spoke little Aragonian, which I had been studying.
There were other memory games, and those I knew were Delaunay's, having to do with the arts of covertcy. We played it on the Cassiline Brothers who had been present in the Temple on the Longest Night, and Phèdre made me speculate on their history.
"Their garments were worn and mended," I said. "They were older, in their forties, and unhappy to see Joscelin there." I shrugged. "At a guess, I would say they are two who found service with the Palace in their youth, and still resent its loss. Since they remain in the City, probably they found service with one of the lesser Houses of nobility, or one of the Great Houses fallen upon ill times. Still, they resent him for their dismissal."
She nodded. "Any danger?"
I thought about it. Once, the Cassiline Brotherhood had enjoyed considerable prestige. Old King Ganelon, Ysandre's grandfather, had been attended by two Brothers at all times. So had Ysandre, until one of them tried to assassinate her. It was Joscelin who prevented the assassination; but that was after the Brotherhood had declared him anathema.
"I don't think so," I said honestly. "Just a trace of ill will."
"Good," Phèdre said, knitting her brow. "You'd tell me if there was more?"
"Yes." I wrapped my arms around my knees. "Are you still mad at him?"
"Joscelin?"
"Yes." I rested my chin on my folded arms. "Are you?"
She sighed. "A little."
"It was my choice," I repeated, still stubborn. "He let me make it. Is that so wrong?"
"No." Phèdre's gaze deepened to that uncomfortable level of acuity. "I know, Imri, you need to make your peace with Elua. Believe me, I know. But until you reach your majority, your choices are not wholly your own. And Joscelin knows that as well as you do."
At that I squirmed, knowing it was all too true. "Where did he learn it?" I asked, casting out a question to distract her. "Delaunay, I mean. Where did he learn the arts of covertcy?"
It worked. She frowned, thinking. "I don't know," she said at last. "I've wondered at it, too. What he taught us, Alcuin and me…" Phèdre shook her head. "It's not taught in any academy nor army, not in Terre d'Ange. I cannot think he learned it here. That leaves—"
"Tiberium," I whispered.
"Tiberium," she agreed, favoring me with an absentminded smile. "He attended the University there. But who, and why? It's no part of the official curriculum." She gazed into the distance, remembering. "I asked Maestro Gonzago about it, once."
"What did he say?" I had never met the Maestro Gonzago de Escabares, but I knew his name. He was an Aragonian historian who had been one of Delaunay's teachers at the University of Tiberium. He had also been chosen by my mother as an unwitting messenger, many years later.
"Nothing," she said. "He disavowed any knowledge."
"Did you believe him?" I asked.
Phèdre smiled at me again. "No," she said. "Not for a minute."
I had other visitors, too. Alais came almost as often as Phèdre, and I was glad of her company. We played cards together and she chattered freely of Palace gossip. For a young girl, she overheard a great deal.
Most of it was inconsequential. Ysandre was a strong ruler; even I, who found it hard to love her, was willing to admit it. For as much as her early reign was fraught with challenge and upheaval, she had since presided over great peace and prosperity. Her marriage to the Cruarch of Alba lends strength to both realms.
And yet it was also the greatest abiding source of contention, for in Alba, the lines of succession were matrilineal.
So it had been from time out of mind among the Cruithne. There had been efforts to change it—indeed, Drustan's throne was usurped in one such. He reclaimed it at the battle of Bryn Gorrydum, triumphing over Maelcon the Usurper as the true and rightful heir of the old Cruarch, his uncle.
It was a sticking point, and a hard one. In accordance with Cruithne tradition, Drustan's heir should be his sister's son; and it
There were other memory games, and those I knew were Delaunay's, having to do with the arts of covertcy. We played it on the Cassiline Brothers who had been present in the Temple on the Longest Night, and Phèdre made me speculate on their history.
"Their garments were worn and mended," I said. "They were older, in their forties, and unhappy to see Joscelin there." I shrugged. "At a guess, I would say they are two who found service with the Palace in their youth, and still resent its loss. Since they remain in the City, probably they found service with one of the lesser Houses of nobility, or one of the Great Houses fallen upon ill times. Still, they resent him for their dismissal."
She nodded. "Any danger?"
I thought about it. Once, the Cassiline Brotherhood had enjoyed considerable prestige. Old King Ganelon, Ysandre's grandfather, had been attended by two Brothers at all times. So had Ysandre, until one of them tried to assassinate her. It was Joscelin who prevented the assassination; but that was after the Brotherhood had declared him anathema.
"I don't think so," I said honestly. "Just a trace of ill will."
"Good," Phèdre said, knitting her brow. "You'd tell me if there was more?"
"Yes." I wrapped my arms around my knees. "Are you still mad at him?"
"Joscelin?"
"Yes." I rested my chin on my folded arms. "Are you?"
She sighed. "A little."
"It was my choice," I repeated, still stubborn. "He let me make it. Is that so wrong?"
"No." Phèdre's gaze deepened to that uncomfortable level of acuity. "I know, Imri, you need to make your peace with Elua. Believe me, I know. But until you reach your majority, your choices are not wholly your own. And Joscelin knows that as well as you do."
At that I squirmed, knowing it was all too true. "Where did he learn it?" I asked, casting out a question to distract her. "Delaunay, I mean. Where did he learn the arts of covertcy?"
It worked. She frowned, thinking. "I don't know," she said at last. "I've wondered at it, too. What he taught us, Alcuin and me…" Phèdre shook her head. "It's not taught in any academy nor army, not in Terre d'Ange. I cannot think he learned it here. That leaves—"
"Tiberium," I whispered.
"Tiberium," she agreed, favoring me with an absentminded smile. "He attended the University there. But who, and why? It's no part of the official curriculum." She gazed into the distance, remembering. "I asked Maestro Gonzago about it, once."
"What did he say?" I had never met the Maestro Gonzago de Escabares, but I knew his name. He was an Aragonian historian who had been one of Delaunay's teachers at the University of Tiberium. He had also been chosen by my mother as an unwitting messenger, many years later.
"Nothing," she said. "He disavowed any knowledge."
"Did you believe him?" I asked.
Phèdre smiled at me again. "No," she said. "Not for a minute."
I had other visitors, too. Alais came almost as often as Phèdre, and I was glad of her company. We played cards together and she chattered freely of Palace gossip. For a young girl, she overheard a great deal.
Most of it was inconsequential. Ysandre was a strong ruler; even I, who found it hard to love her, was willing to admit it. For as much as her early reign was fraught with challenge and upheaval, she had since presided over great peace and prosperity. Her marriage to the Cruarch of Alba lends strength to both realms.
And yet it was also the greatest abiding source of contention, for in Alba, the lines of succession were matrilineal.
So it had been from time out of mind among the Cruithne. There had been efforts to change it—indeed, Drustan's throne was usurped in one such. He reclaimed it at the battle of Bryn Gorrydum, triumphing over Maelcon the Usurper as the true and rightful heir of the old Cruarch, his uncle.
It was a sticking point, and a hard one. In accordance with Cruithne tradition, Drustan's heir should be his sister's son; and it
Similar Books
