nyctasia breakfasted alone with Corson, having given orders that no one else was to be told of Lady Mhairestri’s death. “Curse her! She did it so that folk would say I’d poisoned her,” she told Corson.
“Did you?” Corson asked, tossing a piece of cheese to Grey-mantle.
Nyctasia half smiled, and shook her head. “No. I’d have waited till after the wedding, you see. She thinks-thought-that I’d have to postpone the festivities, in order to observe the traditional period of mourning. But I’ll not play her game. This is no time to respect the proprieties.” She rose and began to pace about, chewing a honey-roll and frowning. “The wedding will be held sooner instead,” she decided, gesturing with the pastry as she spoke. “It shall take place in a week’s time, before news of Mhairestri’s death has had a chance to spread. There will be a grand state funeral some days afterward, and I shall declare that it was the matriarch’s dying wish that it be so.”
“Will anyone believe that?” Corson asked doubtfully.
“Certainly not. But it will show a certain courtesy to her memory, to say it.”
Nyctasia sat down again, and went on with her breakfast quite calmly. “She will not stand in the way of my dream, Corson. She cannot. Her too I saw among the dead.”
The days passed quickly with the hurried preparations for the wedding celebration. Corson was fitted for an elegant gown, and trained assiduously for her part in the ceremony of investiture. She would have to descend a staircase and cross the great hall with all eyes upon her, then perform an elaborate obeisance before the assembled nobles and kneel to receive Nyctasia’s formal commendation.
“It’s only a few phrases of Old Eswraine, meaning that you’re exceedingly brave and loyal and worthy,” Nyctasia explained. “Then I shall take your hand and raise you up, and all the rest of it, and you’ve only to stand aside and wait.
It’s really very simple.”
Corson was beginning to have serious misgivings about the whole affair. “But I can’t walk down stairs wearing that dress, Nyc,” she said desperately. “Or kneel! I can’t even move. The bodice is so tight I can’t bend, and the hem falls all over my feet, and the train-it’s worse than full armor! I’ll make a fool of myself.”
“Nonsense,” Nyctasia said soothingly, “the gown fits perfectly, and you look magnificent in it. You’ll be the most admired person in the company.”
This appeal to Corson’s vanity had its effect, but she still sought further reassurance. “It looks well enough, if I stand still and don’t stir a muscle, but if I move one arm I’ll tear it to shreds.”
“There will be no occasion for you to swing a sword. You’re to hold your hands so, and keep your back straight, just as I showed you. You’ve plenty of time to practice, if you like, but you already do the curtsey beautifully, Corson. I’ve seen you.”
“Oh yes, in an old robe, in front of the mirror. But before a lot of strangers, in that miserable gown! I’ll fall on my-”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Nyctasia said firmly. “You’ve only to put one foot before the other, and the whole ordeal will be over in a moment. I know that court ceremony is strange to you, but you’ve nothing whatever to fear.” She chose her words deliberately. “Still, if you truly feel unequal to it…”
As ever, Corson’s resolve stiffened at the suggestion that she was afraid. “It’s not that,” she grumbled. “It’s your position I’m thinking of. You said you must command the respect of those about you, but if I don’t acquit myself well, your people will find fault with you for trying to make a lady of a lout.” She shrugged. “If you don’t care for appearances, I surely don’t. You’ve only yourself to blame if I disgrace you. And I’ll kill anyone who laughs at me, so I warn you!”
“Fortunately, no one would be so ill-bred as to laugh. And a lady, Corson, would simply take no notice if they did. It would be a mistake to dignify such behavior with death.”
“I’ll try to remember that. Well, and what then-after I fall at your feet and you pick me up?”
“Very little, since you’ll be the last. The trumpets will sound, and everyone will come flocking to be presented to you. They’ll kiss your hand and congratulate you and bow, but you needn’t curtsey.”
Corson immediately forgot her bravado. “But what am I to say to them?” she wailed.
“Just thank them politely,” Nyctasia said patiently. “Do stop fretting. If you remember that you’re a lady and as good as any of them, they’ll be charmed by anything you say, I promise you.”
Corson nodded thoughtfully. “It’s true that folk already treat me differently here. The lady’s maids are as respectful as you please. And even Lady Elissa deigned to address me directly today.”
“Did she now! What did she want of you?”
“Your brat sister’d told her about the sights of the city you showed her, and Her Ladyship asked me whether you’d visited other parts of Rhostshyl as well.”
“Oho. And did you tell her the truth?”
Corson looked pleased with herself, “Well, I exaggerated a bit, perhaps. I said there was no part of Rhostshyl where you weren’t well known. Then I told her,
‘If she should be overthrown, half the people of the city would rise up and storm the palace.’”
Nyctasia hugged her, laughing. “My dear Corson, you haven’t a thing to worry about. A courtier born and bred couldn’t have answered her better.”
“Is that what they do, then-spread rumors?”
“That, and carry tales. Upon my word, you do learn quickly, Corson.”
“Corisonde, you mean,” said Corson, with a grin.