MeiLin Miranda's Blog, page 70
May 31, 2009
Chapter 32 book 3 is live
Trying Not to Think:
“It’s Palgday, isn’t it? See if they hold market day here, Bear, and go fetch us some treats! Fruit pastes for me and barley sugars for thee, eh? Here’s a silver, sweetheart, off with thee!” When he was gone, Rose lay down on the bed and let the honest tears flow. She’d held them back for so long--not the tears of a tantrum, but soul tears, from deep inside, tears she had refused to shed since she was a girl. The tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks onto her neck, leaving wide, wet trails. So much had happened to her since she’d left Deneen, and even more since she’d left the Harritson plantation. She’d tried to make the best of it--more than the best of it, she’d tried to make herself independent of any man, a noblewoman of her own making! And she’d done it! She had been Lady Callant! And now the former Lady Callant was lying on a straw ticking in the best room of the only inn of a village so tiny it wasn’t even on a map.
Lady Callant. Domma Rose Herrada. Mistress Lisset Townes. Mistress Lisset Bakerson. Miss Lisset Rosedale. Lisset, Lisset, Lisset.
When Bear returned from market day, he found his mistress on the bed, still dressed, her face turned away from the window and her eyes unseeing. Bear put aside the sweets he’d gotten, closed the window, drew the shades, called in a serving maid to help Missy undress, and settled down to wait.
“It’s Palgday, isn’t it? See if they hold market day here, Bear, and go fetch us some treats! Fruit pastes for me and barley sugars for thee, eh? Here’s a silver, sweetheart, off with thee!” When he was gone, Rose lay down on the bed and let the honest tears flow. She’d held them back for so long--not the tears of a tantrum, but soul tears, from deep inside, tears she had refused to shed since she was a girl. The tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks onto her neck, leaving wide, wet trails. So much had happened to her since she’d left Deneen, and even more since she’d left the Harritson plantation. She’d tried to make the best of it--more than the best of it, she’d tried to make herself independent of any man, a noblewoman of her own making! And she’d done it! She had been Lady Callant! And now the former Lady Callant was lying on a straw ticking in the best room of the only inn of a village so tiny it wasn’t even on a map.
Lady Callant. Domma Rose Herrada. Mistress Lisset Townes. Mistress Lisset Bakerson. Miss Lisset Rosedale. Lisset, Lisset, Lisset.
When Bear returned from market day, he found his mistress on the bed, still dressed, her face turned away from the window and her eyes unseeing. Bear put aside the sweets he’d gotten, closed the window, drew the shades, called in a serving maid to help Missy undress, and settled down to wait.
GreenGlass's points story is live
A Lesson:
“Hm?” said Ansella. The lesson. It had been something about Venna’s brothers, the treacherous rapist Eddin, the violent rapist Farr, and the lecherous rapist Nerr. At least she thought that’s what it was about. She never really listened to lessons or sermons anyway; she preferred service and offerings. But it was so warm and pleasant under the tree. Ansella didn’t pay much attention to the words, bobbing gently up and down on the rhythmic cadence of Ibbit’s strong, sure voice instead, a voice that eased her doubts about Ibbit’s interpretation of scripture. “No, Sister,” Ansella sighed in contentment. “I understand.”
“You understand enough, darling,” smiled Ibbit. She stood up from the bench surrounding the tree and reached down to Ansella on the ground. “Come. Walk with me.” She took Ansella’s arm and tucked it firmly in her own, leading her down the dappled paths away from the great house. “You’ve come so far in your understanding, Ansella. I’m very proud of you,” said Ibbit.
Ansella turned a face open with pleasure up to her taller companion. “Really? I sometimes wonder if I fully grasp what you’re telling me.”
Ibbit surreptitiously looked around them. They were standing in the orchard, the low branches of the pear trees shielding them from sight. “Annie, don’t worry about that,” she murmured. Ansella felt Ibbit’s strong arms encircle her, healer’s hands working at her nape until she loosened and opened completely.
“Hm?” said Ansella. The lesson. It had been something about Venna’s brothers, the treacherous rapist Eddin, the violent rapist Farr, and the lecherous rapist Nerr. At least she thought that’s what it was about. She never really listened to lessons or sermons anyway; she preferred service and offerings. But it was so warm and pleasant under the tree. Ansella didn’t pay much attention to the words, bobbing gently up and down on the rhythmic cadence of Ibbit’s strong, sure voice instead, a voice that eased her doubts about Ibbit’s interpretation of scripture. “No, Sister,” Ansella sighed in contentment. “I understand.”
“You understand enough, darling,” smiled Ibbit. She stood up from the bench surrounding the tree and reached down to Ansella on the ground. “Come. Walk with me.” She took Ansella’s arm and tucked it firmly in her own, leading her down the dappled paths away from the great house. “You’ve come so far in your understanding, Ansella. I’m very proud of you,” said Ibbit.
Ansella turned a face open with pleasure up to her taller companion. “Really? I sometimes wonder if I fully grasp what you’re telling me.”
Ibbit surreptitiously looked around them. They were standing in the orchard, the low branches of the pear trees shielding them from sight. “Annie, don’t worry about that,” she murmured. Ansella felt Ibbit’s strong arms encircle her, healer’s hands working at her nape until she loosened and opened completely.
Chapter 31 book 3 is live
Duty:
Today Brinnid would sail with the tide. He had finished his last business at the consulate, and, though absent Stewn’s careful watch, his trunks were aboard. He now waited impatiently in the downstairs receiving room for the gig to take him from the consulate to the docks.
Brinnid reached into his vest pocket for his watch, but he checked himself, moved to a pocket closer to his heart, and drew out a small case instead. He tripped its latch, and gazed at the portrait of Sedra inside. Once he put down the rebellion, he told the little painting, he would order a new royal yacht, and he’d name it the Queen Sedra. That was a grand gesture Sedra the woman would appreciate.
He closed the case. In its silver reflection, he saw a movement behind him and turned, expecting the consul.
The man by the doors was not the consul. In fact, judging by his dress, he was not anyone of any note at all. “Shall I call you Your Majesty, or ‘Lieutenant Murren’?” said the man in Traveler’s clothes.
Today Brinnid would sail with the tide. He had finished his last business at the consulate, and, though absent Stewn’s careful watch, his trunks were aboard. He now waited impatiently in the downstairs receiving room for the gig to take him from the consulate to the docks.
Brinnid reached into his vest pocket for his watch, but he checked himself, moved to a pocket closer to his heart, and drew out a small case instead. He tripped its latch, and gazed at the portrait of Sedra inside. Once he put down the rebellion, he told the little painting, he would order a new royal yacht, and he’d name it the Queen Sedra. That was a grand gesture Sedra the woman would appreciate.
He closed the case. In its silver reflection, he saw a movement behind him and turned, expecting the consul.
The man by the doors was not the consul. In fact, judging by his dress, he was not anyone of any note at all. “Shall I call you Your Majesty, or ‘Lieutenant Murren’?” said the man in Traveler’s clothes.
May 28, 2009
Chapter 30 book 3 is live
[I forgot to post this! It's been up ages!:]
Two Prophecies, Fulfilled:
“She’s gotten worse the last day or two,” said the lady-in-waiting. Over Ansella’s protests, Donnis told him of the headaches, the weakness, the vomiting, the lack of appetite. “But she won’t let me call the Sisters! I’ve given her until this evening, and then I’m calling them whether she likes it or not,” she finished.
“I’m not giving her five minutes,” said Temmin grimly. “We’re calling them now, and there’s an end to it. Papa will be furious when he finds out you’re ill and haven’t gotten help, Mama!”
“Your father doesn’t care a whit,” said Ansella, a little color coming into her wan cheeks. “If he did, he would have enquired.”
“He thinks you’re having a sulk. Everyone does!”
“And don’t I deserve one!” she said, her old temper breaking through her lethargy.
“About Lady Callant--” Temmin began.
“Don’t bring her up, Temmy,” warned Lady Donnis.
“Lady Callant can have him!” shouted Ansella, rising off the pillows and then sinking back, shaking, and paler than before.
“Mama!” said Temmin. “Right. Donnis, I’m sorry to order you about--”
But Lady Donnis was already on her way to the sitting room. “Hanston, off you go. Find the nearest footman and have him fetch the Sisters. Be quick about it!”
“Finally!” said Miss Hanston as she picked up her skirts and dashed out of the room.
Lady Donnis ran back into the bedchamber to the sound of breaking glass. Ansella was panting, doubled over in Temmin’s arms; pieces of a drinking glass lay in a puddle of water on the floor. “I tried to give her some water--I’m sorry, I dropped the glass--I had to catch her--” Ansella cried out and clutched at Temmin’s shoulders. “Cousin Donnie, what’s wrong!” Temmin said.
Donnis rushed to the right of the bed to hold Ansella on the other side. “She might be miscarrying,” she said. “There, Annie, let go of Temmy, I have you!” she soothed as she felt another spasm shake the Queen.
“Don’t tell him! Don’t tell him!” Ansella wept as Donnis rocked her.
“Tell who what, Mama?” said Temmin. He stood up and barely missed treading on the broken shards of glass. “Miscarriage? What?”
Two Prophecies, Fulfilled:
“She’s gotten worse the last day or two,” said the lady-in-waiting. Over Ansella’s protests, Donnis told him of the headaches, the weakness, the vomiting, the lack of appetite. “But she won’t let me call the Sisters! I’ve given her until this evening, and then I’m calling them whether she likes it or not,” she finished.
“I’m not giving her five minutes,” said Temmin grimly. “We’re calling them now, and there’s an end to it. Papa will be furious when he finds out you’re ill and haven’t gotten help, Mama!”
“Your father doesn’t care a whit,” said Ansella, a little color coming into her wan cheeks. “If he did, he would have enquired.”
“He thinks you’re having a sulk. Everyone does!”
“And don’t I deserve one!” she said, her old temper breaking through her lethargy.
“About Lady Callant--” Temmin began.
“Don’t bring her up, Temmy,” warned Lady Donnis.
“Lady Callant can have him!” shouted Ansella, rising off the pillows and then sinking back, shaking, and paler than before.
“Mama!” said Temmin. “Right. Donnis, I’m sorry to order you about--”
But Lady Donnis was already on her way to the sitting room. “Hanston, off you go. Find the nearest footman and have him fetch the Sisters. Be quick about it!”
“Finally!” said Miss Hanston as she picked up her skirts and dashed out of the room.
Lady Donnis ran back into the bedchamber to the sound of breaking glass. Ansella was panting, doubled over in Temmin’s arms; pieces of a drinking glass lay in a puddle of water on the floor. “I tried to give her some water--I’m sorry, I dropped the glass--I had to catch her--” Ansella cried out and clutched at Temmin’s shoulders. “Cousin Donnie, what’s wrong!” Temmin said.
Donnis rushed to the right of the bed to hold Ansella on the other side. “She might be miscarrying,” she said. “There, Annie, let go of Temmy, I have you!” she soothed as she felt another spasm shake the Queen.
“Don’t tell him! Don’t tell him!” Ansella wept as Donnis rocked her.
“Tell who what, Mama?” said Temmin. He stood up and barely missed treading on the broken shards of glass. “Miscarriage? What?”
May 19, 2009
Chapter 29 book 3 is live
The Guenor Rebellion:
The day of the battle, the King’s two generals surveyed the gathered enemy from a rise behind the camp; Ardenil saw nothing but a sea of spears, fronted by banks of archers protected by earthenworks bristling with horse-killing pikes. “I don’t see anything for it, Dantono,” said Ardenil. “We’re outnumbered, they have a battalion of Brothers, and they’re entrenched.”
“I don’t think they’ve even bothered to saddle their cavalry. I don’t see a single horse,” said Dantono, squinting. “All the platoons we’ve sent to scout their flanks have gone missing--I think they just fled into the woods! The rest of our men are on the brink of turning tail, Ardenil, we’re losing discipline with no way to enforce it. We’ve never faced anything like this. What do we do?”
Ardenil scanned the enemy again. Years of campaigning left him able to read the mood of an army even from this distance. He could sense their excitement, the confidence running through the rebel army, such a stark contrast to the dispirited men he was left with. I’m sending men to certain death, he thought.
Ardenil had been a soldier his entire life. The only reason he hadn’t stayed with the Brothers was that he could not forget his sweetheart, no matter how hard he tried; finally, he gave up his postulancy, went home and married her, and joined the King’s Army as an officer. I don’t mind dying, he thought; though leaving Elibetta a widow pained him, she would get his pension and his oldest son would care for her. No, it wasn’t the dying, it was the pointless slaughter of his men that made it hard to swallow.
Finally he turned to Dantono, his oldest friend. “We’d better see the King and try to talk some sense into him.”
The day of the battle, the King’s two generals surveyed the gathered enemy from a rise behind the camp; Ardenil saw nothing but a sea of spears, fronted by banks of archers protected by earthenworks bristling with horse-killing pikes. “I don’t see anything for it, Dantono,” said Ardenil. “We’re outnumbered, they have a battalion of Brothers, and they’re entrenched.”
“I don’t think they’ve even bothered to saddle their cavalry. I don’t see a single horse,” said Dantono, squinting. “All the platoons we’ve sent to scout their flanks have gone missing--I think they just fled into the woods! The rest of our men are on the brink of turning tail, Ardenil, we’re losing discipline with no way to enforce it. We’ve never faced anything like this. What do we do?”
Ardenil scanned the enemy again. Years of campaigning left him able to read the mood of an army even from this distance. He could sense their excitement, the confidence running through the rebel army, such a stark contrast to the dispirited men he was left with. I’m sending men to certain death, he thought.
Ardenil had been a soldier his entire life. The only reason he hadn’t stayed with the Brothers was that he could not forget his sweetheart, no matter how hard he tried; finally, he gave up his postulancy, went home and married her, and joined the King’s Army as an officer. I don’t mind dying, he thought; though leaving Elibetta a widow pained him, she would get his pension and his oldest son would care for her. No, it wasn’t the dying, it was the pointless slaughter of his men that made it hard to swallow.
Finally he turned to Dantono, his oldest friend. “We’d better see the King and try to talk some sense into him.”
May 14, 2009
Marri's points story is up
The Loophole:
Nino Postulant heard the footsteps coming up the length of the Public Office and stopping before his desk, but didn’t look up. “Excuse me? Father?” said a young voice.
“I’m not a Father yet,” grumbled Nino, keeping his eyes on Pagg’s Book. And I won’t be if people keep interrupting me while I’m studying for the Exam, he added to himself. Nino sighed and rubbed his hands through the short brown shag of his hair, still awaiting its tonsure. Why do they insist we pull Office duty during Exam Week? He carefully marked his place with one finger--losing your place when studying was a constant hazard with a book that size and type that small, and he constantly lost his--and looked up.
Nino saw standing before him a very young man, or perhaps a boy, clutching the hand of a girl about the same suspiciously young age. He stared at them until they both squirmed. “Can I help you?” he finally said.
The girl nearly wilted under his glare, and the boy squeaked, “Are we in the right place to be married?”
“There aren’t any marriages going on right now. You’re either early or late,” said Nino. He returned to his book, and found his finger had unthinkingly moved; he ran it impatiently back down the page to pick up where he’d left off.
“Beg pardon, Father,” said the boy again.
“I’m not a Father yet!” shouted Nino. Heads turned at the other desks in the Public Office, and Nino closed his eyes. Pagg give me patience with clodhoppers. “What?” he said, opening his eyes again.
Nino Postulant heard the footsteps coming up the length of the Public Office and stopping before his desk, but didn’t look up. “Excuse me? Father?” said a young voice.
“I’m not a Father yet,” grumbled Nino, keeping his eyes on Pagg’s Book. And I won’t be if people keep interrupting me while I’m studying for the Exam, he added to himself. Nino sighed and rubbed his hands through the short brown shag of his hair, still awaiting its tonsure. Why do they insist we pull Office duty during Exam Week? He carefully marked his place with one finger--losing your place when studying was a constant hazard with a book that size and type that small, and he constantly lost his--and looked up.
Nino saw standing before him a very young man, or perhaps a boy, clutching the hand of a girl about the same suspiciously young age. He stared at them until they both squirmed. “Can I help you?” he finally said.
The girl nearly wilted under his glare, and the boy squeaked, “Are we in the right place to be married?”
“There aren’t any marriages going on right now. You’re either early or late,” said Nino. He returned to his book, and found his finger had unthinkingly moved; he ran it impatiently back down the page to pick up where he’d left off.
“Beg pardon, Father,” said the boy again.
“I’m not a Father yet!” shouted Nino. Heads turned at the other desks in the Public Office, and Nino closed his eyes. Pagg give me patience with clodhoppers. “What?” he said, opening his eyes again.
Chapter 28 book 3 is live
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.
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.
May 9, 2009
Chapter 27 book 3 is live
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?”
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?”
April 26, 2009
Chapter 26 book 3 is live
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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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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April 24, 2009
A New Points Story: "News for Breakfast"
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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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.
Read more -->
