18: Lessons in Civility (Part I)

Chapter 18: Lessons in Civility (Part I)

The Time: Present Day (720 A.E.)

The Place: The Palace of Mujal, Tsimeda, the Kingdom of Saimr

The next morning, Ari is up, dressed (though she still feels a little naked without Varul strapped to her hip or trailing behind her feet), and politely but efficiently escorted from her rooms before the False Sun is more than a glimmer on the horizon.

She’s used to being up early! Since she hit the ripe old age of five, when she was officially deemed old enough to help with the household chores, her natural inclination to snooze until mid-noon has been ruthlessly hammered out of her: first by her mother, and then by her master (who only deigns to sleep perhaps one night out of five anyway). So it’s with minimal belly-aching that she submits to Adanias steering her through the halls of the royal wing (which she learns is called the Dragon’s Wing, harhar) while her eyes are still attempting to glue themselves shut.

After all, his sense of urgency… isn’t unwarranted. They have four days to cram as much highfalutin gobbledygook through her thick skull as possible before the Rites of Devotion festivities begin, and if she’s being honest, Ari’s faith in her own success has quite possibly never been so low. It’s not necessarily that the idea of being paraded in front of the God-Queen’s court has her quaking in her boots. Unlikely as it might seem, she has done this sort of thing before. Back in the day, she’d been Seda’s… gentler hand, the saint she dispatched to coax and cajole instead of beat and bleed.

She’s shared tables with her fair share of haughty aristocrats, but… this is different!!! Before, she was always a stand-in for someone or something else—a gussied-up figurehead, meant to be pretty and charming and just powerful enough to remind allies and enemies alike that the Dawn (and the Prophet pulling its strings) could strike as furiously as any deity. As a saint, she was more a symbol than a person. Batira the Shepherd, an embodiment of the True Sun’s mercy. She didn’t have to move or think independently; she only had to follow the Prophet’s commands.

(Also, she’d… valiantly never pointed out to the commonfolk who’d granted her that epithet that the word batira did in fact already mean shepherd in the language of the Heavens. And yes, her fellow saints had quickly taken to calling her Batiratira—Shepherd Shepherd.)

Even as Seda’s wife, the legitimacy of her position was in its entirety derived from her proximity to Velnyr. It didn’t matter if she believed she was worthy of becoming the Prophet’s consort; Velnyr was her master and her master had decided she would be most useful at Seda’s side. That was all there was to it.

The point is, she’s never had to convince an entire royal court and a gaggle of plenipotentiaries that she deserves to sit at the right hand of a god! She most certainly does not deserve that, in fact! Or want it, for that matter!

She’s barely had time to process everything that’s happened since the first Harbinger appeared in that no-name village, and now she’s meant to spend the next four days learning to be her master’s loyal little wife so Velnyr can trot her out and show her off like a prized lapdog?! Argh!!! She didn’t even have the decency to propose! She just… tumbled Ari in her new quarters like a cheap whore and then wandered off to handle more important things, leaving the matter of educating her new pet-slash-fiance-slash-puppet to her servants!

Ari doesn’t want to let herself feel gutted by the fact that Velnyr didn’t care enough to even tell her about this personally. She doesn’t want to be crushed that Velnyr stripped away every ounce of intimacy, of sincerity, of sentimentality from a dream so fragile that for years Ari kept it bundled up under her ribs for fear of a glancing blow shattering it to dust. To be made her master’s wife? To be petted and possessed and cherished by her dearest love; to be given a precious place to call home? She’d never even admitted aloud to herself that she wanted it. It would’ve been too fanciful, too foolish, too dangerous.

If you only want a little, then you can’t be terribly disappointed when it dangles forever out of reach. But if you dare to want everything… How far will you have to fall once you leap for it and miss?

Yes. So. She’s a bit miffed. It’s probably not the best mindset to adopt for several days of grueling lectures, but she’s only mortal.

Ari’s sour reverie is broken when Adanias, fittingly, leads her to the absolutely massive library she glimpsed during Velnyr’s initial tour of the Dragon’s Wing. As they pass through a gargantuan archway carved of sleek black marble striated with swirling bands of silver, Ari’s churlishness fades somewhat in the face of sheer awe. Yes, she did see this place yesterday, but frankly she was too overwhelmed to properly appreciate it.

She’s been in finely-appointed libraries before. This is… not one of those. This is a monument to the genius of the woman who built it.

Beneath a domed ceiling so tall it’s impossible to make out the details of the frescoes painted across its belly, row after row of towering bookshelves extend into the library’s shadowy depths, each one filled with all manner of hefty tomes, preserved scrolls, magical tools, decorative trinkets, geological samples, and (of course) more plants. Several dim magelanterns hang in thin air, casting the entire room in an eerie greenish shade that only makes the strange and monstrous skeletons suspended from the ceiling even more ghoulish.

Arranged against one wall is an assortment of equipment ranging from oversized lecterns supporting huge illuminated manuscripts, to desks scattered with bottles and crucibles and alembics, to… some contraption made of giant interlocking metal rings that rotate slowly around a smaller sphere. The rest of the wall space is taken up by taxidermied creatures on pedestals, more plants, a singular and very stunning fountain, and a number of idols dedicated to Velnyr herself.

Ari takes a brief moment to examine one of them more closely. Naturally, she’s come into some contact with the new god-queen’s iconography, but these are the first proper idols she’s laid eyes on. A bit cynically, she wonders if Velnyr carved these personally as well. She can picture it, that vain, horrible woman chiseling her own likeness from hunks of stone that are nearly as cold and hard as her heart.

Most of the statues depict her simply as a regal drow woman in billowing robes—with some liberties, of course. Some grant her the wings of a dragon, others, the body of a spider like Adanias. In some, she wields her signature saber; in some, her hands cup real, actual flames. Her ridiculously ornate headdress makes several repeat appearances. Unfortunately, Velnyr has the sort of features that immortalize well in marble, and so whomever carved these things was able to capture her likeness with startling accuracy. The poses help too: often, her chin is lifted arrogantly, her arms outstretched as though inviting the viewer to admire the breadth of her domain.

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Idols in her own private wing… Ridiculous.

Ari shakes her head and focuses on the task at hand. Only the space near the front of the library is relatively empty. There’s a single large table surrounded by high-backed chairs, and seated around it are three disparate figures.

The figure closest to her is a drow woman who looks like a fairytale princess: beautiful, refined, delicate, and wrapped in a gorgeous clinging satin dress, ruched about the bodice and dyed a pure white that gradually darkens to deeper dove gray near the flowing hem. There are no sleeves to hide the stiff set of her shoulders. Simple but impeccably-crafted silver jewelry adorns her ears, her neck, her hair, and her wrists. Still, as Ari has seen from Velnyr’s wardrobe, this woman’s garb is fairly restrained by elven standards.

And yet…

Ari’s hindbrain perks up like a sighthound watching a fat fowl peck obliviously at a patch of grass. That face, those features, that dour, haughty expression… Their coloration might be different–this woman has violet skin instead of slate, long wavy hair as pale as fresh snow, eyes the color of clear river water—but the family resemblance is undeniable: this is a member of House Napharos!!! Ari would bet her right arm on it!

Vibrating with excitement, Ari nevertheless forces herself to look more closely at the drow woman’s (is she one of Velnyr’s aunties? Cousins? Sisters?) seatmates.

The person seated across from the drow woman is… another drow woman, though this one looks mildly less like she has a spear stuck up her ass. Clad in thick, elaborate robes dyed white and edged with silver scrollwork, this woman has skin of midnight blue and long, long pale hair bound in dozens of finger-thick braids that loop artfully around a bafflingly complex headpiece. Thin white tattoos extend down the edges of her face to disappear past the neckline of her robes. Her expression is proud but at ease, and though she sits ramrod-straight, there’s less visible tension in her posture. Ari would bet her left arm that this woman is the highest-ranked person in the room.

Interesting. Shouldn’t a member of House Napharos outrank even an illustrious noblewoman like this? Maybe she married into the family…?

The final person sitting—or… well, standing—at the table is one that makes Ari smile delightedly. A goblin! Another sort of person she’s heard of but never seen!

This one is a man, every bit as short as Mellie but with much stranger features: olive green skin, bright yellow eyes, ears so large they nearly outsize his head, a prominent downturned nose, and cute little tusks that poke out between his lips. But his expression is faultlessly kind and curious, and his wilder edges are softened by his well-made, well-worn, and surprisingly cozy-looking garb and the tiny, distinguished pince-nez perched on the bridge of his long nose.

Adanias smiles beatifically and dips into a bow. “Consort presumptive, please allow me to introduce your tutors.” He gestures first towards the woman with the elaborate headpiece. “This is Lady Tessala sedlato dar’Jeveth of House Galyros, formerly the Grand Archivist of Samaris University and currently the Grand Archivist at the University of Tsimeda.”

The woman rises to greet Ari with an appraising look and a shallow nod of her head, just barely on the right side of respectful. Ari… isn’t exactly sure if she should respond in kind, or… Well, that’s what she’s here to learn, right? None of her sahan’s lessons had ever focused overmuch on elven etiquette! Most everything she knows, she picked up from raunchy Elvish court romances!

Ari returns the woman’s expectant gaze with a smile and a matching nod, which feels like a safe bet. She… doesn’t look impressed, but she doesn’t look outraged, either. Ari’s going to count that as a success!

Adanias moves on to the next woman, and Ari tries not to perk up too visibly. “This is Lady Melzera anelato dar’Saelaran of House Napharos, bound in matrimony to Lord Commander Damaeran of House Galyros. She is Most Holy’s eldest sister.”

Ari doesn’t pump her fist, but only barely. Aha!!! She was right!

Ah, but the way Adanias introduced this person was interesting… First, Adanias presented her only as Velnyr’s sister. Obviously, this is the most important thing about her, but if she were a mage or scholar or warrior of any note, it still should have been mentioned. Second, in Elvish society, generally a man is only as important as the women he’s connected to (this was information Ari first learned from her master, but her raunchy court romances confirmed it!). A man is his mother’s property first, and then his wife’s.

For Adanias to bother mentioning Lady Melzera’s husband, it must mean that she married into House Galyros instead of the other way around. That’s not unheard of, exactly, but it is… a little odd. Most men marry into their wife’s family. Particularly in marriages between noble clans, it’s strange for a member of a more notable house to marry down into a less prominent one. Ari isn’t familiar with House Galyros, but no matter how important they are, they aren’t more noteworthy than the royal family of the largest and most populous city in all of Imtheria!

Lady Melzera also stands when Adanias says her name, but unlike Lady Tessala she doesn’t bother with even lukewarm pleasantries. Her glower isn’t as potent as her younger sister’s, but it’s still nothing to scoff at! The fact that it rolls off Ari like water off a duck’s back only seems to irritate her further. It’s not her fault—Ari’s just had years of exposure to a much pricklier teacher, that’s all!

Adanias clears his throat and tips his chin to indicate the last person at the table. “Ah, and this is the esteemed Professor Skem, formerly of House Dasgrahl, currently bound in matrimony to Lady Tessala of House Galyros. He’s an historian at the University of Tsimeda.”

The little goblin man pops upright, even though he was already standing atop his chair, and offers Ari an enthusiastic salute. “And a humble essayist specializing in modern theism, by the by. How do you do!”

Ari has no idea what “modern theism” is, but what a nice man! She grins back at him.

A goblin marrying a drow, though? That’s odd, too. Very odd. Elves are blood supremacists through and through. Ari has read just enough Elvish “forbidden romance” books to get the gist of it. Elves—with their longevity, adaptability, and superior arcane prowess—view their shorter-lived and less magically-adept neighbors with deep contempt. Marrying a human would be a stark black mark on an elven noble’s reputation. While humans have some magical aptitude, on the whole they certainly aren’t up to the standards of Elvish high society, and they don’t live very long to boot. Only a godborn human mate might be considered acceptable.

But for an elf to wed one of the Smallfolk—a gnome, goblin, or dwarf? Social suicide!!! Smallfolk have even shorter natural lifespans than humans, and their innate magical ability is nonexistent. For a woman like Lady Tessala to marry someone like Professor Skem… they must be deeply in love.

Ari’s heart feels warm and gooey.

Adanias claps his hands lightly, breaking her reverie. “This servant is honored to offer thanks to you all on Most Holy’s behalf for lending your expertise to the consort presumptive. You will, of course, be generously compensated for your efforts over these next few days. On that note, please feel free to get started! This servant will gladly fetch refreshments in the meantime.”

***

Pronunciation Guide

Damaeran: Dah-MAI-rahn

House Dasgrahl: Dahs-GRAHL

House Galyros: Gah-LEE-rohs

Melzera: Mell-ZEH-rah

The University of Samaris: Sah-MAH-rihs

Skem: Skehm

Tessala: Teh-SAH-lah