[Fic] "The Sum of Things," ch. 1, pt. 4 -- original
Here we are, still in chapter one but having switched from Talin to Ranna, and now getting into politics. Yay politics. This was the scene that killed about three days when I was writing it, since I suddenly realized I had to have 12 people on the Inner Council and I'd never bothered to figure out who on god's green earth they were.
Of course, knowing their personalities and goals opened up lots of new avenues for plot twists... *rubs hands evilly*
As always, please remember that this is a rough draft.
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Chapter One: I Will Show You Something Different, Part IV
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"Council meeting in twenty minutes," Pazun announced as Ranna entered her private rooms and shut her entourage outside. The steward smiled indulgently when she groaned and slumped into a padded chair, crumpling the embroidered lace edging on her dress. "Yes, they're a pack of inbred wolves, but you have to keep trying."
Ranna made the sign of the evil eye in his direction.
Pazun sighed. "I can delay them for ten minutes. Take five to rest, and then have Mabriel dress you in court robes and tidy your hair. And no, she can't double for you in Council; the lords would see through the ruse as soon as she opened her mouth."
"True, damn it." Ranna waved the steward out and let her head fall back over the top edge of the chair, staring at the painted and gilded ceiling of her receiving room. She hated the Inner Council; they were supposed to be her advisors, her link to the Assembly of Nobles, but they did nothing but remind her of how little power she really held. Pazun was right -- pack of inbred wolves was the only term for them.
The door creaked open, letting someone in from the corridor.
"Mabriel?" Ranna asked, closing her eyes.
"Ya, only me." Mabriel's voice was soft and light, steeped in the accent of home, the same accent Ranna had worked to wring out of her own speech. "You rest your eyes and feet; I'll be laying out your robes." Another door creaked, and Mabriel slipped from the receiving room into the maze of the queen's chambers.
"You kept the others out?" Ranna called after her. She really didn't want to face her so-called ladies-in-waiting.
"They kept themselves out!" Mabriel answered, laughing. "Nobody wants to deal with your temper anymore. Doreya even offered to take my share of the cleaning today so she wouldn't have to be facing you directly."
Ranna smirked. "Good. I hate the little busybodies." She pulled herself upright and started unhooking her dress, reaching behind her neck to fumble with the metal clasps buried under the lace. "Which robes today?"
"The flame ones, I think," said Mabriel, popping into the doorway and beckoning Ranna into her private sitting room. "Here, let me -- you'll never reach the ones down further -- you think about your hair instead and move on into the bedroom. The robes are lying out on the bed." Her deft fingers shoved the mass of Ranna's hair forward over her shoulder and flicked down the column of hooks, peeling the dress off Ranna's shoulders as she went.
Ranna paced slowly forward, trying not to jostle Mabriel in her work. "It's the Council," she muttered. "What should I be projecting today? Young and innocent? Clever but naïve? Cynical but incompetent?"
"Not the last, and you know it," Mabriel said. "You've been doing innocent and bewildered, but too proud to admit it. You should be moving on to innocent but clever. You've had over a year; they won't be surprised if you're showing yourself a bit more openly intelligent." She finished the clasps. "There. Peel that off and get into the shift."
"Hmm." Ranna stepped out of the dress with a sigh of relief -- the lace itched unbearably -- and pulled the high-collared white silk shift over her head. Court robes were heavy and awkward, but at least the fabrics were easier on the skin.
"Innocent but clever... nothing too complicated, then. Complicated hairstyles are for girls who don't know what they're doing." Ranna held her arms out and let Mabriel slip the inner robe, a red-orange silk sheath with tiny embroidered flames, over her arms. She hooked the upper buttons while Mabriel fastened her way up from the hem. "Two braids pulling it back from my face, and then loose?"
Mabriel considered that. "Na, the collar's too high. Two braids from the temples, and then a loose cascade from high up with the flame pins for decoration. Simple, but just enough to show it took thought."
Ranna nodded and shrugged into the outer robe, a heavy wrap of blood-red satin with huge, multi-colored flames licking up the skirt from the hem, and up her arms from the wide cuffs. Seed pearls dotted the embroidery and the sash was edged with lace. Mabriel tied this one, setting the crossed panels just so and folding the edges to best effect.
The hair took nearly another ten minutes, Mabriel cursing as the comb and brush caught on tangles in Ranna's thick hair. "Maybe loose would have been better?" Ranna suggested between winces at Mabriel's rough treatment.
"Na," Mabriel insisted. "Not with a high collar -- you know that. Now stop moving and let me work."
Finally the hair was bound into submission, tied with a cascade of flame-colored ribbons, and decorated with enameled pins shaped like dancing flames. "There," said Mabriel, standing back to admire her work. "Ya, that's gorgeous, Ranna." She sighed and ran her fingers along the loose fabric of Ranna's sleeve. "I wish I got to wear your clothes more often."
"Three days from now there's a court judgment," Ranna offered. "I've reviewed the case and it's looking clear cut. You can sit behind the Lord Judge and look regal. Say ya?"
Mabriel beamed. "Ya!" She winked. "And you'll be sneaking out, won't you."
"You know me too well, but I'm admitting nothing." Ranna glanced at the ornate wall clock and sighed. "And now I should be getting to Council. Later, Mabriel."
"Later," Mabriel said, dropping a sloppy curtsey. "Off with you, cousin. Show them what a Luthaen woman can do!"
"That I will," Ranna said, and then hid her smile under the solemn manner of royalty, an expression designed to give no hint as to her true feelings or intentions. That was one of the first things any queen of Kanos learned, however unprepared she'd been for her new role.
Her honor guards were waiting outside the receiving room, protecting her against unwanted intruders. Ranna nodded to them. "Karsket. Moloshet. Attend me, my thanks."
The two women saluted, sheathed their swords, and fell in beside their queen, walking half a pace to her rear in respect, but close enough to throw themselves between her and danger. Karsket and Moloshet were decent enough people, Ranna supposed, but incredibly serious about their duty. She was definitely in favor of having her guards be serious about defending her, but she didn't quite see how that required them to refuse to discuss anything but her safety when she was around, or to intimidate their rotating schedule of partners until those soldiers -- personally chosen by Eydvar for their skill and determination -- blanched if Ranna so much as glanced in their direction.
It was a little unnerving to contemplate how little she still knew about these women who spent most of each day close enough to kill her in mere seconds. They were blade-mistresses, both of them, chosen in a competition upon her election, and once, when she'd opened a door too quietly for them to notice, she'd overheard them telling off-color jokes and gossiping about their homes. If they disagreed with Ranna, Karsket would protest her orders openly while Moloshet restricted herself to wounded, disapproving stares. Beyond those scraps, for all Ranna knew they might boil and eat kittens when they took their rare hours off duty.
But enough of that. The doors of the Council chamber loomed before her, carved and painted with scenes from the Great Invasion, the Concords of Lus, and the early years of Kanos. In those days, the queens had held true power! Nobody save Dalren Silverblade, her general, had dared to counter Queen Deyrilea -- of that Ranna was certain. But their power had dwindled, leeched away by the lords of the Assembly and the Council, until Ranna's power, today, was little more than a shadow and the country was pulling itself to pieces around her.
Ranna drew one last deep breath, and nodded to the door wardens. The Council was divided against itself, and that was her opportunity. Come tomorrow or come twenty years from today, she'd have them eating from her hand and obeying orders instead of giving them. If only the process wasn't so damned slow.
"Queen Ithova Keranae Altus-Mordrin, Guardian of the Gates, Star of the East, Defender of the Faith, and Lady of Luthaen," the senior warden announced as he swung the door open.
The Inner Council rose as Ranna swept into the room, all twelve of them, and remained standing until she seated herself in the gilded chair at the far side of the round table. She nodded as they resettled themselves. "My lords, my ladies."
"My queen," responded Olek Hartanos of Idalgir, returning her nod before launching into yet another iteration of the tax debate. Ranna fixed an attentive expression on her face and looked subtly around the table, gauging the moods of the Council members.
Olek, unfortunately, sat across from her as if trying to be impossible to ignore. His slightly too fancy clothes and deep, oratorical voice were also designed to grab attention. The worst of it, Ranna thought, was that he really was a handsome bastard, and far too intelligent for her peace of mind. He'd been the one who pushed her election through the Assembly; in return, he expected her to be grateful and let him continue decentralizing her country.
Eburek Berius of Therry sat beside Olek, nodding approvingly at his every word. The man was an unspeakable toady, as was Teluran ben Marthicc of Meleddain, the fat, scornful empty-brains who sat to Olek's left. Langard Iforos of Evushenka, however, was his own man, and Ranna had hopes of winning the young lord from Olek's cause to her own.
Silver-haired Vanulie Pirinaeus of Chaumen, sitting next to Eburek, led another faction -- hawk-nosed Gamona Miota of Solovay and Celed ben Oloch, the deceptively foppish lord of Eiry -- who wanted near-total independence for their lands and provinces. They were a lost cause, but they needed careful watching. Vanulie had come close to threatening civil war in the past year and Celed was perfectly capable of forging a private treaty with Dorin Rhae and seceding from Kanos, taking several other march domains with him. Gamona was less politically untouchable -- Solovay lay at the tip of the Ayden Peninsula, right across the Corthy Gulf from Halo, and the threat of naval invasion kept her from outright rebellion -- but she was rich, and she gave Vanulie free access to her money. That was dangerous. On a lesser note, her very public quest to replace her husband grated on Ranna's nerves.
Bethurika Ingary of Cantrifang, a plump, overdressed woman seated next to Langard, wavered between Olek and Ranna, depending on whether they debated taxes or war. Marror Scalt of Romil, a worn, stoop-shouldered, baggy-eyed man, seemed convinced that reason and logic could bring everyone in the room to peaceful consensus. He supported Olek as often as not -- Ranna had no idea how he rationalized that.
Danil Pashar of Verga and Cole Jenilar of Telvar, sitting between Marror and Ranna, were her only true supporters. The lords of Auvern had always maintained close ties with the queens, for which Ranna was grateful. She'd be even more grateful if both men didn't tend to patronize her, and if Danil could speak on military matters without sounding senile, rude, or obsessive to the point of mania.
Shae Mondegrin-Mordrin of Carimassee, on Ranna's left, was flat-out infuriating; after a year and a half of facing her at this table, Ranna still hadn't figured out her motives and goals. Shae was also a descendant of House Mordrin and could have been elected queen in her own right, but Olek had campaigned against her and Shae had conceded in return for a Council seat. Now she delighted in sowing discord, as if to spite the girl who'd been chosen in her stead.
Ranna pulled herself from her thoughts; Olek was droning on yet again about how taxes had been traditionally left to the Assembly to determine, with nobles paying what they deemed appropriate until an official level was set.
Ranna opened her mouth, but Shae beat her to it. "And I believe the amount that you deemed appropriate last year was... nothing. An amount which, as the Assembly reached no agreement, has become your default tax liability for the current year." Shae smiled with false politeness.
Bethurika, whose rich lands had been heavily taxed, glared at Olek. "Is this true?"
Olek sighed deeply. "An unfortunate series of circumstances made it impossible for me to spare any gold last year -- drought, maintaining the peace amongst the minor nobles, the death of my mother. I assure you that this year I've already sent two hundredweight to the Treasury."
"Maintaining the peace, my foot," Cole muttered to Ranna. "He keeps soldiers all through Eburek's lands to scare that weasel into obedience. My lady."
Ranna glanced at Shae, who seemed absorbed in watching Bethurika and Olek argue over his purported inability to find enough gold to pay his taxes. She leaned toward Cole. "Do you have proof?"
Cole touched his finger to his nose. "Not yet -- he keeps them under Eburek's colors, not his own. I've set spies to take statements and watch for trouble, but if someone were to enter his rooms here, or in his own castle, and copy his private records..."
"I can't imagine how that would happen," Ranna said, nodding slightly. "It's disturbing to even think that the security of our walls might be breached."
Cole smiled, a quick baring of teeth in his sun-seamed face. "It would be quite the scandal."
"Scandal, my queen?" Shae asked suddenly, interrupting Olek and Bethurika. "Do tell." She smiled at Ranna, her perpetually wide eyes giving the impression of eager interest.
Nadra Kings take her soul! "None as yet," Ranna said easily. "We were merely hoping that no one will form the wrong impression of Olek's misfortunes. It wouldn't do for the people to lose faith in their masters."
Olek flushed, and hastily changed the topic. "Be that as it may, my queen, I still believe it will be best to turn the determination of taxes over to the Assembly."
"With what guidelines and recommendations?" Marror asked. "They can't judge what taxes to levy without knowing what expenses we plan on, and the general conditions of each province this year."
True, Ranna thought, and thank you for reminding us we still have a lot of work to do before we can present anything to the Assembly. Marror might agree with a number of Olek's positions, but he was a firm believer in traditions and refused to be stampeded through the process of government. From what she knew, he managed his lands in a similar fashion, enforcing laws with an even hand and keeping a cool head in any crises.
"Then why are we even talking about taxes?" Vanulie snapped, her grandmotherly face belying her sharp tongue. "First we need a survey of each lord's income and property, and then we need to decide what, if anything, needs money from the royal purse."
"If anything needs money? If anything needs money!" Danil slapped his hands indignantly on the table. "The barbarians west of the Gates are sending more and more raiding parties into the borderlands and through the lesser passes into Auvern proper, Dorin Rhae only last year 'accidentally' took offense at a southern lord and occupied his estate for nearly six months, Halo is sending skirmishers and the occasional berserker across the northern border, and you ask what needs money from the queen?"
Ranna would have buried her face in her hands if she'd been alone. Mother of Mercy, she didn't need allies like this. The last thing she needed was to antagonize Vanulie. Everything Danil said was true, but if he offended Vanulie enough Ranna might have a civil war to worry about on top of everything else.
"If the lords of the borderlands were prepared to look after their own lands, as I am, we wouldn't need to have this argument," Vanulie said coolly. "Dependence on the queen and on the lifeblood of other provinces has made them weak. Begging your pardon, my queen, but the truth must be spoken."
"I know several priests who'd be fascinated to learn that you can infallibly determine the truth," Danil said, watery eyes glaring.
"Thank you, my lord Danil," Ranna said hastily before Vanulie could respond. She looked around the table. "Are we prepared to plan military strategy at this meeting, my lords, my ladies? I, for one, would like some time to be looking over the issues."
Shit. She should have said 'time to look over.' Her accent was slipping. Then again, if it helped make them underestimate her and think she was just a young woman admitting she had no grasp of warfare... she could live with a bit of an accent.
"An excellent idea, my queen," Cole said, rising. "By your leave, I move to adjourn until the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, we can inform the Assembly that we need a record of their income and property, for when we return to the tax question."
"Second," said Marror. "All in favor?"
With a bit of grumbling, the Council voted to adjourn the meeting. Ranna stood, compelling them to follow suit, and looked pointedly at the chamber doors. Langard, who had been mostly silent during the initial discussion on taxes, and who had refrained from joining the later arguments, courteously swung the door open for her and bowed as she exited the room. The Council followed her, breaking into small groups to discuss the best way of delivering the latest orders to the Assembly.
Ranna, honor guard falling in beside her, strode away as quickly as dignity allowed. She could feel a headache stirring.
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Finally got off my ass and edited the Gormenghast story that ate my brain this summer. Must go see if ff.net has a Gormenghast section... Otherwise, expect it here starting tomorrow. :-)
Of course, knowing their personalities and goals opened up lots of new avenues for plot twists... *rubs hands evilly*
As always, please remember that this is a rough draft.
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Chapter One: I Will Show You Something Different, Part IV
---------------------------------------------
"Council meeting in twenty minutes," Pazun announced as Ranna entered her private rooms and shut her entourage outside. The steward smiled indulgently when she groaned and slumped into a padded chair, crumpling the embroidered lace edging on her dress. "Yes, they're a pack of inbred wolves, but you have to keep trying."
Ranna made the sign of the evil eye in his direction.
Pazun sighed. "I can delay them for ten minutes. Take five to rest, and then have Mabriel dress you in court robes and tidy your hair. And no, she can't double for you in Council; the lords would see through the ruse as soon as she opened her mouth."
"True, damn it." Ranna waved the steward out and let her head fall back over the top edge of the chair, staring at the painted and gilded ceiling of her receiving room. She hated the Inner Council; they were supposed to be her advisors, her link to the Assembly of Nobles, but they did nothing but remind her of how little power she really held. Pazun was right -- pack of inbred wolves was the only term for them.
The door creaked open, letting someone in from the corridor.
"Mabriel?" Ranna asked, closing her eyes.
"Ya, only me." Mabriel's voice was soft and light, steeped in the accent of home, the same accent Ranna had worked to wring out of her own speech. "You rest your eyes and feet; I'll be laying out your robes." Another door creaked, and Mabriel slipped from the receiving room into the maze of the queen's chambers.
"You kept the others out?" Ranna called after her. She really didn't want to face her so-called ladies-in-waiting.
"They kept themselves out!" Mabriel answered, laughing. "Nobody wants to deal with your temper anymore. Doreya even offered to take my share of the cleaning today so she wouldn't have to be facing you directly."
Ranna smirked. "Good. I hate the little busybodies." She pulled herself upright and started unhooking her dress, reaching behind her neck to fumble with the metal clasps buried under the lace. "Which robes today?"
"The flame ones, I think," said Mabriel, popping into the doorway and beckoning Ranna into her private sitting room. "Here, let me -- you'll never reach the ones down further -- you think about your hair instead and move on into the bedroom. The robes are lying out on the bed." Her deft fingers shoved the mass of Ranna's hair forward over her shoulder and flicked down the column of hooks, peeling the dress off Ranna's shoulders as she went.
Ranna paced slowly forward, trying not to jostle Mabriel in her work. "It's the Council," she muttered. "What should I be projecting today? Young and innocent? Clever but naïve? Cynical but incompetent?"
"Not the last, and you know it," Mabriel said. "You've been doing innocent and bewildered, but too proud to admit it. You should be moving on to innocent but clever. You've had over a year; they won't be surprised if you're showing yourself a bit more openly intelligent." She finished the clasps. "There. Peel that off and get into the shift."
"Hmm." Ranna stepped out of the dress with a sigh of relief -- the lace itched unbearably -- and pulled the high-collared white silk shift over her head. Court robes were heavy and awkward, but at least the fabrics were easier on the skin.
"Innocent but clever... nothing too complicated, then. Complicated hairstyles are for girls who don't know what they're doing." Ranna held her arms out and let Mabriel slip the inner robe, a red-orange silk sheath with tiny embroidered flames, over her arms. She hooked the upper buttons while Mabriel fastened her way up from the hem. "Two braids pulling it back from my face, and then loose?"
Mabriel considered that. "Na, the collar's too high. Two braids from the temples, and then a loose cascade from high up with the flame pins for decoration. Simple, but just enough to show it took thought."
Ranna nodded and shrugged into the outer robe, a heavy wrap of blood-red satin with huge, multi-colored flames licking up the skirt from the hem, and up her arms from the wide cuffs. Seed pearls dotted the embroidery and the sash was edged with lace. Mabriel tied this one, setting the crossed panels just so and folding the edges to best effect.
The hair took nearly another ten minutes, Mabriel cursing as the comb and brush caught on tangles in Ranna's thick hair. "Maybe loose would have been better?" Ranna suggested between winces at Mabriel's rough treatment.
"Na," Mabriel insisted. "Not with a high collar -- you know that. Now stop moving and let me work."
Finally the hair was bound into submission, tied with a cascade of flame-colored ribbons, and decorated with enameled pins shaped like dancing flames. "There," said Mabriel, standing back to admire her work. "Ya, that's gorgeous, Ranna." She sighed and ran her fingers along the loose fabric of Ranna's sleeve. "I wish I got to wear your clothes more often."
"Three days from now there's a court judgment," Ranna offered. "I've reviewed the case and it's looking clear cut. You can sit behind the Lord Judge and look regal. Say ya?"
Mabriel beamed. "Ya!" She winked. "And you'll be sneaking out, won't you."
"You know me too well, but I'm admitting nothing." Ranna glanced at the ornate wall clock and sighed. "And now I should be getting to Council. Later, Mabriel."
"Later," Mabriel said, dropping a sloppy curtsey. "Off with you, cousin. Show them what a Luthaen woman can do!"
"That I will," Ranna said, and then hid her smile under the solemn manner of royalty, an expression designed to give no hint as to her true feelings or intentions. That was one of the first things any queen of Kanos learned, however unprepared she'd been for her new role.
Her honor guards were waiting outside the receiving room, protecting her against unwanted intruders. Ranna nodded to them. "Karsket. Moloshet. Attend me, my thanks."
The two women saluted, sheathed their swords, and fell in beside their queen, walking half a pace to her rear in respect, but close enough to throw themselves between her and danger. Karsket and Moloshet were decent enough people, Ranna supposed, but incredibly serious about their duty. She was definitely in favor of having her guards be serious about defending her, but she didn't quite see how that required them to refuse to discuss anything but her safety when she was around, or to intimidate their rotating schedule of partners until those soldiers -- personally chosen by Eydvar for their skill and determination -- blanched if Ranna so much as glanced in their direction.
It was a little unnerving to contemplate how little she still knew about these women who spent most of each day close enough to kill her in mere seconds. They were blade-mistresses, both of them, chosen in a competition upon her election, and once, when she'd opened a door too quietly for them to notice, she'd overheard them telling off-color jokes and gossiping about their homes. If they disagreed with Ranna, Karsket would protest her orders openly while Moloshet restricted herself to wounded, disapproving stares. Beyond those scraps, for all Ranna knew they might boil and eat kittens when they took their rare hours off duty.
But enough of that. The doors of the Council chamber loomed before her, carved and painted with scenes from the Great Invasion, the Concords of Lus, and the early years of Kanos. In those days, the queens had held true power! Nobody save Dalren Silverblade, her general, had dared to counter Queen Deyrilea -- of that Ranna was certain. But their power had dwindled, leeched away by the lords of the Assembly and the Council, until Ranna's power, today, was little more than a shadow and the country was pulling itself to pieces around her.
Ranna drew one last deep breath, and nodded to the door wardens. The Council was divided against itself, and that was her opportunity. Come tomorrow or come twenty years from today, she'd have them eating from her hand and obeying orders instead of giving them. If only the process wasn't so damned slow.
"Queen Ithova Keranae Altus-Mordrin, Guardian of the Gates, Star of the East, Defender of the Faith, and Lady of Luthaen," the senior warden announced as he swung the door open.
The Inner Council rose as Ranna swept into the room, all twelve of them, and remained standing until she seated herself in the gilded chair at the far side of the round table. She nodded as they resettled themselves. "My lords, my ladies."
"My queen," responded Olek Hartanos of Idalgir, returning her nod before launching into yet another iteration of the tax debate. Ranna fixed an attentive expression on her face and looked subtly around the table, gauging the moods of the Council members.
Olek, unfortunately, sat across from her as if trying to be impossible to ignore. His slightly too fancy clothes and deep, oratorical voice were also designed to grab attention. The worst of it, Ranna thought, was that he really was a handsome bastard, and far too intelligent for her peace of mind. He'd been the one who pushed her election through the Assembly; in return, he expected her to be grateful and let him continue decentralizing her country.
Eburek Berius of Therry sat beside Olek, nodding approvingly at his every word. The man was an unspeakable toady, as was Teluran ben Marthicc of Meleddain, the fat, scornful empty-brains who sat to Olek's left. Langard Iforos of Evushenka, however, was his own man, and Ranna had hopes of winning the young lord from Olek's cause to her own.
Silver-haired Vanulie Pirinaeus of Chaumen, sitting next to Eburek, led another faction -- hawk-nosed Gamona Miota of Solovay and Celed ben Oloch, the deceptively foppish lord of Eiry -- who wanted near-total independence for their lands and provinces. They were a lost cause, but they needed careful watching. Vanulie had come close to threatening civil war in the past year and Celed was perfectly capable of forging a private treaty with Dorin Rhae and seceding from Kanos, taking several other march domains with him. Gamona was less politically untouchable -- Solovay lay at the tip of the Ayden Peninsula, right across the Corthy Gulf from Halo, and the threat of naval invasion kept her from outright rebellion -- but she was rich, and she gave Vanulie free access to her money. That was dangerous. On a lesser note, her very public quest to replace her husband grated on Ranna's nerves.
Bethurika Ingary of Cantrifang, a plump, overdressed woman seated next to Langard, wavered between Olek and Ranna, depending on whether they debated taxes or war. Marror Scalt of Romil, a worn, stoop-shouldered, baggy-eyed man, seemed convinced that reason and logic could bring everyone in the room to peaceful consensus. He supported Olek as often as not -- Ranna had no idea how he rationalized that.
Danil Pashar of Verga and Cole Jenilar of Telvar, sitting between Marror and Ranna, were her only true supporters. The lords of Auvern had always maintained close ties with the queens, for which Ranna was grateful. She'd be even more grateful if both men didn't tend to patronize her, and if Danil could speak on military matters without sounding senile, rude, or obsessive to the point of mania.
Shae Mondegrin-Mordrin of Carimassee, on Ranna's left, was flat-out infuriating; after a year and a half of facing her at this table, Ranna still hadn't figured out her motives and goals. Shae was also a descendant of House Mordrin and could have been elected queen in her own right, but Olek had campaigned against her and Shae had conceded in return for a Council seat. Now she delighted in sowing discord, as if to spite the girl who'd been chosen in her stead.
Ranna pulled herself from her thoughts; Olek was droning on yet again about how taxes had been traditionally left to the Assembly to determine, with nobles paying what they deemed appropriate until an official level was set.
Ranna opened her mouth, but Shae beat her to it. "And I believe the amount that you deemed appropriate last year was... nothing. An amount which, as the Assembly reached no agreement, has become your default tax liability for the current year." Shae smiled with false politeness.
Bethurika, whose rich lands had been heavily taxed, glared at Olek. "Is this true?"
Olek sighed deeply. "An unfortunate series of circumstances made it impossible for me to spare any gold last year -- drought, maintaining the peace amongst the minor nobles, the death of my mother. I assure you that this year I've already sent two hundredweight to the Treasury."
"Maintaining the peace, my foot," Cole muttered to Ranna. "He keeps soldiers all through Eburek's lands to scare that weasel into obedience. My lady."
Ranna glanced at Shae, who seemed absorbed in watching Bethurika and Olek argue over his purported inability to find enough gold to pay his taxes. She leaned toward Cole. "Do you have proof?"
Cole touched his finger to his nose. "Not yet -- he keeps them under Eburek's colors, not his own. I've set spies to take statements and watch for trouble, but if someone were to enter his rooms here, or in his own castle, and copy his private records..."
"I can't imagine how that would happen," Ranna said, nodding slightly. "It's disturbing to even think that the security of our walls might be breached."
Cole smiled, a quick baring of teeth in his sun-seamed face. "It would be quite the scandal."
"Scandal, my queen?" Shae asked suddenly, interrupting Olek and Bethurika. "Do tell." She smiled at Ranna, her perpetually wide eyes giving the impression of eager interest.
Nadra Kings take her soul! "None as yet," Ranna said easily. "We were merely hoping that no one will form the wrong impression of Olek's misfortunes. It wouldn't do for the people to lose faith in their masters."
Olek flushed, and hastily changed the topic. "Be that as it may, my queen, I still believe it will be best to turn the determination of taxes over to the Assembly."
"With what guidelines and recommendations?" Marror asked. "They can't judge what taxes to levy without knowing what expenses we plan on, and the general conditions of each province this year."
True, Ranna thought, and thank you for reminding us we still have a lot of work to do before we can present anything to the Assembly. Marror might agree with a number of Olek's positions, but he was a firm believer in traditions and refused to be stampeded through the process of government. From what she knew, he managed his lands in a similar fashion, enforcing laws with an even hand and keeping a cool head in any crises.
"Then why are we even talking about taxes?" Vanulie snapped, her grandmotherly face belying her sharp tongue. "First we need a survey of each lord's income and property, and then we need to decide what, if anything, needs money from the royal purse."
"If anything needs money? If anything needs money!" Danil slapped his hands indignantly on the table. "The barbarians west of the Gates are sending more and more raiding parties into the borderlands and through the lesser passes into Auvern proper, Dorin Rhae only last year 'accidentally' took offense at a southern lord and occupied his estate for nearly six months, Halo is sending skirmishers and the occasional berserker across the northern border, and you ask what needs money from the queen?"
Ranna would have buried her face in her hands if she'd been alone. Mother of Mercy, she didn't need allies like this. The last thing she needed was to antagonize Vanulie. Everything Danil said was true, but if he offended Vanulie enough Ranna might have a civil war to worry about on top of everything else.
"If the lords of the borderlands were prepared to look after their own lands, as I am, we wouldn't need to have this argument," Vanulie said coolly. "Dependence on the queen and on the lifeblood of other provinces has made them weak. Begging your pardon, my queen, but the truth must be spoken."
"I know several priests who'd be fascinated to learn that you can infallibly determine the truth," Danil said, watery eyes glaring.
"Thank you, my lord Danil," Ranna said hastily before Vanulie could respond. She looked around the table. "Are we prepared to plan military strategy at this meeting, my lords, my ladies? I, for one, would like some time to be looking over the issues."
Shit. She should have said 'time to look over.' Her accent was slipping. Then again, if it helped make them underestimate her and think she was just a young woman admitting she had no grasp of warfare... she could live with a bit of an accent.
"An excellent idea, my queen," Cole said, rising. "By your leave, I move to adjourn until the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, we can inform the Assembly that we need a record of their income and property, for when we return to the tax question."
"Second," said Marror. "All in favor?"
With a bit of grumbling, the Council voted to adjourn the meeting. Ranna stood, compelling them to follow suit, and looked pointedly at the chamber doors. Langard, who had been mostly silent during the initial discussion on taxes, and who had refrained from joining the later arguments, courteously swung the door open for her and bowed as she exited the room. The Council followed her, breaking into small groups to discuss the best way of delivering the latest orders to the Assembly.
Ranna, honor guard falling in beside her, strode away as quickly as dignity allowed. She could feel a headache stirring.
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Finally got off my ass and edited the Gormenghast story that ate my brain this summer. Must go see if ff.net has a Gormenghast section... Otherwise, expect it here starting tomorrow. :-)