The day ground by, one interminable hour after another, as the pitiless sun beat down upon Orlov. Iolanthe waited patiently for dusk, coolness, the promise of night-blooming flowers, and an answer to her questions. Her brother Dimitri, even when cornered after lunch, refused to enlighten her about the planned, private conversation.
She had to wait.
In the meantime, she, auntie Quintana, and the head housekeeper inspected linens needed for the upcoming week, consulted with the cooks over meals, and planned which one of Orlov Castle's dozens of rooms next needed to be emptied, scrubbed from ceiling to floor, all the furnishings washed, have repairs made, and possibly be repainted. The business of a castle's upkeep never ended, making it a full-time task for the ladies of Orlov and their army of servants.
Throughout the day, Auntie Quintana refused to say anything either, confining the conversation to the necessities of housekeeping for dozens of people and the legion of servants needed to wait upon them. Iolanthe understood that as Ljubo's wife, Quintana probably knew what was in the wind, but she wouldn't talk. Auntie Quintana had endured years in Orlov and she had learned how to keep her own counsel. She always listened but she rarely revealed a confidence without express permission.
Auntie Quintana would only say, when pressed, "things will get better, dear girl." She paused in examining a linen sheet spread out for her inspection by one of the maids and turned to stroke Iolanthe's cheek, smiling fondly at her niece. "Your mother would be so proud of you."
"I miss her so much," Iolanthe said quietly. She flicked her eyes over towards the group of silent maids spreading out another sheet from the east wing's linens room. She knew at least one of the maids warmed Rastislav's bed regularly, although possibly not by choice. The sot was known for his animal appetites. Still, the maid — whichever one she was — could carry tales in an effort to curry favor, especially tales about people remembering those who the sot had harmed. It was always best to be circumspect when not alone and behind closed doors.
"I know, dear girl. We all do." Quintana held up her hand. "Stop. Bring that sheet closer to the light. Damnation. Terraformer stains?" She looked more closely and gasped "no, it's mice!"
Everyone groaned, knowing how the workload had just increased. The cupboard holding the sheet must not have been sealed tightly enough and mice had burrowed inside to make soft nests. Every cupboard in the room would have to be checked and resealed, along with every single piece of linen being inspected closely, mended as needed, washed, aired, and refolded. Meanwhile, the rat catcher would come with his traps, poisons, hissing ferrets and yapping terriers, making a huge mess of fur, muddy pawprints, droppings, and bloodied bits of mice strewn everywhere.
Upset enough to be unwary, Iolanthe said to Quintana "I wish we were allowed to keep cats in the castle."
The sheet wasn't just stained; it had numerous holes nibbled in it. It would be mended, but it was ruined for use by the family. It would be surprising if every sheet in this particular cupboard of bedlinens wasn't damaged as well.
"I know." Quintana's eyes flicked towards the listening maid holding the sheet out for inspection. She said, more loudly, "However, our dear daimyo, Rastislav, does not care for cats; unreliable, sneaking, sly creatures that they are."
"The daimyo is correct in his distaste for cats," Iolanthe murmured. So this maid — a plump, bosomy, newly arrived girl with a self-satisfied smirk — was the bedwarmer and thus could not be trusted. Based on the smirk, she probably didn't object to Rastislav's attentions and was new enough not to know any better. Iolanthe ran the day's conversations over in her head, focusing on what this maid had said as they worked their way through the daily tasks. Hmm. This maid seemed clever enough to use the daimyo to her own advantage, demonstrating that she was clever indeed, as well as a risk-taker.
***
The sun sank into the west, not moving a single degree faster than it chose to, despite Iolanthe's watching it closely.
"You like the sunset so much, girl?" the daimyo snarled. "Where are your manners?"
She snapped her eyes back, suddenly aware of the hovering footman. He was holding a silver platter for her to choose from. The teacakes on display did not look tempting. The daimyo favored overly rich, sickeningly sweet treats, heavily frosted to ensure they made the teeth hurt.
"I beg your pardon, my lord Rastislav," Iolanthe replied. "The sunset is unusually brilliant today and the colors distracted me."
She quickly chose the teacake nearest to her and placed it on her empty plate. She'd have to eat it since Rastislav had decided to pay attention to her. She kept her twisted left hand tucked in her lap, safe from his view. She'd carefully chosen a seat far from where he sat, hoping to avoid his notice. She'd failed. At least her cane was tucked behind her, where he couldn't see it and comment on useless cripples.
"I'm trying to marry you off, girl," he said. "You'll shame me and all of Orlov if you can't behave better than some ignorant tavern slut."
"My deepest apologies, my lord," she murmured and sipped some tea, wetting a suddenly parched throat. Marriage? Rastislav had made it plain she was damaged goods; unworthy of a dowry, useless and unmarriageable. He must have unearthed some ancient, wheezing crony who couldn't afford to be fussy but still wanted a young bride to fumble with in bed. Marriage to someone like that wouldn't be an escape from Orlov; rather, it would be a new, fresh hell spent praying for an early widowhood.
He glared at her across the sullenly quiet dining room. She picked up the teacake, forced a smile of anticipation and bit into it as delicately as she could manage considering the load of garish orange frosting it was slathered with. Ugh. Layers of minty meringue stuffed with quince jelly and marzipan and citrus frosting. Any of those flavors would be acceptable by themselves but together, they clashed.
"You do my daughter great honor," Jerold said from his position at the table he shared with the daimyo.
"Yes, I do," Rastislav slurred and poured himself another glass of red wine. "Unfortunately, she seems too stupid to respond."
"I am overcome with your generosity, my lord," Iolanthe said hastily. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate so he couldn't see how she hated him. Did papa know? Was this what Dimitri had hinted at? Being forced to marry some monster? Maybe she could run away to Nourz, find Cressida Khan, and beg her to take her in. The Khan family didn't think much of Orlov so even though she and Cressida were friends, she might not receive sanctuary. Or would she? She might be worth the possible disagreement between the demesnes since she would be an inside source of information.
She cautiously glanced sideways at Rastislav. He was glaring at her father as though Jerold should have groveled more. She had to say something to distract the daimyo from harassing papa. Her father walked regularly too close to the edge as it was, in his family-assigned role of advisor to the daimyo.
"The cereus and moonflowers are due to bloom tonight with the coming of dusk, my lord Rastislav. I was watching the sunset, thinking of them and how foresighted Madame Orlov was when she first planted those flowerbeds. Would you like to join me in watching them open? They are lovely," Iolanthe chirped.
"Bah! You are a stupid girl," Rastislav said. "You'll be eaten alive by bugs. Even your blood is worth being devoured by an insect."
"Of course, my lord," Iolanthe murmured, eyes modestly lowered back to her half-eaten pastry. "My apologies for such a foolish suggestion."
"Madame Orlov loved those flowers," Uncle Fredo said loudly. "You should go watch them open, Rastislav, like a dutiful great-great-grandson would!" He was, Iolanthe saw to her disgust, already drunk despite the earliness of the hour. "She's the reason you're the daimyo and not someone who'd be actually capable of leading the demesne."
The room went dead silent.
Fredo lurched to his feet, tripped over a footstool, and vomited up all the teacakes and wine he had stuffed himself with.
"Father," Morley said, racing to help his father up. "Let me get you to your suite. Mother, would you prepare father's bedchamber?" Two footmen joined him. They kept their faces carefully blank and their eyes focused on the task sprawled across the carpet. Fredo's wife Avery, her own face rigid with distaste, beckoned to a maid and rose to her own feet, then made her stately way towards the doorway.
The various other members of the Orlov household all saw their chance for escape and fled, starting with a spitting mad Rastislav. The dining room emptied, leaving Ljubo, Jerold, Iolanthe, and Dimitri behind. As maids began entering to clean up, Jerold whispered to the others "we've been given a good omen, I think. We'll meet at dusk by the moonflowers."
"But papa," Iolanthe protested.
"Later, my jewel, by the moonflowers and the cereus," her father replied. "We'll speak then." He cast a warning glance around the dining room, lingering on the plump, bosomy maid who had assisted with the linens earlier in the day. Iolanthe caught his message and nodded her acquiescence. She was behind on the gossip and would have to make discreet inquiries. Her own maid, Olga, would know.
***
As Rastislav had prophesied, the bugs were out in force, zooming in for a blood meal. Iolanthe fanned herself vigorously and blessed her long sleeves and light veil, stymying vicious insects. Outdoor evening Equator fashions were, by necessity, sheer, lightweight, and enveloping. She picked her way carefully down the gravel path, her twisted left hand gripping firmly on her cane while she fanned herself with her right.
"If the breeze quickens," Dimitri said, "we'll see fewer of these damn bloodsuckers." He slapped at a buzzing insect. Like Iolanthe, he was enveloped in sheer linen organza, white in his case where hers was the palest of blues and embroidered with flowers and edged with faux pearls. Unlike his sister, he didn't have the benefit of a veil to shield his face. "I know we have to build a complete ecosystem, but did those Olde Earthe bastards have to include pests like mosquitos?"
"Oh look! Swifts and bats," Iolanthe said. Both birds and bats swooped and spun overhead in the pearly gray light, diving after invisible insects.
"Good. I hope they feast," Jerold said. "Think of it this way, Dimitri. Those mosquitos should remind you of what those Olde Earthe bastards really are: rapacious, bloodsucking parasites. When they deem Mars fully ready for them, they will swarm us, stealing everything we have built for generations and turning us all into slaves."
"We are the Four Hundred," Dimitri protested. "Our ancestors signed contracts."
"Dimitri, my son, do not assume Olde Earthe bastards will ever honor a contract that isn't to their benefit."
"Why do they ignore us, then?" Iolanthe asked.
"They don't, my dearest daughter, but they remain circumspect. For now. They strip our wealth, such as the rare earth mines at Summerset, from us as required for their own needs. Remember Mars, while it is perfect for us, is not yet perfected for unmodified humans. While we are terraforming Mars, they are expending their energy and wealth on occupying the rest of the solar system. But Mars remains the pearl. The only planet other than Olde Earthe itself where men can walk about in the open air. They will seize Mars back from us when they are ready. We must be ready for them."
"That is dreadful," Iolanthe said after a long silence. She caught and squeezed her brother's hand.
"That day is a long way off. We, or rather, your children's children will face that day. Like the swifts, we are not helpless."
Jerold slapped at a bug, crushing it into a bloody smear against his white linen sleeve. He flicked the remains onto the path and ground it in further until it vanished into the white gravel. "Ah, Ljubo at last."
"My apologies for lateness, cousin," Ljubo said. He was panting a bit from his trot down the winding gravel path. This section of the gardens was far from the castle; almost as if Madam Orlov had deliberately devised a section of the pleasure garden to ensure privacy for illicit trysts, secret meetings, and tête-à-têtes. The rose arbors were far less private. Sadly, even Madame Orlov had been unable to command the obedience of insects, although she had insisted on plenty of bat houses and encouraged swallows and swifts to nest on the castle walls.
"Quintana will join us later," Ljubo added. "She is assigning fresh duties to servants and organizing card games for the family to better keep everyone away from our conversation."
The scent of moonflowers rose around them, rich and intoxicating. They began opening as soon as the sun faded into the west. The more leisurely cereus flowers stretched and slowly, slowly began to spread their petals open, adding their own delicate scent to the air. The plants were ungainly lumps of succulent leaves, yet their flowers were exquisite and complex, as though they belonged to another plant entirely. The breeze picked up and the bugs began to disperse, pushed aside by the wind. It was another good omen.
"Iolanthe, my jewel," Jerold began.
"Papa," Iolanthe interrupted him. "Do not waste words. With the breeze freshening, others will come out to admire Madame Orlov's moonflowers. Who is this husband the sot speaks of?"
"Your brother, Dimitri, met Charlton and Albion DelFino in Barsoom," Jerold plunged into the story; Dimitri filling in details as he went. Ljubo kept watch on the paths leading from the castle. Iolanthe was correct; other members of the family would indeed brave the evening to observe the first blooms of the cereus now that stinging insects had been vanquished by the freshening winds. Each cereus flower lasted a single night, if it chose to bloom at all. The plants refused to adjust their schedules to suit anyone's needs but their own. Even Madame Orlov had not been able to make them bow to her will.
Other insects were arriving to replace the stinging, biting mosquitos; ghostly silver moths with hand-sized wings drawn by the perfume of moonflower and cereus. They were as beautiful as the flowers they pollinated, fluttering above them with flashing wings.
When Jerold finished his story, he said, "now you know. You will be able to escape Orlov, marry into DelFino, and be well cared for."
"You assume, papa," Iolanthe said, "that Charlton DelFino is not the cheating gambler his father and grandfather are."
"Charlton doesn't seem that way," Dimitri reassured her. "We've met several times. He won't touch wine because of his grandfather and he won't even bet on horses because of his father. He admitted he shamed himself once and would not do so again."
"How well do you know him?" Iolanthe asked. "Could he have been pretending to be better than he is?"
"I don't know him intimately," Dimitri conceded. "But he had plenty of opportunity in Barsoom to run wild following his father's lead, and he refused."
"You do not mention Barsoom whores," she said.
"Interestingly, Albion did not indulge his appetites when his son and I were around. I don't believe Charlton knows about them."
"Albion DelFino has some standards?" Iolanthe said. "Based on his reputation, I am surprised."
"How could you know this gossip, my jewel?" Jerold asked.
She laughed, a silvery rippling sound in the shifting silvery moonlight, as a silver-winged moth fluttered down towards the cereus blossom she was stroking, encouraging it to open more quickly. Overhead, Phoebus moved fast, making the shadows dance. His brother, Deimos, flashed as he raced past but his light was tiny, not much more than the brilliant stars beginning to show themselves as twilight gave way to night.
"I have many acquaintances thanks to my finishing school in Nourz. We exchange letters often. I write faithfully and have developed a wide correspondence of penpals."
"Ah. All those letters coming and going."
"Yes, papa. I am discreet about what I say of Orlov and I do not repeat confidences, as auntie Quintana has taught me."
"Rastislav doesn't care that you write and receive letters?" Dimitri asked curiously.
"No. I don't think the sot even knows the postal service exists."
"Interesting and useful," her brother said. He looked thoughtful.
"Keep him ignorant, Iolanthe," Jerold said. "The sot is becoming more paranoid. You too, Dimitri."
She bent over to admire the ivory cereus petals stretching open and revealing their secret, intricate heart. The blossom's perfume began to fill the air around it, encouraging another silver-winged moth to brave the people standing around the flower it sought.
"Marrying Charlton seems to be my solution," Iolanthe said, speaking to the flower rather than her hovering father, brother, and uncle. Whatever else Charlton DelFino was, he wasn't some wheezing geezer and the sot's crony. "But what of his sister? Does he understand how Rastislav will abuse her? That does not speak well of him. I don't expect Albion to care, not if his debts are being paid."
"I'd like to know where Rastislav is getting that money when Orlov has debts of its own," Ljubo grumbled. "He would have to sell more pearls; Gods save us all."
"Charlton doesn't know anything about Rastislav and I didn't tell him," Dimitri said. "I don't care what happens to his sister, Yilanda, if you are provided for."
"Charlton does not care I have no dowry?"
"According to Albion, DelFino will not support either Charlton or Yilanda. The DelFino matchmakers are doing nothing to find his son a bride," Dimitri said. "I would guess that Albion and his father before him are so useless that DelFino doesn't want Charlton to marry and continue his line."
"Understandable if he is truly useless to the demesne," Iolanthe said. She began gently stroking another cereus flower at its base. "But not evil?"
"No. He may be feckless and improvident, but not evil, like Rastislav," Jerold said.
"I think Charlton is better than that," Dimitri said.
"Ho!" Ljubo called out. "The cereus blooming tonight are nearing their peak! You have arrived at the right moment, Morley. And how is your father, Fredo, doing?"
Morley, the new steward, came up the path, his mother on his arm. Both looked worn out, even in the flattering, soft light of the equator's long, slow, gradually darkening night.
"He is asleep," Morley admitted. "My mother wished to see the cereus."
"They are delightful," Iolanthe said promptly. "This blossom in particular is especially lovely and sweet-scented. See how it lures the silver moths into its golden heart?"
"Delightful," Avery replied flatly. She strode up to Iolanthe and peered into the heart of the cereus, as if seeking an answer to managing the drunken lout she had married and the unhappy family she had joined.
Morley looked over the little group with cool eyes. "We came out for a reason. Rastislav told me he was planning to marry a DelFino girl, Yilanda. Did you know?"
Jerold and Ljubo exchanged quick, sideways glances.
"Yes," Jerold admitted. "He spoke with us the other night. The girl is Albion DelFino's daughter. She has no dowry. The daimyo believes that she will be as beautiful as her mother, Constance Ranaglia DelFino, and that is dowry enough for him."
Morley took a quick glance around, swore under his breath, and said, "foolish. Orlov needs money."
Morley's mother, Avery, took her own quick glance around. "Worse than foolish. If he manages to sire a son on that unfortunate girl, Orlov will be stuck with another drunken sack of shit as the daimyo."
"Mother!" Morley hissed.
"It's true and you know it," she hissed back. "Jerold, Ljubo, whatever game you are playing, we want in. My husband Fredo is destroying only himself, but Rastislav is destroying Orlov. I do not want my son, my Morley, to bring a bride to this misery of a demesne. I will not harm the mother of my grandchildren as I have been harmed."
"Do you mean that, Avery?" Quintana purred, making everyone jump. Her outdoor veils were smoky grays and dull blues, letting her vanish into the night, and she had stepped carefully on the gravel paths, making no sound to alert anyone to her arrival. She concealed her hands behind her back.
Avery turned her snapping dark eyes on Quintana. "Your and Ljubo's sons are in the same position as my Morley. They will come home from school to this place of pestilence, have to make the demesne function despite what Rastislav does to ruin it, and then try to find decent girls to marry and bring here. The Pearls of Orlov are not the lure they used to be, not in this sector. Rastislav, his father, and his father before them, have seen to that."
"Quite true, Avery," Jerold said. "But you understand our caution."
"I do, as does my son," Avery replied.
"We will do what we can to assist," Morley added. "Starting with how to handle the yam harvest so the serfs eat, debts get repaid, and Rastislav does not spend every penny of that harvest on debauchery in Barsoom."
Jerold and Ljubo exchanged glances again.
"It is worse than you know, Morley," Jerold said. "Not only does Yilanda not have a dowry, but Albion DelFino demands a bride price for his daughter. He insists on the payment of his gambling debts."
Morley groaned. "The yam harvest coin?"
"Or possibly selling another pearl," Jerold said. "Either way, he does not care if the serfs starve."
"If they go hungry," Morley said carefully, "we will not get another yam harvest, nor a harvest of any other crop."
"Why don't we sell more pearls?" Iolanthe asked. "Selling pearls would generate much income."
The adults all gave her pitying looks. Dimitri looked puzzled.
"I agree," Dimitri said. "Why don't we sell more pearls?"
"Tell your children, Jerold," Ljubo said. "They are old enough and this place is private." Quintana, Avery, and Morley nodded in agreement.
Jerold sighed. "Iolanthe, Dimitri. We cannot. The Pearls of Orlov are the surety behind every debt and mortgage levied on the demesne. They are the reason Orlov receives any respect at all. Each of the Pearls backs many times its value. Keeping the Pearls intact is the only reason we can continue to borrow money to keep operating the demesne. A Pearl here, a Pearl there isn't noticed. Selling all the Pearls, no matter how discreetly we could manage it, would be like declaring we are bankrupt before all of Mars. The demesne would never recover."
"That sounds like Orlov is a house of cards!" Iolanthe sputtered. "I know Pearls have been sold. I saw the Pearls when the last daimyah, gods rest her soul, wore them and they did not perfectly match the Pearls in Madame Orlov's portrait."
"We live in a castle built on sand and air, my jewel," Jerold said. "Some of the Pearls are false. I don't know exactly how many. Only the jeweler does. If word were to get out, we would be destroyed."
"Papa. You exaggerate."
"No. We'd never lose the land and everything within the demesne, down to the last serf and blade of grass. But the luxuries we are accustomed to? Credit from merchants? Government services? Our own private railroad line? Head of the line privileges wherever we go? All would be gone. We'd be as poor, no, poorer than those horse savages in the Ennaretee and Essaretee demesnes."
"Iolanthe," Morley said into the silence after Jerold's painful words, "understand this. Because Orlov has been so poorly managed for three generations, we would be worse off than most demesnes on Mars. We should be wealthy by our own efforts. Our lands are rich and well-watered. Our serfs are healthy and fertile. We are on the equator, with the main railways and the major government corridor close by. We own canals and roads to move our goods. Nourz is a major market for our agriculture and provides easy access to markets elsewhere. Yet we depend on moneylenders to pay our bills."
"It is the fault of the Pearls," Jerold said. "The Pearls meant no one had to work hard to keep Orlov in the forefront of Mars. The Pearls guaranteed lives of ease and luxury and our last three daimyos took full advantage of them. Because of the Pearls, we owe enough coin to purchase the rest of Mars."
Iolanthe thought about this and said, carefully, "if I understand you correctly, all of Orlov would have been better off without the Pearls?"
"You are a clever girl, Iolanthe," auntie Quintana said. "You are correct."
"Interesting," Dimitri said thoughtfully.
"The Pearls have cursed us, my jewel," Jerold said. "They should have been sold the day the family arrived on Mars from Olde Earthe and the wealth invested in the land and the free-cities. Madame Orlov loved the Pearls and wanted the set kept together as an heirloom for the family. Pearls were never sold during her lifetime. She thought of them as the talisman keeping Orlov strong."
"She was wrong," Ljubo said. "Just as she was wrong about wanting the daimyo to always be the oldest son of the oldest son, from her direct line. Because she was wrong, we are being punished, generations later."
"So if the Pearls vanish, we will be ruined," Iolanthe said.
"Yes, even more than we are now," her father replied.
"Jerold, Ljubo," Morley broke the silence. "We must decide what to do about the sot. He cannot marry. If he weds that unlucky DelFino girl, he may get a son on her and then we'll have another drunken wastrel leading us instead of someone competent. We cannot afford for him to sell the yam harvest and pay Albion DelFino's debts. We cannot afford to sell another pearl if the money raised goes to debauchery. All problems, including managing the Pearls, lead back to Rastislav."
Jerold and Ljubo exchanged glances, then turned as one towards Morley. "Your father, Fredo, might not agree."
"My father is a drunken wastrel, awash with regrets and despair," Morley replied wearily. "With Rastislav gone, he might be salvageable."
Ljubo laughed harshly.
"My son speaks true," Avery said. "When I married Fredo, he had plans for Orlov. Rastislav undercut every one of them. He should have been appointed the daimyo and not the sot. It may not seem so to the family, but Fredo loathes the sot."
As she spoke, Jerold took the few steps to Avery and took her hands in his, surprising her. "You deserved better, my dear. Orlov has not been kind to you."
Avery looked away, focusing on a moonflower rather than Jerold's concern. "I have my son. I want him to succeed and Orlov to prosper. I want my son to marry well. I want grandchildren and I want to see them happy, not sunk into despair as so many of the family are," she replied. "Morley and I will work with you to save Orlov. I will manage Fredo. My husband will not interfere."
"Why are you two suddenly so concerned?" Ljubo asked. "Morley, as steward, has a good idea of what the demesne needs but you, Avery, oversee our forestry efforts."
She glanced over at her son, Morley, and he spoke for them both.
"I speak truth with my mother. The yam harvest is far better than expected. Other crops are not doing so well. What I fear, what we fear, is hunger among the serfs if the harvests are not kept to meet Orlov's own needs. I go out on a near-daily basis to direct the serfs and I see the mutterings and resentments. There are many more serfs than there are family. They are still quiet, for now. They expect to eat well this season. I am afraid of what might happen if the yam harvest is sold. The serfs will riot if they must watch their children starve while the family remains fat."
"I had not realized it was so bad," Jerold said.
"We are not yet at the position of Dairapaska," Morley said. "I don't expect riots, unless the sot rules us worse than usual. Please, Jerold, Ljubo, keep him reined in as much as you can."
"Do not let him marry this girl," Avery added.
Iolanthe and Dimitri listened carefully to the conversation. Both were shocked at how open the older adults were being and at how much worse things were than they had believed.
"Papa," Iolanthe said, breaking another silence. "But what of —" She stopped and pointed down the path. "Oh look! More of the family coming to enjoy the moonflowers and cereus. How delightful."
Jerold leaned over and whispered, "Tonight, before you retire. Avery and Morley may care what happens to Orlov and to themselves, but your needs don't matter to them any more than a serf's does."
***
Safely behind closed doors in her bedchamber, Iolanthe blurted out "Papa. If the sot does not marry that unlucky DelFino girl, will her brother still accept me?"
Jerold sighed deeply and got up to pull the heavy, sound-deadening velvet drapes closed against the night. "I do not know."
"I don't know," Dimitri added, from his relaxed position in Iolanthe's favorite chair. She had to perch in a less comfortable chair, one that made her hip ache after the lengthy evening stroll through the gardens. Dimitri had assisted her up the stairs, as usual, but he hadn't thought further.
"Despite what that rotted slice of ham said, his son, Charlton, is still a DelFino," Dimitri said. "Some merchant will offer up a daughter and a dowry in exchange for access to the Four Hundred. The DelFino family may choose Charlton from that pack of cousins and then shunt both him and his merchant bride aside, hoping that her genes will more than counteract his father's and his grandfather's."
"I fear your brother is correct in his assessment, my jewel," Jerold said. "Charlton DelFino, when all is said and done, is a DelFino. A healthy merchant's daughter, with a fat dowry and a hardworking, moneymaking background, would be most acceptable to them. A girl like that would be acceptable to any family within the Four Hundred."
"But I, a daughter of the Four Hundred, am not," Iolanthe said bitterly.
"My dearest daughter," Jerold began.
"Papa. Let us face facts. I am crippled, I am plain, I speak plainly, and I have no dowry. If I came with the Pearls as my dowry, yes, then I could marry whom and where I chose. But I do not. Do you think I did not hear what everyone said at my finishing school in Nourz?"
"Iolanthe," Dimitri tried to interrupt his sister.
"Don't let that idiocy out of your mouth, brother," she shot back. "I know what you will say, because you love me. That I, Iolanthe Orlov, am a prize, a jewel, a pearl of great price. But I am not. I know what my worth is down to the last credit in terms of a good marriage. All of us at that finishing school knew what our value was. We discussed it constantly! My penpals do the same. We could be horse traders, only we trade in ourselves. Horse traders don't succeed if they lie to themselves about the caliber of their horses, even if they lie to their customers. I will not lie to myself."
"My dearest girl, you say you don't lie to yourself," Jerold said. "If that is true, then don't discount your intelligence and clear thinking. Those are valuable commodities."
"Not as valuable as beauty," Iolanthe sniffed.
"Beauty fades. Conversation, hard work, and talents do not."
"That is so easy to say," Iolanthe railed. "Yet a beautiful girl can marry without a dowry. The DelFino girl has no dowry other than having a face as beautiful as that of her mother, Constance Ranaglia. Ask Dimitri! Do you think he pays attention to someone like Cressida Kahn?"
"Who?" Dimitri asked.
"You have met her several times. She is a dear friend from school. A well-placed member of the Kahn family. Very smart and an astute observer of demesne and free-city politics. She is plain and shy with strangers. Perhaps you recall her cousin better. You know, Naomi Kahn?" Iolanthe said. She smirked at her brother.
Dimitri's face lit up. "You know Naomi Kahn? She's gorgeous. Her brothers wouldn't let me near her the last time I was in Nourz to meet you at school. You have to introduce me!"
Iolanthe picked up her cane and jabbed Dimitri hard in the ribs.
"You proved my point, you oaf! Cressida is sweet and smart while her cousin, Naomi, is a stupid harpy yet who do you want to meet?"
"Ow! Quit that. I didn't say I'd marry Naomi Kahn," Dimitri protested as he leaped out of the chair to escape his sister's prodding cane. "I just want to meet her and maybe, well, get to know her a lot better and uh ...." He shut up, realizing what he was about to admit he wanted to do to and with Naomi Kahn in front of his little sister and father. The rumors he'd heard about her were enticingly lewd.
"I am happy to see you have some sense of discretion," Jerold tsked. He had noticed the leer and was grateful that Dimitri had his face turned partially away from his sister.
"I'm not in the least bit surprised," Iolanthe said. "Beauty trumps all, even for harpies like Naomi Kahn." She had also spotted Dimitri's leer.
"She's not a harpy," Dimitri said.
"Demonstrating you've never actually met Naomi," Iolanthe groaned. "Wait. I take that back. She's also a greedy harpy and if she thought she'd get her hands on the Pearls by flirting with you, she'd be just as sweet as an Orlov teacake and about as digestible."
A bell chimed in the corridor.
"This is getting us nowhere," Jerold said and rose to his feet. He began pacing back and forth while Iolanthe seized her favorite chair back from Dimitri.
"True," Iolanthe agreed. "I cannot marry Charlton DelFino and escape Orlov unless the sot marries Charlton's unlucky sister. But if the sot marries the unlucky sister, then we risk Orlov groaning under the rule of yet another worthless sack of shit from that line. The sot has, so far, not been able to father a viable child. DelFino is many, many degrees of consanguinity away from Orlov. Even so, he might not be able to father a child with her but we cannot count on being so blessed."
"Succinct and to the point as always, my dear," Jerold said proudly.
"Why can't the sot have a fatal accident?" Iolanthe wondered and then flushed in embarrassment when she realized she'd said her thought aloud.
"I've wished for that myself," her father said. "But the sot's life seems charmed. His liver should have failed by now, pickled as it is."
The room fell silent.
"What if," Iolanthe said carefully, "the sot had an accident in Barsoom? After he marries that unlucky DelFino girl? I'd be safely married to Charlton DelFino by then."
It was Dimitri's turn to groan in disbelief. "You wouldn't have to marry Charlton, if the sot was dead."
Iolanthe gave her brother a cool look. "Has it ever once occurred to you that I would like to leave Orlov? To marry and have children of my own? To see more of Mars than just Orlov and Nourz? I write letters to my penpals, but letters are not the same as being there. Charlton DelFino, despite his sorry excuse of a father, would be a catch for me. Marrying him would put me in the heart of Mars. DelFino means near-daily access to Barsoom." She stopped and gazed wistfully across the room at the landscape that hung on the far wall. It was a painting of the spaceport of Barsoom, a rocket glowing against the clouds as it leaped skyward. "I would like that very much, I think."
"I could take you to Barsoom," Dimitri offered. "With the sot gone, you wouldn't have to marry to visit the city." He watched his sister carefully.
Iolanthe rolled her eyes. "To repeat. I would like to marry and have children. To perhaps have a house of my own. Without a dowry like the Pearls, Charlton DelFino is the best I can do." She set her face grimly. "His sister may have to be sacrificed so I can have my chance. Despite having a father like Albion DelFino, if she is half the beauty her mother was, Yilanda DelFino can marry as she wishes and do as she pleases. I cannot."
"True. We will work something out, my jewel," Jerold said. "The DelFino girl's happiness does not compare to your own or to the safety of the demesne."
"No, it doesn't," Dimitri agreed. "When I next see Charlton, I won't tell him anything that would change his mind about Yilanda marrying the sot. She's his sister and he wouldn't ever want harm to come to her and if he knew what the sot was like, he'd hide her away in the jungles of DelFino forever."
"You are the best of brothers, Dimitri, and you are the best of fathers, papa," Iolanthe said with a warm smile. "Let us make our plans. For my own good and for the good of Orlov."