“Oh?” Prudence made a face. “I’ll be glad if he stays away. I took a running dislike to the man. Though, to be honest, I suppose I could change my mind. He is extremely good-looking.”
Io turned to her in surprise. She had not been brought up to discuss the physical merits of gentlemen quite so openly. Their reputation, their wealth, or their family inheritance, yes. But … suddenly she decided to dabble in these waters.
“I never could see it, myself,” she said tentatively.
“No? The face of an angel, and my, he does fill his pants well.”
Io immediately felt her face get hot, for the second time in an hour. The conversation, she decided, was getting too advanced for her. “Will there be other ladies staying with me, besides you?”
“Not right away. Adrian thought you’d like to choose your own companions. I’m just here to get you started, Io,” Io already, Iolanthe noted, “and once you’ve settled in, I’ll be on my way.”
“Why?” The question came out more forlornly than she’d meant it to. She’d only met Prudence ninety minutes ago, but she was the only friend Iolanthe had.
“My dear! I won’t desert you. But I have a husband and family, you know. I’m just doing Adrian a favor, seeing you off till you can fly on your own. We can still see each other, if you find you want to.” Prudence stopped before a copper-covered door etched with squares, a summer apple tree engraved in each. “Here we are.”
As Prudence entered the command code, she said, “Now, if you get lost, remember this is the ladies’ wing of the Boxwood Court. Adrian’s quarters are three sections over that way,” she gestured vaguely toward her right, “so this should be respectable enough.”
The door opened. “One moment, my lady,” Will Stockton said, and he vanished inside. Two minutes later he was back. “All right.”
Iolanthe stepped inside. The room was hung in shades of lavender and mauve, with tables of black lacquer, pillows, several chairs, and a deep carpet woven with the Curosa breath-of-life symbol entwined with fruit trees, picked out in violet on an ivory background. “Oh, my,” she said, and Prudence looked pleased.
“Your sitting room,” she said. “Writing paper’s here, and invitation cards; link’s over there by the long table. Your bedchamber’s through there.”
Iolanthe walked into the bedroom and out again. “It’s lovely,” she began, then winced, putting a hand to her forehead.
“Headache?” asked Prudence sympathetically. “It’s not surprising, given the day you’ve had. Why don’t you take that nap? I’ll be back in plenty of time for you to dress for dinner.”
Io did desperately want some time to herself, though she understood it would be useless in fending off the headache. But she also knew it would be useless trying to explain that; somehow, the definition other people used for the word “headache” signified some different order of creature from the thing she knew. “Thank you,” she said, being the best she could come up with.
Prudence activated the front door. Will Stockton appeared there; he bowed an inch and said, “My lady, I’m going to get my men settled into quarters in the Jade Court. Two of them will be outside your door at all times.”
“Thank you,” she said again, dully, not really caring if they were outside her door or making up a singing party to welcome the spring.
“Io’s going to take a nap,” said Prudence firmly. “Come along, Sergeant.” And she turned the sergeant about and exited the room, pulling him along.
“She’s gorgeous, she’s totally gorgeous. I can’t get over it.”
“I know you can’t get over it, you’ve been repeating it for hours.” Fischer cast an unhappy glance at Adrian, who was spread-eagled on the couch in his quarters, staring euphorically at the ceiling and ignoring the dinner attire Lucius had draped over the chair.
“Well, can I not have my moment of joy? What’s your problem, Adviser? You thought the wedding was a fine idea.”
“I thought it was an appropriate idea.”
“So it’s merely that you object to my taking any pleasure in my duty?”
Fischer sighed. “You know that’s not it.”
“Well, speak up, guide of my youth! Unveil this difficulty, and we will pummel it until it’s stunned, melt the remains with a light-rifle, and hammer down any loose ends with carpet tacks. What do you have to say?”
“I wish you weren’t so happy.’’
“Oh, lord! This is what I long to hear from my friends.”
Fischer tapped his feet uncomfortably on Adrian’s snowy carpet. “I express myself poorly. I only mean to say that any elation may be premature. We don’t know this girl—”
“We know she’s charmingly shy. Delightfully beautiful. No obvious signs of imbecility, though it’s early days to be sure. And, Brandon, we both know that if she were a lot less, I’d marry her anyway. I feel a little happiness to be completely justified.”
“I only mean to say,” said Fischer, and stopped. “Yes?”
“I only mean to say that she was clearly chosen by Amo and his cronies for her looks.”
Adrian laughed. “And a fine job they did!”
“Perhaps, having heard of your reputation with the ladies—”
Adrian sat up suddenly, swinging his feet onto the floor. “What reputation are we talking about? I have been as discreet as the day is long, Brandon. I haven’t visited Requiem Row in months. And I always used a false name, always!”
“Oh, come now. As though every house on the Row didn’t know who you were.”
Adrian glowered. “In any case, regardless of this reputation—which I hold is entirely in your overly sensitive mind, Brandon—I don’t see what dreadful results will come from my marrying Iolanthe Pelagia.”
“Not marrying, falling in love. That’s the danger.”
“Oh, who’s talking about love? This is a marriage treaty.”
“I think that, given your—uh, well-known proclivities—that falling in love is, in fact, a clear and present danger, given time and exposure. And that such a bond with a product of Opal propaganda would be a major weakness.”
“Opal propaganda! She’s a seventeen-year-old girl, Brandon! What
