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44: The Ladies (2)
🕑 Added 2023-06-03 11:33:15 +0000 UTCThe Imperial Court of Her Highness was bedecked in even greater splendor for the occasion, and the normally spacious hall was filled to the brim as every man, woman and child who could finagle entrance attended. The stoneborn, of course, came out in droves, but they were not alone.
The hawkish-looking Principal Mayor of Aelisum was surrounded by a coterie of magnates, each decked in enough gold and jewels for a prince’s ransom. Artists and artisans huddled together and shared soft whispers, each a recognized master of their craft judging by the symbols of their guilds hanging from their necks. The scholar-sorcerers were sprinkled throughout the hall, dressed in velvet shoes and silver-white robes that contrasted with the prominent mark of their order: the twin ink hexagrams of the hystors. Chief among them was the Archystor of the Aelisian Athenaeum, who stood a mere arm’s length from Her Highness Alcymede and the Imperial Throne.
Standing apart from them all were Mydea and the other young ladies at court—a selection of noble beauties from the eight eminent regions and those slivers of land with imperial immediacy from the Al-Pyani Heights to the Oa League in the west.
Prince Jaeson strode down the carpeted center of the room, his black cape billowing behind him despite the lack of wind. He wore a satin tunic dyed in deep cerulean with silver stitchings, and a surcoat of white velvet. Over his heart was the quartered badge of his parents’ houses—the broken crown of the House Eminent Eyr and the Imperial star and storm. He knelt before the light of the Empress’ crown.
“It pleases Us greatly that you have returned home at last,” the Empress said warmly, as if unaware that he had been in the Seraglio for over a week now. “How has your time away from Us been?”
“I learned of many things while I was away,” Jaeson replied. “I believe some of them may interest Your Highness.”
“There will be time enough for that later,” She said. “You may rise.” Empress Alcymede gestured to the ladies waiting. “We have gathered many young ladies of good upbringing here for you. It would please Us greatly to see you wed, and continue the line of my late sister.”
Jaeson stood and bowed to his materfamilias, before turning to the line of women eyeing him. He offered a smile that may have fooled the others, but struck Mydea as most perfunctory. It showed in his eyes.
Curious. Did he object to his own marriage, mayhaps? An idea of the Empress’ made without his consultation? But he’d known of it for some time now. Perhaps it was the selection of women he objected to?
Mydea pursed her lips. Did he prefer women? Some of the stoneborn preferred the intimate company of their own sex, but no lord or lady could rule well without an heir. It was said that to continue the family line was the highest duty.
Not even the skyborn were exempt.
There wasn’t much time for more than a word of courtesy and the lightest of kisses on the hand with how many hopeful brides-to-be that stood in line—over half a hundred all told. Still, first impressions mattered, or they would if this were truly that and not a formality put on for the stoneborn. Surely Jaeson had the measure of them by now, knowing more than the face they’d put on for their betters.
By her guess, no more than a third of the gathered women were serious contenders. If his bride had, by some twist of fate, not already been selected that is.
She was dragged out of her thoughts by Prince Jaeson’s presence. “You seem to have much on your mind, Lady Mydea.” He kissed the back of her hand. Then, in a voice that could’ve been a breeze, asked, “Do I no longer warrant your attention?”
“I apologize for any discourtesy, Your Excellency,” Mydea said. “Just homesick.”
“Of course. Anyone would be,” Jaeson said. “Lady Lara has informed me of the circumstances. I will be praying for a quick resolution.”
Her brow raised at that. Already? If Jaeson knew, the Empress surely would as well. Lady Lara worked quickly.
“Thank you,” she said, and found herself meaning it.
—Handbook—
It wasn’t the act of hunting in the deep throes of winter—or what passed for it in the Everbloom—that struck Mydea as strange, but rather the prey of choice. A bevy of quail instead of bands of warriors; turtleboars in place of the Tuskar.
A floating metropolis was far from ideal grounds for a hunt, but such a minor inconvenience was nothing before the House Imperial. They had gone to certain lengths to ensure that one of their favorite pastimes remained accessible to them year round.
After a light midday meal with Her Highness and Prince Jaeson, the Deeplanders excused themselves gracefully. Mydea herself changed into green hunting trousers, a short summer dress that was loose around the legs, and a pair of leather boots. Completing her look were a pair of leather gloves and armguards. When she arrived at the golden gates of the Seraglio, she noted that many ladies from the northern houses wore a similar ensemble. Those ladies from the warmer south—like Vivyan—contented themselves with just a loose dress and some clever spellweave to preserve their modesty.
For weapons, there was a dazzling array on display from the common sword to polearms of various lengths and shapes. Lady Thena, youngest of the Argyros, even had a club which she swung with ease despite her slim arms! Mydea had opted for what was tried and tested—her mother’s runesteel sword strapped to her hip and a bow slung across her back. Also attached to her hip was a wooden quiver filled with arrows, prearranged to have the fletching point up for a quicker draw.
As the stoneborn flitted in, they clumped together by instinct with personal friends and political acquaintances. Was it any surprise, for example, that Thena and her ring-bound braid tinkled with every step towards her best friend, Carol Peacher, even if it meant having to tolerate the Pleion girl that shared her given name? Or that Vivyan stuck her nose up against those she deemed beneath her family’s station?
Mydea’s lips twinged. The Blacks were so touchy about their status that it betrayed their insecurities. She turned her head to the side to whisper to—no one. There was no one. Her heart clenched. At the athenaeum, it had always been her brother by her side, or Troia, but neither were here today and so as her eyes took in the scenery, something stirred in her heart.
It was peculiar to feel so lonely amidst a crowd, but at that very moment? She might as well have employed the spell of the Thornes—Immingle—to become invisible in the throng.
“With a tongue as venomous as yours, is it any wonder you were without a single friend whilst we studied at the athenaeum?” Vivyan’s words from a week prior came to mind unbidden and she found that the accusation stung now more than when she’d first heard it. “You never tried.”
Vivyan caught her gaze, and hurried over best as she could, which still wasn’t very quickly. She was actually wearing heels on a hunt!
Then again, Vivyan is not steelborn, Mydea thought. I doubt she cares to catch anything more than looks today.
“Tomas spoke to me over lunch,” Vivyan said. “He regrets that he can no longer continue our practices now that Prince Jaeson has arrived.”
“It’s understandable. He has his duties to see to.” And as someone who’d spent no small amount of time with the old Tomas, there was a chance, however slim, that Vivyan might notice something off about him. Mydea doubted the prince wished for more people to find out about his double. Cutting off further contact only made sense … let the memories dull some.
Vivyan studied her face. “Has he said something similar to you? You and he … well, you were…”
“Exactly what were we?”
“Nothing,” she said all too quickly, glancing off to the side. “I was just … hoping that you could change his mind. It isn’t just my reputation at stake if I lose. This has become bigger than that.”
It was often said that Aelisium was the head, for it directed the body of the Syngian Empire from above. Mydea thought it was more apt to liken it to the mouth.
“What do you suppose my odds are?” Vivyan asked.
Mydea’s brow quirked. “You’re the expert at Eminent Domain, not me.”
“You were there for my practices, some of them at least. And more importantly, you aren’t my friend.” She sighed. “You’d never sugarcoat things. Please.”
It was her turn to study Vivyan’s face. She looked serious and earnest and afraid. “Even I can tell you’ve gotten better,” Mydea said. She’d lasted twice as many turns against the old Tomas by the end of their training compared to the start, but… “But you’re not Tomas’ equal.”
Vivyan sighed. “And Tomas said Prince Jaeson was even better.”
“To be precise, he said he was about as good.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Thank you for your honesty.” Vivyan made to turn around, but stopped abruptly mid-pivot. “You know, this may be the longest we’ve ever spoken without you being snippy.”
“It helps when you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’,” Mydea said dryly. She had never sought enmity, only ever answered in kind.
A man wearing the red and black livery of House Pleonexia jogged up to the gates. The badge of his master—the mountains of Old Ilyos crowned in red lava and black ash—was sewn cleanly onto his breast. The gathered stoneborn quieted as if Prince-Consort Pythos himself had appeared before them.
And in the blink of an eye, he had.
This trick was a favorite of the Pleonexians, but it never failed to impress no matter how many times one witnessed it. Any spell that so casually violated distance warranted respect.
“My good lords and ladies,” Pythos said with a smile, “I thank you for joining me on today’s hunt.”
“It is our honor to attend,” answered one of the male Pleions, ever willing to play their part in the theater of court.
If only my family had distant branches as loyal, Mydea thought. Could we have avoided the kinstrife of my youth?
“I have arranged for something special today,” Pythos said. “House Erbe’s domain is home to lush forests and large game unlike anything we have in the Deeplands. Lord Elbert has kindly agreed to host us for the rest of the day.”
The name of the Everbloom was no empty boast by a proud people. How this land had come to be blessed with a perpetual summer was a subject of much debate among the hystors to this day, but it was clear that over the course of centuries, their trees grew year on year to match the ambitions of House Eminent Morgraine.
There were ancient enmities between the Everbloom and every kingdom and queendom that bordered them, and the Deeplands was certainly no exception. This very excursion would not be permitted had Lord Erbe’s second son not been wed to Prince Pythos’ niece some years back. Even with that relation as a pretense, it could not have been painless or costless to convince Lord Erbe to make the allowance, not when he risked the wrath of his own liege lord.
“This is quite the rarity,” Mydea observed. “I’d have thought we would be hunting in the Crownswood instead.” The largest of the satellite clouds that kept position relative to the Imperial City was a forest reserve.
“I spoke to my brother last night,” Vivyan, gossip that she was, said in a tone brimming with conspiracy. “Some in the Order have been discontent of late.”
Mydea’s brow rose. Not at the news, but at how quickly it had come to pass. She had sowed the seeds but two days ago during the masquerade ball, and already it had taken root. To Prince Pythos’ credit, he was acting to swiftly nip it in the bud. Her mother had written that from small slights came long prices. The hystors preached that even a worm could make cities burn.
The gods have favored us in this at least, she thought. But how to best make use of the opportunity? The steelborn—those eager sorcerers bred and fed for war—would be placated eventually by honors and riches and glory, and she did not wish to linger in Aelisium for long.
As she pondered the question, Pythos continued his address. “I have sworn mages waiting to whisk us away below. It would be the fastest way down, if my lords and ladies would consent?”
A trained mage could fully resist the effects of Appropriation on their persons, and even a half-decent attendee of an athenaeum could prevent the signature spell of House Pleonexia from working as intended. In its truest, purest sense, the spell had never been meant to be used on humans. That was a later enhancement.
No, the true danger of the spell lay in what things it could summon with or without the owner’s consent. Could any other signature spell have enabled Pryam Pleonexia's bloody coup against the Bloodless Kings of yore?
Mydea exhaled deeply. Against her every instinct, she relaxed her body. A stranger's magic latched onto her from beyond sight, snaking around her waist like a hug from behind: the next thing she knew, everything was black. She couldn't breathe and her chest felt tight, as if forced into a poorly measured corset. An unseen force pressed in from angles her mind couldn't comprehend, like someone was squeezing the liquids of her body through an impossibly narrow tube. Her eyeballs were being forced back into her head; her eardrums thrummed, and then—
The world smelled of trees. Grass tickled her back.
She remained supine for a moment, letting her stomach settle, before gingerly pushing herself to her feet and brushing down her trousers. If she'd known beforehand that they would not remain among the clouds, she would have dressed like the southern girls had.
In the clearing was a score of men bearing the red and black badge of House Pleonexia, and with each second more and more of the nobility popped into existence around them. Some landed on their feet, entirely unfazed. Others were far less composed, but their acquaintances turned their faces away politely.
As the party put itself back together in fits and starts, Mydea found herself transfixed by a pair of black crows, dancing from branch to branch.
“You never struck me as an ornithologist, Lady Mydea,” said a voice softly, seriously.
She spotted Helena Stone from the corner of her eye. Her skin was a milk white like most Monsi, and just as smooth. The Stones were a young house, raised to landed knighthood in service of her grandmother’s nephew and her own uncle, Lord Jan of the House External Yberia.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen crows," replied Mydea.
Helena tilted her head. “Now that you mention it, I can’t recall ever seeing any flocks in the Imperial City.”
“Flocks isn’t the right word,” Vivyan interjected, unable to help herself. She finally stood up.
Mydea rolled her eyes.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Black?” Helena asked, eyeing her.
“Many crows together are called a murder of crows, not a flock.”
“Vivyan’s great passion in life is correcting people on the proper noun collectives,” Mydea said. “You’ll find her quite knowledgeable about such obscurities.”
Vivyan huffed. “We are not strawborn to be so careless with our speech. There is a proper name for things and it ought to be used.”
“Whoever came up with these must have hated crows,” Helena said. “A murder! What an awful name for such lovely creatures.”
Vivyan shrugged. “I didn’t come up with the names. I can’t say you’re wrong though. Even bookworms are merely a maw, and they’ve been the cause of many a disaster.”
Who could forget when the Great Library of Arh-Khaine had to be burned down after being infested? Such gluttonous little creatures had nearly undone Syngian’s legacy, threatening the very seams of sorcery and society both.
“Was there something you wanted?” Mydea asked, turning to Helena.
“A message, Lady Mydea. His Excellency would be most pleased if you would join him on today’s hunt.”
Now that was interesting. “I’d be delighted to join him,” she replied, following the other girl. Prince Pythos could have asked anyone to deliver this message, but to have her uncle’s vassal do the deed? The very same uncle who was the Knight Eminent of the Order of the Stone Shield? That was a message in itself. Prince Pythos wanted Lord Jan to know something was being done about the current dilemma.
Getting the Order to act was within reach, if only she leveraged the situation and traded the right concessions away. She could finally protect her family; she could finally protect Aspyr.
Prince Pythos was dressed in a surcoat of gold over a red velvet tunic trimmed with the finest saberwolf fur. The badge of his house and the House Imperial were quartered over his heart, leaving one to wonder if he would put the interests of his family above those of the Empress. A great belt of heavy golden links held up his dark, knee-length breeches. A pair of stockings completed the look. Being a member of imperiality and a scion of a house eminent entitled the Prince-Consort to a retinue twice over, but he still kept on his person a good sword of runesteel that was more than ceremonial. A black diamond embellished the hilt of his sword and looked sharp enough to draw blood.
“Ah, Lady Mydea!” Pythos greeted. He gestured for her to approach with a hand. “Do join me.”
Mydea curtseyed. “It’s my pleasure and my honor to, Your Excellency.”
“Do you hunt much back home? I know it’s not the favorite sport of most women.”
“I accompanied my brother mostly,” Mydea said. “It is not my preferred pastime, but I can hold my own. It is only proper for a daughter of my house to know such things.” What was a house external that could not take up arms? What was the point of them if they could not fight? War and winter were synonymous to any Deeplander on the Aigean frontier.
Pythos’ smile was a thin one. “The weather is pleasant, if different, down here,” he said, neither testing, nor attesting the status of Kolchis. “I’m sure it must feel off to you. I’ve been in the Everbloom many times over the years, and a part of me still can’t quite accept that I won’t suddenly freeze my nose off in the heart of winter.”
Mydea nodded. “Our winters are a harsh lover. Neither the chill nor the memory of it leave easily once it’s entangled with your bones.”
A casual look around the clearing confirmed that mostly everyone had composed themselves already. Squires and stableboys in service to Lord Elbert Erbe marched into the clearing with thoroughbreds in tow. These field hunters were not mighty warhorses bred to carry the weight of a fully armored knight, but leaner creatures, with long legs possessing stamina and a level head on their long necks. Mydea had always paid more attention to their winged cousins, but she knew enough to judge that the thoroughbreds were better suited for the wide open, flat lands of the Everbloom. A draft-cross or other, tougher breeds were the choice of field hunters in the Deeplands with its rockier, almost treacherous, landscape.
One of the stableboys offered Mydea a palomino. She studied the gold-coated horse and it met her eyes calmly, still as a statue if not for his white mane swishing to and fro. Fine breeding, Mydea noted, though not as fine as her Snowscorn of course. A minor knight whose sigil Mydea did not recognize offered to help her, but she merely smiled at him and mounted with a practiced ease.
Riding was as much a part of war as anything else.
While the other stoneborn were still selecting their mounts, Pythos and his entourage rode into the forest in advance. The host and those with him always had first pickings of game in a hunt as large as this. Hunting dogs were let loose ahead of them, barking up a storm. Mydea rode with one hand on her reins, the other holding her composite recurve bow.
Instinct took over the instant her eyes caught motion. A bevycovey of brown quail were driven to flight by the dogs—her hand pulled on the reins to slow the horse to a trot. In one moment, she had notched an arrow and drawn.
In the next breath, she let loose.
It was not a clean kill, but her arrow managed to down a quail, piercing its wing. It shamed her to admit she wasn’t as proficient as the horse masters of the Vaynish plains.
“A good shot!” Pythos said over the thunder of hooves.
Mydea loosed another arrow quickly, putting the bird out of its misery before a steward ran forward to retrieve it.
Pythos signaled to his retinue to ride on ahead, leaving him and a select few retainers with Mydea. “You were being modest earlier, my lady. I’ve seen men twice your age with worse showings.”
“Since we were raised to nobility, House Kolchis has been of the iron fist,” Mydea said. “It’s hardly fair to compare me to a velvet glove.”
He smiled. “But you are one, aren’t you? It is your brother who is the warrior, leaving any diplomacy to yourself. That has always been your arrangement since your earliest days at the Thalassian Athenaeum.”
He’s been asking questions about us, Mydea thought, surprised. That he’d do some research was expected, but to go as far back as their schooldays? That was a thoroughness she expected from only a few.
“You are…” He paused, looking for the right word. “—empowered, shall we say, to act on your brother’s behalf as the Lord of Aigis. Were you not named his lady advocate whilst he was guest to the Empress earlier this year? It is an honor, so I am told, that was not rescinded when you entered Aelisium.”
There was only one reason Pythos would want to know if any agreement with her would be binding on her brother. “He trusts me with that much and I will never betray that trust.”
“The love between siblings is beautiful to behold,” Pythos said. “We are alike in this way. I share the same sentiments about my own brother.”
Mydea dipped her head. “That is most splendid, Your Excellency. It has always irked me to speak with those who cannot decide on anything.”
“Likewise.” He made another gesture, and his retainers spread out, forming a ring of solid steel and silencing sorcery around them. One could never be too careful about eavesdroppers. “Let us cut to the heart of things then.”
Better to strike first, and strike fast. “The Order of the Stone Shield is agitating,” Mydea said. “My uncle might be a staunch ally of your house, but he is no martyr. He cannot and will not endanger his own position. I surmise this is why you wished to speak to me?”
While it was at the sole discretion of the Lord Eminent of the Deeplands as to who led the Order of the Stone Shield, it remained wise to listen when the steelborn opined. They would not follow a leader they did not respect, no matter what Lord Pleonexia willed. Lord Jan Yberia’s authority, and the very Order itself, would begin to crumble if things remained as they were.
“Agitating is not the word I would use to describe it.”
“Then what word would you use?”
“It is but talk for now,” Pythos said, almost flippantly. “Has there ever been a time when there were no naysayers? When no one found anything to complain about? This, like all things, will pass.”
Mydea’s smile was all teeth. “It is not only a few, grumbling voices finding fault. Even those who belong to families most loyal speak of misstep; of mistake.” If Vivyan’s brother, a Black, was agitating, then likely many, many more in the Order felt similarly. “Lord Yberia cannot turn a blind eye for long, not if he wishes to remain the Knight Eminent. We both know this.”
There lay Lord Pleonexia’s conundrum. If the Order would not mobilize, then the Stone Shield was jeopardized, or Lord Jan had to be sacked from his distinguished post … but that would only turn another great house from friend to foe. The familial ties between Yberia and Kolchis were thinned, but shared adversity would strengthen what time and troubles had frayed.
“Perhaps,” he said evenly, and it was a concession if she ever heard one. “And yet let us not pretend you have all the time in the world too. The Tuskar will find their courage soon enough, and whatever victory Lord Aspyrtus won will be undone by his own injury.”
Mydea stilled as her mind processed what he had just revealed to her. It had only been a day and a half since Aspyr’s injury, and but a few hours since it was made known to her by her father. The only possibility was a spy in Aigis—something she’d always suspected, but could never confirm. A messenger pigeon sent out in secret could have carried word to Lord Pleonexia within a day, and Prince Pythos could have then been informed via the mirrorplane. That is, unless they had discovered some means of communication that was even faster?
Whatever the case, it was a problem for another day.
“It seems the troubles that plague both our houses could be resolved by the Order moving in strength,” she said.
“Or House Pleonexia could wait you out,” Pythos said, a glint in his eye. He sensed weakness. “What do you think will come first? The ruin of your house or a glancing blow to mine?”
Mydea let out a breath. Even if the blow to House Pleonexia came first, the stakes for her family were far greater and there was no telling if Lord Pleonexia might be seized with spite. “It would be a mistake not to move now.”
“And why is that?”
“Because House Kolchis is not your enemy. It’s never been,” Mydea said. “All we have ever asked for was our due, as agreed by our forebears.”
“What you take for granted is what exactly was agreed upon. Therein lie our differences,” Pythos said.
Winning recognition today was beyond reach. And with how the Empress was preoccupied with Jaeson’s marriage, it wasn’t likely that she could win it anytime soon from that approach either. “As you say.” Mydea bobbed her head. “But we are not your only concern. We do not live in a world where our … disagreement is all you must worry about. There are other lords and ladies with quibbles of their own. There is the Imperial Court. There is the coming succession. To ignore all of this just to ruin me and mine is the mistake.”
Kolchis and Yberia were some of House Pleonexia’s strongest vassals. It would be only a boon if both of them stood fully behind their liege in the great political storm looming on the horizon.
She looked Pythos dead in the eye, into his very thoughts. “We are not crabs in a bucket that we must pull each other down.”
There was a long silence from him. And then…
He nodded. “We are not,” he agreed. “But my brother will not like being forced to move for nothing. This cannot be our defeat.”
“How about a barter then?” Mydea proposed. “He cannot be pleased that I reside in Aelisium for the foreseeable future. Even less that I might become Prince Jaeson’s bride. Allow me to withdraw from the Imperial Court, and in exchange…”
“The Order will move,” he finished, a pensive look crossing over his face. “I believe this is acceptable.”
Were she a harder woman … were she a colder woman, Mydea might have gambled with Aspyr’s life by staying longer to win recognition from the Empress. To secure House Kolchis’ place in the world.
But she wasn’t. She couldn’t.
He was the brother with whom she’d shared the womb with, and she loved him dearly.
