of you were talking about in there."

It was Miranda's turn to flush as bright as Octavia. "Why were you even listening in the first place?"

"Because I had nothing better to do," Aelia said. "And because it was funny. I warn you though, I wouldn't count on Lord Father letting you go. Once you serve him you serve until he's done with you."

Miranda frowned. "Then why does anyone choose to serve him?"

"Because who else would let us get away with the things he lets us do?" Aelia replied. "Name a woman stone mason you've heard of. Anyway, I'll wait here with the litter until you're done."

Miranda had expected to see some guards' officer waiting to greet her, as there had been last time. But although there were guardsmen present, led by the unmistakably thuggish figure of Captain Thrakes, who looked as out of place now as he had done the last time, they had withdrawn a little way from Miranda and her litter, to give room to Princess Romana, who stood before Miranda with her back straight and her hands clasped behind her back. The princess was dressed not in black - come to think of it, Miranda realised she had not worn black the last time she was here either - but in a gown of flowing purple. Her ponytail was draped over her shoulder, snaking down her left sleeve. She looked as though she was standing on her toes again for extra height, for she was able to look Miranda square in the eye as Miranda shuffled towards her.

"Filia Miranda," Romana said brightly. "How delightful to see you again."

"Your Highness," Miranda murmured coldly.

"And this lovely creature must be Filia Octavia Volucris."

Octavia bowed her head. "Your Highnes."

Romana said something to her in a foreign language, speaking so swiftly and in such a high pitch that Miranda did not know where to begin in separating the individual words and phrases.

Octavia hesitated, and then said, "I'm sorry, your highness, I don't understand."

Romana blinked. "Ah. I do apologise, it was not my intention to embarass you. I merely assumed that you could speak aestival, and I so rarely get the opportunity to practice. I simply said, 'Love has made two pretty girls beautiful'."

Miranda's eyes widened. "How under the ocean did you know about that?"

Romana chuckled. "I haven't been spying on you, Filia, if that is what you are afraid. My agents have better things to do than monitor the state of your private life."

"Forgive me, your highness, but I must ask if you are here simply to be infuriating," Miranda growled.

"Actually, I'm here to apologise," Romana said. "It was not my intention to insult you with my words on your last visit here. I see now that I was needlessly cruel. I very much hope that you can forgive me, Filia Miranda."

Miranda's grip on her walking stick tightened. "I get the impression that that was very hard for you."

The corners of Romana's lips rose slightly. "An apology is, ultimately, a surrendering of pride. As I have, if I say so myself, rather more pride than most, so they are concomitantly harder upon me than on the common run of men."

"Hmm," Miranda murmured. "Very well, your highness, you are forgiven if that truly matters to you."

"Your goodwill matters to me, Filia, it matters enormously," Romana said. "Now, if I may have a few moments before Portia steals all of your attention, I wonder if I might introduce you to some friends of mine." She took Miranda by the arm and began to steer her down out of the garden paths, past rosebushes and cornflower beds, where nightingales sang. Octavia was left to follow along behind, as were the princess' guards. "That's a very pretty dress by the way, is it new?"

"I presume so, your highness, it came from Portia along with her invitation," Miranda said. It was a little more figure hugging than Miranda would normally have worn, clinging to every curve of her body above the hips, but it had a beautiful colour - white at the shoulders, gradually shading into deep pink in such a seamless way that Miranda could not fathom how it was done - and the fabric was so soft that, even had it not been a gift it would almost have been a travesty not to have worn it. Miranda was a little unused to baring so much to the world, her arms all the way up to the shoulders, and the diving neckline revealed a touch of her cleavage as nothing she had ever worn before, but she could not deny that it was very comfortable on a hot day like today.

Nor could she deny that it made her look rather gorgeous, and Miranda found that that mattered to her more now that she had someone to look gorgeous for.

Romana smiled. "I feel I must advise you to be careful, Filia. Portia is very generous with her friends, even when those friends are unworthy of her, but in a place such as this generosity can be very easily misunderstood, sometimes wilfully. There are those who will wonder what you are doing to earn the gifts the Princess Consort will lavish on you, and there are those who will invent the answers to those wonderings, and the inventions will not be to your benefit."

Miranda nodded, what Romana said made more sense than most of the things she stated with such certainty. "I will keep that in mind, your highness, thank you."

"The other thing you should keep in mind is that, because she so thoughtlessly showers her friends with gifts, Portia is more hurt than most when her friends betray her. Hence the unwise dismissal of her household, for instance. So please don't hurt her, she doesn't deserve it."

Miranda's eyebrows rose. "You care about her, don't you, highness?"

"Is that so odd?"

"You want the throne, that's plain to see," Miranda said, shrugging her shoulders. "If Portia gives the Emperor a child, neither you nor Antiochus will ever sit on that seat. In that way, isn't she your enemy?"

"In the first place, Filia, I do not want the throne, it is my destiny to have it," Princess Romana said. "In the second place, I would never hurt my brother to seize power, certainly I would not hurt Portia. She is a sweet girl, and harmless, the sort of person Aegea bid her faithful children to protect. She is the humble who are to be lifted up, and if she has been lifted up a little too high that is no fault of hers. You do not understand me very well, do you Filia?"

"Not as well as I should like," Miranda said.

"Indeed," Romana replied. "Indeed.

"Your Highness, may I ask you a question about how you are dressed?" Miranda said. "Why is it that you are not wearing black, nor were you when last I was here? Has the mourning period for traditional values expired?"

"Ah, yes, the black," Romana said. "The black is...you might call it a costume. It sets out plainly what I stand for, and in such a way that none can be unaware of it who so much as see me. I could go out in public ten times more often than I do, I could give a hundred speeches up and down the city, and it would make less impact than the fact that whenever I am seen - which is not often, for I do not believe in letting myself become a stale sight in the eyes of the general - I am seen in mourning garb for all that we have lost as a great nation. It is a piece of theatre, and like all theatre it is mostly played to the commons. I see no reason to restrict myself within the security of these walls."

"Is that it?" Miranda asked, feeling rather disappointed. "All your talk about the Empire and its greatness, about glory, about destiny, it was all just an act? You were just playing to the crowds to gather support?"

"Aegea forfend me no, Filia," Princess Romana declared. "Certainly not! I am a true and loyal servant to the Empress, who died for us, and were you to pluck out my heart right now you would find the glory of the Empire engraved upon it in letters of fire. I am the Empire's true and loyal servant, but I cannot serve her alone, and to gather support, as you say, I will use any means at my disposal, including playing to my image now and then."

Princess Romana led her to one of the garden courtyards, a grassy square with the corners marked out by four statues of generals garbed for war, and spaced between the statues various stone benches on which five elegant ladies sat and one scruffy looking girl perched awkwardly. The Princess' household guard, in their white cloaks and purple shields emblazoned with the symbol of the wolf's head, stood guard in an impromptu circle around the open square. Also present were the numerous attendants, women in common stola in earthy tones, whom Miranda had expected to see, and a large number of old men in exotic attire, with long beards and mystics' staves, whom she had not. Some of them watched the princess keenly, others of them peered into bowls of wine or muttered in strange languages over old bones. Almost as strange were the half-dozen heavies who hovered on the outside of the circle of guardsmen. They were a muscular lot, four men and two women, wearing no weapons but looking strong enough to do quite well without them, almost bulging out of their rough homespun. They looked more like bandits, or mercenaries down on their luck, than they did bodyguards to an Imperial princess, and Miranda thought that she could see some of Romana's actual guards regarding the toughs with suspicion, if not hostility.