She tried, unsuccessfully, to think of something that might delay this matter, or forestall it altogether, but before she could think of anything, he exclaimed:
“Ah, there he is!”
She turned her head toward the distant door where Nemesis stood, tall and dark and dressed all in black, his eyes staring in her direction like flawed marbles, blindly.
“Remember to whom you are speaking,” her father concluded, tucking her arm firmly under his own and moving off to greet his guest.
Somehow she greeted, bowed, responded to words. Somehow she got out onto the terrace with the tall man, without noticing that her father ushered them there, shutting the doors behind them. She did not come to herself until Delganor had taken her hand in his and was saying, “. . . the Lord Paramount wishes me to convey his pleasure at the prospect of your attendance at the court, in Havenor.”
The words reached her ears, but beyond her ears she felt her brain shudder and cramp at his voice. Beneath her glove, the skin of her hand crawled. She could not bear for him to press her hand again or say anything more. To put an end to it, she assented, withdrew her hand in order to make the full, dramatic courtesy, after which she remained bent, watching his heels as he retreated from her. He exchanged a few words with her father inside the door. She barely breathed, wishing she had dreamed what just happened. This had not been a play. She had not merely watched. She had been present, hideously present, and she would have given anything she owned or ever thought of attaining if she had been elsewhere throughout it all.
Genevieve’s invitation to court had come about thusly: The Marshal, who had been at Havenor on business, was bidden to an immediate audience with the Lord Paramount. Not stopping to put on court attire, he went upon the notice and was admitted into the small hearing chamber where the Lord Paramount spent part of each morning attending to the business of Haven. His Majesty sat on a low dais, in a gilded and padded chair beneath a baldachin hung behind and on either side with weighty purple velvet to shut out the draughts. The carpet around him was strewn with booklets, both talking book and view-cube, and a tottery stack of other such booklets occupied a small gilded table at his side. His crown was slightly tilted, for he habitually leaned his chin on his left hand, turning the pages with right, listening with his eyes half shut, like a dreaming tortoise. He was in this position when he received the Marshal, alone except for two members of the recently imported off-world security force—Aresians sworn to the Lord Paramount’s service and protection—who stood on either side of the door, weapons at the ready and eyes scanning the room in ceaseless watchfulness.
The Marshal saw all this as he came through the door, particularly the guards—bulky men, and strong looking, as all Aresians were. The two of them traded him look for look, silently, without a hint of feeling: no animosity, no acceptance, just alertness. The taller one was dark haired with a beard so black that his smoothly shaven skin looked blue. The other resembled him, though he was lighter, a bit thinner. They were good men, both. He wouldn’t mind commanding men like these.
“Your Majesty,” murmured the Marshal, bending a knee.
“Marshal,” said the Lord Paramount, without moving, the pages slowly turning. “You know that new minister, the one from Barfezi? Name of Gormus.”
“Efiscapel Gormus, yes, your Majesty, I’ve met him.”
“Don’t like him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
“I don’t know what it is about County Potcher in Barfezi! The place breeds these free thinkers like lice, and here’s another of ’em, all full of schemes to connect to off-world, join the community of man, open our arms and our hearts. And our pockets, he doesn’t say. And our private business, which is none of off-worlds’ affair! Well, I don’t like him. Don’t like the influence he has on some of the other ministers. Decided I need a balancing weight.” He looked up, his eyes fully open, piercing the Marshal with his stare. “I’m inviting you to come to court.”