“Dreadful to have one’s little excesses smoothed away so uniformly,” murmured the Duchess with a little smile. “Smile, dear. Appear to be enjoying yourself, or your papa will worry. And don’t be offended with me. I have raised four girls myself, two of my own, Sybil and Lyndafal, and two that Gardagger had by his first wife. Such a tragedy. Gardagger and his first wife went on a tour, you know, shortly after their son was born, and she fell ill of the batfly fever and died! All three of his children were only babies when he married me. Luckily, they were malleable. I quite liked his girls, though they both died young, as did my Sybil.” She took several more spoonfuls of soup and a bit of bread. “Your Mrs. Blessingham sounds formidable.”
“I considered her so at first, but she was a good friend,” said Genevieve. “I looked forward to several more years in her company.”
“But?”
“But . . . Father wanted me to come to court. Particularly inasmuch as I was invited to do so by Yugh Delganor.”
A shadow crossed the Duchess’s face. “The Prince of Havenor? Now, in what capacity did the heir offer such an invitation?”
Startled, Genevieve looked up to see the scarlet lips twist ever so slightly, as though the Duchess had tasted something sour. She said, “I was told it was the Lord Paramount who decided whether individuals were allowed at court, that the heir merely expressed the Lord Paramount’s wishes.”
“Interesting,” commented the Duchess. “Very interesting. Well, here are the footmen, bringing in our fish. Now we will see if Tansy knows as much as he thinks he does.”
At the other end of the table, the Marshal was attempting conversation with the Prince, Yugh Delganor, who sat at his right.
“I hear from many sources that you will shortly be going on a mission for the Lord Paramount.”
“From many sources?” The Prince frowned. “The mission is not sufficiently advanced to be talked of at all.”
“Forgive me if I have transgressed,” murmured the Marshal, falling back on the delicately deferential manner he had perfected many years ago as a junior officer. “I assumed it was a matter of public knowledge.”
“Well, Count Farmoor knows of it,” cried the Countess Inelda, who sat across from the Prince. “He tells me the Prince is going to Mahahm so we won’t all die of batfly fever.”
“The Count is correct to say I will go,” said the Prince. “Though the detail, much less the outcome, of our visit is far from sure. While I prefer not discussing matters that are still so very undecided, I suppose it does no harm to acknowledge that we intend to approach the Shah of Mahahm-qum in an effort to increase our imports of P’naki.”
“Mahahm has a monopoly on P’naki, does it not?” asked Aufors Leys, who sat beside the Countess Inelda.
“One we hope to find some way around. Mahahm’s sole export is P’naki, and the revenue from the sale supplies them with virtually all their necessities. Little food is grown there. Almost no fiber, except wool from the sheep that graze on seaweed washed up by the tides. The Mahahmbi have religious proscriptions against many things we would consider essential, such as wine and good food and various comforts. They have, perhaps, made a virtue of necessity since they have no way to pay for luxuries.”
“The entire population of the desert would simply starve and go naked if it couldn’t trade in P’naki,” said the Countess. “Or so says my husband.”
The Prince nodded judiciously. “We need the P’naki, of course, to control the batfly fevers, and while we import all of it we can get, that amount is just enough for the current population of our riparian areas where the flies breed. Though our total population remains level, in accordance with the covenants, people are always moving about. At one time they left the rivers to go up the mountains, now they are coming down from the mountains to settle along the rivers. If we are to keep the fevers at bay, we need more P’naki.”
“I should think Mahahm would be glad to increase exports,” said Aufors Leys.