excitement, don’t you? For her dear husband’s sake, if nothing else.”
The fettler licked his lips and nodded slowly. “Iamina will be relieved not to be the focus tonight.”
“Oh, you can spare a touch for her, too. But have a care with Miriuzca. And with the Queen. They’re right next to each other, the ones in blue and pink.”
“The Queen?” After a quick glance into the audience, Rafe smoothed his beard with one finger. “Hmm. So
that’s
why the Stewards are here tonight.”
“What? Where?”
“You really do have to start noticing things that aren’t shoved directly under your nose. Four of ’em, tucked behind pillars. They’ll be protecting the Queen, if necessary.”
“But they never before—I mean, Iamina always comes to these things.”
“Yeh, but who cares about her? Nobody that I’ve ever heard of. Roshien and Miriuzca, though, they’re important. Even if they’re not officially here.”
“It’s insulting,” Mieka grumped.
“Yeh, it is. But the Stewards are here on somebody’s order, so we’ll just have to treat the ladies as delicately as mistflowers.” He chuckled. “ ’Cept for the Archduchess, of course.”
“Fine it down to a needle point and stick it to her,” Mieka agreed.
He darted to the back of the stage, stretching his shoulders loose as he went. Blye’s beautiful glass baskets awaited him. The usual fond smile never reached his lips, however. Laid across the black-rimmed basket was a huge feather, all iridescent blues and greens and touches of gold. A peacock feather.
He backed off, one hand groping towards Cayden. Mastering himself at once, he snatched up the feather and threw it to the far back of the stage. The others mustn’t see it, this traditional symbol of bad luck, this worst thing that could ever be discovered in a theater. He knew that the superstition was irrational, groundless, ridiculous, childish… and he felt a shiver down his spine anyway as he took up position and flexed his fingers. He would pay no attention to the peacock feather. Touchstone would be as good as ever—
better
, by all the Gods.
The play began with wind and rain, progressed through the hiding of the Rights of the Fae beneath the tumbling wall, the capture, and the scene inside the castle, with everyone gasping in all the right places. But when the cloak fell from the Fae’sshoulders, instead of wings—minutely described to him by Cayden from his observations of his ancestress—instead of delicate iridescence Mieka created long, lush, gorgeous, many-eyed wings made of peacock feathers. From the corner of his eye he saw Cade’s startled blink, and grinned to himself. Someone had thought to unnerve Touchstone with a single peacock feather; Mieka created two dozen of the damned things, just because he could.
The Fae’s arrogance and contempt (and perhaps a bit of Mieka’s as well) spread through the audience, emotions that had put sneers onto other faces during other performances, though here, of course, expressions were invisible behind the veils. One of the tricks of the piece was the transition from the righteous defiance of the Fae to the righteous anger of his judges. However justified the Fae felt in hiding the Rights, what the Fae Folk had done in starting a war that killed thousands was an unforgivable crime. Lives broken and ruined, all for the sake of a few bits of gold and silver and glass, and the magic they represented. What merely mortal being—Human, Wizard, Elf, Fae, Piksey, Sprite, Goblin, Gnome, Troll, Giant—could justify destroying so many lives for his own ends? It was intolerable, and it was wrong. And Touchstone always made sure the audience knew it.
Mieka was gentler than usual with the transition to the grim finality of the condemnation, but added a droplet of fear just before the Fae was hanged, knowing Rafe would direct it at the Archduchess. Yet as Jeska spoke the last lines from the shadows, something odd happened. Mieka’s tutor had
The fettler licked his lips and nodded slowly. “Iamina will be relieved not to be the focus tonight.”
“Oh, you can spare a touch for her, too. But have a care with Miriuzca. And with the Queen. They’re right next to each other, the ones in blue and pink.”
“The Queen?” After a quick glance into the audience, Rafe smoothed his beard with one finger. “Hmm. So
that’s
why the Stewards are here tonight.”
“What? Where?”
“You really do have to start noticing things that aren’t shoved directly under your nose. Four of ’em, tucked behind pillars. They’ll be protecting the Queen, if necessary.”
“But they never before—I mean, Iamina always comes to these things.”
“Yeh, but who cares about her? Nobody that I’ve ever heard of. Roshien and Miriuzca, though, they’re important. Even if they’re not officially here.”
“It’s insulting,” Mieka grumped.
“Yeh, it is. But the Stewards are here on somebody’s order, so we’ll just have to treat the ladies as delicately as mistflowers.” He chuckled. “ ’Cept for the Archduchess, of course.”
“Fine it down to a needle point and stick it to her,” Mieka agreed.
He darted to the back of the stage, stretching his shoulders loose as he went. Blye’s beautiful glass baskets awaited him. The usual fond smile never reached his lips, however. Laid across the black-rimmed basket was a huge feather, all iridescent blues and greens and touches of gold. A peacock feather.
He backed off, one hand groping towards Cayden. Mastering himself at once, he snatched up the feather and threw it to the far back of the stage. The others mustn’t see it, this traditional symbol of bad luck, this worst thing that could ever be discovered in a theater. He knew that the superstition was irrational, groundless, ridiculous, childish… and he felt a shiver down his spine anyway as he took up position and flexed his fingers. He would pay no attention to the peacock feather. Touchstone would be as good as ever—
better
, by all the Gods.
The play began with wind and rain, progressed through the hiding of the Rights of the Fae beneath the tumbling wall, the capture, and the scene inside the castle, with everyone gasping in all the right places. But when the cloak fell from the Fae’sshoulders, instead of wings—minutely described to him by Cayden from his observations of his ancestress—instead of delicate iridescence Mieka created long, lush, gorgeous, many-eyed wings made of peacock feathers. From the corner of his eye he saw Cade’s startled blink, and grinned to himself. Someone had thought to unnerve Touchstone with a single peacock feather; Mieka created two dozen of the damned things, just because he could.
The Fae’s arrogance and contempt (and perhaps a bit of Mieka’s as well) spread through the audience, emotions that had put sneers onto other faces during other performances, though here, of course, expressions were invisible behind the veils. One of the tricks of the piece was the transition from the righteous defiance of the Fae to the righteous anger of his judges. However justified the Fae felt in hiding the Rights, what the Fae Folk had done in starting a war that killed thousands was an unforgivable crime. Lives broken and ruined, all for the sake of a few bits of gold and silver and glass, and the magic they represented. What merely mortal being—Human, Wizard, Elf, Fae, Piksey, Sprite, Goblin, Gnome, Troll, Giant—could justify destroying so many lives for his own ends? It was intolerable, and it was wrong. And Touchstone always made sure the audience knew it.
Mieka was gentler than usual with the transition to the grim finality of the condemnation, but added a droplet of fear just before the Fae was hanged, knowing Rafe would direct it at the Archduchess. Yet as Jeska spoke the last lines from the shadows, something odd happened. Mieka’s tutor had
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