Rapelini return them. Rapelini refused. My brother made some foolish remarks about making another set of prototypes and aligning with another, more farsighted monarch and getting his vengeance on Rapelini. He was tried for treason and hanged.”
“I’m sorry, Milah,” said Boric.
“Me too,” said Milah, shrugging. “That was three years ago. Fortunately, Rapelini assumed that my brother was the brains behind the mirrors, so he didn’t bother going after me. I spent the two years making another set of prototypes — the pair I am carrying — and then applied for a position as a Peraltian messenger under my brother’s name, Milo. I had no money; everything I had was spent on making the prototypes. My only hope was to make enough money as a messenger to travel to the other capitals and convince one of the other five monarchs to fund my laboratory. I had naively thought that in general kings were wise, or at least more or less sensible, and that Rapelini had been an exception. What I found over the course of a year, traveling across much of Dis, is that Rapelini was an exception all right: he was the only one who saw any value in the mirrors at all. Not only did the other four kings refuse to fund my laboratory; they didn’t even bother to try to steal the prototypes. King Skerritt of Blinsk called them ‘worthless trinkets.’ Of course, they knew me only as a poor messenger boy; I can hardly blame them for not taking me seriously. But if we can go to your father and convince him of the value of the mirrors, and then he can talk to King Toric…”
“Hmm,” replied Boric. “There are no guarantees, of course. I mean, it’s true that my father and the king are close, but I’m sure the king has a lot on his mind these days, what with the threat from the Skaal — ”
“I know, I know,” said Milah. “But I have a good feeling about it. I just know that the king will see the value of the mirrors if only we can get your father to present the case to him. He would do that, wouldn’t he?”
“Milah…” began Boric. This was getting out of hand. He had been convinced in a moment of weakness to let Milah accompany him on his return journey, but he had it in mind that they would part ways once they got to Brobdingdon. At some point he was going to have to tell her that his father was the king and that it was unreasonable to expect him to introduce her to him so that she could try to sell him on some crazy scheme to make magical mirrors. Boric was going to have his hands full with his scheming brothers when he got back; he couldn’t be championing the futile causes of some woman he had just met.
“I know, one thing at a time,” said Milah. “I’m just a naturally optimistic person. I’ve had to be, to survive the number of rejections I’ve received. I just can’t believe that meeting you was an accident. There has to be a reason. Anyway, let’s get going.” She got back on her horse and Boric, not knowing what to say, mounted his.
They rode the next several miles in silence. Whenever Boric looked over at Milah, she was smiling. It made Boric want to smile too. The women he had met at Kra’al Brobdingdon — mostly the daughters of other Ytriskian noblemen — possessed the intellectual curiosity and verve that came from spending one’s days being schooled in important matters like which fork to use for eating fish as well as the bland homeliness that came from generations of inbreeding. A general rule seemed to hold throughout the Six Kingdoms that the more notable one’s family was, the more plain looking and dimwitted one was likely to be. This axiom was so reliable that no one was surprised when a local idiot who appeared at the gate of Kra’al Brobdingdon one day, wearing an ornate horse blanket that he had stolen and fashioned as a sort of toga, was admitted into the castle by the guards, who assumed that he was an important member of the royal family. Boric and his father, being both clever
“I’m sorry, Milah,” said Boric.
“Me too,” said Milah, shrugging. “That was three years ago. Fortunately, Rapelini assumed that my brother was the brains behind the mirrors, so he didn’t bother going after me. I spent the two years making another set of prototypes — the pair I am carrying — and then applied for a position as a Peraltian messenger under my brother’s name, Milo. I had no money; everything I had was spent on making the prototypes. My only hope was to make enough money as a messenger to travel to the other capitals and convince one of the other five monarchs to fund my laboratory. I had naively thought that in general kings were wise, or at least more or less sensible, and that Rapelini had been an exception. What I found over the course of a year, traveling across much of Dis, is that Rapelini was an exception all right: he was the only one who saw any value in the mirrors at all. Not only did the other four kings refuse to fund my laboratory; they didn’t even bother to try to steal the prototypes. King Skerritt of Blinsk called them ‘worthless trinkets.’ Of course, they knew me only as a poor messenger boy; I can hardly blame them for not taking me seriously. But if we can go to your father and convince him of the value of the mirrors, and then he can talk to King Toric…”
“Hmm,” replied Boric. “There are no guarantees, of course. I mean, it’s true that my father and the king are close, but I’m sure the king has a lot on his mind these days, what with the threat from the Skaal — ”
“I know, I know,” said Milah. “But I have a good feeling about it. I just know that the king will see the value of the mirrors if only we can get your father to present the case to him. He would do that, wouldn’t he?”
“Milah…” began Boric. This was getting out of hand. He had been convinced in a moment of weakness to let Milah accompany him on his return journey, but he had it in mind that they would part ways once they got to Brobdingdon. At some point he was going to have to tell her that his father was the king and that it was unreasonable to expect him to introduce her to him so that she could try to sell him on some crazy scheme to make magical mirrors. Boric was going to have his hands full with his scheming brothers when he got back; he couldn’t be championing the futile causes of some woman he had just met.
“I know, one thing at a time,” said Milah. “I’m just a naturally optimistic person. I’ve had to be, to survive the number of rejections I’ve received. I just can’t believe that meeting you was an accident. There has to be a reason. Anyway, let’s get going.” She got back on her horse and Boric, not knowing what to say, mounted his.
They rode the next several miles in silence. Whenever Boric looked over at Milah, she was smiling. It made Boric want to smile too. The women he had met at Kra’al Brobdingdon — mostly the daughters of other Ytriskian noblemen — possessed the intellectual curiosity and verve that came from spending one’s days being schooled in important matters like which fork to use for eating fish as well as the bland homeliness that came from generations of inbreeding. A general rule seemed to hold throughout the Six Kingdoms that the more notable one’s family was, the more plain looking and dimwitted one was likely to be. This axiom was so reliable that no one was surprised when a local idiot who appeared at the gate of Kra’al Brobdingdon one day, wearing an ornate horse blanket that he had stolen and fashioned as a sort of toga, was admitted into the castle by the guards, who assumed that he was an important member of the royal family. Boric and his father, being both clever
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