“I know, darling, I agree with you wholeheartedly. We have a second chance now, and Ethelred is off to a good start.”
Realizing that the king and queen ran through a conversation as familiar and comfortable to them as a pair of well-worn shoes, Amilia nodded politely without really listening. She had seen elves only once in her life. When she had still been living in Tarin Vale, three of them had come to the village—a family, if they had such notions of kinship. Apparently content to dress in rags, they were dirty and carried small, stained bundles, which Amilia guessed were all they had. They were so thin they looked sick, and walked with their heads bowed and shoulders slumped.
Children had called the elves names and villagers had thrown stones and shouted for them to leave. A rock struck the female’s head and she cried out. Amilia did not throw any rocks, but she watched as the family was bruised and bloodied before they fled from town. At the time, she did not understand how they could be a threat. The monk who had been teaching her letters explained elves were responsible for the downfall of the empire. They had seemed helpless, and Amilia could not help feeling sorry for them.
Roswort concluded his tirade by accusing the elves of being responsible for the drought two years before, and Amilia caught Nimbus rolling his eyes.
“You don’t share their opinions?” she whispered.
“It’s not my place to counter the words of a king, milady,” the courtier responded politely.
“True, but I sometimes wonder just what goes on under that wig of yours. Something tells me there’s more than courtly etiquette rattling around.”
Off to Amilia’s right, Roswort and Freda had moved on. “Dwarves aren’t much better, but at least they have skills,” the king was saying. “Fine stonemasons and jewelers, I’ll give them that, but niggardly as an autumn squirrel facing an early snow, the entire lot of them. They can’t be trusted. Any one of them would slit your throat to steal two copper tenents. They stick to their own kind and whisper their outlawed language. Living with dwarves is like trying to domesticate a wild animal, can’t ever truly be done.”
The conversation died down as another performance started. This time a pair of conjurers pulled apples and oddments from their sleeves, then juggled the items. When the act was over, and all the knives and goblets safely caught, Nimbus asked, “Doesn’t the empress hail from your kingdom, Your Majesty?”
“Oh yes.” Roswort perked up and nearly spilled his drink. “Lived right there in Dahlgren. What a terrible mess that was. Afterward, the deacon ran about babbling his tall tales—and no one believed him. I certainly didn’t. Who would have thought that the Heir of Novron would come from that tiny dust speck?”
“How is it that we never see her?” the queen asked Amilia. “She will be at the wedding, won’t she?”
“Of course, Your Majesty. The empress is saving her strength for just that. She’s still quite weak.”
“I see,” the queen replied coolly. “Surely she is well enough by now to admit guests. Several of the ladies feel it has been most unseemly the way she has been ignoring us. I would very much like a personal audience with her before the ceremony.”
“I am afraid that’s really not up to me. I only follow her directions.”
“How can you follow her directions on something I have just now suggested? Are you a mind reader?”
“Who would have expected Sir Hadrian to be in the finals of the tournament?” Nimbus said loudly. “I certainly didn’t think a novice would be challenging for the title tomorrow. And against Sir Breckton! You must admit Lady Amilia certainly backed the right arm-and-shield there. Who are you favoring, Your Majesty?”
Roswort pursed his lips. “I find both of them disagreeable. The whole tournament has been too tame for my taste. I prefer the theatrics of Elgar and Gilbert. They know how to play to a crowd. This year’s finalists are as solemn as monks, and neither has done anything other than unseat their opponents. That’s bad form, if you ask me. Knights are trained for war. They should instinctually seek to kill rather than merely bust a pole on a reinforced plate. I think they should be required to use war tips. Do that, and you’ll see something worth watching!”