Book 4, Chapter 10: Rolling Papers
“My mother was very happy you had dinner with her last week.” Brin was fiddling with my hair. None of the girls were around, she must have sent them off, wanting to talk privately.
Sitting in front of a mirror, I watched her brush through my black hair, the strands lifting up and suddenly blue at the tips, then vanishing through the white tines. “It was a good conversation.”
“You might not be so naïve after all.”
“No, I am. Talking to you is what helped clue me in is all.”
“You are and it’s nice to hear you admit it.”
I stuck my tongue out at her. “The tricky part will be moving the soldiers around. God, I can’t believe that Hafthon would risk another civil war with the Laemacian and Ketzillian threats. He can’t possibly hold against them without the other two earls.”
She stopped brushing, rolled her eyes, and looked at me in the mirror, “He’s not planning on civil war, Cayce.”
“But he would be if he took the duchy after I gave it to someone else.”
“Sure, but he’s betting that you understand that, and give it to him.”
“Brin, that’s the same thing in my mind.”
“This is why you need me by your side, and why you should spend time with my mother. Your mind’s a little light.”
“What? Light?”
“Yeah.”
“Like, the opposite of dense?”
“Cayce, your mind is so light sometimes, it floats.”
“Uh . . . ok. I’m going to assume that’s a local idiom.”
“It means ‘dumb.’”
“I got that.”
She smiled prettily in the mirror, “Just checking,” then went back to brushing.
“Well, you think Hafthon will attack your parents to take the duchy by force?”
“Hmm . . . maybe. It depends on whether he’s made any deals with the Laemacians. Probably not the Ketzles since they just seem interested in conquering these lands.”
“But the emperor made a deal with me.”
The brushing stopped, white brush left in my hair, Brin gave me that look again, but this time, hand on her hip.
“Ok, ok, got it. Yeah, they’re hedging their bets like Serce said, and made a deal with the most powerful earl. That makes sense.”
“The emperor’s brother, the prince, assured you that you have an agreement with the emperor.”
“Ah. So, I can’t trust even that?”
“If you receive an official letter from Laemacia welcoming your coming visit and all that, he’s likely being straightforward. He still might have spoken with Hafthon, though.”
“Well, I’m the one with the Laemacian war rhinos.”
“I worry about you sometimes.” She set the brush down, “Right, let’s find you a dress. You’re seeing the archbishop after? Probably a regal one would be best.”
“Couldn’t you pick an ugly one? Something to send him an insult with.”
“He is the archbishop, you know.”
“And?”
“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“I mean, I don’t really want to catch flies. Flies are disgusting and annoying.” She gave me a sideways look in the mirror, “Alright, ok, sure. Pick something cute and regal. I’m sure that’s how Hafthon gets the man on his side.”
She pulled out a black dress with streaks of blue running down it, like rain cascading down a window, “Perhaps more regal than girlish. Hafthon definitely prefers regal. And maturity.”
“What exactly are you trying to say, Brin?”
“Hmm?”
As she moved it from hand to hand, bringing it to me, held it out for me to look at. It scintillated, the woven streaks of rain seemed to flow down the dress. “That is simply stunning.”
“Are you feeling ok? You usually hate this.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before.” I stood, taking the material in my hands. It was smooth, almost watery to the touch, and had an iridescent shine up close. “Is this silk?”
“From the trapdoor spiders.”
I dropped it immediately. “Gross!”
“It’s very rare. I tried to have it made for your coronation, but it wasn’t ready in time. Then I had to have the color altered, since white wouldn’t do for most occasions.”
“Oh my god, Brin, why?”
“Well . . . you’re the princess. You have to wear rare and expensive dresses.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Shush and hold still.”
I closed my eyes while she dropped it over my body. And kept them closed while she directed me back into the chair. “This is so icky.”
“Cayce, the spider isn’t here. Maybe a few eggs. Sit still, let me do your make-up.”
“Eggs???”
“Close your eyes.”
“No,” I grabbed her hand, “seriously, eggs?”
“I’m teasing. Calm down,” she patted my hand down, placing it on my lap. “Just teasing, ok?”
“Brin . . . this is, god, I mean gods, so disturbing. How many people died to get this silk?”
She picked up a jar of blush from the table, set it down, picked up another, nodded to herself, and turned back to me. “Blue, I think. To match the dress and your hair. Ok, close your eyes.”
“I’m totally going to get you back for this.”
“Not if those eggs hatch.”
***
Brin and I moved to the main room, we were sitting in the sofa chairs near the fireplace. The dress was comfortable, warm despite how thin it was. It probably revealed too much of my figure. So, I added a jacket overtop, to Brin’s dismay until she picked out one that matched.
“You were really going to put a green jacket on a blue dress?”
“I take it that’s not a good thing to do?”
“No, Cayce, very not good.” She poured me a cup of tea, passed it to me.
As I raised it up, a guard opened the door, “Your Highness? A priest is here to see you.”
Brin gave me a look, and asked, “Wasn’t it supposed to be the archbishop?”
“Yes.” Louder, to the guard, “Send him in.”
A gangly man, just out of his teens probably, and wearing long, grey robes, walked carefully and slowly over as if a misstep would send him to hell, finally getting nearish us, bowed awkwardly, saying, “Your Highness,” and walked haltingly forward to hand me a large leather folder.
I stood, but didn’t take the folder, “Is the archbishop ill?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is he coming later?”
“No, my lady.”
Brin, annoyed, said, “Try telling us why you’re here instead of His Excellency instead of us guessing all day.”
“My lady, I don’t know. He sent me with this paperwork. Said it was of the utmost importance.”
I tilted my head, rolling my eyes, but I took the folder, unwound the leather string wrapped around a button, moved the leather flap it was securing back, pulled out the documents and skimmed through them. The paper was thick and heavy and of high quality. The writing within beautiful and elegant, about his church and its many parishes becoming the state religion. I backed up to get some warmth from the fire, then tossed the lot into the flames.
“Cayce!” yelled Brin while the priest gasped.
I turned to the man, “Have the archbishop come. When he can, you know, whenever’s convenient. You may go.”
He stammered out a “My lady,” bowed a bunch, backed up until bumping into a chair, and ran away without quite fleeing.
Hand on her hip, Brin asked, “Why’d you do that?”
I sat down, picked up my tea, took a sip, “Well, he didn’t crown me queen.”
“Oh, my gods.” Brin sat down, watching the fire slide onto the paper, thick, white sheets curling into the flames that moved across its face, leaving ash behind. “Are you trying to make more enemies?”
“Maybe they’re already my enemies and I’m just trying to identify them.”
“You mean, you’re letting them know you know. That’s not the same and it’s unwise.”
“He doesn’t support me. Works against my interests at every opportunity. I see no reason to give him what he wants.”
“Didn’t you agree to this?”
“Both he and your father agreed to crown me queen.”
“You want to be like my father?”
“Ah. No. Yeah, ok, I see your point. But I don’t see why I should reward these guys.”
“Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming.”
“I’m not pouting!”
“Well, you can pout all you want in certain situations-”
“Brin . . .”
“It’s not like there are others to replace him. Archbishop Ghevont. His church or the Barclay church. They outright despise you.”
“Look, why do we even need a state religion?”
“If you’re seriously asking that,” she was shaking her head.
“People can just choose whatever they want to believe. It’s all good.”
“Cayce.”
“What?”
“It won’t help you if people just believe in whatever. It helps you if they believe in whatever you believe in.”
“Well, I don’t believe in any of this nonsense!”
“Ok, ok, not believe in, but practice.” She held up her hand when I was about to say something angry, “Publicly practice. Like the coronation ceremony.”
“I should make a warrior religion. We can all practice budo or something.”
“Buu . . . doe?”
“Nothing, I don’t know.”
“I guess on the plus side, you’re definitely going to get the archbishop to come here.”
“Yeah. Him. Then I have to argue with your father. Then Hafthon. All these damned political fights. I guess that’s the one good thing about Crygmore, he doesn’t argue or pester me over anything.”
“Are you sure you want to leave a third of your army here for my parents?”
“Your mom really gave you all the details, huh?”
“Of course!”
“I can’t have them losing to Hafthon while I’m away.”
“It’s also bad if you don’t have a large enough army while you’re away. The dying kind of bad.”
“That’s true. I’ll take some of Hafthon’s and Crygmore’s with me.”
“If they give them to you.”
“If they give them to me, yes.”
“Anyways, we should head out to say our goodbyes to the Barclay party.”
I gave her a blank stare, “Whyever would we do that?”
“You aren’t going to see them off?”
“Nope. They can just go. In fact, we should have the soldiers toss them out on their behinds.”
“I guess that seals in our relationship with the Barclay duchy.”
“Hey, the new duke, Saph’s brother, whatever his name is, chose to send those priests. He chose to start our relationship off badly.”
“I wonder what their military preparations are like right now.”
“You think they’re planning to attack?”
“Since he sent such a contentious ambassador, and they’ll be returning without your agreement to marriage, that’d be my guess.”
“Well, yeah. We are just going to have to get there before he can assemble them. That reminds me, I have to check in with Tread, Brundle, see how the planning is going.”
“Cayce, this is important. You should see them off.”
I sighed. “Why is it important?”
“If you end up fighting them and you kill Saph’s brother, I don’t know . . .”
“She won’t be able to forgive me, you mean.”
“You didn’t have my parents branded traitors and we are still friends.”
“I didn’t brand her family traitors!”
Reaching across, taking my hands in hers, blue eyes locked onto mine, “You didn’t. But don’t you want to at least try to avoid war? After it begins, well, your friendship with Saph might be forever broken.”
“Brin, this is the last possible day . . . why oh why are you bringing this up now? And not before?”
“You couldn’t have talked with them before.”
“I could have!”
“You’d have blasted them.”
“Ok, maybe.”
“Look, all you’re doing is saying farewell. Maybe warn them against war. Try not to trade insults. I’ll be with you.”
“Honestly, at this point, I just don’t care. Besides, we’ll win the war.”
“Saph will hate you if you kill her brother.”
“Well, he better not fight then!”
“He won’t have a choice, Cayce. Not unless his will is stronger than the dowager’s and their church.”
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