Birthright

6

They rode back to Sarinor in silence. Edith knew the only apology Carmen would accept was one where she admitted to being jealous and entirely in the wrong, and promised unconditional support in the future. And that wasn't going to happen. Besides, Edith thought as she lay wide awake that night, glaring at the ceiling, it was more than likely Carmen would show up in a day or two - not to apologize, of course, but because she wanted something from Edith that was more important than continuing to make her point.

Two days passed in silence, and then three more. Edith had returned to the University; she was well ahead on her work, and on the additional reading she'd done just in case it might be of interest to the General, which meant she was free to do what she'd dreamed of back home and wander the Empire's biggest library, picking up whatever book she wanted. It was a pity she couldn't enjoy any of it. Nothing seemed to hold her attention, and the only feeling she could muster was a vague, angry restlessness. The tinsmith back home had had a spotted mule that pulled his wagon without complaint for years, until one day, without warning and for no reason known to anyone but itself, it snapped the traces, kicked the shafts to bits, and went tearing across the prairie, never to be seen again. Edith thought she knew how that mule felt.

    She'd paged through a treatise on siege weapons, gotten frustrated attempting to translate what appeared to be a copy of an Irian chemistry book, and finally wandered into the section on ancient southern languages. Not one of the scholars she'd approached had shown any interest in the writings she'd copied from the statutes in Phokia; while her ignorance left her with no option other than paging through books in the hopes of spotting something similar, she hoped the prospect of making a discovery would at least be a distraction. Instead, she found herself thinking of the journey, and the strong possibility that nothing like that would ever happen to her again.

    Why had she ever expected Carmen to get over it? Things had changed, especially after that damn ball. Carmen was meeting new people, people who were interesting and connected and powerful; when Edith had stopped over the night before their last trip, the callers' box in the entrance of her home had been full of little cards and even a few bronze favors. She wondered, not for the first time, if she would end up apologizing after all. It was hard to decide which part was worse: that she would swallow her pride and her principles, or that her reasons for doing it seemed so venal. No, she wouldn't apologize for telling the truth, not even if it meant Carmen would never speak to her again. Not even - the knot in her chest grew tighter at the thought - if it meant Simon would never speak to her again, either.

    "Ah! Ms. Valhelm!" Edith cursed under her breath. Marc Ranaxis was one of the hazards inherent to wandering around the library. Her new job had apparently led him to conclude she was, if not his equal, at least a lower-level colleague, which meant he made an effort to talk to her every time they met and, worst of all, tell her about his research. She'd tried to discourage these conversations by saying what she actually thought - politely, because she was neither that bold nor that stupid - but it had not had the desired effect. She had a bad feeling she was one of the few people he could corner.

    "Good afternoon, Doctor Ranaxis," she said diffidently.

    "Ah yes. I suppose it's no surprise you're looking into the primitive seaboard cultures, after your excursion last year. A fruitful area for research, I suspect, given that it's been long disregarded by the scholarly community. I never cease to be surprised at how many topics of considerable historical significance have failed to draw scholarly attention. Do you know, I ran across a monograph on late Imperial coins, and I think there's some fascinating information that can be gleaned from the subject matter depicted on them. Much has been written on that era's move away from the portraits of leaders and scientific notables to more obscure historical figures and notable provincials, but I do think there's more to be done on the nature of the depictions, and yet there has been no research on whether there is any correlation between the identity of the persons on the figural side and the subject matter depicted on the obverse? I was over at the Museum the other day, and - while you must give some thought to wear and tear - I think the provincial-faced coins were of a lower initial quality, which makes one question whether the alleged commitment to embracing those traditionally considered 'other' was sincere or cynical."

    "Or the provincial mints just had lower standards."

    "Insightful," he said, in the tone of someone giving a biscuit to a clever dog. "It speaks rather poorly of this institution that you don't have at least a first level degree. I don't suppose you've sat for the exams."

    "I was told I didn't meet the qualifications."

"You know, I try to remain above the administrative aspects of the University - it distracts from the purity of scholarship - but I do think I may have to weigh in on the examination process. That's how it was in the old days, after all; one could get a first-level degree without attending a single lecture by simply taking the examinations. And, frankly, I don't see the value in lectures for lectures' sake. If someone can pass the exams without them, they ought to be entitled to the same respect - if not more - than those who had to undergo several years of university education to get there."

    Edith made a vaguely agreeable noise. She'd overheard several of the established professors complain that Marc had been allowed to take the masters examination after only a fraction of the usual coursework.

    "You know, I happened to run across a book the other day that might be of use to you. Something about a whale cult in the south seas - rather gruesome, I'm afraid, but one must expect that in the study of history. Unfortunately, I reshelved the volume, and, do you know, the title has quite slipped my mind. But it ought to be somewhere in my notes; perhaps I'll drop by if it turns up."

"No need to make any special effort," Edith said quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind in the least. They're locking the university gates during the celebrations, and I have every intention of being inside them when it happens."

"Yes; from what I've gathered, the triumph may make things a little...interesting in city limits."

"I'm just glad my uncle gave up on leading the damn parade himself." The flash of disgust in his expression gave way to the faintly nauseous look of someone who had just said something that shouldn't have been said to someone who had no business hearing it.

"That book," Edith said. "If you run across it again, you'll let me know."

He smiled wanly, backing away. "Yes. Of course."