Court Duel Quotes

“It would have been funny if I had been an observer and not a participant, an idea that gave me a disconcerting insight into gossip. As I walked beside the silent Tamara, I realized that despite how entertaining certain stories were, at the bottom of every item of gossip there was someone getting hurt.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“No, I don't think I could fall in love with him, handsome though he is, because I don't accept any of that huff he gives me about my great beauty and all that. I'd have to trust a man's words before I could love him. I think.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“So let me end with the wish that you find the same kind of happyiness, and laughter, and love, that I have found, and that you have the wisdon to make them last.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“They're safe,'' he said. "And you're not made of glass". He swept me up in his arms.
I laughed. "And I'm not made of glass."
He carried me into our room and kicked the door shut behind us.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“I've been working hard at assuming Court polish, but the more I learn about what really goes on behind the pretty voices and waving fans and graceful bows, the more I comprehend that what is really said matters little, so long as the manner in which it is said pleases. I understand it, but I don't like it. Were I truly influential, then I would halt this foolishness that decrees that in Court one cannot be sick; that to admit you are sick is really to admit to political or social or romantic defeat; that to admit to any emotions usually means one really feels the opposite. It is a terrible kind of falsehood that people can only claim feelings as a kind of social weapon.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“It is time,' he said, 'to collect on my wager.'

He moved slowly. First, his hands sliding round me and cool light-colored hair drifting against my cheek, and then softly, so softly, the brush of lips against my brow, my eyes, and then my lips. Once, twice, thrice, but not closer. The sensations - like starfire - that glowed through me chased away from my head all thoughts save one, to close that last distance between us.

I locked my fingers round his neck and pulled his face again down to mine.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“One thing I still remembered from my war days was how to move in shrubbery.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“At the best of times I don’t have the kind of voice anyone would want to hear mangling their favorite songs.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Somehow it doesn’t seem appropriate to detail for you how to properly go about organizing a revolt--and likewise it seems kind of silly to exhort you to look, if you should suddenly start receiving mysterious letters of courtship, for possible inkstains on the fingers of the fellow you quarrel with the most.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“By the hundreds, from all directions, the Hill Folk had come to Athanarel.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Beyond the doors, the street and the gates were empty. The Hill Folk had vanished as mysteriously as they had come.
A shuddering sigh of relief, not my own, brought my attention home and heartward. I shut my eyes, smiling, and clung with all my strength to Vidanric as kisses rained on my hair, my eyes, and finally--lingeringly--on my lips.
The duel was over, and we had won.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“He turned to me and, with a mockingly courteous gesture, said, “I fault no one for ambition. If you wish, you may gracefully exit now and save yourself some regrettably painful experience. I like you. Your ignorance is refreshing, and your passions amusing. For a time we could keep each other company.”
I opened my mouth, trying to find an insult cosmic enough to express my rejection, but I realized just in time that resistance would only encourage him. He would enjoy my being angry and helpless, and I knew then what he would not enjoy. “Unfortunately,” I said, striving to mimic Vidanric’s most annoying Court drawl, “I find you boring.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Who can ever know what turns the spark into flame?”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“I wished that I had Nee to talk to, or better, Oria. Except what would be the use? Neither of them had ever caused someone to initiate a courtship by letter.
I sighed, glad for the gentle rain, and for the darkness, as I made myself reconsider all of my encounters with Shevraeth--this time from, as much as I was able, his perspective.
This was not a pleasant exercise. By the time we stopped, sometime after white-change, to get fresh horses and food and drink, I was feeling contrite and thoroughly miserable.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“I didn’t want that kiss to ever stop. He didn’t seem to, either.
But after a time, I realized the drumming sound I heard was not my heart, it was hoofbeats, and they were getting louder.
We broke apart, and his breathing was as ragged as mine.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“So the Marquise is a prisoner somewhere?” I asked, enjoying the idea.
He grimaced. “No. She took poison. A constitutional inability to suffer reverses, apparently. We didn’t find out until too late. Fialma,” he added drily, “tried to give her share to me.”
“That must have been a charming scene.”
“It took place at approximately the same time you were conversing with your forty wagoneers.” He smiled a little.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“He knocked me off my horse. But I’d taken an oath, so I had to do my best.” I drew in a shaky breath. “I know I can’t fight forty of you, but I’m going to stand here and block you until you either go away or my arms fall off, because this, too, is an oath I took.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“And for a brief moment I envisioned myself snarling Yes, ha ha! And I minced fifty more like him, so you’d better run!”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Brace up. We’re not about to embark on a duel to the death over the dishes.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“There was no point in saying it again. Either he believed me, and--I swallowed painfully--I’d given him no particular reason to, or he didn’t. Begging, pleading, arguing, ranting--none of them would make any difference, except to make a horrible situation worse.
I should have made amends from the beginning, and now it was too late.
He took a deep breath. I couldn’t breathe, I just stared at him, waiting, feeling sweat trickle beneath my already soggy clothing.
Then he smiled a little. “Brace up. We’re not about to embark on a duel to the death over the dishes.” He paused, then said lightly, “Though most of our encounters until very recently have been unenviable exchanges, you have never lied to me. Eat. We’ll leave before the next time-change, and part ways at the crossroads.”
No “You’ve never lied before.” No “If I can trust you.’” No warnings or hedgings. He took all the responsibility--and the risk--himself. I didn’t know why, and to thank him for believing me would just embarrass us both. So I said nothing, but my eyes prickled. I looked down at my lap and busied myself with smoothing out my mud-gritty, wet gloves.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“I am trying,” he said with great care, “to ascertain what your place is in the events about to transpire, and to act accordingly. From whom did you get your information?”
The world seemed to lurch again, but this time it was not my vision. A terrible sense of certainty pulled at my heart and mind as I realized what he was striving so heroically not to say--nevertheless, what he meant.
He thought I was on the other side.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Occasionally the rain lifted briefly, enough to enable me to see ahead when I topped the gentle rises that undulated along the road. And after a time I realized that though no suspicious riders were approaching, for I had passed nothing but farmers and artisans going into the city, I was matching the pace of a single rider some distance before me. Twice, three times, I spotted the lone figure, cresting a hill just as I did. No bright colors of livery, only an anonymous dark cloak.
A messenger from Flauvic? Who else could it be? For Azmus would have reached the Royal Wing to speak his story just as I set out. No one sent by the Renselaeuses could possibly be ahead of me.
Of course the rider could be on some perfectly honest business affair that had nothing to do with the terrible threat of warfare looming like thunderclouds over the land. This thought comforted me for a hill or two, until a brief ray of light slanting down from between some clouds bathed the rider in light, striking a cold gleam off a steel helm.
Merchants’ runners did not wear helms. A messenger, then.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Realizing I ought to be circulating as well, I turned--and found myself confronted by the Marquis of Shevraeth.
“My dear Countess,” he said with a grand bow. “Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance.”
Declining prestige? I thought, then out loud I said, “It’s a tartelande. From back then.”
“Which I studied up on all last week,” he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona’s ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
In between measures I stole looks at my partner, bracing for some annihilating comment about my red face, but he seemed preoccupied as we paced our way through the dance. The Renselaeuses, completely separate from Remalna five hundred years before, had dressed differently, just as they had spoken a different language. In keeping, Shevraeth wore a long tunic that was more like a robe, colored a sky blue, with black and white embroidery down the front and along the wide sleeves. It was flattering to his tall, slender form. His hair was tied back with a diamond-and-nightstar clasp, and a bluefire gem glittered in his ear.
We turned and touched hands, and I realized he had broken his reverie and was looking at me somewhat quizzically. I had been caught staring.
I said with as careless a smile as I could muster, “I’ll wager you’re the most comfortable of the men here tonight.”
“Those tight waistcoats do look uncomfortable, but I rather like the baldrics,” he said, surveying my brother, whom the movement of the dance had placed just across from us.
At that moment Bran made a wrong turn in the dance, paused to laugh at himself, then hopped back into position and went on. Perhaps emboldened by his heedless example, or inspired by the unusual yet pleasing music, more of the people on the periphery who had obviously not had the time, or the money, or the notion of learning the dances that went along with the personas and the clothes, were moving out to join. At first tentative, with nervously gripped fans and tense shoulders here and there betraying how little accustomed to making public mistakes they were, the courtiers slowly relaxed.
After six or seven dances, when faces were flushed and fans plied in earnest, the first of my mime groups came out to enact an old folktale. The guests willingly became an audience, dropping onto waiting cushions.
And so the evening went. There was an atmosphere of expectation, of pleasure, of relaxed rules as the past joined the present, rendering both slightly unreal.
I did not dance again but once, and that with Savona, who insisted that I join Shevraeth and Elenet in a set. Despite his joking remarks from time to time, the Marquis seemed more absent than merry, and Elenet moved, as always, with impervious serenity and reserve. Afterward the four of us went our ways, for Shevraeth did not dance again with Elenet.
I know, because I watched.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“My bout with the Marquis was much like the others. Even more than usual I was hopelessly outclassed, but I stuck grimly to my place, refusing to back up, and took hit after hit, though my parrying was steadily improving. Of course I lost, but at least it wasn’t so easy a loss as I’d had when I first began to attend practice--and he didn’t insult me with obvious handicaps, such as never allowing his point to hit me.
Bran and Savona finished a moment later, and Bran was just suggesting we exchange partners when the bells for third-gold rang, causing a general outcry. Some would stay, but most, I realized, were retreating to their various domiciles to bathe and dress for open Court.
I turned away--and found Shevraeth beside me. “You’ve never sampled the delights of Petitioners’ Court,” he said.
I thought of the Throne Room again, this time with Galdran there on the goldenwood throne, and the long lines of witnesses. I repressed a shiver.
Some of my sudden tension must have exhibited itself in my countenance because he said, “It is no longer an opportunity for a single individual to practice summary justice such as you experienced on your single visit.”
“I’m certain you don’t just sit around happily and play cards,” I muttered, looking down at the toes of my boots as we walked.
“Sometimes we do, when there are no petitioners. Or we listen to music. But when there is business, we listen to the petitioners, accept whatever they offer in the way of proof, and promise a decision at a later date. That’s for the first two greens. The last is spent in discussing impressions of the evidence at hand; sometimes agreement is reached, and sometimes we decide that further investigation is required before a decision can be made.”
This surprised me so much I looked up at him. There was no amusement, no mockery, no threat in the gray eyes. Just a slight question.
I said, “You listen to the opinions of whoever comes to Court?”
“Of course,” he said. “It means they want to be a part of government, even if their part is to be merely ornamental.”
I remembered that dinner when Nee first brought up Elenet’s name, and how Shevraeth had lamented how most of those who wished to give him advice had the least amount worth hearing.
“Why should I be there?” I asked. “I remember what you said about worthless advisers.”
“Do you think any opinion you would have to offer would be worthless?” he countered.
“It doesn’t matter what I think of my opinion,” I retorted, and then caught myself. “I mean to say, it is not me making the decisions.”
“So what you seem to be implying is that I think your opinion worthless.”
“Well, don’t you?”
He sighed. “When have I said so?”
“At the inn in Lumm, last year. And before that. About our letter to Galdran, and my opinion of courtiers.”
“It wasn’t your opinion I pointed up, it was your ignorance,” he said. “You seem to have made truly admirable efforts to overcome that handicap. Why not share what you’ve learned?”
I shrugged, then said, “Why don’t you have Elenet there?”--and hated myself for about as stupid a bit of pettiness as I’d ever uttered.
But he took the words at face value. “An excellent suggestion, and one I acted on immediately after she arrived at Athanarel. She’s contributed some very fine insights. She’s another, by the way, who took her own education in hand. Three years ago about all she knew was how to paint fans.”
I had talked myself into a corner, I realized--all through my own efforts. So I said, “All right, then. I’ll go get Mora to dig out that Court dress I ordered and be there to blister you all with my brilliance.”
He bowed, lifted his gray-gloved hand in a casual salute, and walked off toward the Royal Wing.
I retreated in quick order to get ready for the ordeal ahead.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“I also received a note from the Unknown, the first in two days. I pounced on it eagerly, for receiving his letters had come to be the most important part of my day.
Instead of the long letter I had come to anticipate, it was short.

I thank you for the fine ring. It was thoughtfully chosen and I appreciate the generous gesture, for I have to admit I would rather impute generosity than mere caprice behind the giving of a gift that cannot be worn.
Or is this a sign that you wish, after all, to alter the circumscriptions governing our correspondence?
I thought--to make myself clear--that you preferred your admirer to remain secret. I am not convinced you really wish to relinquish this game and risk the involvement inherent in a contact face-to-face.

I dropped the note on my desk, feeling as if I’d reached for a blossom and had been stung by an unseen nettle.
My first reaction was to sling back an angry retort that if gifts were to inspire such an ungallant response, then he could just return it. Except it was I who had inveighed, and at great length, against mere gallantry. In a sense he’d done me the honor of telling the truth--
And it was then that I had the shiversome insight that is probably obvious by now to any of my progeny reading this record: that our correspondence had metamorphosed into a kind of courtship.
A courtship.
As I thought back, I realized that it was our discussion of this very subject that had changed the tenor of the letters from my asking advice of an invisible mentor to a kind of long-distance friendship. The other signs were all there--the gifts, the flowers. Everything but physical proximity. And it wasn’t the unknown gentleman who could not court me in person--it was I who couldn’t be courted in person, and he knew it.
So in the end I sent back only two lines:

You have given me much to think about.
Will you wear the ring, then, if I ask you to?

I received no answer that day, or even that night. And so I sat through the beautiful concert of blended children’s voices and tried not to stare at Elenet’s profile next to the Marquis of Shevraeth, while feeling a profound sense of unhappiness, which I attributed to the silence from my Unknown.
The next morning brought no note, but a single white rose.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Here I stand, regretting our missed opportunity to walk. A year ago I would have happily run up in the hills, whether it rained or not. And I was thinking that I could go out, in spite of the weather, but I wouldn’t enjoy it like I used to.”
She gestured in amicable agreement. “There’s no fault in misliking the feel of a water-soaked gown.”
“That’s part of it,” I said, seizing on the image. “Last year I wore the same clothes year round. My only hat was a castoff that Julen found me somewhere. I loved the feel of rain against my face, and never minded being soaked. I never noticed it! Now I own carriage hats, and walking hats, and riding hats, and ball headdresses--and none of them except the riding hats can get wet, and even those get ruined in a good soak. My old hat never had any shape to begin with, or any color, so it was never ruined.” I turned to face the window again. “Sometimes I feel like I didn’t lose just my hat, I lost my self that horrible night when I walked into Bran’s trap.”
Nee was silent.
I ran my thumb around the gilt rim of the cup a couple of times, then I made myself face her. “You think I’m being foolish?”
She put her palms together in Peaceful Discourse mode. “Yes I do,” she said, but her tone was not unkind. “One doesn’t lose a self, like a pair of gloves or a pin. We learn and change, or we harden into stone.”
“Maybe I’ve changed too fast. Or haven’t changed enough,” I muttered.
“Have you compromised yourself in any important way?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to say Of course, when we were forced to give up our plans to defeat Galdran, but I knew it would be an untruth as soon as it left my lips. “I think,” I said slowly, “I lost my purpose that day. Life was so easy when all I lived for was the revolt, the accomplishment of which was to bring about all these wondrous miracles. Nothing turned out to be the way we so confidently expected it to. Nothing.”
“So…” She paused to sip. “…if you hadn’t walked into that trap, what would be different?”
“Besides the handsomeness of my foot?” I forced a grin as I kicked my slippered toes out from under my hem. No one could see my scarred foot, not with all the layers of fine clothing I now wore, but the scars were there.
She smiled, but waited for me to answer her question.
I said, “I suppose the outcome in the larger sense would have been the same. In the personal sense, though, I suspect I would have been spared a lot of humiliation.”
“The humiliation of finding out that your political goals were skewed by misinformation?”
“By ignorance. But that wasn’t nearly as humiliating as---” my encounters with a specific individual. But I just shook my head, and didn’t say it.
“So you blame Vidanric,” she said neutrally.
“Yes…no…I don’t know,” I said, trying not to sound cross. “I don’t.” I looked down, saw my hand fidgeting with the curtain and dropped it to my side.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“You’ll be in the race tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said, lifting my hands. “I have to prove whether my wins last time were luck, skill--or the kindness of well-wishers.”
Tamara smiled a little. “And once you’ve proved which it is?”
“Why then I either celebrate, commiserate--or fulminate!”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“Next was the foursome I had been bracing myself to face all along: Tamara, Savona, the newly met Lady Elenet, and the Marquis of Shevraeth. Very conscious of Olervec’s pale eyes following me, I forced myself to greet the Marquis first: “Good morning,” I said, as if we’d been talking just the day before. “How much I wish to thank you for putting me in the way of finding the proper books for my project.”
Again that laughter was evident in his glance as he sketched a bow. “If you have any further questions,” he said, “it would be my pleasure to accommodate you.”
“I’d be honored.” I curtsied, my hands making the fan gesture of Unalloyed Gratitude. The shadow of humor in the corners of his mouth deepened.
Then I turned to the others. Savona grinned at me, one hand moving slightly in the fencer’s salute of a good hit. I fought the urge to blush as Tamara murmured, “You’ll be in the race tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said, lifting my hands. “I have to prove whether my wins last time were luck, skill--or the kindness of well-wishers.”
Tamara smiled a little. “And once you’ve proved which it is?”
“Why then I either celebrate, commiserate--or fulminate!”
They all laughed at that, even the quiet Elenet, though her laughter was so soft I scarcely heard it.
I turned to Shevraeth and said, “Will you be there?”
“I hope to be,” he said.
“Riding your gray?”
“Is that a challenge?” he replied with a hint of a smile.
I opened my mouth, then a stray memory brought back our private wager before we reached Athanarel and nothing could prevent the heat that burned up my neck into my face; so I quickly bent over, making a business of ordering one of the flounces on my gown. After I had straightened up I’d have an excuse for a red face, or at least enough of one to pass the notice of the three who (presumably) knew nothing of that unpaid wager.
“I think,” I said, retying a ribbon and patting it into place, then unbending with what I hoped was an expression of nonchalance, “I’d better find out if my luck is due to skill or kindness before I make any pledges.”
“Very well,” he said. “A friendly race will suffice.”
When the conversation came to a natural close, I retreated to Nee’s side and finished the rest of the picnic with her and Bran.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“If you want information,” he said in his low tones, “I am willing to take up my old connections and provide it. You need write to no one or speak to no one. It’s common enough for people to summon their own artisans for special projects.” He patted his satchel. “You are wealthy enough to enable me to sustain the cover.”
“You mean I should order some jewelry made?”
He nodded. “If you please, my lady.”
“Of course--that’s easy enough. But to backtrack a bit, what you said about spies on both sides worries me. What if the Renselaeuses find out you’re here? Will they assume I’m plotting?”
“I have taken great care to avoid their coverts,” he said. “The two who met me face-to-face last year are not in Athanarel. And none of the family has actually seen me.”
Once again I sighed with relief. Then an even more unwelcome thought occurred. “If my movements are known, then other things have been noticed,” I said slowly. “Are there any I ought to know about?”
He gave his nod. “It is known, among those who observe, that you do not attend any private social functions that are also attended by the Marquis of Shevraeth.”
So much for my promise, I thought dismally. Yet Shevraeth hadn’t said anything. “So…this might be why Flauvic granted me that interview?”
“Possibly,” he said.
“I take it servants talk.”
“Some,” he agreed. “Others don’t.”
“I suppose the Merindar ones don’t.”
He smiled. “They are very carefully selected and trained, exceedingly well paid--and if they displease, they have a habit of disappearing.”
“You mean they’re found dead, and no one does anything?”
He shook his head, his mouth now grim. “No. They disappear.”
I shuddered.
“So whatever I find out must be by observation and indirection.”
“Well, if you can evaluate both sides without endangering yourself,” I said, deciding suddenly, “then go ahead. The more I think about it, the less I like being ignorant. If something happens that might require us to act, you can help me choose the correct thing to do and the way to do it.”
He bowed. “Nothing would please me more, my lady,” he promised.
“Good,” I said, rising to fetch my letter from the Marquise. “Here’s her letter. Read it--and as far as I care, destroy it.” I handed it to him, relieved to have it gone. “So, what’s in your bag? I will want something special,” I said, and grinned. “For someone special.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel

“He never pronounced judgment on current events and people, despite some of my hints; and I forbore asking directly, lest I inadvertently say something about someone in his family--or worse, him.”
― Sherwood Smith, Court Duel