In between lessons she talked about her friends at Court: what they liked, or said, or how they entertained. Pleasant, easy talk, meant to show all her friends in the best light; she did not, I realized, like politics or gossip. She never once mentioned the Marquise of Merindar. In my turn I told her my history, bits at a time, but only if she asked. And ask she did. She listened soberly, wincing from time to time; one cold, blustery day I recounted how I had ended up in Baron Debegri's dungeon, and my narrow escape therefrom.
At the end of that story she shuddered and asked, "How could you have lived through that and still be sane?"
"Am I sane?" I joked. "There are some who might argue." Her reaction secretly cheered me, exactly like a ten-year-old who has managed to horrify her friends. I thought later as I stared down at the third fan I'd broken, and when--again--I'd forgotten which curtsy to make to which person under which circumstances.
The one thing I couldn't talk about was that terrible day when Shevraeth brought me to face Galdran before the entire Court. I did not want to know if Nimiar had been there, and had looked at me, and had laughed.
At the end of that story she shuddered and asked, "How could you have lived through that and still be sane?"
"Am I sane?" I joked. "There are some who might argue." Her reaction secretly cheered me, exactly like a ten-year-old who has managed to horrify her friends. I thought later as I stared down at the third fan I'd broken, and when--again--I'd forgotten which curtsy to make to which person under which circumstances.
The one thing I couldn't talk about was that terrible day when Shevraeth brought me to face Galdran before the entire Court. I did not want to know if Nimiar had been there, and had looked at me, and had laughed.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Court Duel ]
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