“Any music will do, lord—a springtime melody as well as a dirge. Nor does the skill of the piper matter: Death resides in the pipes and not the player. Play them at your will, my lord. You may play those pipes at any moment you desire.” Taudde set smooth confidence under his tone to encourage the other man’s confidence. “I will hope—” and he tried fiercely to hope it, “—to hear shortly that the Dragon of Lirionne is bereft of legitimate sons and all Lirionne in mourning.”
“Yes,” Miennes said, with a nod that combined both threat and dismissal, “I hope that, too, and for your sake as well as mine.”
CHAPTER 9
The striking success of Moonflower’s first appearance as a keiso annoyed some of the less-generous-hearted keiso. But it delighted Rue, pleased Mother, and—most satisfying of all—completely justified Leilis.
“I think perhaps it might be best to withdraw the child from the public view for a time,” Mother mused, studying a chart of tentative keiso engagements for the coming weeks. Some of the more popular keiso refused to commit to any specific engagement very far in advance, so keeping up the chart was a complicated task, as Leilis knew from personal experience.
Mother tapped a stylus on her desk and frowned. “Moonflower has received twelve invitations already. But sometimes fame grows best where it is not actively encouraged. Men desire most fiercely what is farthest from their reach.”
Leilis, who was carefully rearranging flowers in Mother’s collection of crystal vases, discarded a few that were on the verge of becoming overblown. She glanced sidelong toward Mother and murmured, “Some flowers are best in the bud; once fully opened, though still pleasing to the eye, they have already lost their special loveliness.”
Mother’s frown deepened. “Perhaps.” She set down her stylus and set the chart aside, lifting instead a roll of fine parchment with an embossed seal of saffron wax. After a moment of consideration, she offered this across the table to Leilis.
The letter did not require more than a glance. Leilis brushed the ball of her thumb lightly across the seal, set the letter back on the table, and murmured, “Cloisonné House is favored above all keiso Houses by the attention of the heir.”
“Of course,” agreed Mother, in a rather perfunctory tone. She was still frowning. “And profitably so. All of our keiso, not merely Moonflower, will receive many rich gifts if the heir and his companions become regular visitors.” That consideration was nothing to dismiss. Keiso Houses must always be extravagant, yet the continual generosity of their patrons could not be assured. In tense times, men hesitated to spend hard coin on luxuries and the entire candlelight district suffered, but the keiso Houses suffered worst because their daily expenses were highest, and hardest to reduce. The approaching spring would make this winter decidedly tense. “This will require careful management, however,” murmured Mother.
“Young people often prefer romance over practical sense,” Leilis said thoughtfully.
Mother half smiled, an expression that held more thought than humor. “So they do. And you?”
Leilis hesitated. Romance? Or practicality?
The girl might well fancy herself in love. But to send a keiso into a royal family was perilous. Prince Tepres had no true wife, yet. But soon enough he would, and eventually his wife would be queen. A queen was unlikely to be pleased to share her influence with a mere keimiso. She might object, strenuously. And a queen would have influence of her own, which did not depend on her lord husband. As the king would likely have married her for political advantage, even he might find her influence difficult to counter, lest he lose that advantage.
A queen who resented her lord’s flower wife might pursue a persistent feud against her. Possibly against all keiso. Such feuds had occurred before in Lonne’s long history. Sometimes they ended with the death of the king’s keimiso. Sometimes they ended with the entire destruction of one or more of the keiso Houses. That, too, had occurred before.
The pause lengthened as Leilis realized that she was setting concern for Karah’s personal happiness against the good of the House. How strange that she had become so sentimental! She said after a moment, “A keiso from Cloisonné House would be a very respectable keimiso for Prince Tepres, but the king may well wish his son to first take a wife and secure a right-born heir of his own for the succession, before getting children on the left. A wife whose child is the king’s eldest born might well be less offended by her lord’s taking a flower wife. Cloisonné House might best win the Dragon’s favor by slowing his heir’s rush—and Karah’s age provides every necessary reason to resist haste.”