Alberich liked Orthallen even less than Gartheser. Lord Gartheser was just pigheaded and prejudiced and interfering. He wanted things his way, he didn't trust anyone who wasn't highborn, and he wasn't entirely certain even of those jumped-up commoner Heralds. But although he despised Alberich, he didn't mean any harm. And though he probably had friends who were not at all trustworthy, there was no way yet to prove that to him. To give him the benefit of the doubt, Alberich was fairly certain that if anyone could bring Gartheser proof of his friends' iniquity, there was no doubt that he would drop them without hesitation.
Orthallen, on the other hand....
Well, Alberich had no real evidence against the man, other than the evidence of his feelings. Or perhaps, his Gift. Either way, there was something about Orthallen that put his back up, like a cat scenting a snake. He had no evidence against the man, and nothing other than his instincts to go on, but—
:But I agree with you. There is something altogether ruthless about my Lord Orthallen. As if he doesn't care who or what is ruined so long as he comes out with what he wants.:
Now that was an interesting observation, coming from a Companion. Was this purely Kantor's feeling, or did he have some other source of information? :What if you hooved fellows conspire to keep Orthallen safely occupied with something else? Do you think you could organize that?:
:I can try, but I'm not a miracle worker. The most difficult part is that no one seems to see anything wrong with Orthallen but me and thee.: Kantor sounded discouraged, as well he should. :My fellow Companions don't like him either, but that could be only because he doesn't really like our Chosen.:
:Then thee and me will have to do what we can.: Among a thousand other things....
He pulled his attention back to the Council meeting, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the Council members, after their initial shock, were actually pulling things together. Surprised? No—astonished. He truly hadn't thought they would bury their differences and get straight down to working together, burying feuds and sparring and jockeying for power so quickly—
But they were! The horseshoe-shaped table buzzed with half a dozen overlapping conversations, as the Councilors dropped their political differences and settled down to the task at hand. Sendar somehow kept track of it all; Selenay just kept track of who was in need of a page, of writing materials, or just another pitcher of drink. As the time candles burned down, Selenay sent more pages for food and drink, while the Council organized and coordinated the resources of their territories, Guilds, crafts, and associations. They were tallying up what could be brought down South immediately, what could be collected in a fortnight or a moon, what could be spared, and how much could be done and still leave just enough left to keep everyone from starving to death over winter, and no more. Because now, finally, they all realized that even if the entire kingdom was left impoverished, that ruthless stripping of resources still had to be done in the face of the enormous threat that the Tedrels posed. Finally, finally, they understood. And at least now that they understood, they were prepared to act, and act swiftly, with no argument. The shock over, they were showing their mettle. Even Lord Gartheser.
"Better hungry and cold than dead and cold," said Lady Donrevy grimly. That seemed to sum up everyone's feelings.
Not before time, but at least it was in time. Alberich settled his face into a mask of indifference. It was time for him to observe, and nothing more. As the candlemarks passed, the daylight faded, and pages brought and took away laden and empty platters and pitchers, he watched and listened.
His time to act would come later.
«»
"No, and no, and no!"
Selenay was in a temper; losing patience with her maidservant entirely, she pulled the useless gowns out of the traveling chest, wadded them up, and threw them on the floor. She did not want the creature to try and foist the blasted things off on her again.
"I will not take those gowns, or these gowns, or any gowns at all!" she snapped, as the maid snatched the dresses up with an expression of shock and offense, and smoothed them hastily. Selenay felt a pang of guilt over the crumpled and wrinkled state of the delicate white silks and satins, raimes and linens—but not enough to show that she felt any guilt. "How many times must I tell you? I'm going to a battlefield, not a fete, a ball, a state visit, or a festival!"
"But, Highness, you will be surrounded by highborn young men!" the maid protested indignantly. "Your Highness cannot possibly wish to appear the hoyden—"
Great good gods! What part of "battlefield" doesn't she understand? Selenay suppressed a groan, and wondered what demon had possessed her to accept this foolish woman as her personal servant.
Because Uncle Lord Orthallen sent her to me, of course. And now I can't dismiss her because he'd feel as if he'd let me down. And I did need a proper lady's maid, one that knows about hairdressing and all that sort of thing....
Unfortunately, the creature did not know about Heralds, nor did she care. She cared only about the trappings of rank, the care of gowns, the importance of self-importance, and she could not seem to fathom that there was another set of duties of the Princess and Heir that went far beyond looking handsome, attracting a husband of suitable rank, and following the appropriate court etiquette. Yes, she was sheer genius when it came to dressing well and looking exquisite. But that was all she was good for. On the whole, the woman was far more hindrance than help, especially now, and finally Selenay sent her on a fool's errand into the attics just to get rid of her, knowing that she would be packed and gone long before the woman got back.
Then she did something she would normally never have done. She pulled out everything the maid had packed, and tossed it out, all over the furniture, the floor, wherever it happened to fall when she dumped the packs. The maid could do something useful for a change when she returned; she could pick it all up, see that the gowns were pressed and brushed, sort out all the hairdressing nonsense and cosmetics, and put it all away. Selenay could braid her hair by herself very well, and the only "cosmetic" she was likely to use "out there" was soap.
With the maid out of the way, it took just over a quarter of a candlemark for Selenay to pack. It wasn't difficult, she'd learned how to pack for the field long ago, and had watched her friends as they packed up to go out countless times. Wistfully, she had watched them then; she had known it wasn't possible for her to go, but she had wanted to, so badly.