As if she had read Rennyn’s mind, the Queen stopped talking about wool and said: "You make no representations on behalf of the Kellian, Lady Rennyn?"
"I don’t speak for the Kellian," Rennyn said, trying not to sound wary. "I inherited the ability to control them, not authority over them."
"But you are naturally partisan."
"Very," Rennyn replied, wondering where this was going. The Queen had long treated the Kellian as a necessary evil, whether because they were a link to the old Montjuste-Surclere rule or because they were descendants of golems. The last few months had been the worst in Kellian history, and because Queen Astranelle had made no show of support, the anti-Kellian factions had been spurred to outright venom.
Rennyn found the whole situation endlessly frustrating. Her desire to protect and support Illidian warred with a disinclination to battle for public opinion. She had trained to manipulate magic, not people. She couldn’t force Tyrians to value the Kellian, any more than she could make the Kellian come to terms with her family’s ability to command them. And she doubted even Illidian would appreciate her taking it upon herself to fight Kellian battles anyway.
"I constantly receive representations about the Kellian," the Queen continued. "They have as many supporters as detractors. Yet never have they themselves put forward their case. Lady Weston tells me this is because the Kellian consider it impolite to try to influence the decisions of others. I would be curious to hear if this is your own view."
"It would be at least one of the reasons," Rennyn said, after thinking it over. "It’s true enough that they place great weight on personal choice." She looked at the Queen. "I suspect that they also consider the situation self-evident. You will support them, or you won’t."
"Do they presume to judge me? I have not countenanced the calls for punishment. This spate of talk will pass, and is only natural."
"I hope that you are right, Your Majesty," Rennyn said, putting her cup down. "It seems to me to grow louder and shriller every day, but I am oversensitive where my husband is concerned."
Further than this she would not be drawn. Perhaps Queen Astranelle was correct, and all this misplaced concern would die down. Rennyn was aware that her own reason for wanting the Kellian to decide to leave Tyrland was due to her anger with those who did not appreciate them. But it was not a good solution.
She had expected Illidian to be waiting for her, but instead found a man almost as wide as he was tall, his face permanently shadowed by a hint of reddish-brown beard. The all-enveloping black coat of the Sentene, with its brilliant phoenix blazon, seemed to double his size: a wall of a man.
"Don’t look so disappointed," he said, with a rumbling chuckle. For a moment his gaze drifted, inevitably, to her throat, but he was too polite to stare openly.
"How are you, Captain Medan?"
"Passing fair. It’s good to see you on your feet, Lady Rennyn." He made a shooing gesture at the two royal guards lining up as escort. "Faille asked me to see you back to quarters."
Only Kellian had been at the meeting, so Illidian must have returned to the Houses of Magic. "He’s caught up?" she asked, taking the arm the Captain proffered, and trying not to lean too much.
"Senior Captains are always in demand. And most of us have been in the field almost constantly since the Grand Summoning. Tremendous amount of organising, signing off, catching up."
Rennyn waited, for she’d found Nikolar Medan to be forthright enough. His pace quickened for a few steps, then he let out a gusty breath.
"Most of the Sentene mages haven’t seen Faille since you regained consciousness. Your marriage came as more than a shock. A bit of reassurance will go a long way."
"Do they really think the Kellian would let me live if I’d ordered Illidian into my bed?"
"It’s not that, though I won’t deny we worry. The idea of you commanding them fills us with horror, for all you’ve never given the least sign of wanting to. But hasty marriages are unprecedented, you know. Kellian are cautious taking human lovers, let alone establishing permanent bonds. Particularly ever-rare male Kellian. Too many people think them all very fine and exotic and noble, with a delightful dangerous frisson, and then can’t bear that they never smile, that they forget to start conversations. Because they don’t act human enough."
Rennyn wondered what colour her face had gone, but knew Medan was more messenger than accuser. "Is so little weight placed on Illidian’s judgment?"
Captain Medan snorted. "Not to mention his much-vaunted instinct. It’s not sensible—or anyone’s business—but it’s been a bad few months and we’d all heard of course that he cut short his nails. It will make them feel better to talk to Faille for a while, and see that he is happy."
This time his gaze dropped to her waist, since everyone knew Solace had used Illidian Faille to slash open Rennyn’s side. The pointed Kellian nails were effective weapons: a facet of the race’s overarching enchantments that hadn’t been commonly known. But they were also part of the Kellian identity, a matter of pride, and Illidian had been one of the few who had kept both hands untrimmed.
Rennyn didn’t answer his unspoken question, spotting a useful low wall holding back a drift of early autumn leaves. She’d made it almost halfway from the Old Palace to the Houses, and needed her legs to stop feeling like jelly.
"You make quite a picture in that dress," Captain Medan offered.
This earned only a faint smile. "Sarana Illuma told me yesterday that even she finds herself avoiding me; that at times she has to force herself to go into a room if she knows I’m there. This embarrasses her, but she is too honest to pretend that being glad I saved them from a worse fate has reconciled the Kellian to my ability to control them. Illidian loves me, but he can’t be immune to that instinctual aversion. And then, to twist everything further, Solace used him to injure me. Even though there’s no logic in blaming himself for my injuries, he can’t stand the thought of my blood beneath his nails. So he keeps them short."
She sighed. "And I can’t say I’ve handled well not being able to stand up, let alone the limits on my casting. I’m a bad patient, and when I’ve been too weak even to read I’ve had to struggle not to hate everyone around me. But I am on the mend. My wounds were only physical, Captain. Illidian has yet to recover from his. He sleeps so little because of the nightmares, and I’m a tremendously difficult person for him to be with. There are so many things that we will have to work against, to not be pulled apart, but I’ve come to realise our marriage is practically the only thing he is happy about. And you’re right—it’s nobody’s business."
That kept him silent all the way to the stair that led up to Illidian’s quarters.
"If you think I’m going to watch you try to climb these, you sadly underestimate me."
"It’s probably why he picked you to send," Rennyn said. Illidian had firm opinions on Rennyn and flights of stairs, and was uncharacteristically disinclined to restrain that view.
"Sweeping young ladies off their feet is a hobby of mine," Medan said, lifting her delicately. "Feel free to call on me for any minor hillock that comes your way."
Rennyn shifted, since he hadn’t picked her up in a way that favoured her ribs. The healers had explained that what they called a callus had formed to join her broken bones, and this was slowly turning to bone itself. Until it had strengthened, she had to put up with twinges and avoid jarring or stressing her side. It had been a bad break, collapsing a lung, and even now she never felt like she could take a proper breath. Her ribs were her greatest annoyance, and she wondered what all these too-interested people would think if they knew how chaste those fractures had left her marriage.