Jane, be still; don't struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation. -- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Qihadal sometimes felt as if she was being slowly buried alive. Each smile she forced, each polite lie she told lingered in her brain until they felt like nails hammered into her coffin. She always shook off those thoughts. No matter how she felt, she still had to go on with her duties. The empire -- and more importantly, the world of fashion -- would not stop just because someone had a bad day. So every day she put on her court dress -- Carannish women referred to donning the elaborate, awkward court dresses currently in fashion as "putting on armour", and Qihadal could see why -- and went to the latest social event she was expected to attend.

Not all the events were boring. Sometimes she quite enjoyed them. Occasionally she met someone who could talk about sensible things and not just the latest gossip. But there was no denying she met plenty of insipid fools.

She was currently trapped in conversation by one of them.

Countess Akaishou had only two thoughts in her head: money and clothes. She regaled the bored empress with a long recounting of how someone she knew had gained a great deal of money, and a longer recounting of how much she spent at the dressmaker's. Qihadal felt like throwing a glass of docaise wine[1] at her.

The countess continued to prattle on. Qihadal tuned her out and looked around the room for someone else, anyone else, she could speak to. Her eyes landed on Prince Gialma. He was looking at her, but he immediately turned away when he met her gaze.

Qihadal frowned. Why had her ex-husband's cousin been looking at her? Especially with such a vaguely worried expression? Was there something she didn't know about the countess that meant she shouldn't have spoken to her?

She spoke to me first, Qihadal thought sourly. If she'd accidentally broken protocol, she'd make damn sure everyone knew it wasn't her fault.

"Excuse me," she said abruptly to the countess.

She didn't wait to hear if she replied. Rude? Almost certainly. But Qihadal had learnt that she could get away with many small moments of rudeness simply because -- in most people's eyes -- she was the empress.

Gialma was now pointedly not looking at her. He had apparently decided the windows were the most interesting things he'd ever seen, and he stared fixedly at them. Qihadal remembered the gossip she'd overheard about him. Some of the High Council thought he was delusional. They claimed they'd seen him talking to people who weren't there. Others thought he was simply arrogant. Qihadal had barely spoken to him, but she thought he reminded her a great deal of Tinuviel. They both had an amazing talent for staring through people.

The prince bowed to her, awkwardly and rather stiffly, when she approached. "Your Majesty."

The use of her title nettled her in a way she couldn't quite explain. How many of the royal family knew about her divorce? Tinuviel's sister did. She didn't know if his cousin did too. Probably not; the emperor and the prince never seemed particularly close. But she couldn't help feeling as if he was mocking her with the title she no longer had any right to. The knowledge of his past attempt at treachery only made this feeling even stronger. True, he hadn't done anything remotely illegal for years. Quite the contrary, in fact. But that old incident would always hang over him like a cloud.

"Your Highness," she said, more sharply than she had intended to. "I did not expect to see you here."

That was perfectly true. Prince Gialma usually avoided as many social engagements as he could without giving offense. It was one of the many things that had given him a reputation for arrogance and thinking himself better than everyone else.

The prince looked everywhere except at her. A faint blush coloured his face. "I didn't expect to be here."

Qihadal waited for more explanation. But he apparently thought he'd said enough. An awkward silence fell. She could understand why people thought Prince Gialma odd. She couldn't tell if he was stupid or just extremely shy.

Waiting for him to speak would take the rest of the night, and in all likelihood it would be a very futile wait. If they were to say anything at all, she would have to speak first. She might as well go straight to the point.

"Why were you looking at me?" Have I done something wrong? she felt like asking, but that would mean admitting she still found herself lost and confused when faced with all the unwritten rules of the Carannish court. She had spent the last five years doing her best to never show any weakness that could be exploited. She wouldn't give a possible enemy such a clear opening to attack her.

The prince didn't react like an enemy planning an attack. He stared blankly at her, his eyes wide. She suppressed the urge to tell him he looked like a fish. How old was he? He was taller than Tinuviel; roughly the same height as Qihadal herself, in fact. Yet he looked very young, and acted like a panic-stricken schoolboy who'd been unexpectedly handed a test he hadn't studied for. She almost smiled at that comparison, and that was the end of any true hostility she felt for him. It was hard to feel antagonistic to someone who looked as menacing as a lost puppy.

"You... you were..." Prince Gialma trailed off, apparently at a loss for words. He frowned and tried again. "I thought you looked... upset."

Qihadal reconsidered her opinion of the prince. He might be one of the most silent conversation partners she'd ever spoken to, but he had noticed the very thing she had tried most to hide.

Her brief silence seemed to worry her companion. "I apologise," he said in the stilted tone that most people mistook for pride, but which she realised now was only embarrassment and shyness. "I know it's none of my business."

If only more people would realise some things are none of their business! Qihadal thought.

"Thank you for your concern," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

"It wasn't really concern," the prince said with the earnestness of someone clearing up a misconception. "It was just... I knew you weren't happy."

Qihadal got the distinct impression that was not what he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words for what he did want to say. She almost felt sorry for him. Someone should teach the poor boy to look people in the eye when speaking to them, and speak clearly without stumbling over his words. No wonder he had a reputation for being odd.

There was nothing more either could find to say, so the conversation ended there.

~~~~

Losradan cared nothing for official events unless she derived some enjoyment from them. Rualnim was at her wits' end trying to find ways to force the spoilt brat to attend half of the events she should. There were times when the princess meeting a tragic accident became more and more likely. As if things weren't bad enough, other members of the royal family were making her plans even more complicated.

Rualnim had never met the king consort or most of Losradan's siblings. She knew Princess Kiroshnoy only as an annoying teenager who once called Rualnim rude names. Never had she gotten the impression Kiroshnoy was on good terms with her oldest sister. She did not expect the girl to be waiting for Losradan after a session of the royal court.

Rualnim, being a foreigner who was not an official diplomat, was forbidden from entering the throne room. There was no rule that said she couldn't wait outside while court was in session. She didn't trust Losradan not to make a frightful mess if she left her alone. When the session ended and the princess came out to join her, she hurried her down the hallway before she could loudly voice her opinion of someone -- someone who would almost certainly overheard.

They'd barely gone ten steps down the hall when a young girl jumped out in front of them.

"I told Grandmother about you," Kiroshnoy said, sounding exactly like a small child saying they'd told a teacher or parent about a playmate who wouldn't obey the rules. "I especially told her about that time you gambled away half the crown jewels and then tried to steal them back. Oh, and the time you got drunk and told state secrets to an entire bar. She called you an irresponsible snake who should never be queen."

The only effect this story had on Rualnim was to make her resolve never to let Losradan near alcohol. It had a more dramatic effect on Losradan herself. The princess froze in place, right in the middle of the hallway, as if she'd been turned to stone. People leaving the throne room behind them had to walk around her. They sent many glares and pointed grumbles her way. Losradan didn't notice a thing.

"What do you mean, you told Grandmother?" Losradan's voice was unusually high and strained. "She's dead. You were at her funeral, you twit!"

"I know she's dead." Kiroshnoy adopted a maddeningly superior attitude. She reminded Rualnim of her aunt Kawaro. That association hardly endeared the girl to her. "But I spoke to her."

Good grief. They had a madwoman on the loose.

"No one can speak to the dead," Losradan said patronisingly.

Kiroshnoy only smiled. It was the sort of superior smile used by younger siblings everywhere, precisely because it would drive their older siblings mad.

"That's what you think," the girl said sweetly.

For once the co-conspirators were in perfect agreement. Losradan ground her teeth. Rualnim clenched her fists. Kiroshnoy smiled innocently, turned on her heel, and marched away.

"What did she mean?" Losradan demanded. "Has she really spoken to the dead? I won't have a minute's peace until I know! Can't you find a way to make her tell me?"

Now that would be paying too much attention to something ultimately unimportant.

"She was lying to get attention," Rualnim said dismissively. She forestalled any further complaints by, "Didn't you want to attend the ballet tonight?"

Losradan immediately forgot everything her little sister had said. "Yes! I can't decide what I'm going to wear. Would my gold evening dress be suitable?"

Rualnim sighed. Now she wouldn't hear a single word about anything that wasn't clothes for the rest of the evening.

~~~~

Kilan had never realised before just how stressful being a parent was. When his daughter was being raised by her nursemaid he had no need to worry about where she was, what she was doing, and if she was about to break something or knock something over on top of herself. Never before had he realised how quickly a toddler could move. Linyie could sit on a chair, apparently asleep, for an hour. But if he ever forgot to keep a constant check on her, he would look up to see her at the other side of the room, trying to climb the bookcase.

This was not doing his nerves any good. The High Council, cattle thieves in Malish, trouble brewing in Nirne... What was any of that compared to the all-consuming terror of hunting the palace for a missing two-year-old?

"I swear, she was right there," Kilan said, frantically opening doors and peering into the rooms to make sure Linyie wasn't there.

"She couldn't have opened those doors," Nadriet said practically. "You're just wasting time looking in there."

What she said was perfect sense. Even Kilan, panic-stricken though he was, could see that. But he resented how calm she was. Linyie might be in mortal peril!

He was at the point of ordering the servants to form search parties when he found her. Relief that she wasn't in mortal peril quickly gave way to amazement. How had Linyie gone from a sitting room on the third floor to a hallway on the second? Why was she dragging Gialma along and babbling excitedly to him? And showing him portraits of long-dead Caranilnavs, no less?

"That's my great-granny," Linyie said, pointing to a portrait of a distant ancestress wearing a truly garish hat. All ancestors more distant than her grandparents were "great-grandparents" in her mind, even if they were twenty generations removed from her. "Isn't her hat nice?"

Gialma nodded, looking as confused as Kilan felt. "Yes, it's... very colourful."

"And I don't know who she is," Linyie continued, moving on to the next portrait, "but I like her fan. It would be nice to have a fan made of feathers, wouldn't it?" Gialma was spared a reply when she noticed Kilan. She grinned happily at him, neither knowing nor caring that she had nearly given him a heart attack. "Father! I'm showing my cousin the pictures!"

"I found her trying to climb out a window," Gialma said.

Thank you, Kilan thought, feeling ill. That's just what I wanted to hear.

"I sent a servant to tell you where she was," his cousin continued. A hint of dry amusement crept into his tone. "She decided to tell me all about our family history while we waited."

Kilan wondered what had happened to the servant. Why hadn't they-- Oh. They couldn't find him, because he was busy searching for Linyie.

"Thank you for finding her," he said, trying not to think about what would have happened if Gialma hadn't found her. "Linyie, you're going back to your room. And you'll go to bed without supper."

Linyie protested indignantly all the way up to her room. It didn't change Kilan's mind at all. He breathed a sigh of relief when she was safely back in her nursemaid's protection.

Lethil would arrive in two days' time. The thought of not one, but two small children running all over the palace would terrify even the bravest soul.

It would be a stressful visit.

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] docaise wine = A sort of wine that is boiled with dried fruit and served while still hot.