“Wh-where did you learn that song?” she quavered.
“Mmm? Oh, in Ransar, my dear.”
Gadrial sat up, astonished. “Ransar? You’ve been to Ransar?”
“Oh, yes.” She gave Gadrial a conspiratorial wink. “It was a perfect scandal in the family. I insisted-forcefully-on applying to the Ransaran Academy of Fine Arts and Magic. When I was accepted, I turned our household into a living hell until Papa finally agreed to allow me to attend. Poor Papa. He never did understand why it was so important to me.”
She tilted her head and peered down at Gadrial.
“I’m profoundly glad I spent those four wonderful, illuminating years in Ransar. Particularly now.”
“I don’t understand. Why particularly now?”
“Because, my dear, when my son finally recovers from his bull-headed, stubborn insistence on doing this his own way, without the slightest assistance or advice from anyone, he’s going to find himself in need of a new career and someone to help him put the pieces back together in a totally new configuration.”
“You think he’ll be found guilty?” Gadrial asked softly, and pain ran through the duchess’ eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But in a very real sense, it makes very little difference, since Jasak’s military career is likely over, whatever the final verdict.” She bit her own carefully spell-tinted lip, allowing Gadrial to see her distress. “Even as an Andaran, myself, I’m sometimes appalled by the way our menfolk embrace the absurd code that regulates the way officers are allowed to function.”
“You’re appalled?” Gadrial gasped, and the duchess’ eyes flashed.
“You think it’s easy to watch a husband or a son pay fealty to a set of rules that chew them up and spit them out through no fault of their own? I understand why they do it-why it’s important to them-better than you probably ever will. But Gadrial, child, it hurts to watch them do it, knowing they’re innocent of any wrong-doing and knowing it’s tearing them apart, inside, too.”
Gadrial felt quite abruptly small and selfish and mean.
“No, dear, don’t feel that way,” the duchess said, deciphering her stricken expression. “You’ve no idea how comforting it is, knowing Jasak has someone as wonderful as you waiting to help him when he finally lets you back in.”
“Why has he locked me out?” she wailed. “I don’t understand it. Not at all! It can’t be this folderol about being a witness. We spent months together getting back home. If ‘witness contamination’ was going to happen, it already would have!” Then she lifted her hands to her cheeks, which scalded hot. “Oh, Rahil…” she whispered. She met the duchess’ gaze, eyes wide with horror. “It did. I fell in love with him.”
She covered her eyes, moaning, and Jasak’s mother gathered her in again and kissed her hair once more.
“I know. Which is precisely why you and I are having our breakfast alone this morning. I told Thankhar to take himself off with his son and fend for themselves, and Jathmar and Shaylar are enjoying breakfast in bed. And I’ve already promised both of them that I will personally be present during their questioning, whether by military or civil authorities.”
“I don’t understand,” Gadrial murmured into the duchess’ silk-clad shoulder, which was obviously spell-protected, since the material was not only unspotted, it wasn’t even wet. “How can you do that?” She sat up again, peering curiously into the duchess’ face. “You’re not a soldier or a witness, so how can you attend the court-martial? And the Duke said the parliamentary hearings will be closed sessions, too.”
The duchess chuckled. “My dear, you’re not Andaran. Trust me. I’ll be granted admission, whether they like it or not.”
Gadrial frowned in confusion.
“I think I’d better find out what you mean. I’m in love with the heir to a dukedom,” she said, feeling more than a little dazed at the notion, “and I have no idea what that entails, politically. Or even socially.” She bit her lip. “How can you possibly keep all those crazy rules straight? And why would you want to be present when Jathmar and Shaylar are questioned? I mean, they’re the reason your son’s being court-martialed. Why would you want to protect them? You haven’t known them long enough to consider them friends, the way I do.”
The duchess sighed and gave Gadrial an odd little smile.
“You do have a way of getting to the heart of things, don’t you?” she said. “Very well, let me start with your last point. Why do I want to protect them? Because they’re helpless. And because it’s my duty to protect the helpless. That would be the case even if they hadn’t become part of my family, my household.”
When Gadrial just stared at her, totally mystified, the duchess settled back with the unmistakable air of someone about to launch into a lengthy lesson.
“An Andaran noblewoman has a lifelong duty to help anyone who’s helpless, whether they ask for assistance or not. I know very well what you Ransarans think of the notions we Andarans hold dear, the concept of service before self. But it’s very real for us, very serious. We aristocrats enjoy great privileges, but they come with great price tags. Sometimes those price tags can bring terrible pain, even rip your world apart.”
Gadrial’s eyes widened.
“Oh, yes,” the duchess nodded. “You may laugh at our militant notions all you like,” she said, arching one brow in a delicate challenge Gadrial had no intention of taking up, “but many a case of serious injustice has been set right by an Andaran noblewoman who’s taken up the cause of the person being wronged.
“We may not serve in combat, but we do fight.” The duchess leaned in as if bestowing a secret. “At school in Ransar, I learned that Ransarans and Mythlans think Andaran women are oppressed. Yet they somehow never noticed that Andaran men are every bit as controlled as the women are. They fight the wars, and we ensure the home front is worth their sacrifice. Sometimes that involves a bit more force than some of the administrators who think they run things quite expect.
“Andaran women aren’t in uniform, but we might as well be. If the Union of Arcana expects otherwise, they’re in for quite a surprise. The Andarans at the Commandery are fully cognizant of our power…and more than a little wary of our wrath. And before I’m done with this business, the rest of the gentlemen who think they run our worlds will be more than a little wary, too. I promise you that!”
Her eyes flashed in a way that delighted Gadrial.
The duchess was a fighter!
“Having said that,” the duchess continued smoothly, “let’s turn to Jathmar and Shaylar. They’re utterly helpless and at grave risk of enduring serious further injustice on several levels. That makes them my business. My official, Andaran-duty business. But it doesn’t end there, my dear. Since they’re Jasak’s shardonai-a decision on his part which I whole-heartedly support-they’re not simply in the custody of my family; they are my family, and that makes those duties even heavier and more vital for me to uphold.”
Gadrial’s brow furrowed.
“You’re serious about that. It isn’t just some abstract concept for you, is it?”
“No, indeed, it is not. Jathmar and Shaylar are legally a part of my family, part of my household.”
“Your household?” Gadrial echoed. “I thought Andaran men were in charge of Andaran households.”
She could hear the outrage in her own voice. So did the duchess, whose lips quirked again.
“That’s the general perception. But as with many other things about Andarans, it’s, ah, somewhat less than accurate. Thankhar is the lawful head of the family, but by long tradition, an Andaran wife is expected to run everything-and I do mean everything-about the home front when the men leave for war. It’s been so long since the Portal War that some people have forgotten about times when nearly every Andaran governorship was being managed by the Governess, but that is and remains the Andaran tradition.