The High King's Tomb
Page 28
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Amarillene squealed. “Did he accept them?”
Marilen, her older sister, nudged her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Slavery is against king’s law.”
“Did he?” Amarillene persisted.
Richmont rolled his eyes. “No. To do so would have been scandalous to say the least.”
Estora permitted herself a tiny sigh, wondering if the Huradeshians likewise considered the Sacoridians barbaric and strange. She wished the ladies behind her would stop their incessant giggling. It was most undignified. And annoying. Some elder Coutres passed the ladies looks of displeasure, but the hint went ignored.
She glanced in Zachary’s direction. His expression was pensive as he watched the dancers. Did he even see them? She didn’t think so, for his gaze seemed far away and she wondered what thoughts occupied him, but when the dancers finished and the music abruptly halted, he straightened and clapped along with everyone else. The dancers and musicians left the throne room at a trot.
Yusha Lewend rose from his chair and made a long speech in his own language. Since Estora understood none of it, her attention wandered. To her surprise, near the throne room doors, she saw the man she had met on the kitchen steps the morning she had exchanged unhappy words with Karigan. He was dressed in the same clothes as before, but from this distance she could not discern their flaws. He cut a sharp figure, angular and athletic, no excess to be found on his frame.
Estora placed her hand on Richmont’s wrist and he bent toward her.
“Do you know that man?” she asked, pointing him out.
“Distant relative of Zachary’s, I think. The name’s Amberhill. Small landowner, impoverished. I suppose he’s come around to ask his cousin for charity.” With that, Richmont returned his attention to Yusha Lewend.
Amberhill. The name was unfamiliar to Estora, but that was hardly surprising, considering how many counted themselves among the ranks of nobility. It seemed like most of them had paraded through the castle to meet her since the betrothal announcement. Amberhill perceived her gaze and returned it, nodding at her with a smile.
Embarrassed that she had been caught staring, she returned her attention to Yusha Lewend. An interpreter had come forward, probably a merchant versed in a number of languages, and spoke in impeccable common tongue: “Most gracious king, we are honored by your hospitality. You have further honored us by recognizing our importance in your trade.”
The interpreter droned on, interrupted periodically by Yusha Lewend to add some comment in praise of the king. Bored by the ostentatious speech, Estora’s gaze strayed back to Amberhill, and when their gazes intersected, he mimed an exaggerated yawn. Estora stifled a laugh.
“…and your fair queen-to-be,” the interpreter said.
Estora blinked in surprise and found many pairs of eyes looking her way. She wondered what she had missed; what had been said about her. Did they notice she hadn’t been paying attention?
“Sacoridia is certain to flourish with such beauty in its midst, and assuredly the king will soon find many children playing at his feet. May Methren, our goddess of fertility, embrace you.”
Twittering from behind Estora made her cheeks warm.
Yusha Lewend then said something in his own tongue directly to King Zachary, and followed it with a hearty laugh. His people laughed as well.
The interpreter licked his lips and looked a little nervous. “Uh,” he began, “Yusha Lewend believes you will not, uh, need much of the goddess’ help to make children with your beautiful queen.” Yusha Lewend slapped the interpreter on the back and barked something at him. The interpreter turned red. “Yusha Lewend wishes me to tell you exactly what he said, sire. May I approach the throne?”
Zachary nodded.
The interpreter did so hesitantly, and spoke in such low tones that only Zachary could hear. A mortified look actually crept over his features and his ears turned scarlet. Yusha Lewend laughed uproariously at his great joke, obviously something of a rather lewd nature.
“Please inform Yusha Lewend,” Zachary said to the interpreter in a cool tone, “that this kind of talk is not acceptable in my court, not even in jest. I value all members of my court, including the women, and I would like that considered in all conversation.”
An uncomfortable silence followed as the interpreter relayed Zachary’s words. When he finished, Yusha Lewend looked baffled, but unoffended, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t see why Zachary has decided to entertain these crude beasts,” Richmont murmured. “Instead of negotiating trade with them, he should just send some soldiers over and claim whatever it is he wants from them.”
Estora sighed. Conquest was Richmont’s answer to everything. “The ways of the Huradeshian people are not our own.”
“That’s because ours is a cultured, moral society.”
“Our differences do not necessarily mean we are better than they, nor that we should start a war with them.”
“War? Who said anything about war? We could just take what we need.”
Estora shook her head. Her cousin would never see things in any other light, so there was no use in arguing with him.
During the reception that followed, servants wove among the guests offering food and wine. As usual, Estora was hemmed in by clinging ladies asking questions about wedding plans that she had grown heartily weary of answering. She did not feel like responding at all, but her mother had trained her well, and she maintained a smile—though it did not reach her heart—and responded to the questions with courtesy.
Marilen, her older sister, nudged her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Slavery is against king’s law.”
“Did he?” Amarillene persisted.
Richmont rolled his eyes. “No. To do so would have been scandalous to say the least.”
Estora permitted herself a tiny sigh, wondering if the Huradeshians likewise considered the Sacoridians barbaric and strange. She wished the ladies behind her would stop their incessant giggling. It was most undignified. And annoying. Some elder Coutres passed the ladies looks of displeasure, but the hint went ignored.
She glanced in Zachary’s direction. His expression was pensive as he watched the dancers. Did he even see them? She didn’t think so, for his gaze seemed far away and she wondered what thoughts occupied him, but when the dancers finished and the music abruptly halted, he straightened and clapped along with everyone else. The dancers and musicians left the throne room at a trot.
Yusha Lewend rose from his chair and made a long speech in his own language. Since Estora understood none of it, her attention wandered. To her surprise, near the throne room doors, she saw the man she had met on the kitchen steps the morning she had exchanged unhappy words with Karigan. He was dressed in the same clothes as before, but from this distance she could not discern their flaws. He cut a sharp figure, angular and athletic, no excess to be found on his frame.
Estora placed her hand on Richmont’s wrist and he bent toward her.
“Do you know that man?” she asked, pointing him out.
“Distant relative of Zachary’s, I think. The name’s Amberhill. Small landowner, impoverished. I suppose he’s come around to ask his cousin for charity.” With that, Richmont returned his attention to Yusha Lewend.
Amberhill. The name was unfamiliar to Estora, but that was hardly surprising, considering how many counted themselves among the ranks of nobility. It seemed like most of them had paraded through the castle to meet her since the betrothal announcement. Amberhill perceived her gaze and returned it, nodding at her with a smile.
Embarrassed that she had been caught staring, she returned her attention to Yusha Lewend. An interpreter had come forward, probably a merchant versed in a number of languages, and spoke in impeccable common tongue: “Most gracious king, we are honored by your hospitality. You have further honored us by recognizing our importance in your trade.”
The interpreter droned on, interrupted periodically by Yusha Lewend to add some comment in praise of the king. Bored by the ostentatious speech, Estora’s gaze strayed back to Amberhill, and when their gazes intersected, he mimed an exaggerated yawn. Estora stifled a laugh.
“…and your fair queen-to-be,” the interpreter said.
Estora blinked in surprise and found many pairs of eyes looking her way. She wondered what she had missed; what had been said about her. Did they notice she hadn’t been paying attention?
“Sacoridia is certain to flourish with such beauty in its midst, and assuredly the king will soon find many children playing at his feet. May Methren, our goddess of fertility, embrace you.”
Twittering from behind Estora made her cheeks warm.
Yusha Lewend then said something in his own tongue directly to King Zachary, and followed it with a hearty laugh. His people laughed as well.
The interpreter licked his lips and looked a little nervous. “Uh,” he began, “Yusha Lewend believes you will not, uh, need much of the goddess’ help to make children with your beautiful queen.” Yusha Lewend slapped the interpreter on the back and barked something at him. The interpreter turned red. “Yusha Lewend wishes me to tell you exactly what he said, sire. May I approach the throne?”
Zachary nodded.
The interpreter did so hesitantly, and spoke in such low tones that only Zachary could hear. A mortified look actually crept over his features and his ears turned scarlet. Yusha Lewend laughed uproariously at his great joke, obviously something of a rather lewd nature.
“Please inform Yusha Lewend,” Zachary said to the interpreter in a cool tone, “that this kind of talk is not acceptable in my court, not even in jest. I value all members of my court, including the women, and I would like that considered in all conversation.”
An uncomfortable silence followed as the interpreter relayed Zachary’s words. When he finished, Yusha Lewend looked baffled, but unoffended, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t see why Zachary has decided to entertain these crude beasts,” Richmont murmured. “Instead of negotiating trade with them, he should just send some soldiers over and claim whatever it is he wants from them.”
Estora sighed. Conquest was Richmont’s answer to everything. “The ways of the Huradeshian people are not our own.”
“That’s because ours is a cultured, moral society.”
“Our differences do not necessarily mean we are better than they, nor that we should start a war with them.”
“War? Who said anything about war? We could just take what we need.”
Estora shook her head. Her cousin would never see things in any other light, so there was no use in arguing with him.
During the reception that followed, servants wove among the guests offering food and wine. As usual, Estora was hemmed in by clinging ladies asking questions about wedding plans that she had grown heartily weary of answering. She did not feel like responding at all, but her mother had trained her well, and she maintained a smile—though it did not reach her heart—and responded to the questions with courtesy.
