The Lord's Tale (part one)(volume two)(excerpt)

scene three

One thing was certain, Krysilla decided: her clothes were much better suited to the rocky terrain surrounding the cove than Lady Marilisin’s filmy dress and embroidered shoes. Her careful steps slowed them down to half the speed that they’d used to walk to the city. If Zhiv felt at all frustrated by the pace, he didn’t show it. He was just as courteous to Lady Marilisin as he’d been to Krysilla when he had been concerned that the pace was too much for her.

She was starting to agree with Razev. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

And she was most certainly glad she hadn’t taken Zhiv’s concern and protection as anything more than friendliness.

When she could push her jealousy aside, she did take note of something she hadn’t expected. Lady Marilisin didn’t cling, or even notice Zhiv much on the journey, beyond what was polite. Instead, she spent much of her time speaking with Razev, asking about news from Hurush, from the most mundane weather to her obvious concern regarding the lists the Disciples had apparently been compiling for the past few weeks. “I think it’s safe to confess that my father won’t allow them to compile any within his city until the King has been chosen,” she said. “He feels this is not something that should be done without a firm hand guiding it.”

“Your father is a wise man,” Razev replied. Zhiv said nothing.

Next in frequency of attention came Krysilla, and even then Lady Marilisin’s questions steered away from the personal. She wanted to know what kind of magic Krysilla had used, and where she’d learned it. In return, Krysilla found she could ask anything she liked about the training of a noblewoman.

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Ten,” Lady Marilisin said, then grew sheepish. “I’m afraid I’m not a good example. I refused to learn for many years. I threw tantrums that shame me now, all to avoid casting in favor of running through the garden. Most begin training at seven. My father hoped I would begin earlier. Did your father train you?”

Krysilla nodded. “Mine started at four, though. I didn’t know it at the time. It was small magic, growing seedlings for the garden.”

“You had a garden?”

“Mmm. My father was a farmer.”

“I never touched that magic,” Lady Marilisin said, almost wistful. Krysilla wasn’t surprised she never had. Why would a noble learn how to farm? “Ours focuses on attacks and defense,” the lady continued, “though, to be honest, their practicality has yet to be tested. My father was furious when I didn’t want to learn anything at all. Too many nobles are forgetting their spells entirely, you see.” The land sloped downward, with a series of wide rocks that made a broad, natural staircase. Zhiv held out one hand, positioning himself so that Lady Marilisin had to rely on him on her way down. Her grateful smile was all the attention she gave him. “My father is concerned that if this continues, the only ones who will remember how to defend against an attack will be the Dogs.”

“There’s been no inter-house fighting since the days of the Ornic,” Razev said. “I doubt losing those spells will bring any catastrophe.”

“Ah, but what if one enterprising noble learned what he could?” she said. “Our manors are often filled with Ornic spells. We clap our hands and walls move, or rooms disappear. It’s a wonderful show for those who have no idea what’s inscribed in the walls, and we feel it’s a check on any pride among the lower classes. Our equals know better. And if one decided to take control of the others, to work outside the system, would we be strong enough to resist? It’s questions such as these that trouble my father, and as a result, trouble me.”

Krysilla nodded slowly. Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she tried to hold on to the conversation as she followed Zhiv and Lady Marilisin down to the end of the stone stairs that marked the first portion of the descent to the cove.