Bearers of the Black Staff

“Well.” She hesitated. “He is preoccupied at present with matters of court.”


Mistral Belloruus laughed. “Is that how you would put it? ‘Preoccupied with matters of court’? You need to work on your language skills, Phryne. Your father is facing the most dangerous moment of the past five hundred years. The valley’s protective walls have collapsed, the passes are open, monsters of a sort we haven’t seen since we came here have appeared from the outside world, and a Troll army threatens. I should hope he is—if nothing better—preoccupied!”

Phryne stared. “How do you know all this? It hasn’t been told to anyone. Not even the Elven Hunters who travel north to Aphalion Pass to build the barricades know as much. Only Father and the High Council know. How is it that you’ve found out?”

Her grandmother smiled and shook her head in what Phryne took to be an expression of disbelief. “You know so little about me, girl. After all these years, still so little. I have eyes and ears everywhere; that’s how I know. An old woman doesn’t learn much without them. Mine are among the sharpest and most dependable. Remember that when you think of misbehaving again. Some tea, perhaps, before we speak further? Farsimmon! Bring tea, if you please. Even if you don’t please, bring it anyway.”

Nothing more was said until the old man from the front porch appeared bearing a silver tray with tea service. Solemnly, he poured cups for each of them, bowed to each, and departed.

“A sweet man,” Mistral offered when he was out of hearing. “Enamored of me from the moment he laid eyes on me. He never got over the fact that I chose another over him. But now here he is, all these years later.”

Phryne took the flowers from the basket she had carried in and handed them to her grandmother, who beamed with obvious pleasure as she cradled them in her arms. Beautiful, she pronounced them. Phryne found a vase, helped her grandmother arrange the flowers, added water from a pitcher, and set the vase on a bedside table.

She reseated herself. “You should be sitting outside, Grandmother. The air is warm and sweet. It’s a nice day to be in the sun.”

“I imagine it is. But it’s better that we keep this conversation to ourselves.” The old woman set down her teacup and looked at Phryne. “I mentioned your misbehavior a moment ago, and you didn’t blink an eye. Did you hear me?”

Phryne nodded. “I heard.”

“You set out with the Orullian brothers and two outlanders from a village south of Aphalion Pass, ostensibly on a tracking exercise, but actually to discover if what you had been told by Sider Ament about the collapse of the protective wall was true. While there, you encouraged your companions to leave the protection of the pass to go out into the world beyond, then encouraged the boy and the girl who were guests to investigate a campsite, which in turn got them captured by Lizards. Excuse me, Trolls—not Lizards. You got the boy back—or rather, he got himself back—but the girl is still a prisoner. That is why your father is barely speaking to you and you are confined to the city. Does that sum things up?”

Phryne started to offer an explanation, but thought better of it and simply nodded.

Her grandmother shook her head and folded her hands in her lap. “I expect better things of you than this, Phryne. Using your status as an Elven Princess, your father’s only child, to gain traction over others, especially guests, is unacceptable. Yours must always be the voice of reason and propriety, not the voice of impetuous and foolish impulse. You are a girl becoming a woman, but you are not there yet. You will get there more quickly and smoothly if you question your choices before acting on them.”

“Grandmother …”

“Please don’t try to contradict me or offer excuses. That would make me very sad. You’ve made a mistake; learn from it. Your father needs you to do that. He relies on you to be his daughter, not some wild child. Your mother would have taught you better and done so earlier, but we’ve lost her. You may have noticed that I have taken it upon myself to fill her considerable shoes. Your father does much less than he needs to when it comes to your upbringing. He does little enough about many things, as it happens. So I am telling you now. Pay attention to yourself. It is important. These are dangerous times, and they may well become much more dangerous before things settle down again. You must act accordingly.”

Phryne took a deep breath, fighting down her embarrassment and irritation at being lectured. “I understand, Grandmother.”