In Which Lynde Falconer Grows Accustomed To Court Life

Lynde Falconer to Thomas Crowder:

Dear Tom,

I am settling in nicely here at the Tower. Everyone is beginning to get used to me, and I have made a few friends among the staff. Master Archer trains with me daily and Nicholas Rafe when he is in town, which can never be predicted since he is always disappearing on unspecified missions for a few days at a time, and returning with different facial hair. I see Master Bilk every other afternoon to learn about poisons. I am on teasing terms with Rafe and Master Bilk treats me with creaky courtesy, but Master Archer doesn’t like to talk to me very much outside the subjects of arms and fighting. I thought it might be because he finds it inadvisable to mingle much with the fighting men, but when I mentioned it to the princess she said no, he is terrified of women and cannot relax around them. I pointed out that Rafe doesn’t like women either and he and I get along without any trouble, but she pinched me, burst out laughing and said that wasn’t what she meant at all.

The king is very kind. I see him in the barracks now and again and he seems to inspire near-worship in his men. He is certainly impressive to look at: with his golden hair and tawny skin and musculature, he looks more regal than even his statue does. But I think it has more to do with the kind of person he is. He knows everyone’s name and all about their families and interests, and you can tell by the way he listens to you that he is truly interested in what you say. In himself, he is a rather simple and straightforward type, who views the trappings of royalty as rather a bore, which I suppose is where the princess gets it from.

The queen has been away at Seaward so I haven’t met her yet. Everyone seems to go in positive terror of her, yet she also seems to be universally beloved which seems rather contradictory. I shall have to make up my own mind. She is on her way home and returns the day after tomorrow. The princess warns me darkly that the court will double in size and become a fetid swamp of petty intrigue. Lady Winifred agrees but says that the queen only keeps the worst social-climbers around her in order to keep her eye on them, and will never let them get too aggravating.

There are rumors at present of an approaching conflict with Marshweather, which I was sorry to hear. As exciting as the border skirmishes were when we were children, they were still very uncomfortable and I don’t like to see people die in the cause of national ambition. I remember feeling very proud and solemn about Jovan and Ebel when they fell defending Dumcruckle, but since Lady Dumcruckle said that they died for Marshweather’s ambition the same as Marshweather’s men did, I have never been able to feel quite the same way about it.

In any case, I offered to start drilling with the men if the king needed any extra hands, but he says I am much more valuable to the protection of the princess. I suppose she is a national asset in a way, and certainly more worth guarding than the treasury. She is working out defense patterns in the afternoons, which cheers her up a bit. She is an excellent tactician, and is trying to teach me, but when I see the little crosses on the map I know they are men, and I can’t help seeing things from their point of view instead of the larger picture of the battle. Do tell Sir Roger and the new arms-master to take a great deal of care, since we have no information on where and how Marshweather intends to strike and I will not be there to protect you.

I have managed to get the princess into the garden with me a couple of mornings a week. Her mind is so active and her body is so obviously restless for exercise that she really seems to enjoy the “hoeing and sowing.” The king took me aside during the dancing last night and said he thought it was a good idea and to keep on with it, but that I should keep it to myself and let him be the one to tell the queen. I believe he is just as much afraid of her as the kitchen maids are.

I must fly; I need to be downstairs in a few minutes and I still need to dress. I thought I would be wearing some kind of armor most of the time, but the princess told me not to bother. So I wear gowns instead, but I only have one for the evening so the princess has offered to help me make something new. She is an exquisite needlewoman, and I will feel like quite the fine lady in an evening gown embroidered by a princess!

Yours ever,
Lynde

----------

From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:

The herald has just come panting in, so Mother should be getting here some time tomorrow. She always manages to time her arrival so that she sails up like an avenging figure of doom right as the receiving begins. I've always wondered how she does it, but now that I think about it it's probably just military tactics like anything else.

I've been making such an ass of myself in the garden every other morning with Lynde that I wanted to show off a little and get my own back, so I have got her to agree to a new gown. She only has the one for evenings, and since I refuse to have her wear those tiresome stiff leathers for the entire five hours from receiving through dinner and dancing and bed, her one gown won’t be enough for long. In any case, it is only nominally fit for evenings, being brown, and barely covering her ankles, and completely without embellishment -- I have nightdresses that look more formal. It will be heaven to stop work on that benighted tapestry for awhile, and Lynde herself must be relieved to take a rest from her trousseau. She has been embroidering the same set of sheets for the entire time she has been here, with her eye on the clock so that after exactly an hour and a half, she folds them up and whips herself into a frenzy on sock knitting like a woman possessed until it’s time to change for luncheon. She came here with one small trunk for her things, and one large trunk for her trousseau, which she hopes to have finished before her wedding. The date of the wedding isn't yet decided, but it will be twenty years before she finishes all her sheets and tablecloths at this rate. I hope it is, frankly. I am not at all inclined to smile upon the young man who intends to bury Lynde away from me in the country.

Lynde didn't like to let me give her the gown, but I told her it was purely selfish of me since I intended to pick the stuff and the pattern and generally make a tyrant of myself on the matter. It will be a lovely dull sage green in heavy watered silk, to bring out the red in her hair and the green in her eyes. I am hesitating between the square neckline and the oval, but it must fall as simply as possible, in unbroken folds like drapes to wide sleeves and a small train. My fingers itch to make gorgeous patterns all over it, but I will restrain myself to a broad border of gold embroidery at neckline, sleeves and hem. She will look like a primitive goddess, and nobody will be able to take their eyes off her.

Next