Arathalian and Cochalyon
Roughly chronological order.
Set after Cochalyon and the year-shift fae retinue arrives in Inyaron. Amira is the Queen's oldest daughter. Cochalyon meets Arathalian.
"This is Arathalian," said Amira, turning from Cochalyon with a barely polite expression to indicate the other moon fae. "The nephew of my mother's nephew-by-marriage and a captain of my Quicksilvers. He'll escort you about the city until the Queen holds second audience today. If you have any questions, or require anything, ask him. He's a good man and well-respected here."
And none too integral a part of the royal family, I see. Cochalyon wasn't surprised by this rather extreme courtesy-without-deference - placing a real member of the royal family at his disposal would have been demeaning. By moon fae standards, at least.
He was, however, surprised by the man's behaviour. "An honour to meet you, Atosca's son," said Arathalian, dipping his head in a proper obeisance.
"Don't go throwing words like 'honour' around, now," Cochalyon replied, amused by the flicker of annoyance in Amira's face. "'A pleasure' will do."
Arathalian straightened without expression. "I've just met one of the year-shifter race for the first time," he replied evenly. "I do feel honoured. And I'd have to be fearfully insecure to think that words could weaken me."
It was quite intriguing. Arathalian was either one of those honest but foolish plain-speakers who genuinely believed that words couldn't hurt a man, or he was taking a very oblique swipe at Cochalyon. Cochalyon rather hoped it was the latter.
"I'll take your leave," said Amira with a parting, irritated glance for Arathalian, and nodded to Cochalyon as she strode off in her gleaming silver.
"I'm sorry to impose on your duties, Arathalian," Cochalyon said once she'd departed. "This must be a very busy time for you."
"I'm only busy between trumpet-calls, Cochalyon," replied the moon fae with easy courtesy. "So long as you're not looking for any guided tours while there's a battle going on, you're not inconveniencing me at all."
"You mean to tell me that a kinsman of the Queen's has nothing to do outside a fight?" Cochalyon chuckled.
"I'm a royal second cousin by my parents' marriage," replied Arathalian dryly. "Close enough to wear the shiny clothes, but safe enough for the Queen's Court to ignore. Thank the Circle."
He was casting himself as the straightforward soldier, but Cochalyon had his doubts. "Every moon fae's a politician," he answered in the same wry tone, making it a joke. "That's why I like you stone-faces so much."
"I suppose you simply adore our Queen."
"Unreservedly." Cochalyon laughed. "But every man does, doesn't he?"
Arathalian didn't bristle at the familiarity with the Queen. He didn't show any sign of hostility towards her, either. Cochalyon crossed two personality archetypes off his mental list - Raving Loyalist and Seething Dissenter. Of course, that couldn't really discount Careful Liegeman or Cunning Separatist.
"She's the greatest ruler Inyaron has ever had," replied the moon fae. (Honesty? Lip service? A swipe at the former year-shifter rulers?) "Where shall I take you?"
"Say 'Where shall we go?'" advised Cochalyon. "Yield status grudgingly."
The moon fae shrugged. "I told you. I'm no politician. The Quicksilver ranks, then?"
"By all means." I wonder, thought the prince, cheerful now that the morning had become interesting.
Cochalyon's second audience with Queen Yurahaina. More of the retinue.
"These are autumn days, Cochalyon, as your people say." The Queen spoke calmly - always calm, the Silver People - but in her eyes was a fear for the future. "And if we can't defeat the men of iron in autumn, it will certainly be beyond our power in winter."
Cochalyon laughed, deliberately light, and shook his ghostly pinions for a bit of emphasis. "If you'll look at my wings, Yurahaina, you'll see that it's actually winter, not autumn. And if - if - we can't defeat the men of iron in winter, we'll sweep them away like creeping frost in spring!"
"We?" asked sharp-eyed Amira, glancing up from her seat on her mother's left. "Atosca is far away, Cochalyon."
"Yes, he is." Cochalyon furled his wings again, recognising part of the cause of suspicion in the heir's face. "I'm not, though, and I don't mind saying that I'm worth a small army on my own. The operative word is 'small', mind."
The court of Yurahaina eyed him with amusement or bemusement; Yurahaina herself eyed him with warmth. "You'd fight with us?"
"Someone has to show you how it's done," murmured Espayon at his back.
Cochalyon dipped his head - but not quite enough to make a true obeisance. Of all wars, politics was one that would never be fought to a close. "We're with you, Yurahaina. For a season or two at least. What my father may decide beyond that, I can't say."
Mixed relief and lingering mistrust greeted his declaration, or so the minor-key murmurs suggested. Cochalyon understood the mistrust. It would be very easy for the Sky People to watch iron break the strength of the moon fae and then move in themselves. They'd be welcomed with open arms, certainly; no-one had quite forgotten the first, self-exiled rulers.
He couldn't quite discount that as his father's possible plan, either.
"You should know that those are hard lands, Cochalyon," warned Amira. "You may be able to withstand our iron magic - up to a point - but magnesite and dolorite make up the Dark Peaks, and wherever the men go they bring their own raw iron as well. It'll be a place of pain for your folk, I think, even if you don't come far with us into the mountains."
"More for men than for us, Amira, I promise you." Cochalyon smiled as the moon fae seldom did. "The energy-ebb of winter will make the dark element much more bearable than spring would. Besides, that's what these are for, see?" He shook out his white-grey wings again. "Taking a break from all that iron."
"You're courageous and generous, Cochalyon." Yurahaina looked to her daughters and sons for a moment. "We'll discuss this, but I think our answer will be rather easily guessed."
I'd never try to guess where the moon fae are concerned, thought Cochalyon with a wry smile that he fully meant for the Queen and her children to read. Then he dipped his head in a final almost-obeisance and took the leave he was obviously supposed to take, followed back down the hill by his pale-winged retinue.
He already knew Tathrinnas was agitated - he could read moon fae; his own people were like open books by comparison! - so it came as no surprise when the coldsinger spoke up. "Should we be taking part in this?"
Cochalyon sat down, spreading his wings flat against the ground. "Probably not," he admitted. "But my father didn't expressly forbid it."
"I can't see the gain," insisted Tathrinnas, twisting her long, white hair through her fingers. "Not without a real army behind us. We already know that the men of iron are deadly."
"This used to be a real army," Espayon muttered. "What have these moon-rulers been doing? Drinking man-blood before every charge? I just can't see how else things could've come to this!"
To tell the truth, Cochalyon couldn't either. It worried him, for all his sweeping declarations for Yurahaina. The magic of the Silver People was peerless, utterly peerless; it had been enough to throw out the year-shift fae, hadn't it? The strong and the clever could work magic in the presence of iron, but the moon fae worked magic with iron.
"We could watch the battle to come and then report back swiftly," Tathrinnas was urging. "If the king sees fit to send assistance, he'll send a full army to Yurahaina's aid. Not just us."
"And if he doesn't?" argued Espayon. "We need to find reasons for the king to send our aid. Unshakeable reasons. Inyaron was our country, once. Its people don't deserve to die while we wait for the moon fae to fold."
"All the better to go swiftly back to the king and make our recommendations!"
"What recommendations? 'The moon fae are anxious; send help'? Is that a reason to send quick assistance or a reason to wait just a little longer, Tathrinnas?"
They all looked to Cochalyon. The ideal retinue, really. Some days they sounded exactly like the quibbling voices in his conscience. He probably didn't even have to mull these things over - he could just wait for Tathrinnas, Espayon and the others to argue it out for him.
"I'd find it hard to turn back now," he said aloud for their expectant stares. "And if we stay just to watch, the people will remember that. Better for them to remember our strength and their old loyalties."
Tathrinnas didn't look completely happy, but she nodded. "You at least will stay out of harm's way, won't you, Cochalyon?"
"What am I, a fate-reader?" he asked ingenuously.
Even Espayon was frowning now. "The politics of bravado can only carry you so far," he warned. "One, you'll make Amira nervous if you keep putting yourself forward. She's the Queen's heir here. Two, it's a more regal and dignified gesture to stay back as Yurahaina's bodyguard. Three, any injury you might receive would break the strong front we're trying to present."
"Four, your father will pull our wings out," added Tathrinnas.
"I was only trying to turn your faces purple. I know that." Cochalyon grinned. "Though I don't agree that I should hang back at all times. An occasional, safe bit of show will certainly do more good than harm, wouldn't you say? A bit of kingly lightning from on high, yes?"
"True enough. Leave the real coldsinging to the experts, though." Tathrinnas gave a hard smile, a bit of the mirth in her voice disappearing. "I suppose it won't be such a terrible thing to stay and lend a little help. I can't wait to pay those iron-bloods out for the mess they've made of our country."
"You'll have to stand in line," replied Espayon darkly. "I spoke first."
They sat and twiddled their thumbs for a long time. The delay was obviously deliberate. We don't need you, was the moon fae's message. We're not scrambling for your assistance. But since you're here, and you're so desperate to help ...
Cochalyon didn't realise he was grinning again until Tathrinnas looked at him oddly. The politics back home were nothing compared to this.
After half-expecting an initial refusal of assistance - this mad race of impassives hated any loss of face - Cochalyon actually received Yurahaina's courteous, composed acceptance early the next morning. It was also the morning that the army was preparing to move to the human-named Callatine Ridge, a vantage looking down into the first valleys of Alenyan.
"How far is it?" Cochalyon asked Yurahaina, his fascinated eyes longing to watch some of the building activity around them. He was a statesman and a prince, however, and he couldn't forget his part. "As your army marches, that is."
"The Quicksilvers of the vanguard will arrive first," replied the Queen, referring to what Cochalyon's people had always called the Lightning Brigade - those of the fae and their war-beasts with the power of supertemporal movement. "There is iron in some of these hills as well, so that will slow them, but they should arrive in Aryulos by nightfall. They'll see the first of the fighting. The rest of us should arrive tomorrow."
She turned her deep blue eyes directly upon him. "My family will go into battle, but I will not. Can I depend upon your guardianship and companionship as I wait, Cochalyon?"
It would look the worst kind of dreadful for me to be out there in your place, thought Cochalyon with amusement. Aloud he replied, "I would be delighted, Yurahaina."
He didn't say 'honoured'. Her eyes smiled at the game.
"Come and watch the ironmakers, Cochalyon," she said.
Effects of iron/iron magic on seasonal fae. Set after moon fae armouring - Makers create ironwings and iron wards as some protection against bullets.
It was a sweeping relief to be out from under so many eyes. Discomfort was a luxury for the diplomat. Cochalyon groaned the moment the door closed behind them and flopped over the front of the couch, draping one wing over each side. "Aagh."
"That's what I think," said Espayon sourly from floor-level. His anti-furniture prejudices were showing again.
"My back feels like it's on fire. Tathrinnas, I need a massage."
"I don't owe you that much fealty, Cochalyon." Tathrinnas sat with one wing trailing on the floor and the other curled around towards her lap, her long, clever fingers trying to smoothe out some of the pains from the wingtip.
Someone unexpectedly sang the door open from outside. All three of the year-shifters winced as Arathalian entered, still brilliantly fledged with those gleaming ironwings.
The moon fae looked at them and their sprawled limbs with some surprise. Cochalyon let him. He wasn't a terribly important member of the court - and besides, it was just too hard to sit up and pretend to be an immortal statesman again so soon.
"I'm sorry, were you resting?" Arathalian asked, and since Cochalyon was so very good at reading the moon fae, he could hear the added 'and was there something wrong with the beds?' hint in the words.
"We're not resting, we're aching," muttered Espayon. "Take those silly fake wings outside."
Cochalyon wasn't tired enough to let Espayon be their face of diplomacy. "Sorry, Arathalian. It's been a long day."
"No-one realised the ironmagic was causing you this much pain, I assure you. You should have told the Queen you didn't want to see the armouring."
Over my dead body, thought Cochalyon. "It's more unpleasant than outright painful. The magic and the iron together played a bit of hell with the Flow, that's all."
"What you see here is a simple demonstration of manly discomfort thresholds versus the womanly standard," added Tathrinnas with a smooth smile, switching pinions to soothe the other wingtip.
It wasn't for any idle reason that Tathrinnas had been one of the diplomats to come on this long journey. Cochalyon smiled inwardly at the brush-off quip - and almost smiled outwardly when he saw how it made Espayon sit up.
"We're fine, Arathalian," he concluded evenly, giving both his wings a small shiver-shake as the needle-tingles went on. "And the armouring was quite impressive, so we were happy to see it."
There was a very faint flicker in Arathalian's eyes at the word 'quite'. For all his protestations that he was 'no politician', he seemed to feel the flow of it well enough. "Our ironmakers have become very good at what they do over the centuries."
Cochalyon could feel Espayon holding in all his numerous opinions on 'fake wings' and ironmagic in general. "It certainly seems so," the prince agreed politely. Then, for pure curiosity's sake, he added, "You've adapted quite well in Inyaron without having our protection."
It was pure, arrogant bombast, of course. But Cochalyon made a habit of taking the measure of all the Queen's liegemen. He was rather interested to hear what kind of response he'd get.
Arathalian's expression remained polite. "We've been fighting men for a long, long time now," he agreed, nodding in acknowledgement.
The ambiguity was obvious. It could have meant 'yes, you're absolutely right'. It could also have implied a clear ellipsis - '... unlike you'.
Once again Cochalyon nearly grinned. 'Not a politician'! And I'm not a prince! You can't fool me, lordling - I know you play the game. And now I've caught you at it. "So what brings you here today, Arathalian? Don't worry, I don't mind holding audience on the back of a couch."
Set after Cochalyon and the year-shift fae retinue arrives in Inyaron. Amira is the Queen's oldest daughter. Cochalyon meets Arathalian.
"This is Arathalian," said Amira, turning from Cochalyon with a barely polite expression to indicate the other moon fae. "The nephew of my mother's nephew-by-marriage and a captain of my Quicksilvers. He'll escort you about the city until the Queen holds second audience today. If you have any questions, or require anything, ask him. He's a good man and well-respected here."
And none too integral a part of the royal family, I see. Cochalyon wasn't surprised by this rather extreme courtesy-without-deference - placing a real member of the royal family at his disposal would have been demeaning. By moon fae standards, at least.
He was, however, surprised by the man's behaviour. "An honour to meet you, Atosca's son," said Arathalian, dipping his head in a proper obeisance.
"Don't go throwing words like 'honour' around, now," Cochalyon replied, amused by the flicker of annoyance in Amira's face. "'A pleasure' will do."
Arathalian straightened without expression. "I've just met one of the year-shifter race for the first time," he replied evenly. "I do feel honoured. And I'd have to be fearfully insecure to think that words could weaken me."
It was quite intriguing. Arathalian was either one of those honest but foolish plain-speakers who genuinely believed that words couldn't hurt a man, or he was taking a very oblique swipe at Cochalyon. Cochalyon rather hoped it was the latter.
"I'll take your leave," said Amira with a parting, irritated glance for Arathalian, and nodded to Cochalyon as she strode off in her gleaming silver.
"I'm sorry to impose on your duties, Arathalian," Cochalyon said once she'd departed. "This must be a very busy time for you."
"I'm only busy between trumpet-calls, Cochalyon," replied the moon fae with easy courtesy. "So long as you're not looking for any guided tours while there's a battle going on, you're not inconveniencing me at all."
"You mean to tell me that a kinsman of the Queen's has nothing to do outside a fight?" Cochalyon chuckled.
"I'm a royal second cousin by my parents' marriage," replied Arathalian dryly. "Close enough to wear the shiny clothes, but safe enough for the Queen's Court to ignore. Thank the Circle."
He was casting himself as the straightforward soldier, but Cochalyon had his doubts. "Every moon fae's a politician," he answered in the same wry tone, making it a joke. "That's why I like you stone-faces so much."
"I suppose you simply adore our Queen."
"Unreservedly." Cochalyon laughed. "But every man does, doesn't he?"
Arathalian didn't bristle at the familiarity with the Queen. He didn't show any sign of hostility towards her, either. Cochalyon crossed two personality archetypes off his mental list - Raving Loyalist and Seething Dissenter. Of course, that couldn't really discount Careful Liegeman or Cunning Separatist.
"She's the greatest ruler Inyaron has ever had," replied the moon fae. (Honesty? Lip service? A swipe at the former year-shifter rulers?) "Where shall I take you?"
"Say 'Where shall we go?'" advised Cochalyon. "Yield status grudgingly."
The moon fae shrugged. "I told you. I'm no politician. The Quicksilver ranks, then?"
"By all means." I wonder, thought the prince, cheerful now that the morning had become interesting.
Cochalyon's second audience with Queen Yurahaina. More of the retinue.
"These are autumn days, Cochalyon, as your people say." The Queen spoke calmly - always calm, the Silver People - but in her eyes was a fear for the future. "And if we can't defeat the men of iron in autumn, it will certainly be beyond our power in winter."
Cochalyon laughed, deliberately light, and shook his ghostly pinions for a bit of emphasis. "If you'll look at my wings, Yurahaina, you'll see that it's actually winter, not autumn. And if - if - we can't defeat the men of iron in winter, we'll sweep them away like creeping frost in spring!"
"We?" asked sharp-eyed Amira, glancing up from her seat on her mother's left. "Atosca is far away, Cochalyon."
"Yes, he is." Cochalyon furled his wings again, recognising part of the cause of suspicion in the heir's face. "I'm not, though, and I don't mind saying that I'm worth a small army on my own. The operative word is 'small', mind."
The court of Yurahaina eyed him with amusement or bemusement; Yurahaina herself eyed him with warmth. "You'd fight with us?"
"Someone has to show you how it's done," murmured Espayon at his back.
Cochalyon dipped his head - but not quite enough to make a true obeisance. Of all wars, politics was one that would never be fought to a close. "We're with you, Yurahaina. For a season or two at least. What my father may decide beyond that, I can't say."
Mixed relief and lingering mistrust greeted his declaration, or so the minor-key murmurs suggested. Cochalyon understood the mistrust. It would be very easy for the Sky People to watch iron break the strength of the moon fae and then move in themselves. They'd be welcomed with open arms, certainly; no-one had quite forgotten the first, self-exiled rulers.
He couldn't quite discount that as his father's possible plan, either.
"You should know that those are hard lands, Cochalyon," warned Amira. "You may be able to withstand our iron magic - up to a point - but magnesite and dolorite make up the Dark Peaks, and wherever the men go they bring their own raw iron as well. It'll be a place of pain for your folk, I think, even if you don't come far with us into the mountains."
"More for men than for us, Amira, I promise you." Cochalyon smiled as the moon fae seldom did. "The energy-ebb of winter will make the dark element much more bearable than spring would. Besides, that's what these are for, see?" He shook out his white-grey wings again. "Taking a break from all that iron."
"You're courageous and generous, Cochalyon." Yurahaina looked to her daughters and sons for a moment. "We'll discuss this, but I think our answer will be rather easily guessed."
I'd never try to guess where the moon fae are concerned, thought Cochalyon with a wry smile that he fully meant for the Queen and her children to read. Then he dipped his head in a final almost-obeisance and took the leave he was obviously supposed to take, followed back down the hill by his pale-winged retinue.
He already knew Tathrinnas was agitated - he could read moon fae; his own people were like open books by comparison! - so it came as no surprise when the coldsinger spoke up. "Should we be taking part in this?"
Cochalyon sat down, spreading his wings flat against the ground. "Probably not," he admitted. "But my father didn't expressly forbid it."
"I can't see the gain," insisted Tathrinnas, twisting her long, white hair through her fingers. "Not without a real army behind us. We already know that the men of iron are deadly."
"This used to be a real army," Espayon muttered. "What have these moon-rulers been doing? Drinking man-blood before every charge? I just can't see how else things could've come to this!"
To tell the truth, Cochalyon couldn't either. It worried him, for all his sweeping declarations for Yurahaina. The magic of the Silver People was peerless, utterly peerless; it had been enough to throw out the year-shift fae, hadn't it? The strong and the clever could work magic in the presence of iron, but the moon fae worked magic with iron.
"We could watch the battle to come and then report back swiftly," Tathrinnas was urging. "If the king sees fit to send assistance, he'll send a full army to Yurahaina's aid. Not just us."
"And if he doesn't?" argued Espayon. "We need to find reasons for the king to send our aid. Unshakeable reasons. Inyaron was our country, once. Its people don't deserve to die while we wait for the moon fae to fold."
"All the better to go swiftly back to the king and make our recommendations!"
"What recommendations? 'The moon fae are anxious; send help'? Is that a reason to send quick assistance or a reason to wait just a little longer, Tathrinnas?"
They all looked to Cochalyon. The ideal retinue, really. Some days they sounded exactly like the quibbling voices in his conscience. He probably didn't even have to mull these things over - he could just wait for Tathrinnas, Espayon and the others to argue it out for him.
"I'd find it hard to turn back now," he said aloud for their expectant stares. "And if we stay just to watch, the people will remember that. Better for them to remember our strength and their old loyalties."
Tathrinnas didn't look completely happy, but she nodded. "You at least will stay out of harm's way, won't you, Cochalyon?"
"What am I, a fate-reader?" he asked ingenuously.
Even Espayon was frowning now. "The politics of bravado can only carry you so far," he warned. "One, you'll make Amira nervous if you keep putting yourself forward. She's the Queen's heir here. Two, it's a more regal and dignified gesture to stay back as Yurahaina's bodyguard. Three, any injury you might receive would break the strong front we're trying to present."
"Four, your father will pull our wings out," added Tathrinnas.
"I was only trying to turn your faces purple. I know that." Cochalyon grinned. "Though I don't agree that I should hang back at all times. An occasional, safe bit of show will certainly do more good than harm, wouldn't you say? A bit of kingly lightning from on high, yes?"
"True enough. Leave the real coldsinging to the experts, though." Tathrinnas gave a hard smile, a bit of the mirth in her voice disappearing. "I suppose it won't be such a terrible thing to stay and lend a little help. I can't wait to pay those iron-bloods out for the mess they've made of our country."
"You'll have to stand in line," replied Espayon darkly. "I spoke first."
They sat and twiddled their thumbs for a long time. The delay was obviously deliberate. We don't need you, was the moon fae's message. We're not scrambling for your assistance. But since you're here, and you're so desperate to help ...
Cochalyon didn't realise he was grinning again until Tathrinnas looked at him oddly. The politics back home were nothing compared to this.
After half-expecting an initial refusal of assistance - this mad race of impassives hated any loss of face - Cochalyon actually received Yurahaina's courteous, composed acceptance early the next morning. It was also the morning that the army was preparing to move to the human-named Callatine Ridge, a vantage looking down into the first valleys of Alenyan.
"How far is it?" Cochalyon asked Yurahaina, his fascinated eyes longing to watch some of the building activity around them. He was a statesman and a prince, however, and he couldn't forget his part. "As your army marches, that is."
"The Quicksilvers of the vanguard will arrive first," replied the Queen, referring to what Cochalyon's people had always called the Lightning Brigade - those of the fae and their war-beasts with the power of supertemporal movement. "There is iron in some of these hills as well, so that will slow them, but they should arrive in Aryulos by nightfall. They'll see the first of the fighting. The rest of us should arrive tomorrow."
She turned her deep blue eyes directly upon him. "My family will go into battle, but I will not. Can I depend upon your guardianship and companionship as I wait, Cochalyon?"
It would look the worst kind of dreadful for me to be out there in your place, thought Cochalyon with amusement. Aloud he replied, "I would be delighted, Yurahaina."
He didn't say 'honoured'. Her eyes smiled at the game.
"Come and watch the ironmakers, Cochalyon," she said.
Effects of iron/iron magic on seasonal fae. Set after moon fae armouring - Makers create ironwings and iron wards as some protection against bullets.
It was a sweeping relief to be out from under so many eyes. Discomfort was a luxury for the diplomat. Cochalyon groaned the moment the door closed behind them and flopped over the front of the couch, draping one wing over each side. "Aagh."
"That's what I think," said Espayon sourly from floor-level. His anti-furniture prejudices were showing again.
"My back feels like it's on fire. Tathrinnas, I need a massage."
"I don't owe you that much fealty, Cochalyon." Tathrinnas sat with one wing trailing on the floor and the other curled around towards her lap, her long, clever fingers trying to smoothe out some of the pains from the wingtip.
Someone unexpectedly sang the door open from outside. All three of the year-shifters winced as Arathalian entered, still brilliantly fledged with those gleaming ironwings.
The moon fae looked at them and their sprawled limbs with some surprise. Cochalyon let him. He wasn't a terribly important member of the court - and besides, it was just too hard to sit up and pretend to be an immortal statesman again so soon.
"I'm sorry, were you resting?" Arathalian asked, and since Cochalyon was so very good at reading the moon fae, he could hear the added 'and was there something wrong with the beds?' hint in the words.
"We're not resting, we're aching," muttered Espayon. "Take those silly fake wings outside."
Cochalyon wasn't tired enough to let Espayon be their face of diplomacy. "Sorry, Arathalian. It's been a long day."
"No-one realised the ironmagic was causing you this much pain, I assure you. You should have told the Queen you didn't want to see the armouring."
Over my dead body, thought Cochalyon. "It's more unpleasant than outright painful. The magic and the iron together played a bit of hell with the Flow, that's all."
"What you see here is a simple demonstration of manly discomfort thresholds versus the womanly standard," added Tathrinnas with a smooth smile, switching pinions to soothe the other wingtip.
It wasn't for any idle reason that Tathrinnas had been one of the diplomats to come on this long journey. Cochalyon smiled inwardly at the brush-off quip - and almost smiled outwardly when he saw how it made Espayon sit up.
"We're fine, Arathalian," he concluded evenly, giving both his wings a small shiver-shake as the needle-tingles went on. "And the armouring was quite impressive, so we were happy to see it."
There was a very faint flicker in Arathalian's eyes at the word 'quite'. For all his protestations that he was 'no politician', he seemed to feel the flow of it well enough. "Our ironmakers have become very good at what they do over the centuries."
Cochalyon could feel Espayon holding in all his numerous opinions on 'fake wings' and ironmagic in general. "It certainly seems so," the prince agreed politely. Then, for pure curiosity's sake, he added, "You've adapted quite well in Inyaron without having our protection."
It was pure, arrogant bombast, of course. But Cochalyon made a habit of taking the measure of all the Queen's liegemen. He was rather interested to hear what kind of response he'd get.
Arathalian's expression remained polite. "We've been fighting men for a long, long time now," he agreed, nodding in acknowledgement.
The ambiguity was obvious. It could have meant 'yes, you're absolutely right'. It could also have implied a clear ellipsis - '... unlike you'.
Once again Cochalyon nearly grinned. 'Not a politician'! And I'm not a prince! You can't fool me, lordling - I know you play the game. And now I've caught you at it. "So what brings you here today, Arathalian? Don't worry, I don't mind holding audience on the back of a couch."