The Desert Spear
Page 94
The duchess mum turned to her. “Girl, if you’re going to dress like a man and carry a spear, stop acting like some timid young debutante whose first suitor has come to court. Eat. Those sandwiches aren’t piled there for show.”
“Sorry, Y’Grace,” Wonda said, bowing awkwardly. She grabbed a fistful of the finger sandwiches and shoved them into her mouth, neglecting napkin and plate alike. Araine rolled her eyes, but she seemed more amused than put off.
The duchess mum then turned to Leesha. “As for you, I can see the questions on your face, so you might as well ask them. I’m not getting any younger while we wait.”
“I’m just…surprised, Your Grace,” Leesha said. “You’re not what I expected.”
Araine laughed. “From what, my frail crone act in front of the men? Creator, girl, Bruna said you were quick, but I’ve my doubts if you couldn’t see through that.”
“I won’t be fooled again, I assure you,” Leesha said, “but I confess, I don’t understand why the act was needed at all. Bruna never pretended to be…”
“Doddering?” Araine asked with a smile as she selected a delicate sandwich from the tray and dipped it smoothly in her tea, eating it in two quick bites. Wonda attempted to mimic her but left the sandwich in her tea too long, and half of it broke off in the cup. Araine snorted as the girl quickly swallowed tea and sandwich alike in one quick gulp.
“As you say, Your Grace,” Leesha said.
The duchess mum looked down her nose at Leesha in that reproachful way she had. It reminded her of Lord Janson’s look, and she wondered if the first minister had learned it from her. “It’s necessary,” Araine said, “because men turn to hardwood around a sharp woman, but around a dullard they are soft as pulp. Live a few more decades, and you’ll find my meaning.”
“I’ll remember that in the audience before His Grace,” Leesha said.
Araine snorted. “Keep up with the dance, girl. This is the audience. What goes on in the throne room is all just for show. Whatever they may think, my sons no more run this city than your Smitt does the Hollow.”
Leesha choked on a pastry and almost spilled her tea. She looked at Araine in shock.
“It was ill planned to come without Mr. Smitt, though,” Araine tsked. “Bruna hated politics, but she could have taught you the bare rudiments. She knew them well enough. My boys take after their father, and have little use for women at court unless they’re putting food on a table or kneeling under it. They’ve naturally assumed your Mr. Flinn—if that’s even his name—leads the dance now, and will give even that ape Gared and Arrick’s brat more respect than you.”
“The Painted Man doesn’t speak for the Hollow,” Leesha said. “Nor do the others.”
“You think me dim, girl?” Araine asked. “One look at them told me that. It makes no difference, though. All the decisions are already made.”
“Excuse me?” Leesha asked, confused.
“I gave Janson his instructions last night after I read his report, and he’s seeing to them now,” Araine said. “So long as none of those peacocks starts a real fight while they strut and posture in the throne room, the result of the ‘audience’ will be this:
“You will return to the Hollow to await a team of my best Warders to study your combat wards. Before winter, I want every two-klat Warder in Angiers etching weapons until every wood-brained huntsman who can pull a bow has a quiver of warded arrows and warded spears are cheap at the boardwalk kiosks.
“Thamos and the Wooden Soldiers will accompany the Warders,” Araine went on, “both for their protection and so your Cutters can train them in demon hunting.”
Leesha nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.” Araine smiled patiently at the interruption, and Leesha realized as far as the duchess mum was concerned, these were royal commands and not topics for debate.
“The Tenders of the Creator are in turmoil over your painted friend,” Araine went on. “Half of them think he’s the Deliverer himself, and the other half think he’s worse than the mother of all demons. Neither side seems to trust your young Tender Jona, though he seems to be leaning toward the former category. They wish to inquisit him. I’ve exchanged missives with my advisors on the Council of Tenders, and have agreed that a replacement, Tender Hayes, will be sent to tend the faithful in the Hollow while Jona is called here to give testimony before the council. Hayes is a good man, not crazed with zealotry and no fool. He will gauge the Hollowers’ beliefs about the Painted Man even as the council gauges Jona’s.”
Leesha cleared her throat. “Your pardon, Your Grace, but the Hollow isn’t a city with dozens of Tenders. The people trust Jona to guide them because he has earned that trust over many years. They won’t just follow any man in a brown robe, and they won’t take well to the idea of your dragging Jona off to an inquisition.”
“If Jona is loyal to his order, he’ll go willingly and quell any doubts,” Araine said. “If not…well, I wish to know where his loyalties lie as much as the council.”
“And if the council’s inquisition ends unfavorably?” Leesha asked.
“It’s been a while since the Tenders burned a heretic,” Araine said, “but I expect they still know the recipe.”
“Then Tender Jona will not be going,” Leesha said, putting down her cup and meeting the duchess mum’s eyes, “unless you intend to test your Wooden Soldiers against men who cut trees by day and wood demons by night.”
Araine’s eyebrows raised, and her nostrils flared. The serene veil returned in an instant, so quickly that Leesha thought she might have imagined the flash of vexation. Araine turned to regard Wonda.
“Is that true, girl?” she asked. “Will you take arms against your duke, if the Wooden Soldiers come for your Tender?”
“I’ll fight whoever Leesha tells me to fight,” Wonda said, sitting up to her full height for the first time since meeting the tiny duchess mum.
Even at fifteen summers, Wonda Cutter was taller than most men in Deliverer’s Hollow, men known to be the tallest in the duchy. She towered over the diminutive old woman, but Araine seemed more amused by her than cowed. The duchess mum nodded as if to dismiss Wonda back to her previous state and looked at Leesha, tapping a nail on her delicate teacup.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I will personally vouch for Tender Jona’s safety and return to the Hollow, though he may return stripped of his robes.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Leesha said, bowing her head in acceptance of the terms.
Araine smiled and raised her teacup. “You may be Bruna’s heir after all.” Leesha smiled, and they drank together.
“The Painted Man,” Araine said, after a moment, “will go alone to Miln, to carry his story about the Krasians to Euchor and make our plea for aid.”
“Why the Painted Man and not your herald?” Leesha asked.
Araine snorted. “Janson’s fop nephew? Euchor would eat the boy alive. If you haven’t heard, Euchor and my son despise each other.”
Leesha looked at her, but the duchess waved the look away. “Don’t try to meddle with those wards, girl. The ivy throne and the metal one have been at odds long before the current occupants sat their overweight bottoms down on them, and will be long after they’re gone. It’s the way of men to glower at their rivals.”
“Sorry, Y’Grace,” Wonda said, bowing awkwardly. She grabbed a fistful of the finger sandwiches and shoved them into her mouth, neglecting napkin and plate alike. Araine rolled her eyes, but she seemed more amused than put off.
The duchess mum then turned to Leesha. “As for you, I can see the questions on your face, so you might as well ask them. I’m not getting any younger while we wait.”
“I’m just…surprised, Your Grace,” Leesha said. “You’re not what I expected.”
Araine laughed. “From what, my frail crone act in front of the men? Creator, girl, Bruna said you were quick, but I’ve my doubts if you couldn’t see through that.”
“I won’t be fooled again, I assure you,” Leesha said, “but I confess, I don’t understand why the act was needed at all. Bruna never pretended to be…”
“Doddering?” Araine asked with a smile as she selected a delicate sandwich from the tray and dipped it smoothly in her tea, eating it in two quick bites. Wonda attempted to mimic her but left the sandwich in her tea too long, and half of it broke off in the cup. Araine snorted as the girl quickly swallowed tea and sandwich alike in one quick gulp.
“As you say, Your Grace,” Leesha said.
The duchess mum looked down her nose at Leesha in that reproachful way she had. It reminded her of Lord Janson’s look, and she wondered if the first minister had learned it from her. “It’s necessary,” Araine said, “because men turn to hardwood around a sharp woman, but around a dullard they are soft as pulp. Live a few more decades, and you’ll find my meaning.”
“I’ll remember that in the audience before His Grace,” Leesha said.
Araine snorted. “Keep up with the dance, girl. This is the audience. What goes on in the throne room is all just for show. Whatever they may think, my sons no more run this city than your Smitt does the Hollow.”
Leesha choked on a pastry and almost spilled her tea. She looked at Araine in shock.
“It was ill planned to come without Mr. Smitt, though,” Araine tsked. “Bruna hated politics, but she could have taught you the bare rudiments. She knew them well enough. My boys take after their father, and have little use for women at court unless they’re putting food on a table or kneeling under it. They’ve naturally assumed your Mr. Flinn—if that’s even his name—leads the dance now, and will give even that ape Gared and Arrick’s brat more respect than you.”
“The Painted Man doesn’t speak for the Hollow,” Leesha said. “Nor do the others.”
“You think me dim, girl?” Araine asked. “One look at them told me that. It makes no difference, though. All the decisions are already made.”
“Excuse me?” Leesha asked, confused.
“I gave Janson his instructions last night after I read his report, and he’s seeing to them now,” Araine said. “So long as none of those peacocks starts a real fight while they strut and posture in the throne room, the result of the ‘audience’ will be this:
“You will return to the Hollow to await a team of my best Warders to study your combat wards. Before winter, I want every two-klat Warder in Angiers etching weapons until every wood-brained huntsman who can pull a bow has a quiver of warded arrows and warded spears are cheap at the boardwalk kiosks.
“Thamos and the Wooden Soldiers will accompany the Warders,” Araine went on, “both for their protection and so your Cutters can train them in demon hunting.”
Leesha nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.” Araine smiled patiently at the interruption, and Leesha realized as far as the duchess mum was concerned, these were royal commands and not topics for debate.
“The Tenders of the Creator are in turmoil over your painted friend,” Araine went on. “Half of them think he’s the Deliverer himself, and the other half think he’s worse than the mother of all demons. Neither side seems to trust your young Tender Jona, though he seems to be leaning toward the former category. They wish to inquisit him. I’ve exchanged missives with my advisors on the Council of Tenders, and have agreed that a replacement, Tender Hayes, will be sent to tend the faithful in the Hollow while Jona is called here to give testimony before the council. Hayes is a good man, not crazed with zealotry and no fool. He will gauge the Hollowers’ beliefs about the Painted Man even as the council gauges Jona’s.”
Leesha cleared her throat. “Your pardon, Your Grace, but the Hollow isn’t a city with dozens of Tenders. The people trust Jona to guide them because he has earned that trust over many years. They won’t just follow any man in a brown robe, and they won’t take well to the idea of your dragging Jona off to an inquisition.”
“If Jona is loyal to his order, he’ll go willingly and quell any doubts,” Araine said. “If not…well, I wish to know where his loyalties lie as much as the council.”
“And if the council’s inquisition ends unfavorably?” Leesha asked.
“It’s been a while since the Tenders burned a heretic,” Araine said, “but I expect they still know the recipe.”
“Then Tender Jona will not be going,” Leesha said, putting down her cup and meeting the duchess mum’s eyes, “unless you intend to test your Wooden Soldiers against men who cut trees by day and wood demons by night.”
Araine’s eyebrows raised, and her nostrils flared. The serene veil returned in an instant, so quickly that Leesha thought she might have imagined the flash of vexation. Araine turned to regard Wonda.
“Is that true, girl?” she asked. “Will you take arms against your duke, if the Wooden Soldiers come for your Tender?”
“I’ll fight whoever Leesha tells me to fight,” Wonda said, sitting up to her full height for the first time since meeting the tiny duchess mum.
Even at fifteen summers, Wonda Cutter was taller than most men in Deliverer’s Hollow, men known to be the tallest in the duchy. She towered over the diminutive old woman, but Araine seemed more amused by her than cowed. The duchess mum nodded as if to dismiss Wonda back to her previous state and looked at Leesha, tapping a nail on her delicate teacup.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I will personally vouch for Tender Jona’s safety and return to the Hollow, though he may return stripped of his robes.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Leesha said, bowing her head in acceptance of the terms.
Araine smiled and raised her teacup. “You may be Bruna’s heir after all.” Leesha smiled, and they drank together.
“The Painted Man,” Araine said, after a moment, “will go alone to Miln, to carry his story about the Krasians to Euchor and make our plea for aid.”
“Why the Painted Man and not your herald?” Leesha asked.
Araine snorted. “Janson’s fop nephew? Euchor would eat the boy alive. If you haven’t heard, Euchor and my son despise each other.”
Leesha looked at her, but the duchess waved the look away. “Don’t try to meddle with those wards, girl. The ivy throne and the metal one have been at odds long before the current occupants sat their overweight bottoms down on them, and will be long after they’re gone. It’s the way of men to glower at their rivals.”
