When she met her mother for tea in the queen’s private suite the morning after her arrival, she was in no conciliatory mood. She went with the intention of begging off that night’s party. The queen’s new chamberlain had come to tell her about it, and since Alicia did not intend to eat anything provided by her mother, any dinner party would have presented a problem. Morning tea, however, she could manage. She came equipped with a small jar of her own tea, said it was something she had been taking for her headaches, made it herself in a separate pot with fresh water, refused cakes on the grounds of a wholly fabricated stomach upset occasioned by her recent arduous travel, and settled herself to be lectured in Mirami’s usual manner on her lack of enthusiasm, her delays, her inability to get Justinian thoroughly into her clutches.
No such lecture ensued. Instead, Mirami merely smiled and drank tea as they sat in the pleasant breeze that came through a window slightly open to the terrace. Outside, fountains conversed in a constant burble and chuckle accompanied by flute songs being played somewhere nearby. It was too late in the season for flowers, but the breeze brought scents of pine and cedar. Inside, the room was warm, thickly carpeted with jewel-toned rugs and provided with furnishings chosen for bodily comfort. Mirami, dressed in a loose, red throat-to-ankle gown, seemed unusually relaxed and, to Alicia’s surprise, when she began speaking, spoke not of Alicia’s failings but of Chamfray, of his company, his comments, even his humor. She spoke of his endearing clumsiness.
“He could not enter a room without knocking something over. He could not pick up anything smaller than a water pitcher without dropping it, and if it were a water pitcher, he would spill the contents.” Mirami laughed softly. “I miss him greatly.”
“I would have thought you would be infuriated,” said Alicia, uncertain as to where this conversation might be leading.
“Oh, no. I didn’t have to pick up after him, there were servants to do that. I never expected him to be graceful. That certainly wasn’t what he was good at.”
“It was said at one time that he might be your . . . that he might be closer than . . .”
“You mean a lover?” Mirami laughed, choking on her tea, so that a little of it spurted into her lap. “No, no, my dear. I had no desire to be handled by the world’s clumsiest man! I can’t imagine Chamfray making love. Ha. It would be like being mated by a blind bull! Or one of those animals from the Before Time, the very awkward tall ones with spots. Haraffs, was it?” She giggled.
Mirami did giggle occasionally, as part of whatever seduction she had chosen to be involved in, but Alicia had only once before heard her mother giggle, and the sound made her mind blink into an abrupt abyss of darkness. Herself in a dark hallway. A closed door. Behind it, her father and Mirami, and that same giggle.
Then it was light again, and Alicia gulped for breath—unnoticed—as Mirami continued.
“No, the very idea of being loved by Chamfray is ridiculous. No. He was a friend. People like us, my dear, people who are engaged in very lengthy, dangerous, but profitable projects, can allow themselves to have few if any friends. The ones we do have are precious to us.”
Alicia would not have thought her mother had any friends. She would, in fact, have laughed at the idea of her mother needing friends. It was a concept worth exploring.
“If you benefited from his company, Mother, how did your friendship benefit him?”
Mirami gestured aimlessly, “Oh, I kept him in luxury, of course. He was fond of expensive things to eat and especially things to drink! He was quite a connoisseur of wine and brandy. He liked books, old books, and those are expensive as well. He loved music, and I was able to hire musicians to play for him almost daily—I’ve kept some of them on! Do you hear the flutes? I became used to the sound and now I miss it if it isn’t there. Also, because he was so tall and awkward, he could be really comfortable only in furniture made to his measure. I gave him such things, and he enjoyed them. I used to see him in his own quarters, spread across a chair I had had made for him, listening to his musicians and drinking wine. One could almost hear him purring.”
“Ah,” said Alicia, nodding thoughtfully, deciding to risk a dangerous comment. “Then the rumors that he was Hulix’s father are totally false.”
The queen did not explode in rage. She actually appeared thoughtful, as though considering the matter. “Needless to say, we do not allow such rumors to circulate, but I don’t suppose they are totally false, no. The Old Dark Man took genetic material from several sources, and Chamfray may have been one of them. I have no idea what particular material was used for what purpose, but we had to ensure the child would be a boy. We needed a boy, you know—to inherit.”
“Once the duke Falyrion and Falredi were gone,” said Alicia without expression.
“Exactly.” Mirami smiled at her daughter, delighted at this understanding.
Taking a sip of tea, Alicia swallowed carefully to quell the bloom of fire that had erupted beneath her breastbone. “I’ve always wondered how you so easily captivated King Gahls.”
Mirami gave this some thought. “I think it must have been the hair, my dear. He loves long, dark hair. Many of the women in Ghastain are those pallid, milky northern types, hair the color of sand, skins like sour cheese. The king’s mother was dark, I believe. Men often marry women like their mothers. Men often respond to certain scents that evoke memories of them, as well. There are
