(no subject)
Fandom: Tamora Pierce
Title: Tentative
Warnings: Cliches! Cliches everywhere! In as cute a fashion as possible, though.
Characters: Kalasin, Kaddar, guest starring Zaimid, Faleron, and Varice
Summary: Kaddar fears, Faleron teases, Zaimid and Varice laugh, Kalasin is awkward, shoes hurts and lessons on etiquette don't work. Oh, and there are strawberries with cream. Life, as the Emperor and Empress of Carthak discover, is hard.
Notes: Written for ameterasu for the 2007/08 Spring Exchange at the Dancing Dove. In my defense, the whole strawberries thing was part of the prompt. Really. Originally a four-chapter thing; it also works quite well as one long fic, which is how it's presented here.
Emperor Kaddar secretly fears that his wife will be like Daine.
Admittedly, it would be far more terrifying if his wife is to be like Alanna the Lioness, but Kaddar isn't so worried about that. The Lioness is a legend - someone you meet once in your life and remain in awe at for the rest of it - so Kaddar thinks it unlikely that Tortall would have produced two of those. But Daine - now, Daine is a real worry. Everything about her - at least in appearance - had pronounced Daine an average Tortallan maiden. If this is the average Tortallan, Kaddar thinks - well, he's not sure he would like a wife who forgoes decorum to say what she feels and could outshoot him to boot.
He confessed this to no-one, of course. No sense in making a fool of oneself, especially when one is Emperor of Carthak.
--
Princess Kalasin is usually a very adaptable person. Unfortunately, it appears that this adaptability does not extend to certain items of clothing.
"It doesn't seem so bad," offers Faleron. Kalasin is usually grateful for Faleron's vivacity and kindness in the odd few days they spend in each other's company at King's Reach. Today has so far proven to be far from the norm.
"Would you like to swap, then?" she asks sweetly, eyes both teasing and dangerous above the thin silk of her veil. Faleron tilts his head as if in genuine consideration.
"No, but I thank you all the same," he responds after a pause. "Cerulean is far too unsuited to my complexion."
Her smile is polite and hardly visible, but there is genuine amusement dancing in her eyes. "If you would like a veil made to suit your taste, Squire Faleron, you must be sure to let me know."
"Naturally, Your Highness." Faleron appears on the verge of saying something further, but the moment is lost; Kalasin has already turned away.
---
Five minutes into his first conversation with his wife-to-be, Kaddar finds himself thinking "oh good, not like Daine."
Five minutes after that, his only thought is "help me Gods, what do I say to her?"
The gods are infamous for being elusive - not to mention untroubled by such banal matters - so Kaddar turns to Zaimid instead for advice. After all, he'd seen Zaimid dance with at least three court ladies at the ball two nights ago; surely this means he's acquired some ideas about courtly interaction.
Zaimid appears - quite to Kaddar's irritation - amused to be asked. "Ask her how she's adjusting to our climate."
"I have," Kaddar responds rather curtly. "The third time I did it she gave me such a forcibly polite look that I could not bear to try again."
The other man studies the Emperor critically. "You've spoken to women before, Kaddar."
"Yes, but never one quite so - " Kaddar begins to pace the room, frowning. "Quite so beautiful and important. I feel as if I can barely breathe for fear of offending."
"But sire, I've heard talk that Tortallans also breathe." Zaimid raises a lazy eyebrow in response to Kaddar's glare. "You're being dramatic, Your Majesty, and it's unflattering."
Kaddar is torn between Imperial indignity and genuinely amused laughter; he chooses the latter after some hesitation, but not before giving Zaimid another glare. "Make me a list. It doesn't bother me how you do it or how many people you must ask. I need a list of things I can say to my future wife." Kaddar is ready with a retort when Zaimid turns to him with his rather dubious expression. "This is a matter of national security, Zaimid. I expect you to take it seriously."
The bow Zaimid offers is far too mocking for Kaddar's liking.
--
To be fashionable is not only the right of the Empress; it is her lesser-known but ever-important duty. And Kalasin, at least, takes it very seriously. This results in Kalasin finding herself on the edge of the bed she shares with her husband, rubbing lotion into sore feet and utilizing all her self-restraint to refrain from pelting her shoes at the opposite wall.
"My lady?"
The Empress leaps from her perch at the edge of the bed to land on still-sore feet and almost tumbles to the floor. Fortunately, she is back on her feet and passably composed by the time her husband has crossed their immense room in what seems a gesture to offer her support. "My lord."
"What is the matter?" he asks, concerned.
Of all the things Kalasin wishes to do about her sore feet, complaining to her husband of two weeks is far from top of the list. Nevertheless, she has trouble thinking of a convincing lie. "I'm afraid I'm not quite used to these shoes," she responds, then adds quickly, "but please don't be concerned. I will get used to them."
He looks no less concerned, but she is adamant. "Truly, my lord. They're not so different from anything else I've worn."
Two nights later, Kalasin finds by her side of the bed a short note beneath a pair of shoes with such a familiar design she is thrown into equal nostalgia and confusion. The note is in Kaddar's neat, slanted writing.
My lady,
You're right; the shoes are not so different, and I have it from one Varice Kingsford that Northern style shoes will be highly popular in the coming year. Why not lead the court in fashion?
And next time? Just say something.
One week later, Kalasin meets her husband's dark eyes across a ballroom floor of flowing Carthaki dress and Tortallan slippers; they share a smile equal in accomplishment, but where his shines with amusement, she can offer nothing but gratefulness.
---
"We celebrate the Empress's birthday in two weeks."
Varice's reaction is polite but confused. "Congratulations, Your Majesty." This is delivered with such tentative bemusement that Kaddar is forced to bite back a laugh.
"I need your help." Varice comes to attention at this, eyes keen and curious. Kaddar draws a breath to continue. "It is traditional to offer your wife a present on her birthday and - well, it would be simple to acquire some jewels or new shoes, or some such, but I wonder if there's anything more unique I could... acquire."
Varice's glee is, to Kaddar's irritation, very poorly hidden. "New gowns, perhaps? Her Majesty has exquisite taste."
To Kaddar, at least, this information is not comforting. "If her taste is exquisite then surely I cannot hope to surpass, or even surprise." He turns sharply to Varice, a pleading note in his voice. "What do you like, Varice?"
When Varice responds, her voice is laden with much heavier consideration than Kaddar is used to receiving on such frivolous matters. "If you will allow my suggestion -" She turns away briefly, in contemplation. "You shouldn't inquire as to what women want for gifts, but rather what Her Majesty does."
For a moment Kaddar could do naught but stare blankly. "But surely..." He considers the past few weeks, little things like Kalasin's flashes of intense vivacity and the occasional, wistful expression with which she studies the royal armory and thinks nobody notices - and sighs. "Thank you, Varice."
It is an expression of courtesy, and Varice's smile is a little too understanding for Kaddar's comfort.
--
Living at a foreign court, it is very difficult not to feel as if many of the things you do are unacceptable. Some days, Kalasin feels as if her subjects have ultimate power over her rather than the other way around; after all, studying the history of a country is very different to seeing its politics in practice, and at times she can't help but feel more and more uneducated with every word she speaks. Most days, she is content to learn, sitting with a straight back and polite smile at her husband's side; some days, she ventures an opinion, usually to the polite reception of some and vague bemusement of others.
Kalasin is hardly one to hold her tongue for another's comfort, but there is very little gain in public disagreements over small matters, particularly when a newly-formed alliance may hinge on one's every word. Accordingly, she is content to let small comments and vanities slide. Kaddar declares that Carthak boasts the largest collection of books on marine life and Kalasin fails to mention that Tortall's collection has far surpassed Carthak's in recent years; Kaddar boasts of their gardens and his own forty-seven species of rose, and she in celebrating his pride forgets to mention her younger sister's fifty-two variants of the same. Upon a heated and - perhaps the deciding factor - intensely interesting discussion about the advantage of geldings over stallions, however, Kalasin feels somewhat obliged to disagree - if only, she justifies - for the sake of furthering the conversation.
They are alone, relaxed, and - moreover - he is wrong. It seems as opportune a time as ever to venture an emphatic opinion. "Actually, I believe the rate of infection is dependent more on maintenance than method. At least, this is what I hear from our palace hostlers."
He supplies the expected reaction, raising both dark eyebrows. "Do you ride, my lady?" The question is delivered after some pause, and with enough genuine interest that Kalasin feels ready to engage in conversation about the same.
"Occasionally, my lord. Never in any serious capacity, but I win one of every three races with my brother." She realizes, too late, the mistake in presenting this information in so light a tone; Kaddar's eyebrows have now arched so high that for a moment he appears rather comical.
"That is..." He attempts, with moderate success, to appear composed. "It is surprising."
The frustration she feels upon almost having a genuine topic of discussion is dwarfed by an unwillingness to disturb their tentative cordiality. Hastily, she changes the topic, and for the rest of the night conversation is frivolous and routine.
---
Kaddar feels that he only understands Kalasin in tiny moments of honesty.
He could hardly blame her for not wishing to offend, for he has spent so many hours of his married life doing the same. What Kaddar can do is feel, with an intense conviction, that he cannot stand to offer a polite smile to his lords by day and a polite smile to his wife by night.
In Kaddar's understanding, Kalasin's rare moments of completely sincerity occur when she is very much interested in a topic of conversation, or very surprised. Interest, though useful, is difficult to generate on demand from a person one hardly knows. Thus - Kaddar decides - if he is to know his wife at all, he must attempt the latter.
In a bid to surprise Kalasin - and, on some level, because he's been wondering at the effectiveness of this particular action - Kaddar follows one of the suggestions on the list Zaimid has so obligingly compiled. It is late summer and strawberries are available in abundance; harder to find is the right form of cream. Consulting his instructions - carefully prescribed in an elegant script, yet still bearing edges of laughter - Kaddar is informed that the cream must be 'light, and not too sweet'. It takes a good ten minutes of stammering explanation before he is able to impress his request upon the cooks; it takes a good ten weeks of intrigued gossip before anyone in the household forgets the incident.
Once the consumables have been acquired, Kaddar sets about planning the element of surprise. It is not difficult to persuade Kalasin to take a turn about the gardens with Varice, and thus have their rooms to himself for a majority of the night. Her return is announced by a series of unmistakable giggles, elegant and perfectly-pitched for all they convey genuine excitement. Kaddar cracks open the door and nods to Varice, a single nod that conveys every possible necessary message. Kalasin slips into the room in a whisper of periwinkle, studying Kaddar's face with inquisitive blue eyes.
"My lady." His mouth suddenly feels dry, and it does not help that Kalasin is still staring in bewilderment at his apparently strange behaviour. Nevertheless, he continues. "I feel that we do not spend enough time together, in private - by which I do not mean to place blame on either, but would, if possible, like to change."
For a moment it is intriguing to watch Kalasin as she attempts to compose a dignified response to his poorly-worded proposition. "I would like that, my lord." She replies finally with a smile.
Kaddar begins to lead her into their rooms, gesturing vaguely at table upon which their snack is assembled. "I have some warm ale, and pomegranate juice. I also -" here he falters a little, but continues with determination evident in his too-serious voice. "I've heard that strawberries and cream may facilitate relaxation."
Much to Kaddar's distress, Kalasin is silent for a beat; when she speaks, her voice trembles with barely-contained laughter. "That is... very thoughtful, my lord. Original, too."
For once, Kaddar is relieved to be teased. "When in doubt, attempt conventional methods," he replies with a wry smile, gesturing to a seat.
Kalasin takes it, unhooking her veil and composing herself with an impassive air; her mouth, twitching into something resembling a smirk, is the only thing to suggest informality. Almost as if on impulse, she snatches a strawberry from the bowl and is about to immerse it in cream when she glances up at Kaddar with a mildly guilty expression. "I should offer this to you, really."
Kaddar's shrug is genuinely unconcerned and Kalasin - after a moment's consideration - covers the strawberry in cream. Then, and much to Kaddar's surprise, she hovers her hand - cluthing the complete product - in front of Kaddar's face, as if in offering.
The frown Kaddar now adopts is confused rather than displeased. Tentatively, slowly, he leans forward and takes the strawberry in his teeth. Kalasin's smile is both amused and - he realizes with a start - very relieved. He is glad to have responded with the correct reaction.
Kaddar swallows, then reaches for a strawberry with which to return the favour; at this point, the silence is uncanny rather than comfortable. He clears his throat and says the first thing in which he knows Kalasin has an interest. "Are you a keen rider, my lady?"
She is forced to swallow too quickly, having accepted a strawberry at the exact moment of him proposing the question. "Yes," she responds, composed despite the clumsy circumstances. "When possible, that is."
He is determined, this time, not to show surprise. The neutral smile he adopts is tinged with very genuine interest. "Had you a horse of your own, in Tortall?"
She takes another strawberry, dipping it in cream as she answers. "A mare. She belongs to my younger sister now."
It is difficult not to notice the longing note in Kalasin's voice. Kaddar's eyebrows draw together faintly Kalasin notices, mistaking it for something far from its intention. To preempt her discomfort - and because it would be such a shame to let good food go to waste - Kaddar picks the ripest strawberry from its peers and offers it to Kalasin, hovering the gift a few inches from her lips.
She takes it in her teeth, tentative, but offers him a smile. For all the smile is shining through a strawberry, and for all there is a stray dot of cream on her left cheek, Kaddar thinks this is the sweetest smile he has ever received from his wife.
--
The palace courtyards make a lovely tableau at night. Unfortunately, this makes Kalasin no less confused to be here.
Kaddar's smile is infuriatingly triumphant; she may not know him very well yet, but this - she has learnt very quickly - is hardly a good sign. He gestures with his head toward the stables. "Come, now."
She lifts the hems of her skirts and follows, matching his long strides readily. "My lord, this is very vague."
His grin manifests in a flash of teeth, bright against the darkness of the evening. "I know."
They have reached the stables, a serene setting for all there is mild unrest amongst the animals as they protest the stifling summer night. Kaddar glances around, his dark gaze conspiratorial. Turning to Kalasin - with so incidental an expression that she wonders, very briefly, if he'd forgotten her presence - he offers a courtier's bow. "If my lady would but hide her eyes for a moment?"
Kalasin is rarely blunt. As it happens, she is also rarely quite so confused. "Why?" she asks, voice courteous but syntax lacking its usual formality.
Kaddar hesitates for but a moment when he responds, his voice has lost the mysterious quality of before and adopted a fresh sense of excitement. "It is my lady's birthday tomorrow." Kalasin inclines her head at this, not venturing yet to speak. Kaddar continues, smiling all the while. "I should perhaps have waited, but surely if a present is available it must be given at the first opportunity. I - close your eyes, please."
His voice is courteous enough, but it contains so much nervous anticipation that Kalasin feels it would surely be unfair if she were to deny him any longer. With an expression too exasperated to be entirely polite, she makes a small fuss of turning her back and putting a hand over her eyes, squeezing them shut in the meanwhile.
She does not wait for long. The Emperor's return is marked by significantly more noise than he had made upon leaving. "Surprise."
Kalasin takes this as her cue to turn and face him. "My lord, it seems - " the rest of the sentence is lost in a gasp as she catches sight of his companion.
His smile - satisfied with a hint of uncertain - says all she needs to know; nevertheless, she feels it best to make sure. "For me?"
For a moment he looks almost as if about to roll his eyes, but fortunately the movement is caught before the Emperor has time to commit so undignified an action. "Yes, my lady," is his only response, the same smile lingering on his lips.
Kalasin does not feel her feet as she moves; the only thing her mind truly registers is the mare she now pats with a tentative hand - her mare, her mind corrects, and she is forced to stifle a giggle. "What is her name?" she whispers, formality forgotten, as she offers a hand for the creature to sniff.
"You tell me." His voice matches hers in softness; something about it tears Kalasin's attention from the mare.
"This is -" she begins, stumbles over her own words, and tries again after clearing her throat. "She is perfect. I feel - that is, I am - I am so grateful. Thank you."
With all her will, she wishes courtly etiquette had included some lessons on how to display genuine appreciation. Thankfully, Kaddar appears to understand. "You're welcome."
Her attention is finally transferred entirely to him. "My lord, you needn't have done it."
It is evident that he considers several responses before deciding on perhaps the simplest. "Yes, actually, I did need to do it."
She only responds when it becomes apparent he has no inclination to continue. "My lord -"
"Kaddar," he interjects. "At least in private."
She pauses only for a moment. "Then I am Kally, at least in private." A crinkle at the corners of his eyes shows understanding, and she continues. "I am certain that it would have been much simpler to purchase gowns, or shoes, or some other such thing. To this end - Kaddar, I am entirely grateful for what you've done."
That, she decides, was not as badly executed as it might have been. Kaddar seems to agree - at least, he is smiling in understanding - but soon grows apprehensive.
"My lady - that is, Kally," he begins as she begins to understand his apprehension. "I am intensely grateful that you are... intensely grateful, and I must venture that -" He swears.
"I understand," she offers quickly, unsure whether she is attempting to put him at ease or prevent him from speaking further. Kaddar does not appear to be finished.
"It would, indeed, be terribly simple to obtain some trite present, a symbolic gesture of sorts. That is not what I wished to do. Kalasin -" he pauses a little here, attempting to reach a balance between sincerity and courtly composure, then deciding to forgo the latter entirely. "I adore you."
Pity, Kalasin thinks, that she didn't also take lessons in how to appear politely flabbergasted. "Thank you. That is to say, I also..."
Kaddar clears his throat, blushing faintly. "What I mean to say is, I adore the moments in which you are genuinely happy, and relaxed, and I wish for us to have more of those moments, often. If that would be all right."
"Only in courtship do we seek permission to be relaxed," Kalasin responds, the lightness of her voice a direct contrast to Kaddar's emphatic sentiments. "Kaddar," she continues as he chuckles, "I understand your meaning. I thank you, and... I too wish for this future."
The mare whinnies for attention and they turn to her simultaneously, the same amused reprimand in their smiles. "Would you like to go riding tomorrow, my lady?" Kaddar is stilll looking at the mare, but there can be no question as to whom he addresses.
Kalasin's smile is slow and wide. "That would be delightful, my lord."
There is a gleam in his eyes, more than polite interest and banal amiability. She drifts to his side in one fluid motion, then - on tiptoes and before he has a moment to react - kisses him gently on the cheek, the translucent blue silk of her veil pressed lightly against his skin. "Thank you." A pause, and a smile he returns.
Despite all the elaborate parties and gifts of her youth, Kalasin thinks, this may be her favourite birthday of all.
- fin -
Title: Tentative
Warnings: Cliches! Cliches everywhere! In as cute a fashion as possible, though.
Characters: Kalasin, Kaddar, guest starring Zaimid, Faleron, and Varice
Summary: Kaddar fears, Faleron teases, Zaimid and Varice laugh, Kalasin is awkward, shoes hurts and lessons on etiquette don't work. Oh, and there are strawberries with cream. Life, as the Emperor and Empress of Carthak discover, is hard.
Notes: Written for ameterasu for the 2007/08 Spring Exchange at the Dancing Dove. In my defense, the whole strawberries thing was part of the prompt. Really. Originally a four-chapter thing; it also works quite well as one long fic, which is how it's presented here.
Emperor Kaddar secretly fears that his wife will be like Daine.
Admittedly, it would be far more terrifying if his wife is to be like Alanna the Lioness, but Kaddar isn't so worried about that. The Lioness is a legend - someone you meet once in your life and remain in awe at for the rest of it - so Kaddar thinks it unlikely that Tortall would have produced two of those. But Daine - now, Daine is a real worry. Everything about her - at least in appearance - had pronounced Daine an average Tortallan maiden. If this is the average Tortallan, Kaddar thinks - well, he's not sure he would like a wife who forgoes decorum to say what she feels and could outshoot him to boot.
He confessed this to no-one, of course. No sense in making a fool of oneself, especially when one is Emperor of Carthak.
--
Princess Kalasin is usually a very adaptable person. Unfortunately, it appears that this adaptability does not extend to certain items of clothing.
"It doesn't seem so bad," offers Faleron. Kalasin is usually grateful for Faleron's vivacity and kindness in the odd few days they spend in each other's company at King's Reach. Today has so far proven to be far from the norm.
"Would you like to swap, then?" she asks sweetly, eyes both teasing and dangerous above the thin silk of her veil. Faleron tilts his head as if in genuine consideration.
"No, but I thank you all the same," he responds after a pause. "Cerulean is far too unsuited to my complexion."
Her smile is polite and hardly visible, but there is genuine amusement dancing in her eyes. "If you would like a veil made to suit your taste, Squire Faleron, you must be sure to let me know."
"Naturally, Your Highness." Faleron appears on the verge of saying something further, but the moment is lost; Kalasin has already turned away.
---
Five minutes into his first conversation with his wife-to-be, Kaddar finds himself thinking "oh good, not like Daine."
Five minutes after that, his only thought is "help me Gods, what do I say to her?"
The gods are infamous for being elusive - not to mention untroubled by such banal matters - so Kaddar turns to Zaimid instead for advice. After all, he'd seen Zaimid dance with at least three court ladies at the ball two nights ago; surely this means he's acquired some ideas about courtly interaction.
Zaimid appears - quite to Kaddar's irritation - amused to be asked. "Ask her how she's adjusting to our climate."
"I have," Kaddar responds rather curtly. "The third time I did it she gave me such a forcibly polite look that I could not bear to try again."
The other man studies the Emperor critically. "You've spoken to women before, Kaddar."
"Yes, but never one quite so - " Kaddar begins to pace the room, frowning. "Quite so beautiful and important. I feel as if I can barely breathe for fear of offending."
"But sire, I've heard talk that Tortallans also breathe." Zaimid raises a lazy eyebrow in response to Kaddar's glare. "You're being dramatic, Your Majesty, and it's unflattering."
Kaddar is torn between Imperial indignity and genuinely amused laughter; he chooses the latter after some hesitation, but not before giving Zaimid another glare. "Make me a list. It doesn't bother me how you do it or how many people you must ask. I need a list of things I can say to my future wife." Kaddar is ready with a retort when Zaimid turns to him with his rather dubious expression. "This is a matter of national security, Zaimid. I expect you to take it seriously."
The bow Zaimid offers is far too mocking for Kaddar's liking.
--
To be fashionable is not only the right of the Empress; it is her lesser-known but ever-important duty. And Kalasin, at least, takes it very seriously. This results in Kalasin finding herself on the edge of the bed she shares with her husband, rubbing lotion into sore feet and utilizing all her self-restraint to refrain from pelting her shoes at the opposite wall.
"My lady?"
The Empress leaps from her perch at the edge of the bed to land on still-sore feet and almost tumbles to the floor. Fortunately, she is back on her feet and passably composed by the time her husband has crossed their immense room in what seems a gesture to offer her support. "My lord."
"What is the matter?" he asks, concerned.
Of all the things Kalasin wishes to do about her sore feet, complaining to her husband of two weeks is far from top of the list. Nevertheless, she has trouble thinking of a convincing lie. "I'm afraid I'm not quite used to these shoes," she responds, then adds quickly, "but please don't be concerned. I will get used to them."
He looks no less concerned, but she is adamant. "Truly, my lord. They're not so different from anything else I've worn."
Two nights later, Kalasin finds by her side of the bed a short note beneath a pair of shoes with such a familiar design she is thrown into equal nostalgia and confusion. The note is in Kaddar's neat, slanted writing.
My lady,
You're right; the shoes are not so different, and I have it from one Varice Kingsford that Northern style shoes will be highly popular in the coming year. Why not lead the court in fashion?
And next time? Just say something.
One week later, Kalasin meets her husband's dark eyes across a ballroom floor of flowing Carthaki dress and Tortallan slippers; they share a smile equal in accomplishment, but where his shines with amusement, she can offer nothing but gratefulness.
---
"We celebrate the Empress's birthday in two weeks."
Varice's reaction is polite but confused. "Congratulations, Your Majesty." This is delivered with such tentative bemusement that Kaddar is forced to bite back a laugh.
"I need your help." Varice comes to attention at this, eyes keen and curious. Kaddar draws a breath to continue. "It is traditional to offer your wife a present on her birthday and - well, it would be simple to acquire some jewels or new shoes, or some such, but I wonder if there's anything more unique I could... acquire."
Varice's glee is, to Kaddar's irritation, very poorly hidden. "New gowns, perhaps? Her Majesty has exquisite taste."
To Kaddar, at least, this information is not comforting. "If her taste is exquisite then surely I cannot hope to surpass, or even surprise." He turns sharply to Varice, a pleading note in his voice. "What do you like, Varice?"
When Varice responds, her voice is laden with much heavier consideration than Kaddar is used to receiving on such frivolous matters. "If you will allow my suggestion -" She turns away briefly, in contemplation. "You shouldn't inquire as to what women want for gifts, but rather what Her Majesty does."
For a moment Kaddar could do naught but stare blankly. "But surely..." He considers the past few weeks, little things like Kalasin's flashes of intense vivacity and the occasional, wistful expression with which she studies the royal armory and thinks nobody notices - and sighs. "Thank you, Varice."
It is an expression of courtesy, and Varice's smile is a little too understanding for Kaddar's comfort.
--
Living at a foreign court, it is very difficult not to feel as if many of the things you do are unacceptable. Some days, Kalasin feels as if her subjects have ultimate power over her rather than the other way around; after all, studying the history of a country is very different to seeing its politics in practice, and at times she can't help but feel more and more uneducated with every word she speaks. Most days, she is content to learn, sitting with a straight back and polite smile at her husband's side; some days, she ventures an opinion, usually to the polite reception of some and vague bemusement of others.
Kalasin is hardly one to hold her tongue for another's comfort, but there is very little gain in public disagreements over small matters, particularly when a newly-formed alliance may hinge on one's every word. Accordingly, she is content to let small comments and vanities slide. Kaddar declares that Carthak boasts the largest collection of books on marine life and Kalasin fails to mention that Tortall's collection has far surpassed Carthak's in recent years; Kaddar boasts of their gardens and his own forty-seven species of rose, and she in celebrating his pride forgets to mention her younger sister's fifty-two variants of the same. Upon a heated and - perhaps the deciding factor - intensely interesting discussion about the advantage of geldings over stallions, however, Kalasin feels somewhat obliged to disagree - if only, she justifies - for the sake of furthering the conversation.
They are alone, relaxed, and - moreover - he is wrong. It seems as opportune a time as ever to venture an emphatic opinion. "Actually, I believe the rate of infection is dependent more on maintenance than method. At least, this is what I hear from our palace hostlers."
He supplies the expected reaction, raising both dark eyebrows. "Do you ride, my lady?" The question is delivered after some pause, and with enough genuine interest that Kalasin feels ready to engage in conversation about the same.
"Occasionally, my lord. Never in any serious capacity, but I win one of every three races with my brother." She realizes, too late, the mistake in presenting this information in so light a tone; Kaddar's eyebrows have now arched so high that for a moment he appears rather comical.
"That is..." He attempts, with moderate success, to appear composed. "It is surprising."
The frustration she feels upon almost having a genuine topic of discussion is dwarfed by an unwillingness to disturb their tentative cordiality. Hastily, she changes the topic, and for the rest of the night conversation is frivolous and routine.
---
Kaddar feels that he only understands Kalasin in tiny moments of honesty.
He could hardly blame her for not wishing to offend, for he has spent so many hours of his married life doing the same. What Kaddar can do is feel, with an intense conviction, that he cannot stand to offer a polite smile to his lords by day and a polite smile to his wife by night.
In Kaddar's understanding, Kalasin's rare moments of completely sincerity occur when she is very much interested in a topic of conversation, or very surprised. Interest, though useful, is difficult to generate on demand from a person one hardly knows. Thus - Kaddar decides - if he is to know his wife at all, he must attempt the latter.
In a bid to surprise Kalasin - and, on some level, because he's been wondering at the effectiveness of this particular action - Kaddar follows one of the suggestions on the list Zaimid has so obligingly compiled. It is late summer and strawberries are available in abundance; harder to find is the right form of cream. Consulting his instructions - carefully prescribed in an elegant script, yet still bearing edges of laughter - Kaddar is informed that the cream must be 'light, and not too sweet'. It takes a good ten minutes of stammering explanation before he is able to impress his request upon the cooks; it takes a good ten weeks of intrigued gossip before anyone in the household forgets the incident.
Once the consumables have been acquired, Kaddar sets about planning the element of surprise. It is not difficult to persuade Kalasin to take a turn about the gardens with Varice, and thus have their rooms to himself for a majority of the night. Her return is announced by a series of unmistakable giggles, elegant and perfectly-pitched for all they convey genuine excitement. Kaddar cracks open the door and nods to Varice, a single nod that conveys every possible necessary message. Kalasin slips into the room in a whisper of periwinkle, studying Kaddar's face with inquisitive blue eyes.
"My lady." His mouth suddenly feels dry, and it does not help that Kalasin is still staring in bewilderment at his apparently strange behaviour. Nevertheless, he continues. "I feel that we do not spend enough time together, in private - by which I do not mean to place blame on either, but would, if possible, like to change."
For a moment it is intriguing to watch Kalasin as she attempts to compose a dignified response to his poorly-worded proposition. "I would like that, my lord." She replies finally with a smile.
Kaddar begins to lead her into their rooms, gesturing vaguely at table upon which their snack is assembled. "I have some warm ale, and pomegranate juice. I also -" here he falters a little, but continues with determination evident in his too-serious voice. "I've heard that strawberries and cream may facilitate relaxation."
Much to Kaddar's distress, Kalasin is silent for a beat; when she speaks, her voice trembles with barely-contained laughter. "That is... very thoughtful, my lord. Original, too."
For once, Kaddar is relieved to be teased. "When in doubt, attempt conventional methods," he replies with a wry smile, gesturing to a seat.
Kalasin takes it, unhooking her veil and composing herself with an impassive air; her mouth, twitching into something resembling a smirk, is the only thing to suggest informality. Almost as if on impulse, she snatches a strawberry from the bowl and is about to immerse it in cream when she glances up at Kaddar with a mildly guilty expression. "I should offer this to you, really."
Kaddar's shrug is genuinely unconcerned and Kalasin - after a moment's consideration - covers the strawberry in cream. Then, and much to Kaddar's surprise, she hovers her hand - cluthing the complete product - in front of Kaddar's face, as if in offering.
The frown Kaddar now adopts is confused rather than displeased. Tentatively, slowly, he leans forward and takes the strawberry in his teeth. Kalasin's smile is both amused and - he realizes with a start - very relieved. He is glad to have responded with the correct reaction.
Kaddar swallows, then reaches for a strawberry with which to return the favour; at this point, the silence is uncanny rather than comfortable. He clears his throat and says the first thing in which he knows Kalasin has an interest. "Are you a keen rider, my lady?"
She is forced to swallow too quickly, having accepted a strawberry at the exact moment of him proposing the question. "Yes," she responds, composed despite the clumsy circumstances. "When possible, that is."
He is determined, this time, not to show surprise. The neutral smile he adopts is tinged with very genuine interest. "Had you a horse of your own, in Tortall?"
She takes another strawberry, dipping it in cream as she answers. "A mare. She belongs to my younger sister now."
It is difficult not to notice the longing note in Kalasin's voice. Kaddar's eyebrows draw together faintly Kalasin notices, mistaking it for something far from its intention. To preempt her discomfort - and because it would be such a shame to let good food go to waste - Kaddar picks the ripest strawberry from its peers and offers it to Kalasin, hovering the gift a few inches from her lips.
She takes it in her teeth, tentative, but offers him a smile. For all the smile is shining through a strawberry, and for all there is a stray dot of cream on her left cheek, Kaddar thinks this is the sweetest smile he has ever received from his wife.
--
The palace courtyards make a lovely tableau at night. Unfortunately, this makes Kalasin no less confused to be here.
Kaddar's smile is infuriatingly triumphant; she may not know him very well yet, but this - she has learnt very quickly - is hardly a good sign. He gestures with his head toward the stables. "Come, now."
She lifts the hems of her skirts and follows, matching his long strides readily. "My lord, this is very vague."
His grin manifests in a flash of teeth, bright against the darkness of the evening. "I know."
They have reached the stables, a serene setting for all there is mild unrest amongst the animals as they protest the stifling summer night. Kaddar glances around, his dark gaze conspiratorial. Turning to Kalasin - with so incidental an expression that she wonders, very briefly, if he'd forgotten her presence - he offers a courtier's bow. "If my lady would but hide her eyes for a moment?"
Kalasin is rarely blunt. As it happens, she is also rarely quite so confused. "Why?" she asks, voice courteous but syntax lacking its usual formality.
Kaddar hesitates for but a moment when he responds, his voice has lost the mysterious quality of before and adopted a fresh sense of excitement. "It is my lady's birthday tomorrow." Kalasin inclines her head at this, not venturing yet to speak. Kaddar continues, smiling all the while. "I should perhaps have waited, but surely if a present is available it must be given at the first opportunity. I - close your eyes, please."
His voice is courteous enough, but it contains so much nervous anticipation that Kalasin feels it would surely be unfair if she were to deny him any longer. With an expression too exasperated to be entirely polite, she makes a small fuss of turning her back and putting a hand over her eyes, squeezing them shut in the meanwhile.
She does not wait for long. The Emperor's return is marked by significantly more noise than he had made upon leaving. "Surprise."
Kalasin takes this as her cue to turn and face him. "My lord, it seems - " the rest of the sentence is lost in a gasp as she catches sight of his companion.
His smile - satisfied with a hint of uncertain - says all she needs to know; nevertheless, she feels it best to make sure. "For me?"
For a moment he looks almost as if about to roll his eyes, but fortunately the movement is caught before the Emperor has time to commit so undignified an action. "Yes, my lady," is his only response, the same smile lingering on his lips.
Kalasin does not feel her feet as she moves; the only thing her mind truly registers is the mare she now pats with a tentative hand - her mare, her mind corrects, and she is forced to stifle a giggle. "What is her name?" she whispers, formality forgotten, as she offers a hand for the creature to sniff.
"You tell me." His voice matches hers in softness; something about it tears Kalasin's attention from the mare.
"This is -" she begins, stumbles over her own words, and tries again after clearing her throat. "She is perfect. I feel - that is, I am - I am so grateful. Thank you."
With all her will, she wishes courtly etiquette had included some lessons on how to display genuine appreciation. Thankfully, Kaddar appears to understand. "You're welcome."
Her attention is finally transferred entirely to him. "My lord, you needn't have done it."
It is evident that he considers several responses before deciding on perhaps the simplest. "Yes, actually, I did need to do it."
She only responds when it becomes apparent he has no inclination to continue. "My lord -"
"Kaddar," he interjects. "At least in private."
She pauses only for a moment. "Then I am Kally, at least in private." A crinkle at the corners of his eyes shows understanding, and she continues. "I am certain that it would have been much simpler to purchase gowns, or shoes, or some other such thing. To this end - Kaddar, I am entirely grateful for what you've done."
That, she decides, was not as badly executed as it might have been. Kaddar seems to agree - at least, he is smiling in understanding - but soon grows apprehensive.
"My lady - that is, Kally," he begins as she begins to understand his apprehension. "I am intensely grateful that you are... intensely grateful, and I must venture that -" He swears.
"I understand," she offers quickly, unsure whether she is attempting to put him at ease or prevent him from speaking further. Kaddar does not appear to be finished.
"It would, indeed, be terribly simple to obtain some trite present, a symbolic gesture of sorts. That is not what I wished to do. Kalasin -" he pauses a little here, attempting to reach a balance between sincerity and courtly composure, then deciding to forgo the latter entirely. "I adore you."
Pity, Kalasin thinks, that she didn't also take lessons in how to appear politely flabbergasted. "Thank you. That is to say, I also..."
Kaddar clears his throat, blushing faintly. "What I mean to say is, I adore the moments in which you are genuinely happy, and relaxed, and I wish for us to have more of those moments, often. If that would be all right."
"Only in courtship do we seek permission to be relaxed," Kalasin responds, the lightness of her voice a direct contrast to Kaddar's emphatic sentiments. "Kaddar," she continues as he chuckles, "I understand your meaning. I thank you, and... I too wish for this future."
The mare whinnies for attention and they turn to her simultaneously, the same amused reprimand in their smiles. "Would you like to go riding tomorrow, my lady?" Kaddar is stilll looking at the mare, but there can be no question as to whom he addresses.
Kalasin's smile is slow and wide. "That would be delightful, my lord."
There is a gleam in his eyes, more than polite interest and banal amiability. She drifts to his side in one fluid motion, then - on tiptoes and before he has a moment to react - kisses him gently on the cheek, the translucent blue silk of her veil pressed lightly against his skin. "Thank you." A pause, and a smile he returns.
Despite all the elaborate parties and gifts of her youth, Kalasin thinks, this may be her favourite birthday of all.
- fin -