She flicked her wrist, and the ivory leaves of her long-handled fan opened out to make a tracery of tiny figures that showed children dancing around a maypole. ?By now we have a lot of fine makers, for practical things and for beautiful ones as well. And not just in my mother?s Household. This was a present from a friend, Lady Delia de Stafford.? ?Lovely!? Kate said, taking it for a moment and holding it up against a light.
She hesitated and then went on:?But… isn?t that dress… well, isn?t it all a bit cumbersome??
Mathilda laughed.?It certainly is if you don?t have a lady-in-waiting and a couple of maidservants to help you on and off with it,? she said.?Which I suspect was part of the point-that?s why it?s a noblewoman?s style.?
At home she wore male dress as often as her special status let her get away with it, and hated the constriction of the court fashion?s buttoned sleeves and bodice and the way you couldn?t lift your arms above your shoulders, and the long full skirts and the wrapped headdress, though even that was better than the tall cone-shaped ones. The two tunics and shift of commoner female costume were much more comfortable and less confining, but noblewomen could get away with that in only the most casual settings.
She?d have just chucked the clothes chest, herself-God and His Mother knew that they?d lost most of the gear they?d started out with in Bend at one emergency or another, which had included everything from battle and headlong flight to million-strong stampedes of mad buffalo. Now she was glad she hadn?t insisted; it made her feel a little less frightened and homesick, and it emphasized that she wasn?t officially just a prisoner here.
And the warm browns and golds of the silk and embroidery did complement her seal-brown hair and hazel eyes and warm light olive complexion. She wasn?t beautiful; her features took after her father?s, too bold and a little irregular, but she knew she could be striking.
And I have to uphold the Portland Protective Association?s honor here. These Iowans think everyone else is a monkey from the wilds, or at best a hick. ?You look enchanting, your Highness,? Odard Liu said.
He came up to them, a middle-sized young man, black haired and olive-umber of skin, slim and elegant in parti-colored hose and curl-toed shoes with little silver bells, trailing dagged sleeves and hood with tippets and gold-link belt, his slanted blue eyes amused and his lute over his back, troubadour fashion.
Some of the younger local gentry trailed after him, looking fascinated; the more so when he made an elaborate leg-bow and hand-flourish to both women, the long tail of his round flat nobleman?s hat fluttering and sweeping the floor as he drew it through the complex measure. ?And your Majesty is also enchanting in her own person, if I may be so bold,? he went on to Kate Heasleroad.?Your lord is to be envied for his wealth and power, but not least for the jeweled beauty of his consort.?
Everyone loves flattery, but keep in mind that when people deal with royalty they lay it on with a trowel, Mathilda?s mother had told her once. Your friend Odard at least does it with some style.
He?d also clung to the box with their last Court outfits inside like grim death, even when they were starving in that cave in the Rockies wondering if they?d have to eat the horses while the blizzards howled outside. He?d laid out gold here to have his gear repaired, too-and hers, to be sure. ?But though Iowa is rich and mighty, I say that only in Portland do we know how to praise fair ladies.?
Odard brought his lute around and strummed. His fingers teased out a stately tune, one of his own.
Oh, no! Mathilda thought. Not that one!
The chamber group had fallen silent. His smile was half warm and half a teasing pleasure in her embarrassment as he sang a chorus in a pleasant tenor: ?So let the Hall ring for the Light of the North!
For the Princess Mathilda-the Light of the North!? ?Odard, I still haven?t forgiven you for composing that,? she said, and rapped his knuckles with her fan.
He grinned unrepentantly as he shook the hand and then went on:?I was just telling these good fellows about the High Tournament of the Association.? ?Great stuff!? one of them said enthusiastically.?We have Reserve drills and National Guard muster days at the county fairs, but nothing that fancy. It sounds like a hell of a lot of fun!? ?Not when you?re smacked right off your horse and knocked silly and you throw up inside a closed helm and they have to unharness you with bolt cutters,? Mathilda said with feeling.? Or when a horse breaks something and screams until they put it down. I always hate that part.? ?Girls compete?? Kate said, interested. ?The Princess is a special case, to be sure,? Odard said smoothly. ?And of course the current Grand Constable of the Association-Lady Tiphaine, Baroness d?Ath. Apart from them, no, not very often. Though one young lady is always crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the winner.?
Mathilda choked back a gurgling laugh. Two years ago Tiphaine d?Ath had won, and the Grand Constable had ridden up to the stands and dropped the crown from the point of her lance into the lap of her lady-in-waiting Delia de Stafford. At which the local bishop had nearly choked on the blessing, since everyone knew about Tiphaine and Delia.
That was wicked of her. Funny, yes, but wicked.
Though nobody spoke about it, unless they wanted to face Baroness d?Ath in a duel, which wasn?t anything a sane human being would do unless they were tired of life. Mathilda sighed a little, struck by sudden homesickness.
In the unlikely event that I ever win a tournament -
She knew herself to be fair to middling at best despite a lifetime?s coaching by experts, without the supernal speed and skill that d?Ath used to compensate for men?s greater raw strength.
– I?m going to crown myself Queen of Love and Beauty and nobody else! Or maybe I could crown Rudi King of Love and Beauty… all the warrior saints witness he?s beautiful…
Odard went on, diplomatically ignoring her sudden flush: ?I?m surprised you don?t have tournaments here… weren?t there any Society people in Iowa? In most places which survived at all they did very well.?
A new voice broke in:?Oh, there were some here in Des Moines. Dad said he found them very useful as instructors, the craftsmen and the fighters at least-the rest were… sort of flaky. He didn?t want anything to do with all that ceremonial they liked so much.?
Mathilda concealed a start. That was the Bossman, just breaking away from the people she didn?t want him talking to-the emissaries from Corwin in Montana, the red-robed and shaven-skulled priest of the Church Universal and Triumphant, and the hard-eyed officer of the Sword of the Prophet who?d been pursuing them ever since they left Oregon. Anthony Heasleroad saw her glare at them and motioned them away. Being here on sufferance themselves they went, not without glares of their own. ?Dad always said you could afford to have people curse you in private, but not laugh.?
Pride stiffened Mathilda?s spine, and she sank in the formal curtsey her tutors had drilled into her in girlhood. When she spoke her voice was cool courtesy: ?I?m sure your father was a very able man, my lord Bossman,? she said.?But so was mine; Portland lives, when all the other great cities on the West Coast died. And I assure you nobody laughed when he was styled Majesty or my lord. Not more than once, at least. Your Majesty.?
Then Mathilda saw the glitter in his pale eyes. There was something not quite right there. ?You say that word?Majesty? with such conviction,? Heasleroad said.?I could get used to it… if people said it the way you do. And if I was sure you?re not trying to disrespect me.?