A Rose Point Holiday Read online

  “Tell me, Mistress,” Shoran said.

  “I’ll breed her,” Reese said. “And I’ll sell her children, or keep them. The first condition is that when she dies, you get to choose a new horse from her line. That way you’ll have a horse for the length of your lifetime, not hers. So far so good?”

  His nod was more distinct this time. “Yes. Please continue, my lady.”

  “My second condition,” Reese said, reaching for language out of her romances, “is that for every child of your body, you will get an additional horse of Beauty’s body, or you can decide not to accept one and accept its market value instead. That way your children will have horses, or you’ll have money. Either way your family will be taken care of. And those additional horses will be yours to breed, Shoran-alet, not mine.”

  That blew the complacent look right off Shoran’s face... and every other face too. All her tenants started talking, in fact, and continued until Shoran stammered, “M-mistress! You cannot be serious!”

  “I’m very serious,” Reese said. “This isn’t supposed to be a cast-off piece of clothes, or charity, or some... some bit of noblesse oblige where you briefly share my privilege and then you lose it. I want you—all of you—to have the opportunity to be successful, because the more successful you are, the more we all benefit.” She surveyed the entire crowd, then returned her gaze to Shoran. “I want you to take that money, or those horses, and ensure the health and prosperity of your family. That’s the real gift. Beauty’s just a convenient way of handing it over.”

  One of her tenants said, tentatively, “We are not supposed to own things of value. All that we have, we derive from our lady. All that we can make, she receives.”

  “And there will still be some of that,” Reese said. “Maybe for a long time. But I want you all to be independent of me, and you’re about to ask me why, and I’ll tell you: it’s so that if you stay with me, it’s because you’ll have made the choice to stay. Not because you have to.”

  Hirianthial, of course, knew where she was coming from. And Liolesa… for all Reese knew, Liolesa had planned for the world to evolve into this hybrid feudalism all along. But the remaining Eldritch, including her hires from Ontine, were staggered by this speech. Even Araelis, if Reese was any judge, though more in the sense of ‘grappling with intriguing new ideas’ than in shock. She let them have a little time to fight with the thoughts, then returned her attention to Shoran. “Those are my conditions. I won’t pretend they’re minor. But it’s your decision, and you’re allowed to say no.”

  Shoran lifted his chin. “I accept, my lady. To you on this New Year’s Day I give the breeding rights for Eiluionase, on the condition that I receive a child of her body when she dies, and another child of her body—or its value in coin—for each child of my body.”

  Reese grinned. “Excellent. Thank you for the gift, alet. I will put it to good use. With your advice.”

  He bowed and stepped back, joining the tenants, whose consternation was palpable; her gifts, Reese realized, had become as overwhelming to them as Liolesa’s were to everyone, and this filled her with unexpected cheer. As her tenants conferred as to who to send to her next, Hirianthial bent close and murmured, “You have made Shoran the most eligible bachelor in the entire kingdom, you know.”

  She hadn’t realized he was unmarried. If he got a horse for every child he had… Reese turned her chuckle into a cough. “I’m sure he can handle it,” she replied quietly.

  The crowd was still in whispered consultation when Talthien broke out of it and presented himself. Reese didn’t have to be Eldritch to know just how big a statement he was making, and that was before he went to one knee in front of her. The two dogs padded up and sat on either side of him, symmetrical and stern, and it was their movement that turned her audience back to her, and to the youth they hadn’t noticed leaving their ranks.

  “This is what it looks like,” Reese said, quiet.

  “My lady,” Talthien said. “I am the youngest son of the line of the Seal’s servants, and it is mine to offer. Will you take me into your service, to guard you and your heirs until I fall in that duty?”

  Behind him, his mother’s mouth tightened and her hand twitched, but she didn’t move. Reese looked down at Talthien’s bowed head. “Before you can do that, you need training, don’t you? How long does that training take?”

  Hirianthial said, “I would not release him without ten years of it. But he can serve an apprenticeship with a mentor given a proper grounding. Perhaps five years with the Swords, if you would be willing to allow him to train with them, cousin?”

  “Laisrathera’s armsmen? I assume there will be more than one,” Liolesa said. “Certes. Theresa, you may send your men to me until you have a core of your own to raise them up for you.”

  ...which was when all of Firilith’s tenants’s gazes swiveled to Liolesa and they realized who she must be. Reese had been wondering why they hadn’t made their obeisance the moment they saw her, but then... how would they have known what their queen looked like? This wasn’t a world with 3deos and viseos and broadcasts of public addresses, and while richly dressed Liolesa had come uncrowned, as a family member. Reese could only imagine the shock of discovering the woman you’d dismissed as a provincial guest was, in fact, the sovereign ruler of your planet.

  Certainly they reacted quickly enough. As one, they bowed or curtseyed and held the poses, and their silence had a nervous quality even a mind-blind human could read. Liolesa left them there for longer than Reese would have, but then, Reese wasn’t making a point, and she suspected the Queen was.

  “Rise,” Liolesa said at last. That was all. No minatory speeches, no special scrutiny. That was a gift from a queen, when Liolesa could have made them regret their ignorance, and their behavior toward a woman for whom her approval was obvious. Returning her attention to Reese, she said, “Consider the matter arranged, if you wish to accept this gift.”

  And how could she not? Reese liked Talthien, and knew how hard it was to be purposeless, as the men of Firilith had been purposeless for so long. There was no way she could take away a future from him, particularly one he wanted. But she hated the idea of him getting attached to her and then having to watch her die a natural death while he went on to bloom into his youthful prime.

  At least her children would have a guardian of their own... and unlike her, they’d live long enough to give him someone to ward for his own lifetime.

  Hirianthial nudged her gently and she looked up at him. The minute twitch of his chin was a reminder not to dwell on the inevitable. “Right. Talthien. I’d be honored to accept the son of the Seal’s servants back to Rose Point. After the holiday we’ll send you to Ontine for your training, and on your return you can take up your apprenticeship until such time as your mentor decides you’re ready for your duties.” She glanced at the dogs and added, “I assume the two of you are going with him?”

  Graeme nodded, ears pricked forward.

  “I figured,” she said. “At some point we should discuss what you feel comfortable doing in Firilith now that your bonded Eldritch’s role has changed. Just because I accept Talthien’s service doesn’t mean I get yours automatically. The three of you talk it over, all right?”

  Graeme stood as if to say something, but Moire reached around Talthien and bumped her mate’s shoulder with her nose. He wrinkled his muzzle at her, but flipped his ears back and sighed, an uncannily familiar expression of resignation. Talthien looped an arm around his neck and looked up at Reese, eyes shining but face carefully composed. In that moment, she saw what he would become as an adult: solemn and yet open-hearted. She couldn’t help smiling at him—smiling, and praying that there were no assassins lurking in her future to take him down before time.

  “We will discuss it, my lady, and I will tell you what they decide.”

  “Good. Then we’ll talk about your travel plans tomorrow.”

  Talthien nodded and rose, and he and the dogs returned to the crowd... though
he hesitated before walking past his mother. She didn’t look at him at all.

  “Now it is my turn,” said a woman in a dark green dress, “and you do not seem to stand on ceremony, my lady. If I may?”

  “Please,” Reese said. As the woman stood before her, Reese added, “You’re the senior manse servant, aren’t you. Sela.”

  “That is correct, my lady,” she said. “May I come work for you?”

  A blunt request from an Eldritch was so entirely outside Reese’s experience that for a moment her thoughts scattered and left her staring blankly at the woman. Then she marshaled herself. Hadn’t Felith said the manse servants cooked and cleaned? She already had a fleet of cooks, and the cleaning was already being automated... “Of course you can. We’ll find something for you to do, alet.”

  Sela glanced toward the hires from Ontine and chuckled. “And no doubt you are wondering what. So I will tell you that though I can keep house as is traditional, Mistress, what I learned first and best was the herbcraft.”

  From the tension at her side, that interested Hirianthial, so Reese said, “That sounds like... medicine, maybe?”

  “That’s correct, my lady. Though I am guessing not as good as what you bring with you. I would be willing to learn, however.”

  “We would be willing to teach,” Hirianthial said. “The hospital will need doctors, nurses, and researchers.”

  “And I have time to study,” Sela said, satisfied. “Will that suit you, my lady?”

  “Absolutely,” Reese said. “And it’s a monumental gift—”

  Sela held up a hand. “Ah, but that is not my gift, though I’m honored that you would count it as such. This is my gift.” And to everyone’s shock, including Reese’s, she offered that gift by holding it out, rather than leaving it on the ground between them. A mysterious offering, at that: a slender and ancient key. The ribbon tied to its end was so old Reese was shocked it hadn’t fallen apart—as it was, the satin was worn to a shine and the color had faded from a red that would have been as bright as shed blood when it was new.

  “The servants of the manse tend its servants… and its grounds,” Sela said, eyes steady. “This key came to me through my father’s father, to whom it was entrusted when Rose Point still had a mistress. It opens the Firilith burial mound, where the lords and ladies of the past are interred... and the mind-mage that slew them, who began Firilith’s decline.” She raised her chin. “I know the history of our past, my lady. Of Corel, and how Firilith was once the center of the kingdom. It is not a proper tale for a new year and a bride awaiting her wedding. But after the wedding, if you wish, I will escort you to the burial ground and tell you that history.”

  Reese had no idea what to say to that, it was so big. From what she’d been able to piece together no one knew the real history of Corel, not even Val, who claimed to be the mind-mage’s reincarnation. Or maybe he did know and wasn’t telling? She glanced toward him, found him standing alongside Urise and Belinor wearing one of those Eldritch masks. Since he wasn’t given to them, she felt a chill. “History,” she said, “is rarely a comfortable gift, is it?”

  “No, my lady,” Sela said.

  “But a necessary one,” Reese said. “I would be grateful to learn what happened here, alet. And I suspect I wouldn’t be the only one interested. If I could bring guests?”

  “All that you trust, my lady,” Sela said steadily, looking neither right nor left though both of them were very aware of the Queen’s and Hirianthial’s attention.

  Reese nodded. “All right. It’s a date.” She looked down at the key. “You should hold onto that until then, I think. As a sign that I trust you to keep your word to bring it back. And because you are the senior manse servant, and you’ve asked to work for me.”

  Sela leaned back, an infinitesimal motion of surprise. Then she laughed. “You are plain-spoken, my lady! But yes. I will hold it in trust for you until the day you come to me to ask for it. Though after we have gone to the graves, you should give the key to the man you charge with the maintenance of the estate.”

  “Does it have to be a man?” Irine asked, curious.

  “It has been so traditionally,” Sela said, without so much as a pause to indicate she found the need to address an impudent alien distasteful. “Because the work is often very physically taxing. I do not know that this holds true for Rose Point today.”

  Here was a woman they could work with. Reese looked forward to seeing that potential develop. “We’ll build that bridge when we get to it. Sela-alet—thank you. I accept your gifts, and Hirianthial and I will be glad to see you return tomorrow for assignment to your duties. Which I’m thinking are mostly going to involve a lot of study, at least initially.”

  Hirianthial smiled at the woman. “You will find it fascinating. I know I did.”

  Sela considered him with interest. “I believe I will.” She curtseyed. “My lady.” And withdrew.

  That left… no one, Reese thought. Talthien was a seal servant, so surely he counted for that group, and there wasn’t even a rule that said every group had to give her something. So why were they all standing there still? If it was up to her to dismiss them, Hirianthial would probably have nudged her… but they were all looking at one another, and the subtext in those looks was dense enough to incite her sympathy. She wouldn’t have wanted to be caught up in that much internal turmoil, all of it unspoken.

  She was going to call a halt to it by telling everyone it was time to eat when a young woman stepped up, defiance written in every line of her body. For a moment, Reese saw dark skin instead of light, short figure instead of tall, loose braids instead of crown-woven ones. She recognized that level of hopelessness and the decision to break herself against a wall until she escaped. She had no idea who this woman was, but it didn’t matter. She knew her anyway, where it counted.

  “My lady,” the woman said, curtseying. “My name is Liral. I am the niece of the senior seal servant of Rose Point, and I have a gift for you and Firilith.”

  “Liral-alet,” Reese said, quiet. “Tell me.”

  “My mother never cared for her mother, so she spent as little time with her as possible,” Liral said. “But I loved my grandmother, and to honor that love, my grandmother taught me her trade. My lady, I don’t know if you know what it is, because you are an alien. But I can make Firilith meander.”

  “You can what?” Reese exclaimed, startled. “Like in the stories?” She looked up at Hirianthial. “Like your tabard, that the pirates destroyed.”

  “Almost like, save that was Jisiensire’s meander,” Hirianthial said, sounding as surprised as she was. “We are not known for our meander, Theresa. Every fiefdom has—or had—its own meander weaver, and while Jisiensire’s was deft, she was not numbered among the masters of the art. Alet, you tell me your grandmother was…”

  “Lina of Firilith,” Liral said. “Yes.”

  “Oh my,” Liolesa murmured under her breath.

  “You learned Lina’s craft from her hands?” Araelis breathed, drawing closer.

  Liral dug into the seam of her gown, revealing a hidden pocket, and brought from it a little square of fabric that put Hirianthial’s old tabard into abrupt perspective. That meander had been beautiful, but this! The random curves and curling lines that gave the pattern its name didn’t look messy or confusing; like the most compelling of abstract art, it implied an order in its chaos, subtle and yet powerful. It invited the viewer into it, promised resolution but requested that resolution from the viewer. It was participatory art, and that was the quality that elevated it above the meander Reese had seen. That the material itself was stunning, soft as rabbit fur, with gold thread edging the lines, was just icing on that cake. Tilting it, Reese found that even the areas that had looked plain were actually patterned… just so faintly that you had to see it in the right light.

  “Blood and Freedom,” Reese breathed. “How long did this take you?”

  “A few days,” Liral said. “It was a small square. Plannin
g it didn’t take long, and the weaving, while tedious, goes quickly when you have nothing else to do.”

  “Oh, Theresa,” Araelis said. “Lina of Firilith’s meander was famous! You have no idea how many people would line up to buy it did it become available again!”

  Which brought her to the fact that the Eldritch didn’t understand modern notions of commerce. There was no way Reese could declare Liral’s handiwork hers just because she was the one in the fancy castle, particularly if it was worth as much as Araelis was suggesting. “You have an amazing talent, alet, and obviously you’ve been trained well. May I?”

  Liral dropped the sample on her hand, ignoring the gasps of the crowd behind her. Even without touching, that transaction suggested an intimacy that most of her tenants weren’t accustomed to. Yet, anyway. Reese turned the square in her hands, admiring the reverse side, which had been lined so that the strings and knots on the back were hidden. “You can make Firilith meander… that’s excellent. I imagine the artistic part of this will keep you really busy. You’d like my business manager to act as your agent, then?”

  “You don’t have a business manager,” Irine whispered.

  “I’m about to have one,” Reese said. “Hush, or you’ll end up it.”

  Irine’s ears flattened and she pressed her lips together. Amused, Reese said to Liral, “Does that sound good?”

  “Lady?” Liral asked, confused. “You… want me to sell my own meander?”

  “I’d like you to sign a contract with us allowing us to sell your meander,” Reese said. “And you would keep most of the money you earn.”

  She’d been expecting Shoran’s reflexive distaste for the idea, so having Liral say, “I would not object to being rich, my lady,” was a surprise. But Liral continued. “I would also like to help Firilith, however. Sela is correct in saying we have had a difficult time. Meander is a treasure and sells accordingly… I would be sad if I could not help rebuild our province.”