A Clockwork Snare [5/??]
Feb. 21st, 2009 03:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreA Clockwork Snare, ch.5
Author: Amber Michelle
Fandom: a very AU VP Lenneth - so AU it's almost original.
Words: 6010
Other chapters: [ see the chapter archive. ]
Notes: Since I didn't have access to my book on Egyptian language, I made do with some nebulous (and purposely incorrect!) references to Japanese grammar instead. Don't believe a word of what I say about hieroglyphs. :P
The first 1600 words were written in late 2007, I think. After the harpy comment, the new stuff starts. I wonder if there's a huge difference in the style or tone after that? Sorry if there are any discrepencies. I went through the first part to add stuff, but it's basically unchanged, because I'm lazy and don't feel like rewriting.
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Raeger's lessons ran smoothly for the rest of her first week. She awoke late on the last day of the week, and found a note waiting on her desk, informing her Miss Matilda, the woman guiding her lessons on the harpsichord, had delayed until later that night. Though she left at ten as usual, there was nothing to do but loiter in the library and pass the time until her language lesson at three. Maiya was kept at home for once to handle the arrival of more dresses, and Raeger was sure the last of her comfortable linens would be replaced with a nightmare of ruffled slips and corsets, her dresses with slimmer, more elaborate items.
Though she'd made little progress in only a few days, her teacher proved to be patient, even nice. His voice was smooth and even, soft, lilted be a slight accent she didn't recognize as belonging to Villnore. Perhaps he came from a remote region.
"This here is a conventional noun modifier in the later writings," Judas said, drawing a fingertip along the line of hieroglyphs in question. The fire snapped and sparked behind him, a yellow flame licking up past the line of the mantle, into the chimney. "You should read it as 'Isis,' who hid the coffin beneath the tree's roots..."
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "But how do you tell when it's a modifier, and when it's some other kind of verb?"
"It will always be in past tense, even in a sentence written in the present." The corner of his mouth turned up when she only stared at him. "Look at the sentences." He turned, reaching for a quill and a pot of red ink. "I'll underline each one. Watch."
He had a light hand with the quill; the way he held it made Raeger think he should be wielding a brush instead, and she wondered if he was an artist of some kind. Did Egyptians write with brushes?
"Try this one." He circled a short sentence at the top of the page. "What does it say?"
She traced the symbols with her eyes while the ink dried. "Living One," she said, recognizing the glyphs. The others took her longer. "The Living One, who travels West. The sun?"
Judas nodded and underlined another. "This?"
"Mother, the river that--" Raeger furrowed her brow. "I don't remember that symbol."
"Eating," he said. "In this case, 'nourish' is a better translation. They're more flexible about that than other languages, I've found. Now this one."
"That's..." She looked up at him.
"Sometimes it will be a full sentence, not a fragment like the others."
Raeger read the sentence again. It was easier to decipher when she only looked at parts. She turned her attention to the modifying sentence. "Isis, who-- oh. Who buried the coffin beneath the roots to protect her husband's body." She leaned closer to the paper, though it made no difference. "That's so complicated, though. Why can't they just tell us she did that, and then say the rest?"
He lifted a charcoal brow. "Why don't they simply write in Artolian?"
She rolled her eyes.
"It isn't always efficient," Judas said, setting the quill on its rest. "But there are aspects of our language that are just as bad. The Egyptians did well for pioneering the first written language on the continent."
"Was it really?" Raeger asked, not really expecting an answer. Everyone knew, all the reports said-- but reports also said the road to Asgard was only two hundred leagues south of Flenceburg. So far she hadn't heard of anybody successfully finding Bifrost.
"Who knows?" His voice was almost wistful, his face turned toward the window. Rain pattered against the glass, the dreary light doing nothing to improve his pallor. Shadows had spread beneath his eyes. "I know of only one other place as old as Amenti."
"Where?"
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "It doesn't have a name."
Raeger stared at the red line beneath the last sentence, letting it blur as her eyes unfocused. She was hungry, having left that day after only a light lunch, eager to spend time anywhere but the parlor, where Elise was practicing her scales. Her sister was better with voice than instruments, but her level of competence didn't make the exercises any more exciting. At least the library was quiet, if cold and dim in most areas. Too large a space, she'd thought before; its mezzanine levels reached up nearly five stories.
The lounge was comfortable, even warm in comparison. She hugged her cloak tightly and leaned back into the soft back of her chair. Comfortable, warm - she felt a sudden longing for the cocoon of her bed. The mantle clock gave her twenty more minutes before the end of this lesson.
"Why would she hide her husband in a tree like that?" she finally asked, flicking the corner of the paper with her nail. "The version I read didn't mention it. But she was a goddess, in that one. A god wouldn't need to hide..."
She thought he smiled again, but it disappeared quickly. "Everyone tries to hide from something, even gods."
"You would know, of course?"
This time Judas's sidelong glance was amused, his eyes crinkled, though it was not reflected in a smile. His face could have been still as marble. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Etherell."
The pitch of his voice made Raeger's spine prickle, and she bit her lip to suppress the shiver, switching tacks. "I meant your shady dealings with Marie's father. I saw you at his office door earlier."
He laughed, though it seemed as if the sound was forced out of him - as if he'd been struck. "How observant of you."
"Yes, quite a coincidence. Would that visit have anything to do with a certain manuscript?"
"Perhaps." Judas slid the paper from her reach, brushing her with his fingertips. "But I am perfectly satisfied to wait for you, my lady."
Raeger snatched her hand back, curling it beneath the other on her lap. She glanced at him, sliding her gaze over with the hope he wouldn't notice. But he was watching expectantly, face just innocent enough to make her doubt. "You were saying?"
"It's from the late period," he said, perhaps deciding to have mercy on her. "When the old gods were rejected."
"Why?" When he didn't answer, instead lifting a brow, she elaborated. "Why were they rejected?"
"No one really knows. There isn't much left of the capitol. Nothing to excavate for records. Just..."
She tilted her head, waiting patiently when he trailed off. Her tutor didn't seem given to prolonged silences - not so far as she had observed in three days. Elise would have badgered him mercilessly like she did with Lawfer, and it was that memory that stilled Raeger's tongue when she thought of prompting him. Whatever he was thinking about made him frown, a line appearing between his eyebrows.
"Do you know of the capitol, Miss Etherell?"
"Of Amenti? No, nothing." But she wanted to, and leaned forward slightly.
The lines on his forehead smoothed. "Then perhaps we'll come back to this another time."
"Tease." Raeger leaned back, and didn't have to feign her disappointment. "I'll hold you to that promise, you know."
He didn't hide his smile, then. She decided that meant he did know - very well.
Since she was left with almost an hour to wait between the end of her lessons and the beginning of her late meeting with Miss Matilda, Raeger indulged herself with a cup of tea and a small plate of crisp pastries shaped like seashells. The rain had yet to let up; she hadn't seen the pale yellow of the sun for almost three days. The city was blanketed with fine mist when the rain didn't pound down, almost thick enough to resemble fog, and persistent enough drench her in moisture every time she set foot outside.
The snows would come soon. She looked forward to it - the air would be dry, and the pines behind the house blanketed in white. It would fall silently, muffling the noise of the city and its ever-present smell of wood and burning, and some acrid undertone she tried not to contemplate. Traffic would slow, but the palace would be more lively - snow meant Yuletide was near, and more parties than she would be able to attend, even if she cared to.
One had to be cautious at those celebrations. Raeger knew living in the country left her ignorant of the gossip, the shifts in power - getting involved would probably hinder more than help. If Mother had her way, however... it was impolite to deny an invitation, even if it wasn't earned by her own merits.
The music halls were much livelier than than the department she left, even so close to evening. She heard the rhythmic pounding of drums behind one door, the reedy sound of an oboe past another. The Yuletide choir sang in a large chamber reserved for performance practice, the door left slightly ajar so she heard their voices descent from the strident, ringing tones describing Valhalla to the whisper of scripted exchanges the song attributed to the three valkyrie sisters. She passed several faces she recognized. Her mind couldn't supply any names, and she was lucky none of these people stopped to speak with her. How was she supposed to remember everyone when she spent most of her year up north? And maybe they weren't worth remembering, or surely someone would have stopped to say hello. Raeger barely rated a nod, and ranking probably had more to do with that than her shining personality.
Of course, Lucy managed to charm them all just fine with her abrasive one - probably by generously spiking tea. Raeger had never caught her at it, but the tittering that came from the parlor some nights was unnerving and persistent. And the way Mother would harp on her about performing and looking her best, as if she would be any more impressive now than she was last year...
Yes, that's it. Raeger amused herself with that idea while letting herself into Matilda's chamber. They're all harpies. It would explain so much.
The practice room was lit by a chandelier of hanging oil lamps with raindrop glass chambers, all lit, the walls paneled with dark wood that took on a red sheen where it was highlighted. A fire blazed in the ornate frame of its mantle, ebon wood and carved with sylvan designs, and the room was small enough to be warmed, its hardwood floor covered completely with layers of rugs - the old ones were faded and covered by new woven designs, green, gold, blue and brown. All of the practice rooms at the palace were like this; sound echoed in rooms with marble or tile floors, or even bare wood, and the distortion would muffle the tone, even ruin efforts to count time for beginners.
Matilda's harpsichord sat in the far corner opposite the door, keys uncovered and gleaming black. A line of chairs marched along the back wall, arms and legs painted yellow, cushions white. A girl close to her own age was seated center, her blushing pink skirt folded between the narrow arms, shimmering as only silk should. Lacy petticoats peeped from beneath the hem, her shoes matched her skirt, and her hair-- it was bright gold, perhaps it was gold, curled in tight ringlets and pulled back with jeweled pins, ruby and pale sparkles that could only be diamond. Raeger blinked, stopped, her feet freezing immediately. Her hands numbed.
Riches like that were not common, even in the capitol - even in the palace. A fortune was spent to acquire tiny pearls for Raeger's wedding bodice, and almost as much on the lace weaving of her veil. It wouldn't be silk. She wouldn't have jewelry - or if she did it would be silver.
The girl lifted an eyebrow, sharp, quick, and her voice snapped the same way. "Well?"
Raeger jumped and her stomach dropped. "Your highness." Her mouth parched. She bent her knees and spread her skirt quickly, almost dropped to the floor in her haste to remedy the mistake. "I-I apologize for--"
"Get up." Jelanda's hand waved, and her expression smoothed, though her eyebrow tried to creep up again as her gaze took in Raeger's shoes, hair, and the make of her dress. It lingered on her hands, folded at her waist. "You're the student - Etherell?"
"Yes."
The princess turned her face away, and Raeger noticed the glint of armor for the first time, in a corner shaded by a ruffled cloth screen. "You didn't tell her I would be here, I take it."
Lawfer's face reddened. "I sent a note." His eyes flicked up to Raeger, his head inclined slightly. "I'm sorry."
She nodded, throat still tight. Perhaps he sent it home, where she should have been present to receive it. Would Mother receive it and wonder, or would she have forwarded it to the palace? This was, after all, an event she would want her daughter to be prepared for so as not to embarrass herself and the family. "It must have just missed me," she said, biting her lip on the inside when their royal guest turned back to her. "There was a slight change of plans, and Miss Matilda said she would be late..."
"She won't be here at all," Jelanda said. "I'm looking for accompaniment at the Yule ball. If you're half as good as Lawfer seems to think, you'll still be better than the hacks I've auditioned here. The music--" she pointed a glittering finger, ringed in gold, "--is already open. Start when you're ready."
Raeger swallowed the urge to comment, looked at Lawfer, and turned to the harpsichord when he merely shrugged and offered no support whatsoever. He was trying to help; whether through his own misguided idea of 'improving status' and 'making connections' or Mother's, it must have gotten into his head that she wanted to accomplish something. Maybe she did, but it wasn't music, or performance, and she'd never desired the fire of the princess's eyes boring into her back. By 'when you're ready' she obviously meant 'now.'
A selection from The Saga of the Ring waited for her on the wooden stand above the bed of keys: the title "Brunhild," hand-written at the top in a sweeping cursive script, dried Raeger's mouth again and left her wrists feeling weak. She sat heavily on the bench and felt her chignon bounce, the pins pull. Witty. She wondered if the princess expected her to have the skill to play it.
The opening passage blotted the thin staff lines out with dark notes cramped together in ascending and descending arcs, thirty-second notes preceded by the tiny mark of a pick-up in C sharp. It resembled the passage of the story it was meant to emulate - Brunhild's strong presence, the quick-beating hearts of Gunther and his allies when she challenged them to test their strength, and only slowed halfway down the second page. She'd played the languid passages - the wedding night, the casting of the javelin - and even enjoyed the piece named after the Nibelungs because of the martial flair her father was fond of, but the battles, the challenges, were new to her. Copying these pages cost money; there were only two extant copies.
Jelanda sighed behind her, the sound almost pointed, and Raeger put her fingers to the keys. Staring wouldn't make the task any easier. She'd read the pages, and could only hope her fingers would unfreeze and cooperate with her brain.
The volume of the first note almost startled her into stopping after the heavy silence of her examination, but her eyes skimmed the notes on the page and her fingers followed on the appropriate keys, and though she stumbled through the first passage, the second was smoother - and the third, and the fourth. She skipped two sharps at regular intervals, when the chromatic run of notes repeated, and missed the first key change, though she was quick to correct that. Her teeth ground together within the space of one wrong measure. The composer was clearly insane to switch keys every two or three measures, and her arms trembled when she finally reached the end of that part and moved to the second page.
The princess marked time with her nails on the arm of her chair, and her drawn out hmmmm when Raeger reached the end of the selection and stopped was not reassuring. "Can you do it double-time?"
Raeger stared at the keys. Her hands shook in her lap. "D-double time?" Was that even possible?
Jelanda breathed a laugh. Her silks slithered and rustled. "Maybe that's too much. Try the next one. It's only a page."
Only a page - with a coda, and instructions to repeat twice. But it was easier. Raeger's fingers didn't feel like they'd fall off when she finished and listened to the strings hum themselves to silence. It was nice to see a whole note once in a while, and tempo markings that were not the musical equivalent of running for her life.
For a moment the princess was silent, and Raeger fought the temptation to look back, moving her hands from the keys back to her lap and staring at the music until the black notes blurred into blots of ink as her eyes unfocused. This wasn't the first test of her ability she'd endured, but her taskmaster was by far the most important - literally speaking - and also reputedly judgmental to the extreme. She must not be doing badly if the princess had yet to yell at her.
"Have you ever played accompaniment?" Jelanda asked, and when Raeger shook her head she said, "then we'll start with something easy."
Raeger's spine stiffened, her shoulders trying to hunch, and her fingers knotted together before she forced herself to pull her hands apart. Behind her she heard the pull of silk skirts and the tap-tap-tap of the princess's steps muffled by the rugs to a shuffle. The ruffle of her hem dragged on the weavings, starkly white between Jelanda's rosy pink skirt and the dark green of the floor. Lawfer remained in the back, though she heard his heavy footfalls and the scrape of his armor when he moved to stand in front of the chairs.
The princess gathered the music on the stand and pushed it into a folio atop the harpsichord, bending and turning the corners of the pages with her long nails. They were stained a vivid red, glossy, and filed smooth. Her ringlets spiraled down against her back, the ends brushing her pale sash. Do you know this one, she asked, noting a name, or have you at least heard work by-- and Raeger could only claim knowledge of most of Artolia's classic composers, having heard none in performance. They came up with a few pieces she knew well from her years of study, and when Jelanda laid the first out, the presence of lyrics hand-written in the margins made Raeger blink and stare while she tried to read them.
"Are you quite finished?" Jelanda asked, and Raeger started back with a yes, of course, sitting up straight again. Lawfer cleared his throat quietly and shifted, sword belt creaking.
The princess waved her hand, and Raeger began. Jelanda wore some kind of floral perfume which, rather than giving her a headache as scents like that usually did, reminded her of the vivid, sharply green ponds in the garden at her manor, though it smelled much better. Not sweet, but almost tart. Her mind wandered, thinking on it until the princess snapped at her to stop, slapped her hand on the wood, and scolded her for not paying attention. Raeger apologized and tried again - and again and again, but she eventually got it right, and they finished the first song. Even while paying attention, keeping pace with someone's voice and adjusting tempo and volume to match it was difficult.
They went through two more, and she got progressively better, before Jelanda turned her back on the music for the last measure, her part done, and crossed her arms. Her head tilted, her ringlets brushed the black keys. "You'll do. I practice early afternoons, from two until four unless something comes up - and I expect you to be there by one. Every day, and you had better send a note early if you're sick. My chamberlain will settle the rest of your account with Matilda."
That was it. The princess swept out of the room before Raeger could do more than assure her she would be present when called. The door clicked closed, so loud now the other girl's voice wasn't filling the room, and she turned back to the music, shuffled the sheets together, slipped them back into order. She heard Lawfer's footsteps approach, heavy enough with his armor they sank through the rugs to thump on the wood floor, but did not turn around.
She'd been told Jelanda was queen of brats, rude to the point of uncivility. That did not appear to be the case, unless her mood today was uncommonly good, or perhaps blunted by the novelty of meeting someone new who didn't talk back. Or - perhaps she wasn't as bad as everybody said she was. There were traditional courtesies observed among the peerage, honorifics and expectations exchanged between all classes regardless of relative rank, and the princess might be blind to those - she did not say please, thank you, ask for the opinion of her victim or consider the inconvenience she was causing. Raeger would have been put off by the same behavior from someone else. Even the seamstress she met with Marie was courteous enough to introduce herself and keep her opinions on Raeger silent.
Was that it? Was it, perhaps, that the princess simply didn't observe the niceties she was supposed to?
"I apologize."
Raeger almost jumped, a tingle shooting down her spine. "I-- suppose you did try to send a note."
Lawfer didn't walk into her range of vision, but remained behind her and, by the angle his sword impacted with the legs of her stool, his back was facing her. "The princess was auditioning players this morning and nearly lost her patience by noon-time. They didn't sound as skilled as I recalled your performance, so I made the suggestion - but I didn't know she would insist on seeing you right away. Normally she takes time to investigate her candidates."
She lined the sheets up together and rested them sideways on the keys, reaching to fold the stand down. "My mother has attended the queen on occasion. Maybe she recognized my name."
"Your-- stepmother? Lady Lucy? Or--"
"Yes." Raeger left the music on the flattened stand, covered the keys, and let her hands slide into her lap. Her hair, woven into its unremarkable braid, thumped against her back. "I didn't know your connection to the princess was so immediate."
Lawfer was quiet a moment, still. "It wasn't until recently. My reputation caught her attention, and I was notified upon arrival she'd had me permanently moved to her personal guard."
She shrugged. Lucy must have known about it. 'Good catch' indeed. "Well." Soldiers didn't have much of a say in their assignments, apparently. "Mother will be happy. Thank you."
The clock read seven and a quarter after, and Raeger's head swam when she stood up to straighten her skirt and tug the bottom of her short jacket right. The pastries she treated herself to were small, only a memory, and her purse empty of silver. Coppers would buy nothing in the palace. She pulled her lace gloves on - another addition to her wardrobe, ending in loose ruffles at the wrists - and considered the time it would take for her carriage to be readied, how long the ride home would be when others were surely out on the streets to attend events. A comedy was playing at the theatre, and she'd heard one of her sister's friends was hosting a birthday party.
"I arranged for supper in the hall of leisure," Lawfer said, slow, "if you're interested."
Raeger turned to look at him, found him watching her over his shoulder. She leaned on the harpsichord cover, the edge biting into her fingers. "Yes." She took his offered hand. "Thank you."
*
The Hall of Leisure was half ballroom, half conservatory - like a pavilion built partly into the palace with a high, buttressed ceiling and arched pairs of glass doors around the perimeter, all thrown open to allow the wet pine scent from the garden inside. Chairs and tables, lounges, and benches were arranged in groups, each near a brazier or a fire pit with brass accenting the staff termed 'rustic,' one of which caught Raeger's eye when they entered the patio area - the brass fixtures, the molding on the brass chimney piece, were shaped in designs like the illustrations in her book on ancient tales. Scrolls and detailed filigree, and a face with a wavy mane of hair she supposed was Odin. Lawfer led her to a table at the center of the room, his name written in script on a card at the center of the table, and he helped her into a chair. The fire pit nearest to them burned low to her left, but before she could mention it a servant was approaching. A row of miniature, potted pines to her right shielded their table from the others, broke the flow of air toward the open doors, and after a moment seated she realized their table was warm enough to remove her coat.
"I sent a note early in the afternoon," Lawfer said when she'd finished draping her coat over the back of her chair. His armor and surcoat were gone, replaced with a plain black coat and a pintucked shirt while she waited in the music room to speak with Matilda when she returned. "My servant said it was accepted, so I'm not sure what the mix-up was--"
"It was my fault." Raeger watched the firelight flare on her silverware when the servant added more wood and nudged the logs with iron clamps, the metal scraping. "I wasn't home, you see. I received Matilda's letter in the morning, and decided to--" She pressed her lips together. Her stomach still roiled, sore after an hour sitting stiffly beside the princess to play, hollow after a day with almost nothing to eat. Matilda usually had something - you need to put some meat onto your bones, she kept saying - but of course that had not been an option. "Well, I'm taking extra lessons, so I rescheduled them. Mother doesn't know about it."
A maid came to announce the evening's dishes - roasted mushrooms and white cheese bread, white fish and grilled peppers, chicken with honey and cardamom glaze - and they made their orders, Raeger's with drinking chocolate to be served before the meal, because it would be warm and creamy, and settle her stomach. Someone else came with bowls of creamy spinach sauce the size of her palm, the consistency of softened butter, and plates with medallions of hard bread the same size, sliced thin and toasted. She waited for Lawfer to reach for his knife first, then took hers and tried not to slather the creamy mess onto her bread with complete abandon. You butter your bread like a peasant, Lucy said often. Show some moderation. Don't let your elbow stick out like that. We are not trying to stab our guests, if you will recall.
Whose fault was it Raeger was trained in formal dining etiquette late? Not her own - though she thought she'd have had as little patience for it as Elise, if they'd started her younger. She griped about it all the time: how are you supposed to cut anything if you can't move your arm out a little bit? and though their peers had no real respect for Yamato culture as far as Raeger could see - they bought and sold the people as slaves, after all - it had become fashionable to learn the art of eating with two slender sticks. My hands are killing me, Elise said when she first started learning. Tell me how you're supposed to eat rice with sticks? There's nothing to stab. I refuse to eat it one grain at a time.
Maiya took on the task of tutoring them once she was given to Raeger. Rice was sticky in Yamato, she told them. Not like candy, she said when Elise asked, but it was moist, and clumped together, and one scooped it out of the bowl with a light touch - like this, and she picked up a mouthful of long grain, unsticky rice and brought it to her mouth. Neither Elise nor Raeger could replicate that feat.
Lawfer glanced at the fire, finished his piece of bread. The wood popped, and the flare of light and scent made his hair shine gold and shimmer. "Are these lessons of yours that objectionable? I thought you were studying Amenti."
Raeger snorted. "Yes. The teacher is male - if there are any female scholars traveling into the desert, I haven't heard of them."
He shook his head. There weren't many female scholars at all. The ones she knew about were in literature, and of course, most of the instructors and performers in the music department were women. Her father said it wasn't like that elsewhere, in Flenceburg or Crell Monferaigne, but only because larger countries had more people to spare, and Artolia needed knights, warriors, not musicians. He rarely noted women among his troops unless they were mercenaries - or bore long range weapons like archers or mages, which he seemed not to consider members of the so-called warrior class.
"Lady Lucy is a trifle too paranoid." Lawfer layered another medallion of bread with sauce, knife glinting. "Though you should be careful. Your maid accompanies you, I hope."
"Almost every day," Raeger said. "Today she was kept home for something, and I promised to meet a friend. Marie would have been with me if I'd been able to find her."
He glanced up. "I don't doubt you'll be fine, but I wouldn't trust to his morals - just in case. Don't study alone with him, or late at night if it can be helped."
She tried not to frown, tried to smooth her brow when he looked down, fingers clenched in the napkin on her lap. "I really don't think he's interested--" Lawfer looked up again, through the gold fringe of his eyelashes, and she drew back slightly. "What?"
He started to shake his head again, halted. "Never mind."
"No, what?"
"He doesn't have to be interested." He bit into his bread. Raeger chewed her lip. Lawfer's eyebrow twitched up a hair. "War is war. Never mind."
Two maids arrived with their plates and ended the conversation. Red, yellow, and green slivers of peppers accompanied her fish, and four thin wedges of lemon. She hadn't tasted any kind of fish, from lake or sea, for almost a year. It's practically all we have when we're camped near a river, Lawfer told her. One more bite and I'll be sick, and Raeger laughed, told him he sounded like Elise. He pretended to be offended, and she assured him no one talked as much as her sister, certainly not him. He ate about as much, but she didn't tell him that. He had the chicken, and the smell of the honey glaze and the bed of orange slices made her mouth water.
Dessert was sweetened lemon sherbet under a syrupy citrus sauce and a dollop of whipped cream, and afterward he escorted her to the foyer to order her carriage brought around. Her chocolate never came, but Bertha would have some made if she asked when she got home, and Elise likely stayed up to meet her. They could share. The clock read ten minutes to nine when they left the Hall, and it would probably be another twenty minutes before she got to the townhouse.
She was waiting by a white, ceramic brazier with Lawfer near the double doors, glancing over at the stairs, when her eyes focused on the blue figure coming down and she recognized Marie. Raeger called her name, waved to get her attention, and folded her hands together under her cloak. He asked if this was the friend she mentioned earlier, and she nodded.
Marie's eyebrows were already lifted when she approached. "Who is this, may I ask?" When Raeger introduced Lawfer, her friend smiled, showing white teeth, and offered a shallow curtsy. "I'm Marie. Raeger and I are neighbors out in the country - if you can call it that when you live a dozen leagues apart."
"I looked everywhere for you earlier," Raeger said. "Did you get caught up in another fitting?"
Marie winced, her lip slightly curled. "A surprise luncheon. I'm sorry. Father wanted me to sing. I thought I sent a note, but it must have slipped my mind."
Would Raeger find all of these notes waiting on her desk, or would they be ashes in the fire grate? Or-- perhaps Lucy would have them, and she would be questioned. If you are not going to the palace with Marie, she would say, why on earth are you wasting three hours of your day there when there are tasks you can see to here? Such as improving her palette for wine, learning to embroider something recognizable, or figuring out what to do with her cosmetics? And then, if she lied and told Mother she came to practice--
Her friend asked to accompany Raeger home - you're closer, we had to move house to the outskirts, and I don't like driving there at night - and Lawfer left them with a polite bow and a promise to see her tomorrow when she arrived for her appointment with the princess. Marie hummed, let out a long sigh, and they watched his broad back disappear around the staircase, where the halls apparently led to the quarters shared by the knights while on duty.
"You get the handsome tutor and the dashing white knight." Marie rolled her eyes up, laughed softly when Raeger tried to elbow her and hit the steel rib of her corset. "And now-- the princess? I can't believe you. Lady Lucy's wildest dreams are coming true."
Raeger rubbed her arm. Life would be ten times better without wearing steel vices around their ribs. "Don't remind me."
....................................................................................
It's been what, a year and three months? Whoops. :D I'm starting to think my choices of plot are kind of uncreative, looking at my recent work. Oh well.
The plot of the Nibelugenlied purposely followed only by outline - first because I don't feel like rifling through the real thing, and second because VP laughs at historical and mythological accuracy. I think stuff should be different anyway.
Author: Amber Michelle
Fandom: a very AU VP Lenneth - so AU it's almost original.
Words: 6010
Other chapters: [ see the chapter archive. ]
Notes: Since I didn't have access to my book on Egyptian language, I made do with some nebulous (and purposely incorrect!) references to Japanese grammar instead. Don't believe a word of what I say about hieroglyphs. :P
The first 1600 words were written in late 2007, I think. After the harpy comment, the new stuff starts. I wonder if there's a huge difference in the style or tone after that? Sorry if there are any discrepencies. I went through the first part to add stuff, but it's basically unchanged, because I'm lazy and don't feel like rewriting.
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Raeger's lessons ran smoothly for the rest of her first week. She awoke late on the last day of the week, and found a note waiting on her desk, informing her Miss Matilda, the woman guiding her lessons on the harpsichord, had delayed until later that night. Though she left at ten as usual, there was nothing to do but loiter in the library and pass the time until her language lesson at three. Maiya was kept at home for once to handle the arrival of more dresses, and Raeger was sure the last of her comfortable linens would be replaced with a nightmare of ruffled slips and corsets, her dresses with slimmer, more elaborate items.
Though she'd made little progress in only a few days, her teacher proved to be patient, even nice. His voice was smooth and even, soft, lilted be a slight accent she didn't recognize as belonging to Villnore. Perhaps he came from a remote region.
"This here is a conventional noun modifier in the later writings," Judas said, drawing a fingertip along the line of hieroglyphs in question. The fire snapped and sparked behind him, a yellow flame licking up past the line of the mantle, into the chimney. "You should read it as 'Isis,' who hid the coffin beneath the tree's roots..."
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "But how do you tell when it's a modifier, and when it's some other kind of verb?"
"It will always be in past tense, even in a sentence written in the present." The corner of his mouth turned up when she only stared at him. "Look at the sentences." He turned, reaching for a quill and a pot of red ink. "I'll underline each one. Watch."
He had a light hand with the quill; the way he held it made Raeger think he should be wielding a brush instead, and she wondered if he was an artist of some kind. Did Egyptians write with brushes?
"Try this one." He circled a short sentence at the top of the page. "What does it say?"
She traced the symbols with her eyes while the ink dried. "Living One," she said, recognizing the glyphs. The others took her longer. "The Living One, who travels West. The sun?"
Judas nodded and underlined another. "This?"
"Mother, the river that--" Raeger furrowed her brow. "I don't remember that symbol."
"Eating," he said. "In this case, 'nourish' is a better translation. They're more flexible about that than other languages, I've found. Now this one."
"That's..." She looked up at him.
"Sometimes it will be a full sentence, not a fragment like the others."
Raeger read the sentence again. It was easier to decipher when she only looked at parts. She turned her attention to the modifying sentence. "Isis, who-- oh. Who buried the coffin beneath the roots to protect her husband's body." She leaned closer to the paper, though it made no difference. "That's so complicated, though. Why can't they just tell us she did that, and then say the rest?"
He lifted a charcoal brow. "Why don't they simply write in Artolian?"
She rolled her eyes.
"It isn't always efficient," Judas said, setting the quill on its rest. "But there are aspects of our language that are just as bad. The Egyptians did well for pioneering the first written language on the continent."
"Was it really?" Raeger asked, not really expecting an answer. Everyone knew, all the reports said-- but reports also said the road to Asgard was only two hundred leagues south of Flenceburg. So far she hadn't heard of anybody successfully finding Bifrost.
"Who knows?" His voice was almost wistful, his face turned toward the window. Rain pattered against the glass, the dreary light doing nothing to improve his pallor. Shadows had spread beneath his eyes. "I know of only one other place as old as Amenti."
"Where?"
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "It doesn't have a name."
Raeger stared at the red line beneath the last sentence, letting it blur as her eyes unfocused. She was hungry, having left that day after only a light lunch, eager to spend time anywhere but the parlor, where Elise was practicing her scales. Her sister was better with voice than instruments, but her level of competence didn't make the exercises any more exciting. At least the library was quiet, if cold and dim in most areas. Too large a space, she'd thought before; its mezzanine levels reached up nearly five stories.
The lounge was comfortable, even warm in comparison. She hugged her cloak tightly and leaned back into the soft back of her chair. Comfortable, warm - she felt a sudden longing for the cocoon of her bed. The mantle clock gave her twenty more minutes before the end of this lesson.
"Why would she hide her husband in a tree like that?" she finally asked, flicking the corner of the paper with her nail. "The version I read didn't mention it. But she was a goddess, in that one. A god wouldn't need to hide..."
She thought he smiled again, but it disappeared quickly. "Everyone tries to hide from something, even gods."
"You would know, of course?"
This time Judas's sidelong glance was amused, his eyes crinkled, though it was not reflected in a smile. His face could have been still as marble. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Etherell."
The pitch of his voice made Raeger's spine prickle, and she bit her lip to suppress the shiver, switching tacks. "I meant your shady dealings with Marie's father. I saw you at his office door earlier."
He laughed, though it seemed as if the sound was forced out of him - as if he'd been struck. "How observant of you."
"Yes, quite a coincidence. Would that visit have anything to do with a certain manuscript?"
"Perhaps." Judas slid the paper from her reach, brushing her with his fingertips. "But I am perfectly satisfied to wait for you, my lady."
Raeger snatched her hand back, curling it beneath the other on her lap. She glanced at him, sliding her gaze over with the hope he wouldn't notice. But he was watching expectantly, face just innocent enough to make her doubt. "You were saying?"
"It's from the late period," he said, perhaps deciding to have mercy on her. "When the old gods were rejected."
"Why?" When he didn't answer, instead lifting a brow, she elaborated. "Why were they rejected?"
"No one really knows. There isn't much left of the capitol. Nothing to excavate for records. Just..."
She tilted her head, waiting patiently when he trailed off. Her tutor didn't seem given to prolonged silences - not so far as she had observed in three days. Elise would have badgered him mercilessly like she did with Lawfer, and it was that memory that stilled Raeger's tongue when she thought of prompting him. Whatever he was thinking about made him frown, a line appearing between his eyebrows.
"Do you know of the capitol, Miss Etherell?"
"Of Amenti? No, nothing." But she wanted to, and leaned forward slightly.
The lines on his forehead smoothed. "Then perhaps we'll come back to this another time."
"Tease." Raeger leaned back, and didn't have to feign her disappointment. "I'll hold you to that promise, you know."
He didn't hide his smile, then. She decided that meant he did know - very well.
Since she was left with almost an hour to wait between the end of her lessons and the beginning of her late meeting with Miss Matilda, Raeger indulged herself with a cup of tea and a small plate of crisp pastries shaped like seashells. The rain had yet to let up; she hadn't seen the pale yellow of the sun for almost three days. The city was blanketed with fine mist when the rain didn't pound down, almost thick enough to resemble fog, and persistent enough drench her in moisture every time she set foot outside.
The snows would come soon. She looked forward to it - the air would be dry, and the pines behind the house blanketed in white. It would fall silently, muffling the noise of the city and its ever-present smell of wood and burning, and some acrid undertone she tried not to contemplate. Traffic would slow, but the palace would be more lively - snow meant Yuletide was near, and more parties than she would be able to attend, even if she cared to.
One had to be cautious at those celebrations. Raeger knew living in the country left her ignorant of the gossip, the shifts in power - getting involved would probably hinder more than help. If Mother had her way, however... it was impolite to deny an invitation, even if it wasn't earned by her own merits.
The music halls were much livelier than than the department she left, even so close to evening. She heard the rhythmic pounding of drums behind one door, the reedy sound of an oboe past another. The Yuletide choir sang in a large chamber reserved for performance practice, the door left slightly ajar so she heard their voices descent from the strident, ringing tones describing Valhalla to the whisper of scripted exchanges the song attributed to the three valkyrie sisters. She passed several faces she recognized. Her mind couldn't supply any names, and she was lucky none of these people stopped to speak with her. How was she supposed to remember everyone when she spent most of her year up north? And maybe they weren't worth remembering, or surely someone would have stopped to say hello. Raeger barely rated a nod, and ranking probably had more to do with that than her shining personality.
Of course, Lucy managed to charm them all just fine with her abrasive one - probably by generously spiking tea. Raeger had never caught her at it, but the tittering that came from the parlor some nights was unnerving and persistent. And the way Mother would harp on her about performing and looking her best, as if she would be any more impressive now than she was last year...
Yes, that's it. Raeger amused herself with that idea while letting herself into Matilda's chamber. They're all harpies. It would explain so much.
The practice room was lit by a chandelier of hanging oil lamps with raindrop glass chambers, all lit, the walls paneled with dark wood that took on a red sheen where it was highlighted. A fire blazed in the ornate frame of its mantle, ebon wood and carved with sylvan designs, and the room was small enough to be warmed, its hardwood floor covered completely with layers of rugs - the old ones were faded and covered by new woven designs, green, gold, blue and brown. All of the practice rooms at the palace were like this; sound echoed in rooms with marble or tile floors, or even bare wood, and the distortion would muffle the tone, even ruin efforts to count time for beginners.
Matilda's harpsichord sat in the far corner opposite the door, keys uncovered and gleaming black. A line of chairs marched along the back wall, arms and legs painted yellow, cushions white. A girl close to her own age was seated center, her blushing pink skirt folded between the narrow arms, shimmering as only silk should. Lacy petticoats peeped from beneath the hem, her shoes matched her skirt, and her hair-- it was bright gold, perhaps it was gold, curled in tight ringlets and pulled back with jeweled pins, ruby and pale sparkles that could only be diamond. Raeger blinked, stopped, her feet freezing immediately. Her hands numbed.
Riches like that were not common, even in the capitol - even in the palace. A fortune was spent to acquire tiny pearls for Raeger's wedding bodice, and almost as much on the lace weaving of her veil. It wouldn't be silk. She wouldn't have jewelry - or if she did it would be silver.
The girl lifted an eyebrow, sharp, quick, and her voice snapped the same way. "Well?"
Raeger jumped and her stomach dropped. "Your highness." Her mouth parched. She bent her knees and spread her skirt quickly, almost dropped to the floor in her haste to remedy the mistake. "I-I apologize for--"
"Get up." Jelanda's hand waved, and her expression smoothed, though her eyebrow tried to creep up again as her gaze took in Raeger's shoes, hair, and the make of her dress. It lingered on her hands, folded at her waist. "You're the student - Etherell?"
"Yes."
The princess turned her face away, and Raeger noticed the glint of armor for the first time, in a corner shaded by a ruffled cloth screen. "You didn't tell her I would be here, I take it."
Lawfer's face reddened. "I sent a note." His eyes flicked up to Raeger, his head inclined slightly. "I'm sorry."
She nodded, throat still tight. Perhaps he sent it home, where she should have been present to receive it. Would Mother receive it and wonder, or would she have forwarded it to the palace? This was, after all, an event she would want her daughter to be prepared for so as not to embarrass herself and the family. "It must have just missed me," she said, biting her lip on the inside when their royal guest turned back to her. "There was a slight change of plans, and Miss Matilda said she would be late..."
"She won't be here at all," Jelanda said. "I'm looking for accompaniment at the Yule ball. If you're half as good as Lawfer seems to think, you'll still be better than the hacks I've auditioned here. The music--" she pointed a glittering finger, ringed in gold, "--is already open. Start when you're ready."
Raeger swallowed the urge to comment, looked at Lawfer, and turned to the harpsichord when he merely shrugged and offered no support whatsoever. He was trying to help; whether through his own misguided idea of 'improving status' and 'making connections' or Mother's, it must have gotten into his head that she wanted to accomplish something. Maybe she did, but it wasn't music, or performance, and she'd never desired the fire of the princess's eyes boring into her back. By 'when you're ready' she obviously meant 'now.'
A selection from The Saga of the Ring waited for her on the wooden stand above the bed of keys: the title "Brunhild," hand-written at the top in a sweeping cursive script, dried Raeger's mouth again and left her wrists feeling weak. She sat heavily on the bench and felt her chignon bounce, the pins pull. Witty. She wondered if the princess expected her to have the skill to play it.
The opening passage blotted the thin staff lines out with dark notes cramped together in ascending and descending arcs, thirty-second notes preceded by the tiny mark of a pick-up in C sharp. It resembled the passage of the story it was meant to emulate - Brunhild's strong presence, the quick-beating hearts of Gunther and his allies when she challenged them to test their strength, and only slowed halfway down the second page. She'd played the languid passages - the wedding night, the casting of the javelin - and even enjoyed the piece named after the Nibelungs because of the martial flair her father was fond of, but the battles, the challenges, were new to her. Copying these pages cost money; there were only two extant copies.
Jelanda sighed behind her, the sound almost pointed, and Raeger put her fingers to the keys. Staring wouldn't make the task any easier. She'd read the pages, and could only hope her fingers would unfreeze and cooperate with her brain.
The volume of the first note almost startled her into stopping after the heavy silence of her examination, but her eyes skimmed the notes on the page and her fingers followed on the appropriate keys, and though she stumbled through the first passage, the second was smoother - and the third, and the fourth. She skipped two sharps at regular intervals, when the chromatic run of notes repeated, and missed the first key change, though she was quick to correct that. Her teeth ground together within the space of one wrong measure. The composer was clearly insane to switch keys every two or three measures, and her arms trembled when she finally reached the end of that part and moved to the second page.
The princess marked time with her nails on the arm of her chair, and her drawn out hmmmm when Raeger reached the end of the selection and stopped was not reassuring. "Can you do it double-time?"
Raeger stared at the keys. Her hands shook in her lap. "D-double time?" Was that even possible?
Jelanda breathed a laugh. Her silks slithered and rustled. "Maybe that's too much. Try the next one. It's only a page."
Only a page - with a coda, and instructions to repeat twice. But it was easier. Raeger's fingers didn't feel like they'd fall off when she finished and listened to the strings hum themselves to silence. It was nice to see a whole note once in a while, and tempo markings that were not the musical equivalent of running for her life.
For a moment the princess was silent, and Raeger fought the temptation to look back, moving her hands from the keys back to her lap and staring at the music until the black notes blurred into blots of ink as her eyes unfocused. This wasn't the first test of her ability she'd endured, but her taskmaster was by far the most important - literally speaking - and also reputedly judgmental to the extreme. She must not be doing badly if the princess had yet to yell at her.
"Have you ever played accompaniment?" Jelanda asked, and when Raeger shook her head she said, "then we'll start with something easy."
Raeger's spine stiffened, her shoulders trying to hunch, and her fingers knotted together before she forced herself to pull her hands apart. Behind her she heard the pull of silk skirts and the tap-tap-tap of the princess's steps muffled by the rugs to a shuffle. The ruffle of her hem dragged on the weavings, starkly white between Jelanda's rosy pink skirt and the dark green of the floor. Lawfer remained in the back, though she heard his heavy footfalls and the scrape of his armor when he moved to stand in front of the chairs.
The princess gathered the music on the stand and pushed it into a folio atop the harpsichord, bending and turning the corners of the pages with her long nails. They were stained a vivid red, glossy, and filed smooth. Her ringlets spiraled down against her back, the ends brushing her pale sash. Do you know this one, she asked, noting a name, or have you at least heard work by-- and Raeger could only claim knowledge of most of Artolia's classic composers, having heard none in performance. They came up with a few pieces she knew well from her years of study, and when Jelanda laid the first out, the presence of lyrics hand-written in the margins made Raeger blink and stare while she tried to read them.
"Are you quite finished?" Jelanda asked, and Raeger started back with a yes, of course, sitting up straight again. Lawfer cleared his throat quietly and shifted, sword belt creaking.
The princess waved her hand, and Raeger began. Jelanda wore some kind of floral perfume which, rather than giving her a headache as scents like that usually did, reminded her of the vivid, sharply green ponds in the garden at her manor, though it smelled much better. Not sweet, but almost tart. Her mind wandered, thinking on it until the princess snapped at her to stop, slapped her hand on the wood, and scolded her for not paying attention. Raeger apologized and tried again - and again and again, but she eventually got it right, and they finished the first song. Even while paying attention, keeping pace with someone's voice and adjusting tempo and volume to match it was difficult.
They went through two more, and she got progressively better, before Jelanda turned her back on the music for the last measure, her part done, and crossed her arms. Her head tilted, her ringlets brushed the black keys. "You'll do. I practice early afternoons, from two until four unless something comes up - and I expect you to be there by one. Every day, and you had better send a note early if you're sick. My chamberlain will settle the rest of your account with Matilda."
That was it. The princess swept out of the room before Raeger could do more than assure her she would be present when called. The door clicked closed, so loud now the other girl's voice wasn't filling the room, and she turned back to the music, shuffled the sheets together, slipped them back into order. She heard Lawfer's footsteps approach, heavy enough with his armor they sank through the rugs to thump on the wood floor, but did not turn around.
She'd been told Jelanda was queen of brats, rude to the point of uncivility. That did not appear to be the case, unless her mood today was uncommonly good, or perhaps blunted by the novelty of meeting someone new who didn't talk back. Or - perhaps she wasn't as bad as everybody said she was. There were traditional courtesies observed among the peerage, honorifics and expectations exchanged between all classes regardless of relative rank, and the princess might be blind to those - she did not say please, thank you, ask for the opinion of her victim or consider the inconvenience she was causing. Raeger would have been put off by the same behavior from someone else. Even the seamstress she met with Marie was courteous enough to introduce herself and keep her opinions on Raeger silent.
Was that it? Was it, perhaps, that the princess simply didn't observe the niceties she was supposed to?
"I apologize."
Raeger almost jumped, a tingle shooting down her spine. "I-- suppose you did try to send a note."
Lawfer didn't walk into her range of vision, but remained behind her and, by the angle his sword impacted with the legs of her stool, his back was facing her. "The princess was auditioning players this morning and nearly lost her patience by noon-time. They didn't sound as skilled as I recalled your performance, so I made the suggestion - but I didn't know she would insist on seeing you right away. Normally she takes time to investigate her candidates."
She lined the sheets up together and rested them sideways on the keys, reaching to fold the stand down. "My mother has attended the queen on occasion. Maybe she recognized my name."
"Your-- stepmother? Lady Lucy? Or--"
"Yes." Raeger left the music on the flattened stand, covered the keys, and let her hands slide into her lap. Her hair, woven into its unremarkable braid, thumped against her back. "I didn't know your connection to the princess was so immediate."
Lawfer was quiet a moment, still. "It wasn't until recently. My reputation caught her attention, and I was notified upon arrival she'd had me permanently moved to her personal guard."
She shrugged. Lucy must have known about it. 'Good catch' indeed. "Well." Soldiers didn't have much of a say in their assignments, apparently. "Mother will be happy. Thank you."
The clock read seven and a quarter after, and Raeger's head swam when she stood up to straighten her skirt and tug the bottom of her short jacket right. The pastries she treated herself to were small, only a memory, and her purse empty of silver. Coppers would buy nothing in the palace. She pulled her lace gloves on - another addition to her wardrobe, ending in loose ruffles at the wrists - and considered the time it would take for her carriage to be readied, how long the ride home would be when others were surely out on the streets to attend events. A comedy was playing at the theatre, and she'd heard one of her sister's friends was hosting a birthday party.
"I arranged for supper in the hall of leisure," Lawfer said, slow, "if you're interested."
Raeger turned to look at him, found him watching her over his shoulder. She leaned on the harpsichord cover, the edge biting into her fingers. "Yes." She took his offered hand. "Thank you."
*
The Hall of Leisure was half ballroom, half conservatory - like a pavilion built partly into the palace with a high, buttressed ceiling and arched pairs of glass doors around the perimeter, all thrown open to allow the wet pine scent from the garden inside. Chairs and tables, lounges, and benches were arranged in groups, each near a brazier or a fire pit with brass accenting the staff termed 'rustic,' one of which caught Raeger's eye when they entered the patio area - the brass fixtures, the molding on the brass chimney piece, were shaped in designs like the illustrations in her book on ancient tales. Scrolls and detailed filigree, and a face with a wavy mane of hair she supposed was Odin. Lawfer led her to a table at the center of the room, his name written in script on a card at the center of the table, and he helped her into a chair. The fire pit nearest to them burned low to her left, but before she could mention it a servant was approaching. A row of miniature, potted pines to her right shielded their table from the others, broke the flow of air toward the open doors, and after a moment seated she realized their table was warm enough to remove her coat.
"I sent a note early in the afternoon," Lawfer said when she'd finished draping her coat over the back of her chair. His armor and surcoat were gone, replaced with a plain black coat and a pintucked shirt while she waited in the music room to speak with Matilda when she returned. "My servant said it was accepted, so I'm not sure what the mix-up was--"
"It was my fault." Raeger watched the firelight flare on her silverware when the servant added more wood and nudged the logs with iron clamps, the metal scraping. "I wasn't home, you see. I received Matilda's letter in the morning, and decided to--" She pressed her lips together. Her stomach still roiled, sore after an hour sitting stiffly beside the princess to play, hollow after a day with almost nothing to eat. Matilda usually had something - you need to put some meat onto your bones, she kept saying - but of course that had not been an option. "Well, I'm taking extra lessons, so I rescheduled them. Mother doesn't know about it."
A maid came to announce the evening's dishes - roasted mushrooms and white cheese bread, white fish and grilled peppers, chicken with honey and cardamom glaze - and they made their orders, Raeger's with drinking chocolate to be served before the meal, because it would be warm and creamy, and settle her stomach. Someone else came with bowls of creamy spinach sauce the size of her palm, the consistency of softened butter, and plates with medallions of hard bread the same size, sliced thin and toasted. She waited for Lawfer to reach for his knife first, then took hers and tried not to slather the creamy mess onto her bread with complete abandon. You butter your bread like a peasant, Lucy said often. Show some moderation. Don't let your elbow stick out like that. We are not trying to stab our guests, if you will recall.
Whose fault was it Raeger was trained in formal dining etiquette late? Not her own - though she thought she'd have had as little patience for it as Elise, if they'd started her younger. She griped about it all the time: how are you supposed to cut anything if you can't move your arm out a little bit? and though their peers had no real respect for Yamato culture as far as Raeger could see - they bought and sold the people as slaves, after all - it had become fashionable to learn the art of eating with two slender sticks. My hands are killing me, Elise said when she first started learning. Tell me how you're supposed to eat rice with sticks? There's nothing to stab. I refuse to eat it one grain at a time.
Maiya took on the task of tutoring them once she was given to Raeger. Rice was sticky in Yamato, she told them. Not like candy, she said when Elise asked, but it was moist, and clumped together, and one scooped it out of the bowl with a light touch - like this, and she picked up a mouthful of long grain, unsticky rice and brought it to her mouth. Neither Elise nor Raeger could replicate that feat.
Lawfer glanced at the fire, finished his piece of bread. The wood popped, and the flare of light and scent made his hair shine gold and shimmer. "Are these lessons of yours that objectionable? I thought you were studying Amenti."
Raeger snorted. "Yes. The teacher is male - if there are any female scholars traveling into the desert, I haven't heard of them."
He shook his head. There weren't many female scholars at all. The ones she knew about were in literature, and of course, most of the instructors and performers in the music department were women. Her father said it wasn't like that elsewhere, in Flenceburg or Crell Monferaigne, but only because larger countries had more people to spare, and Artolia needed knights, warriors, not musicians. He rarely noted women among his troops unless they were mercenaries - or bore long range weapons like archers or mages, which he seemed not to consider members of the so-called warrior class.
"Lady Lucy is a trifle too paranoid." Lawfer layered another medallion of bread with sauce, knife glinting. "Though you should be careful. Your maid accompanies you, I hope."
"Almost every day," Raeger said. "Today she was kept home for something, and I promised to meet a friend. Marie would have been with me if I'd been able to find her."
He glanced up. "I don't doubt you'll be fine, but I wouldn't trust to his morals - just in case. Don't study alone with him, or late at night if it can be helped."
She tried not to frown, tried to smooth her brow when he looked down, fingers clenched in the napkin on her lap. "I really don't think he's interested--" Lawfer looked up again, through the gold fringe of his eyelashes, and she drew back slightly. "What?"
He started to shake his head again, halted. "Never mind."
"No, what?"
"He doesn't have to be interested." He bit into his bread. Raeger chewed her lip. Lawfer's eyebrow twitched up a hair. "War is war. Never mind."
Two maids arrived with their plates and ended the conversation. Red, yellow, and green slivers of peppers accompanied her fish, and four thin wedges of lemon. She hadn't tasted any kind of fish, from lake or sea, for almost a year. It's practically all we have when we're camped near a river, Lawfer told her. One more bite and I'll be sick, and Raeger laughed, told him he sounded like Elise. He pretended to be offended, and she assured him no one talked as much as her sister, certainly not him. He ate about as much, but she didn't tell him that. He had the chicken, and the smell of the honey glaze and the bed of orange slices made her mouth water.
Dessert was sweetened lemon sherbet under a syrupy citrus sauce and a dollop of whipped cream, and afterward he escorted her to the foyer to order her carriage brought around. Her chocolate never came, but Bertha would have some made if she asked when she got home, and Elise likely stayed up to meet her. They could share. The clock read ten minutes to nine when they left the Hall, and it would probably be another twenty minutes before she got to the townhouse.
She was waiting by a white, ceramic brazier with Lawfer near the double doors, glancing over at the stairs, when her eyes focused on the blue figure coming down and she recognized Marie. Raeger called her name, waved to get her attention, and folded her hands together under her cloak. He asked if this was the friend she mentioned earlier, and she nodded.
Marie's eyebrows were already lifted when she approached. "Who is this, may I ask?" When Raeger introduced Lawfer, her friend smiled, showing white teeth, and offered a shallow curtsy. "I'm Marie. Raeger and I are neighbors out in the country - if you can call it that when you live a dozen leagues apart."
"I looked everywhere for you earlier," Raeger said. "Did you get caught up in another fitting?"
Marie winced, her lip slightly curled. "A surprise luncheon. I'm sorry. Father wanted me to sing. I thought I sent a note, but it must have slipped my mind."
Would Raeger find all of these notes waiting on her desk, or would they be ashes in the fire grate? Or-- perhaps Lucy would have them, and she would be questioned. If you are not going to the palace with Marie, she would say, why on earth are you wasting three hours of your day there when there are tasks you can see to here? Such as improving her palette for wine, learning to embroider something recognizable, or figuring out what to do with her cosmetics? And then, if she lied and told Mother she came to practice--
Her friend asked to accompany Raeger home - you're closer, we had to move house to the outskirts, and I don't like driving there at night - and Lawfer left them with a polite bow and a promise to see her tomorrow when she arrived for her appointment with the princess. Marie hummed, let out a long sigh, and they watched his broad back disappear around the staircase, where the halls apparently led to the quarters shared by the knights while on duty.
"You get the handsome tutor and the dashing white knight." Marie rolled her eyes up, laughed softly when Raeger tried to elbow her and hit the steel rib of her corset. "And now-- the princess? I can't believe you. Lady Lucy's wildest dreams are coming true."
Raeger rubbed her arm. Life would be ten times better without wearing steel vices around their ribs. "Don't remind me."
....................................................................................
It's been what, a year and three months? Whoops. :D I'm starting to think my choices of plot are kind of uncreative, looking at my recent work. Oh well.
The plot of the Nibelugenlied purposely followed only by outline - first because I don't feel like rifling through the real thing, and second because VP laughs at historical and mythological accuracy. I think stuff should be different anyway.
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Date: 2009-03-16 03:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-16 07:42 pm (UTC)Haha, maybe I should take care of some of the continuity errors. >_>