Emperor and Empress produced more children, there might be cousins who would one day in the distant future find a yellowing portrait of the Infanta dressed in splendid white, with a crown upon a silver powdered wig, archaic in its splendor, and eyes of dark receptivity in a pinched grey face. She would be frozen thus for eternity, for as things were now, Claere Liguon was never again to grow or age, or indeed change. . . .
It is possible that these and other thoughts tumbled through everyone’s mind in those long excruciating hours of early dawn and morning. Lady Milagra Rinon, bearing the honor of First Lady-in-Attendance to the Grand Princess, stood trembling in her fulfillment of the task of Attendance, only a few steps away from the chair in which the Infanta now sat.
Lady Milagra’s long-fingered hands were clutched together in a bloodless grip of terror, so as not to fidget upon the front of her plum-colored brocade dress or, God forbid, to call any attention upon herself now. And yet, oh, how she needed to be called upon to do something! Soft-spoken, with lovely unblemished skin of a deep olive hue and rich black hair underneath the platinum wig, Lady Milagra was a daughter of a fine noble house from the southern regions of the Realm, in Morphaea, where her family held lands very close to the border with Balmue. When the Emperor decided to honor her father the Marquis Rinon, one of the privileges granted was the acceptance of Lady Milagra into Attendance at the Silver Court. It might have seemed an odd choice considering how exquisitely beautiful and stately she was, and how much of a chance existed for her to outshine the bland Infanta. But Lady Milagra proved herself to be very loyal, self-effacing, and the perfect companion for her Imperial charge.
When the Infanta was attacked by the villain the night before, Lady Milagra was in the crowd of guests, and she had seen it all, screamed and wept along with most of those present and recognized the reality of the mortal blow. That her Princess walked and lived now, was a terrifying and incomprehensible thing. Lady Milagra had not been to bed that night, and the slow cold and shaking and shivering had overtaken her long before dawn when she finally followed the Infanta and her retinue into her chambers. And now, still wearing her ball dress, having had not a drop of food or drink or a moment to relieve herself, her face smudged and exhausted, she stood on her last reserves. Nothing was to be done while she was in Attendance—she could neither be excused nor ask to be excused, nor be noticed without the Infanta’s initiative.
And the Infanta was dead . Though she occupied a chair and looked out the window, it appeared more and more that she would never make another request of her again. Thus, Lady Milagra prayed in silence for strength, for something, anything to happen, to deliver her and the rest of the Ladies-in-Attendance.
The other four Ladies Attending were also present—the red-headed and tiny Lady Floricca Grati of Styx, the blonde Lady Selene Jenevais of Lethe, the voluptuous and dark Lady Liana Crusait of Morphaea, and the youngest, Lady Alis Denear, also of Lethe. They all huddled together as a group, agonized and more frightened than they had ever been in their lives, only making desperate eye contact with each other and the others present in the chamber. Their usual tasks and duty would have been completed for the night many hours ago, and they would all have been in their beds asleep.
“Your Royal Highness,” Doctor Belquar, the Imperial head physician was saying to the Infanta. “If I might only inquire as to how Your Highness is feeling? Is there . . . pain, by any chance?”
The balding middle-aged physician’s voice was pitched in a peculiar high register, deferential and far softer than it had been with any of his other fine patients, even the Emperor himself. Indeed, how did one speak to a patient who was not supposed to be alive?
It is possible that these and other thoughts tumbled through everyone’s mind in those long excruciating hours of early dawn and morning. Lady Milagra Rinon, bearing the honor of First Lady-in-Attendance to the Grand Princess, stood trembling in her fulfillment of the task of Attendance, only a few steps away from the chair in which the Infanta now sat.
Lady Milagra’s long-fingered hands were clutched together in a bloodless grip of terror, so as not to fidget upon the front of her plum-colored brocade dress or, God forbid, to call any attention upon herself now. And yet, oh, how she needed to be called upon to do something! Soft-spoken, with lovely unblemished skin of a deep olive hue and rich black hair underneath the platinum wig, Lady Milagra was a daughter of a fine noble house from the southern regions of the Realm, in Morphaea, where her family held lands very close to the border with Balmue. When the Emperor decided to honor her father the Marquis Rinon, one of the privileges granted was the acceptance of Lady Milagra into Attendance at the Silver Court. It might have seemed an odd choice considering how exquisitely beautiful and stately she was, and how much of a chance existed for her to outshine the bland Infanta. But Lady Milagra proved herself to be very loyal, self-effacing, and the perfect companion for her Imperial charge.
When the Infanta was attacked by the villain the night before, Lady Milagra was in the crowd of guests, and she had seen it all, screamed and wept along with most of those present and recognized the reality of the mortal blow. That her Princess walked and lived now, was a terrifying and incomprehensible thing. Lady Milagra had not been to bed that night, and the slow cold and shaking and shivering had overtaken her long before dawn when she finally followed the Infanta and her retinue into her chambers. And now, still wearing her ball dress, having had not a drop of food or drink or a moment to relieve herself, her face smudged and exhausted, she stood on her last reserves. Nothing was to be done while she was in Attendance—she could neither be excused nor ask to be excused, nor be noticed without the Infanta’s initiative.
And the Infanta was dead . Though she occupied a chair and looked out the window, it appeared more and more that she would never make another request of her again. Thus, Lady Milagra prayed in silence for strength, for something, anything to happen, to deliver her and the rest of the Ladies-in-Attendance.
The other four Ladies Attending were also present—the red-headed and tiny Lady Floricca Grati of Styx, the blonde Lady Selene Jenevais of Lethe, the voluptuous and dark Lady Liana Crusait of Morphaea, and the youngest, Lady Alis Denear, also of Lethe. They all huddled together as a group, agonized and more frightened than they had ever been in their lives, only making desperate eye contact with each other and the others present in the chamber. Their usual tasks and duty would have been completed for the night many hours ago, and they would all have been in their beds asleep.
“Your Royal Highness,” Doctor Belquar, the Imperial head physician was saying to the Infanta. “If I might only inquire as to how Your Highness is feeling? Is there . . . pain, by any chance?”
The balding middle-aged physician’s voice was pitched in a peculiar high register, deferential and far softer than it had been with any of his other fine patients, even the Emperor himself. Indeed, how did one speak to a patient who was not supposed to be alive?
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