Elspeth shrugged. "The truth of the matter is that the twins are probably going to be better rulers than I would. The Council can't object to letting me go, with two more candidates for the throne still here. I'm a full Herald, I know what we need, Kero can probably give me contacts, and I have Crown authority. I'm the best-absolutely best-person for the job." Selenay started to say something-Elspeth waited for the rebuke-but it never came. It was almost as if something had interrupted her before she could say anything.
Odd.
But she followed up on her advantage.
"Let me give you another reason. You wanted me safe, right? You can put forty layers of guards on the twins and they won't mind, but you know very well that I won't put up with it. On the other hand, if you send me to Uncle Faram, Ancar won't know where to find me at first-and when he finds out, he won't risk a try for me in Rethwellan.
Uncle has a larger army, he has mages, and I don't think even Ancar would risk all-out war with him." She firmed her jaw and raised her head stubbornly. "Besides, I won't be there for long, I'll be looking for Kero's old mage Quenten. He has a school, she says, and if anybody can find us mages, I should think he would. When I'm there, I'll be surrounded by mages. I couldn't possibly be safer than that." Selenay finally sighed and unclenched her hands. "There must be something wrong with that logic, but I can't figure out what it is," she said, her brow furrowed with an unhappy frown.
Elspeth turned a look of appeal on Talia, who bit her lip and looked very uncomfortable. As if part of her wants to side with me, and part of her doesn't.
"I just don't like it," Selenay said, finally. "You're far too vulnerable.
Even traveling through Valdemar, I wouldn't feel comfortable unless you had a full company of troops with you. Traveling across the Comb is nearly as dangerous in summer as winter-there are thunderstorms, wild beasts-and the only decent pass is too close to Karse for my comfort." She shook her head. "No, I can't allow it. Bringing in a mage-that's not a bad idea. I think you're right about that much. But the person I send won't be you." Selenay's chin came up and her voice took on a steely quality that Elspeth knew only too well. There was no arguing with her mother in this mood.
She could appeal to her stepfather and Alberich. Kero was already on her side.
But not now.
And it might take weeks, even months, to get Selenay to change her mind. By then it would be fall or winter, and she would have another excuse to keep Elspeth at home-the weather. And perhaps by then it would be too late.
She closed her eyes for a moment. The odd pressure inside her, now that she had a goal in mind and a task that really needed to be done, was already uncomfortable. Any delay would make it intolerable.
She had to go-had to. And she couldn't. She wanted to scream, argue. cry, anything.
But just one word at this point would ensure that she would never win Selenay's permission. And without that permission, there was no point in going to the Council; they would never override the Queen on this.
If I just ran off and did itno, that wouldn't work, either.
She had to have Crown and Council authority to make this mission a success, and running off on her own was not going to win her either.
So instead of bursting out, as she really wanted to, she simply clamped her mouth shut.
She got up, leaving her breakfast untasted, bowed stiffly, and took herself out of the room altogether.
She managed to keep her temper as far as her rooms-where she slammed the door shut behind her, and yanked open the closet so hard she nearly took the door off the hinges. The handle did come loose in her hand, and she flung it across the room without a single word, grabbing a set of old clothes from the back of the closet, pulling off her uniform and throwing it in a heap on the floor, and pulling on the new clothing with no care whatsoever.
She heard several stitches pop as she pulled the shirt over her head and ignored them.
"Kitten?" Gwena said, tentatively. "Dearest, don't be too discouraged. things can change, sometimes in a heartbeat. there are events occurring out on the borders that none of us know about yet-one of those may force your mother to change her mind."
"Don't patronize me," Elspeth snarled. "I'm past the age when you can tell me that everything will be all right. We have trouble, and no one wants to admit it or let me do my part in meeting it. So leave me alone, all right?
Let me cool down my own way."
"oh-: Gwena replied, very much taken aback by the barely-suppressed rage in Elspeth's mind-voice. Then she remained silent though Elspeth sensed her watchful presence in the back of her mind.
She ignored it; leaving her rooms with another slamming of doors and heading defiantly out to the gardens and her pottery shed.
No one even tried to stop her. Several people looked curiously at her as she stormed past, but no one spoke.
Most of the evidence of the assassination attempt was gone, along with the remains of those pieces that were smashed in the struggle. The floor had been swept clean-much, much cleaner than Elspeth ever kept it.
No, it was more than that. There was a new stool beside the bench where the old one had stood, there was a new door in place of the shattered one. Her old stove had been replaced with a new kiln and a new stove, her shelves had been replaced with stronger ones, the walls had been scoured, the floor scrubbed, and the place had been tidied up with meticulous precision.
Elspeth stared around with a sense of affront.
Bad enough that she'd been attacked here-but someone had taken it upon himself to "improve" the place.
Her sanctuary had been violated. With good intent, but violated, just the same. It wasn't hers anymore...But it was all she had.
Resolutely, she squared her shoulders, went to one of the waiting boxes of raw clay, and cut herself a generous chunk-quite enough to make another two-handled vase.
Better than the last one.
And she set about grimly wedging the helpless hunk of clay into submission.
Stubborn, unreasoning woman, she fumed, punching the defenseless clay as hard as she could, flattening it to a finger-wide sheet on the smooth slate top of the bench.
A lot like her daughter, whispered her conscience.
So what? she answered it. I can see sense when I have to, whatever it costs me. She won't even consider what this could mean if I succeed-or what it will mean if I'm not allowed to try. I don't even know if she'll send someone else-she might decide not to. She might even forget.
Her conscience persisted as she rolled the sheet of clay up into a cylinder and flattened the cylinder into a sphere. You've never been a mother, so how can you know what letting you go would cost her? You heard Talia-if it were her son that was in jeopardy, she'd be just as irrational, and she is the most sensible person you know. And besides, you aren't the only one who could take this mission on and make a success out of it.
Oh, no? she snarled at her conscience, picking the ball of clay up, and throwing it down on the slate, over and over again. Who else is there?