Nor was that all. Their pleasures turned to simpler things; they lost interest in anything that was an intellectual challenge. They generally stopped reading or writing, left the household accounts to underlings, often left anything vaguely creative in the hands of their slaves, and saw no reason to leave their own bowers except at the insistence of their husbands. Their lives became centered on three things: their appearance, pleasing their husbands, and childbearing. They became obsessive about jewels and gowns, often changing four and five times in a day, they would throw themselves off a cliff if that would make their lords happy, and they longed for nothing more than to bear as many children as they could, and as quickly.
In short, they were as controlled as the human concubines, and just as compliant. It was no accident that while the Change was worked on a maiden’s body, her ruler saw to it that it was worked on her mind as well. Why alter the body only, when with an exercise of magic, discontent, improper ambitions, and inconvenient interests could be wiped away as cleanly as if they had never existed in the first place? One could completely remold a maiden or a wife to suit one’s own needs.
How convenient for their lords.
She’d had that nightmare about being Changed, enduring the pain of the Change itself and the horror of feeling her mind, her self, drain away, and had done her best to forget the dream and how vivid it had been. Now it came back to her with redoubled clarity, as if it had been, not a dream, but a premonition.
Her hands and heart went cold as ice.
She fought her fear down. No, Lord Tylar wouldn’t have her Changed, surely! It was very difficult, and very expensive, either in terms of strict recompense or in terms of the demands the mage would later make on the “customer.” Only the greatest of mages dared to meddle in such ways, and the greater a mage, the more power and prestige he already had. Surely there was nothing Lord Tylar could offer that would tempt one of the High Lords to help him in such an undertaking!
But her body would not respond to her desperate reasoning. Her body and her heart were afraid, deeply, deathly afraid. Her throat closed so tightly that she could not even swallow; her face felt like a mask of wood, stiff and unmoving, and her mouth went dry.
Her breath came in short, frightened gasps, as if she were a rabbit at the end of a chase; her heart pounded as she again reached for the piece of paper. She reread the note, searching for a clue and finding nothing. But—there was no indication that he was going to have her Changed, and surely he’d have let something slip if that was his intention. Wouldn’t he have told her to dismiss her slaves, or insisted she not speak to Lorryn? For that matter, if he intended to have her Changed, why send her to her mother to be told about it in the first place? Why not simply have a pair of burly guards come and take her away without any warning? By letting her know in advance that he had planned something for her, he actually increased the chance that she would cause a scene when she learned what it was.
Perhaps, she told herself frantically, it was something simpler—an ordinary scolding for not living up to the standards her father had set for her, for not carrying out the orders he had given her.
Gradually her breath eased. That made more sense; that was logical. Lord Tylar always took the easiest route to anything, and he always left the scoldings to Lady Viridina. Her throat opened a little, as she forced calm on herself.
Yes, that must be it. Lady Viridina was going to deliver a lecture on duty and how she had failed in that duty. Then, perhaps, would come another round of the lessons she had foreseen; unpleasant and time-consuming, but not a disaster, just something to be endured until Lord Tylar forgot about her again. And he would forget about her, especially if she kept herself out of sight, as long as there were no choice matrimonial prospects in view. She was no real drain on his resources, and she was ornamental enough in a plain, quiet way. She occupied Lorryn, and kept him from getting into trouble by doing so. She could even be trusted to oversee some of the household on the occasions when he needed his wife at his side.
Surely that is all that this note means. If it were something that would be as expensive for him as having me Changed, wouldn’t he want to deliver the orders in person, and see to it that I was conveyed away with a minimum of fuss and damage? Wouldn’t he want to oversee every tiny detail, from telling me what was to happen, to seeing the end result for himself? He would be here to make certain he got his money’s worth.
So she tried to convince herself, although her heart was not so easy to calm. It was hard to get her fear down to even a manageable level. It took every bit of will to rise from her uneaten breakfast and pretend that she was calm and collected. She ordered her dress with extra care, her voice so subdued with dread that it was hardly more than a whisper. She allowed the slaves to tend to everything; she was afraid that her hands would begin to tremble, so that even the simplest task would be impossible. In a haze of fear and depression, she took herself to her mother’s bower at the appointed hour—which was directly after the breakfast that she could not force herself to eat. At least she would not have to wait to hear her fate…
She walked down hallways in a state of tension that made every tiny detail stand out. Her mother’s bower was not entered by a conventional door, but through one of the magical curtains of sheeting energy that also protected the harem from intrusion. A slave was there to meet her, and steered her away from the sitting room to another part of the bower entirely, and Lady Viridina received her daughter in her own study, though the room bore very little resemblance to Lord Tylar’s study. This was a stark room, small, with only a desk and two chairs of the simplest design; the floor, walls, and ceiling were a uniform cream, the desk and chairs a slightly darker shade of the same color. Viridina was reading something as Rena came in; she gestured to the single empty chair without speaking, and Rena took it, obediently, without a word of her own. She sat there, stiffly upright, with her hands folded in her lap, her whole body so taut with tension that she felt as if she vibrated with every heartbeat.
Finally Lady Viridina put the paper down, and looked up at her daughter, her face and eyes completely inscrutable. “My Lord Tylar wishes me to tell you that he is very pleased with you,” she said—words so surprising that it was only by force of will that Rena kept her mouth from dropping open with shock.
He’s pleased with me? With me? How? Why? What did I do? What does he think I did?
“It seems that you spent a great deal of time with V’keln Gildor er-Lord Kyndreth at the fete,” her mother continued, and waited for an answer.
Rena nodded, numbly. Was that all it was? Just that she was kind to a bumbling idiot? A handsome bumbling idiot, granted, but then there were no such things as uncomely elves—
—except maybe me.
“The House of Kyndreth is an ancient and powerful House,” Lady Viridina continued. “Not quite as powerful as that of Hernalth, but older. There is a great deal to be said for their lineage, and Lord Lyon is accounted a power in the Council. His favor is eagerly sought after.”
Again Rena nodded, unable to imagine where this was going. Had Gildor’s father been grateful that she had spent any time at all with his son—grateful enough to have complimented her to Lord Tylar? Perhaps even grateful enough to be willing to support Lord Tylar in the Council?
“Well, you seem to have impressed Lord Gildor in many ways,” her mother said, without so much as a lifted eyebrow. “And it is difficult to impress Lord Gildor enough to cause him to remember any experience for more than a few hours. Or so it is said, according to your lord father.”
There was no hint of irony in her mother’s voice, and nothing in her expression to suggest humor. Rena hardly knew what to think. She certainly had not expected either candor or irony from either Lady Viridina or her father.