Mearsies Heili Bounces Back (24 page)

I scowled, then bent over the lute so my hair swung in front
of my face to hide the sour expression I couldn’t squash down.

“Here’s one.” To get away from the subject of Rel I sang one
of Seshe’s favorites, one with a tricky melody of triplets that changed chord
in half-steps. It was a tough song to sing—Seshe had warned me that it was
Sartoran, which was known for those triplet flourishes—but the melody was so
compelling I often had it running through my head.

And sure enough, Pralineh was delighted with it.

I sang a couple more until my throat began to frog up, then
begged off. Pralineh was contrite at once, but thanked me profusely. I discovered
I was quite tired. I got up to go. Pralineh immediately laid aside her sewing
and accompanied me to the door, wishing me a good night.

I sped down the halls to my room, and once again was drawn
irresistibly outside, where, unknown to us, clouds had formed up and a soft,
steady warm rain fell. I walked out in it, dancing around. The tiredness was
gone; if I breathed deeply I could pretend I was home.

But I wasn’t home. My knee knocked into the stone bench. I
almost fell, opened my eyes and caught myself on the back of the bench. And
when I straightened up, the movement of light caught my attention: the steady
swing of a lamp.

I slipped up beside the big tree in time to see a tall shape
walk steadily along the path, ignoring the rain. Rel. Patrolling, I thought
narrowly.

And so the illusion of freedom was gone.

I retreated to the guest room, slammed the door, yanked the
curtains across, and put on my Mearsiean nightgown. I stood there fuming for a
time, as the rain increased to a roar and then tapered gradually to a hissing,
tapping shower.

Finally I blew out the candles, eased the door open so I
could hear the rain, and crept into bed.

o0o

And so the next few days passed.

That second day Pralineh invited me to dine ‘with the
family’ but when I asked what that meant, and was told that Raneseh and Rel
would join them, I said I didn’t mind staying in my room and going without.

So the dinner with the family never happened.

I spent most of my time with Pralineh, though when she went
off to visit friends, I stayed behind. Raneseh offered me use of his
library-sitting room, which I accepted with a forced and determined politeness.
I scoured his shelves for any memoirs or stories written by girls, or about
girls, finding nothing. History about adults—phew! Raneseh didn’t have any
magic books, either, just useful books packed with information. About the
prettiest was an illustrated herbology, another about trees. The rest were
about farming and trade, at least in the sitting room. If the books in his
study were different I didn’t know—I never wanted to set foot in there, because
he and Rel were too often in it.

So I gave up on reading, and when Pralineh was off visiting,
or supervising some boring household task, I retreated to the very topmost
branches of the tallest tree in the garden, where no one could see me, and sat
there swaying in the wind, pretending I was home.

That’s not to say I didn’t test Rel, because I did. I tried
several times to sneak out of the garden and over the wall, but he always
seemed to know when I was in the garden. There were of course other doors in
the house, but between me and those doors there were always servants about, so
my only way to freedom seemed to lie through the garden, where I never saw
servants.

Nothing was said—everyone went about their daily
business—but whenever I walked too far out into the garden, somehow I just
always seemed to find a tall, impassive figure.

I began to really hate the sight of Rel.

The rest of that week and then another flitted by, after
which Pralineh held a party she’d twice postponed.

Pralineh, like most ordinary, somewhat-on-the-quiet-side
people, had two or three good friends, and a whole lot of acquaintances who
went by the name of ‘friend.’

Her father was only a Holder—the lowest of the noble ranks.
That meant he owned, or ‘held’ land, but he was not a lord, who in the very old
days protected the Holders, and gradually since that time acted as local
tax-collector, magistrate (judging probs between Holders) and peace keepers.
Like in many countries, the lord or lady who inherited these positions were
called Count or Countess, a county being one tax area.

It didn’t always happen that everyone invited came to
Pralineh’s parties, she explained. Without any regret or unhappiness she told
me she wasn’t ambitious enough to get the climbers, or charming enough to be
the center of her particular circle, so she didn’t know how many guests she
could promise me. But her closest friends would all be there.

Pralineh made an offer to order me a party gown when she
told me about the party, which had been planned before I had arrived ... Poor
Pralineh hesitated then, and finished somewhat lamely, “... for your visit.”

I shrugged. I’d already made a vow to keep my opinions about
prisoners, Chwahir, and so forth to myself—when around Pralineh.

The other two, of course, would be getting the full worth of
my opinion because they were the ones keeping me put.

So I only said, “Why? There’s all that stuff you gave me—I
don’t even think I’ve worn ’em all. I like this light blue one fine.”

Indeed, I wore pretty much the same gown every day, just
jumping through the cleaning frame each morning to make it fresh. It was the
plainest of all Pralineh’s old gowns, one she’d only worn in the garden a
couple years before, with no ornamentation whatsoever to get caught on twigs
and brambles.

Anyway. Pralineh explained that Mirlah, the Count’s
daughter, had accepted the invitation—and her behavior tended to set the tone
of any party she attended. Pralineh explained that she would properly be titled
‘Honor’ as her older brother was heir, but the others—even Holder-Heirs, tended
to follow her lead.

I frowned as I considered what Pralineh was saying. “You
mean this girl will fooble around with titles and bowing and stuff?”

“Well, it is for her to choose whether to admit one past the
title to friendship. If one is of a lower rank. Do you see?”

“Kinda like you say ‘Raneseh’ to your dad—your father, that
is—but to someone else’s dad you’d use the titles?”

“That is it.”

“So how does it work? Do people introduce themselves?”

“The person of higher rank does, yes,” Pralineh said. “They
introduce themselves as they wish to be addressed. So you can introduce
yourself—or I can since you are my guest, but from how I express it will be
understood how you wish to be spoken to.”

I frowned. “What are the other titles?”

“Honor-Holder, like me, that is one day will inherit, or if
brothers and sisters, just Honor.”

“But you don’t use those titles at one another?”

“At,” Pralineh repeated, wrinkling her nose a little. “Forgive
me, that sounds ... odd. As if honorifics were insults.”

“Aren’t they? In a way? Fancy ways of saying ‘I’m better
than you are’?” I sighed. “I hate all that spackle, to tell the truth. Ignore
it when I can. But I won’t have anyone sneering at Clair or the girls because
we don’t bow and use titles and all that gorbaggio.”

Pralineh looked taken aback as I often did at my blunt
language. Her brow puckered as she considered her circle, then she finally
said, “Mirlah will not sneer—and her brother, who rather likes sneering, will
not come. But some of the others—” She stopped, uncertain, and obviously
unhappy about that.

I said, “Then I’m going to be My Imperial Royal Excellence,
Chwahir-booter Extra-Ordinary, Primary Pie-Flinger, and High and Mighty
Sniff-Nose of Mearsies Heili.”

Pralineh had by now gotten used to me enough to understand
when a joke was being made, and she smiled, though she obviously was never
going to understand my type of humor.

o0o

After worrying about this party, and getting annoyed with
myself for worrying about such stupidities as dress and deportment, I braced
for attack. I had been practicing my Propah Manners (which made me homesick
with memory of our fun evening with Seshe teaching us) at meals. I even forced
myself to wear shoes, proof of my loyalty to Clair and my home.

I put on the other blue dress, the one with the black
ribbons sewn down the front in a pattern that on Earth would be likened to the
sort of art deco that had Japanese motifs. (I later learned that that was a
popular motif in Colend, off and on, over the centuries.)

The boys and girls—everybody had come—all looked at me and I
looked back, everyone on their very best behavior. I’m sure I appeared to be a
peculiar sort of princess, so short and slight, my long black hair a
straight-hanging flag down my back instead of being curled, braided, or
ornamented. For a short time they were vying with one another to impress this
princess, young as I was, from the Mearsiean Colony as they yapped and yipped
about horse races, boat races, fashions and yadoo nannoo.

I sat very upright, hands in my lap, saying almost nothing.
The girls were hard to tell apart at first, with their braided hair with
ribbons in it, and their flouncy dresses. Honor Mirlah was the tall one with
the brown skin and black eyes. She mostly talked about clothes, and her younger
brother talked about horses. I pretty much ignored the boys.

And so, because I did not lead the talk, the others gabbled
determinedly about interests of the second-highest title, Honor Mirlah. Horses,
clothes, horses, clothes, all trying to be interesting to the visitor.

When Pralineh finally gave the signal for them to adjourn to
eat, I edged toward the door, a fixed smile on my face that (when I passed by a
pretty framed mirror) made me look as if someone was sticking my chitlins with
a knife. I snorted a laugh—and in trying not to let it get past my lips, burned
the insides of my nose. Then I oozed out, and leaned against the door to think
over my next step.

Behind me the voices made it clear that the guests had relaxed,
some probably feeling relieved, others disappointed. The first comments were
from people disgusted at how boring the ‘princess’ was. “She’s just a little
girl,” proclaimed one languid voice—I later learned that thirteen-year-old was
named Selah. Porcelain and silver clinked musically as she and the girls
delicately helped themselves to fruit and tiny cakes. As they adjourned to
Pralineh’s sitting room, their voices faded; the last one I heard was Selah’s
drawl, “Has
nothing
to say for herself!”

Then came the stampede of feet as the boys snatched up food
and made for the outside.

I sped down the hall, stopped in my room to kick the
slippers off, and slipped out through the garden. I’d done my best for
Pralineh’s sake—now, while everyone was eating, I could snake through the
garden and make tracks, right?

Wrong.

I slithered through the thickest part of the garden, on the
watch for Rel. When the trees cleared away, there were most of the boys, half
of them just gulping down the last of their cakes. Two or three were already
running around, starting an elaborate tag game that involved chase, catch, a
kind of duel with hand-fighting (amid much laughter) and then the loser became
the new hunter. The rest swiftly joined.

I watched, peering around for Rel.

The day was hot, the sun bright. After a time a few boys
stopped running and moved in a clump toward the wall, talking back and forth. I
drifted over in their direction with the idea of losing myself among them. Then
slip over the wall, and—

“Hi, Princess Cherene,” a boy of about ten called, catching
sight of me.

I ambled his way, glad to be surrounded in a crowd.

“How’d you come to be sent to Holder Khavnan?” the boy
asked.

An older boy said, “He’s got connections all over, m’father
says. We didn’t know he had diplomatic ones. Thought they were all trade.
Scholarship.”

“M’mother says he hasn’t any ambition,” murmured another boy
with pale, wispy hair. He peered under his hand back toward the house.

“I don’t know,” I said, ambling toward the wall. They all
followed. “Wasn’t my choice to be here.”

The older boy and the young one swung interested looks my
way.

“Holder Khavnan made you come?” the older one asked.

“Wasn’t him. Somebody else.”

The blond boy said in disbelief, “You’re a prisoner?”

The youngest one snickered. “Of Holder Khavnan, whose nose
is always in a book? Try another one.”

I hitched up onto the wall, shrugging. “Suit yourself. As
for Holder Khavnan, he’s a nice ol’ geez, but he got snowed by someone who isn’t.”

A couple of the boys snickered at the word ‘geez’—I swung
one leg over the wall. I glanced back—just as Rel stepped out onto the walkway
from the garden.

“Have you ever tried to run away?” the youngest one asked.

“Couple times.” Shrug, scowl. “Just got foiled now,” I added
under my breath.

They heard, though, and all three turned to stare. The blond
said, “That’s just Rel, the shepherd’s son. He’s very good at games,” he added.

“Well, how about getting him into a game?” I asked, waving
toward the other side of the garden.

“Why?” the oldest one asked. “He
always
wins.”

To keep him busy, of course
, I thought. “How about
hide and go seek?” I asked. “Bet nobody is better than I am—we play it all the
time at home. See, we have a whole forest to play it in.”

They stared at me, one in doubt, one surprised, one
frowning.

I sighed. “Don’t tell me girls here don’t play.”

The youngest one said, “Well, none do that I know. But it’s
not like they can’t.”

“My sister hates anything that musses her dresses.” The
blond one shrugged. “Show us your game.”