Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 15 - Idyne

I flounce my way back to the rooms the Ladies usually meet in. After watching the Auditorium meeting yesterday, I have a better understanding of who the important people are, but I still don't know what is being suggested and argued over. These people don't know me; I haven't earned the right to sit in the stands because no one has invited me. I don't want to have to watch from without. I don't want to stare through the windowed gallery only to see voiceless mouths. I don't want to guess at what they're thinking, planning, plotting.

When this is over, I won't simply be out from under the hand of the shamans. I'll be free in the way a peasant never could be. I will make these women respect me, and I will earn a life for myself after the shamans' deaths.

I drift from drawing room to drawing room, looking for one that includes any of the women from the Table. The ceiling mural in this one boasts strategically placed glowstones, but my eyes catch instead on the room's inhabitants. Here, a crowd of prominent Ladies sits on various couches and loveseats, holding several discussions over their teacups. Triumphant, I slide over and alight in an empty seat.

"Oh, Solitaena," one of the younger women says, crossing one leg over the other. Her skirt is so long, the hem doesn't even lift enough to offer a peak at the platform heels she must be wearing. "You mustn't be so downcast. We'll avenge your Tiaerens here, when our soldiers give those savages the defeat they deserve."

I recognize the woman she's speaking to as the only one of all ten High Ladies who didn't raise her voting emblem yesterday. Solitaena's grip tightens on her cup, but she otherwise remains impassive. "Yes, Temmarelle, I'm sure handing the Kadranians our men all at once instead of bit by bit will destroy them quite thoroughly."

I hide a tight smile at her polite tone by pouring myself a cup of tea. Compared to the drinks in Kadran and northern Draó, it's surprisingly weak, and I love it. The cream they add sweetens it, and I force myself to only add a little bit. Too much, and I might look uncultured.

"You are uncultured," the voices titter.

Temmarelle rolls her eyes and leans against the arm of her seat. "I think you all are taking this too hard. N'veauvia can't fall. It never has before."

Solitaena's eyes harden, and she leans forward. The other conversations hush to follow this one. "And Tiaeren had never fallen, yet the messenger that came to inform the castle of the impending army reported to me. She spoke of waves of soldiers, tearing through and destroying everything in their path. You speak in arrogance, girl."

Temmarelle uncrosses and recrosses her legs the other way. "Well," she says. "Better than speaking in despair."

Solitaena shakes her head, setting down her tea. The cup clinks against its saucer. She stands and gives a tight, dark smile. "At least you're good at business." She sweeps away.

After a moment of tense silence, the many conversations resume as if nothing happened, but I'm sure they'll discuss the matter more when they don't think Temmarelle is listening.