MeiLin Miranda's Blog - Posts Tagged "fantasy"

The Wielding of Power:

The murmuring voices did not wish to be interrupted indeed, as they belonged to Miss Aneen and Mister Jenks. They sat companionably by her hearth, she in her wing chair, he on the floor leaning against her thigh. Her early fire had died to a few coals; the dawn had been chill, but the morning was turning into a warm spring day.

“A fine time to open your door to me, ma’am, in the middle of the day,” he said, relaxing against her.

“A fine time to knock, thou saucy thing,” she replied. “Where’s thy master?”

“Closeted with his tutor, as usual on Vennadays. I’m a bit at loose ends. His wardrobe is in impeccable condition even by my standards. I’m due at the training salon after I serve luncheon, but until then, I’ve nothing to do.”

“Nor do I, for a little while at least,” she said, passing her hand affectionately over his neat head. “And sitting here with thee is a fair sight better than fending off that Pennik Palks, the creature. I’ll have to have stronger words with him at this rate.”

“Shall I have a word with him?” said Jenks.

Britt laughed. “I sailed with His Majesty alone for nigh-on ten years, Standfast, and another five before! Think thee on that! I can take care of myself. All I need is my tongue, and if that ain’t enough, I have a fine wooden spoon and a finer right arm.”

The Consolation of Dreams:

But that was the bad part of Ellika's day--that, and Issak laughing at her. Then again, Issak had kissed her today. Senik had almost kissed her. Despite all her flirting and dancing, she’d never been that close to a man before in her life. Senik had put a flutter in her stomach that still hadn’t quite subsided, and Issak had made her toes curl. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, or rather, how he’d made her feel. Issak himself--well. Beautiful, to be sure, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. A wonderful dancer, and charming in conversation. But apart from desire, she felt nothing for him.

Then again, desire was quite a strong emotion, almost as far from nothing as possible, and that one kiss had awakened hers. Ellika closed her eyes and remembered the way his hands slid gently around her waist and firmly pulled her close, the way he’d kissed the tears from her eyes--but those didn’t count as real kisses, she thought. What had he said? “Ellika, you are so beautiful, I must take this one kiss from you but then I must send you home.” She’d nearly stopped breathing until his soft lips touched hers. She wasn’t exactly sure how he’d done it, but he taught her what a real kiss was, with every move of his lips and tongue. When had she opened her mouth to him? That was improper, surely, but what counted as proper with an Embodiment, let alone a Lover?

Demands:

“I’ve been curious about that portrait in your study, Papa.”


“What portrait?” frowned his father.

“Well--not portrait, exactly. The Porfino. Of Neya.”

“Oh?” said Harsin in surprise. “What about it?”

“I was wondering perhaps if I could...borrow it for a little while, hang it in my study? Not permanently,” he hastened. “I know you like it. Just for a bit.”

“I should think there were enough naked women pretending to be Neya in your life already,” his father said sourly.

About as many as in your life, thought Temmin. But aloud, he said, “As it happens, Teacher’s been telling me the story behind that painting. Rose Herrada and all that. I just thought it’d be interesting to have the painting of her in my study while we’re, ehm, studying it.”

“You’re learning about Rose Herrada? Whatever for?”

“Teacher seems to think that if I learn her story I mightn’t get into as much trouble as my predecessor--some of my predecessors.” As soon as the slip was out of his mouth, Temmin cringed inside. If he were a small boy, he’d have hid under the table. But he was a man, and he faced his father’s darkening face with as much manly fortitude as he could muster.

“Trouble,” said his father crisply. “And what would you know about your predecessors and their troubles?”

“I know they had them,” said Temmin. “And I’m hoping I can avoid them.”

“So you’re passing judgment on your grandsires, are you? And me, too, I’d wager. You know nothing of ruling,” snapped Harsin. “You can’t even grow a proper beard yet, and you spend most of your week indolently lying around getting petted at the Lovers’ Temple.”

Elevations:

“There, now, we’re all done!” said Ellika. She put Bern’s leg back down on the bed, pillows elevating it above his heart. “Not too much more of this! The Sisters say you’ll be able to try walking in less than a spoke.”

Bern’s forehead shone with perspiration; though his arms and legs were moved for him, he had to put at least a little effort into it himself--and Ellika could tell that it still hurt. “It’s going to be spokes before I can truly walk again, Elly. At least I can use my arms a little,” he said, leaning back on the pillows and closing his eyes. “Though I must say,” he added, opening one eye, “It’s much more pleasant now that the Sisters have trained you to help me with these exercises. You’re much prettier.” He smiled at her and closed his eyes again.

Ellika laughed. “I should spend some time with the other petitioners--I’ve been with you most of the day! I’ll leave you to rest now.”

She turned to go, but Bern put out a cautious hand. “You can’t stay just a little longer, Your Very High Highness?”

“I’ve told you not to call me that!” she said, sitting down in the chair next to his bed.

“Don’t give yourself airs. When you’re flat on your back, everyone’s very high.”

Ellika took his hand and patted it. “You won’t be flat on your back soon.”

Bern fell so quiet that Ellika thought he’d gone to sleep; she rose to go, but he murmured, “I’m awake. Just talk to me, Ell. Read me the paper. Tell me about what’s happened to you since Vennaday. Just talk to me.”

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Good Management:

Rose spent less than a spoke at Callant, though it had taken nearly three weeks to get there. “Eet ees a borrring backwater!” she’d complain to anyone who would listen, almost as soon as she’d arrived at Wilk Castle. But to Bear she confessed, “I fear that being away from Varrido so long may lessen his love for me. But he would insist!”

“I like being this far from court,” said Bear as he arranged flowers from the palace hothouse. “I don’t trust the people at court.”

“Nor do I, my dear, which is why I want to get back there as soon as possible.”

Her meeting with the King’s Governor was brief. “I hwant you to get as much out of the prroperty as you can.”

“I always try to manage the lands as best I can, ma’am,” said the Governor, a jowly knight with the prosaic name of Sir Anten Antenson.

“I’m sure you do, Sirr Anten,” said Rose. “But I need more than your best. I hwant every copper turned to silver, every silver turned to gold, and every gold sent to me. Do you understand?”

Sir Anten nodded slowly. “Well, the rye harvest is promising this year, and the tenants tell me--”

“Speaking of the tenants,” interrupted Rose, “hwat do they currently pay in rrent?”

“Why, thirty-five percent of their harvest,” said Sir Anten.

“They weel pay seexty-five and keep thirty-five for themselves,” said Rose firmly.

“Sixty-five!” said Sir Anten. “That will barely leave them with enough to eat!”

“Let them grrow more cabbages in their garden plots, then,” said Rose dismissively.

Two Teas:

It was through the good offices of Embis Winmer that Sedra discovered she would have to receive Lady Callant in her quarters. The secretary was apologetic, but “His Majesty requires that it be done, Your Highness, today and every day,” he said firmly.

“He could at least have had the decency to tell me himself!” fumed Sedra. Both Winmer and Brinnid refrained from pointing out that as Sedra was not speaking to her father, he would have found this difficult.

Sedra saw tea in her rooms as private. Sometimes she took tea with various members of her family, but she always preferred her own table and her own company; it was a time for her to think about her day’s ramblings and readings before dressing for dinner. And now, it was a time to be alone with Brinnid. To have her tea disturbed by the presence of her father’s mistress was near-intolerable, and her temper was stretched thin as a fly’s wing.

King Harsin approached the morning room in a slight state of dread. He was used to breakfasting alone, and preferred it. It gave him a chance to read the newspapers before his morning meetings with his ministers and his afternoon work reading and answering reports with Winmer. His time would not be his own again until after tea.

But today, his oldest child, a girl he hardly knew, would be joining him. Sedra had come to the capital the day before, just turned 16 and ready to face adulthood and her father. Her father, however, was entirely unsure he wanted to face her. “Do you have my papers?” he said to his secretary, a small dapper man named Winmer who habitually trailed two steps behind him.

Winmer handed over the stack of newsprint. “Are you sure, Your Majesty, that you wish to read the news this particular morning?” he murmured diplomatically.

“Better she should get used to me now,” said Harsin. “While I am willing to take my part in polishing her up for whatever alliance she’ll seal, I can’t imagine we’ll have much to do with one another otherwise. She was a bright, studious young girl--I always enjoyed her on my visits to Whithorse. But I imagine she’s changed. She’ll be going to parties and dances and some such--fussing with her clothes, probably. Besides, I’d wager she’s not even awake yet.”

But when he stepped through the morning room doors, there she was, dark eyes peering above a copy of The Morning Capital. Beside her was a thick stack of newspapers, equal to the one he carried under his arm. She gave her father a friendly “Good morning,” took a long, delicate pull on her coffee, and turned back to her reading. Slightly unnerved, Harsin sat down opposite her and picked up his own copy of the Capital; Sedra didn’t even look up.

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Softenings

That night, Sedra did not come down to dinner, nor did she have Brinnid in her rooms for dinner. In fact, she ate no dinner at all. Instead, she sat in the dusk and then the dark, still curled up on her sofa. She let one of the upstairs maids lay a fire in the hearth, but she refused to let the lamps be lit--not even a single candle.

“Oh, miss,” said her ladies maid, Camma. “You should eat something, and let me light one of the lamps. Would you like to read a little, perhaps? You’ve just cut the pages of that new novel.”

“I don’t want to read.”

“You can’t just sit here in the dark until bed!”

“There’s light enough from the fire, Camma. You’re excused for the evening.”

“But--”

“Sinsett, you’re excused,” Sedra snapped.

Camma shook her head and sighed. “Then I’ll see you in the morning, miss.”

Once she’d gone, Sedra sank even deeper into the sofa, the flames warming her pale skin. Her nose was no longer red, but her eyes were. She’d spent the dregs of her anger on poor Camma, and though she knew without asking she was already forgiven, abusing Camma made her even more miserable, and she hugged the cushion in her lap tighter.

“If your mood is as dark as this room, you’re in a bad way indeed, Your Highness,” came a cool voice behind her.

“You are the last person I want to see at this particular moment, Teacher.” said the Princess, still facing the fire.

Teacher came all the way into the room and shut the door. “And yet, here I am.”

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Patience:

Temmin lay gasping against Issak’s chest, his heartbeat slowly coming down. His eyelids flickered shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” murmured Issak, pinching Temmin’s nearest nipple.

“Ow.” Temmin opened his eyes. “I’m always sleepy afterwards.”

“You have to learn not to be. Up.” Issak pushed Temmin off his chest and sat up himself. “There is much you still have to learn.”

“It’s not even a spoke and a half, and I think I’ve learned a lot already! No one’s complaining, at any rate,” Temmin added smugly. “Everyone says I’m a quick study.”

Issak stood up. “You pick up some things very quickly,” he agreed, “like a child imitating his parents. You don’t really know what you’re doing, or why.” He poured himself a glass of water from an earthenware pitcher on the table and drank it down, then poured himself a second.

“Why?” said Temmin, an edge creeping into his voice; he plopped back against the huge pile of pillows on the couch.

“What d’you mean, why? To make people feel better! Why else? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Exits from the Stage:

In this life, thought Bear, I am doomed to spend more time waiting outside Missy’s apartments than in them. Once again he sat in his preferred corner in the kitchens at the Keep, listening to the gossip of the servants at tea. It was the best way he’d found to measure the mood of the castle, and through it, the world outside its walls. Going out had become too dangerous.

Few Inchari lived in the capital, and though he exchanged his turbans, bright satin breeches and brocaded doublets for sober clothes when going into the city, he still stood out on the street like a parrot among pigeons: tall, brown, dark-eyed and exotically handsome. Everyone knew who he was on sight, and some took great exception to him as the “Furrin Hoor’s boy.” The last time he’d ventured out, he barely escaped a small mob with no more than a cut to one hand. “T’ain’t you, sweetheart,” the motherly housekeeper had said that day as she bandaged up his hand. “We as know you, love you! It’s that Lady of yours! I know you love her, but you’re the only one--besides His Majesty!” she whispered.

Except that was hardly true, he thought. Plenty of men loved Missy. A whole herd of them were in her apartments right now doing the Gods only knew what, because Bear certainly didn’t want to know.