Fic: Learning the Steps

[beatrice_otter]

Title: Learning the Steps
Author: Beatrice_Otter
Fandom: The Goblin Emperor
Pairing: Csethiro/Maia
Written for: dontstophernow in fffx 2025
Rating: Teen
Length: 10k
Summary: As the wedding day approaches, Csethiro and Maia get to know each other better

At AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Dreamwidth. On tumblr. On Pillowfort.

AN: The Tale of the Loathly Lady is a real story which crops up in Arthuriana and other places. It's the Wife of Bath's tale in the Canterbury Tales, and it was told on its own as Gawain and Lady Ragnell.

***

The original proposal—Csethiro did not know who had made it, whether her father or the Emperor or some nameless secretary—was for the wedding to take place on Nan'desazh, the spring lambing festival. This was the most auspicious date for a wedding in the whole year; unfortunately, it was also a mere three months after the contracts had been signed, and there was simply no way to arrange things in time. Csethiro was not often grateful to her stepmother, but she was in this; the Marquise Ceredaran had flatly refused to contemplate so early a date.

The spring equinox had been suggested instead; it was almost as propitious as Nan'desazh, and would give them an extra month to plan. Besides, there was a certain symmetry in it; Edrehasivar had been crowned just before the fall equinox, and his birthday was the winter solstice, and so to marry him on the spring equinox seemed to Csethiro (and many others at court) to be a harbinger of good fortune.

It was still ruinously short. The preparations for Csoru's wedding had taken a full year.

"Dost thou want thy wedding preparations to take a year?" Idaneän asked. Her sister was embroidering a cuff that would probably end up being part of Csethiro's trousseau; Idaneän's needlework had always been the best of the sisters Ceredin.

"No," Csethiro said, and squinted at the box she was painting. Her temper had caused her hand to jump, just a bit; that line was not perfectly where it should be, but if she added another flourish of scrollwork just there, in a contrasting color, it would look as if she intended it that way. "But it is still very aggravating to try and get everything accomplished in four months. Especially when I am not allowed much part in the planning."

The bride and groom often did not; the details were usually arranged by their families. The legally and religiously binding parts of the ceremony itself were largely fixed by tradition and the prelacy, but there were still many parts of an imperial wedding that must be decided on. What hymns the choir would sing had taken a week of intense meetings with the choir master of the Cethomeire—not that Csethiro had been allowed to weigh in. The decorations she was less interested in; all she wished was that it be different from Csoru's wedding, and substantial enough that Csoru would not have grounds to smirk about it, and that was well within her step-mother's capabilities.

But the ceremony was only part of the arrangements that needed to be made. It was the rest of it, the clothes and the wedding breakfast and financial settlements and living arrangements for afterwards that took time. And with an Imperial wedding, of course, there was the promise of what government positions would be awarded to the bride's family. The outlines had been agreed upon quickly, in the marriage contract, but the details were still being hammered out.

"I wouldn't have thought thou cared about wedding planning." Pelan looked up from the tashin sticks she was decorating—entirely too fancy for a girl not yet old enough to attend parties; by the time she was old enough that she would have any place to wear them, they would be out of fashion. Not that Csethiro would make the mistake of telling her so.

"I care about some things in the wedding itself," Csethiro said. "But those are not the only things under discussion. I care a great deal about where I shall be living, and I do not even know which of the proposed suggestions come from Father, which from the Emperor's people, and which from the Emperor himself!"

"Why cannot thou ask him?" Pelan said. "Seest him often enough!"

"For dance lessons," Csethiro said. "Hardly the place for serious discussions of our living arrangements!" There was time for conversation about things other than what Maia should be doing with his feet and hands, but not much; and if they were not dancing, she would need more chaperonage than a maid. "I have thought of asking him to tea, but …" she shrugged.

"Then our dear step-mama would be the hostess," Idaneän said, flicking an ear.

"But then he would reciprocate and ask thee to tea," Pelan said.

"Can't," Csethiro pointed out. "He hasn't a hostess, and since the coup, the only woman of the Drazhada at court is his unmarried sister."

"Not that thou wouldst have wanted to have that discussion with Sheveän there," Idaneän said.

"Shouldst count thyself lucky she got herself relegated before she became thy problem," Hozhero said. She was the quietest of the sisters, and much overlooked, but a keen observer of the court.

"Truth," Csethiro said. "If only Chavar hadn't tried to overthrow Edrehasivar, and gotten himself and Nurevis banished, we could have had some conversation at one of Nurevis' parties. He was very good at creating little nooks where one could have some private speech while still in sight of the main party." If she had known then what she knew now, she would have taken better advantage of them.

"Why dost thou not just tell him that thou wants some way to sit down and talk with him?" Pelan asked.

"Because he didn't grow up at court and his knowledge of etiquette is spotty," Csethiro said. It had taken her a very long time to figure out that while sometimes his mistakes were deliberate choices, at other times, they were simple ignorance. She still wasn't quite sure which was which, though she supposed she would learn. "He would do it, but like as not in some fashion which would cause gossip."

"I don't suppose many people would be willing to correct him," Hozhero said.

"No," Csethiro said. "They are much more willing to talk behind his back. It shall probably fall to me, much of the time, to teach him how to do things without scandalizing the whole court."

Pelan snickered.

Csethiro poked her with the end of a paint brush she hadn't used that day. "I am perfectly competent at etiquette and protocol."

"Thou simply find'st them boring, most of the time," Ideneän said.

"There is an adult woman of House Drazhada who has been married," Hozhero said. "Aunt Arbelan."

"Oh," Csethiro said, frowning. "Of course."

Csethiro had not exactly forgotten about Aunt Arbelan; they had exchanged a few letters since Edrehasivar had allowed her to remain at court, and spoken occasionally when their paths crossed. It was only that, for most of Csethiro's life, Aunt Arbelan had been spoken of as, well, one of her family, on the rare occasions that her name was mentioned. An object lesson in why the Ceredada needed to be wary of displeasing the Emperor. And it was not as if, since her return from relegation, Aunt Arbelan had taken up any public role as a lady of the Drazhada.

But of course Aunt Arbelan was Drazhada. And would make an ideal chaperone.

***

"I do not understand," Maia said. "Why does tea require more chaperonage than dance lessons?" There were so many things that still puzzled him about the court, but at least he could trust Csethiro to explain without taking advantage or spreading tales of his ignorance.

"With dance lessons, one is presumably up and moving," Csethiro said. "And ballrooms are public places, even if the door is shut with only a few people within; the same cannot be said for sitting rooms. And sitting rooms have more furniture than a ballroom."

"Yes, but not beds. I did not think that chairs were, ah …" Maia's voice trailed off as he realized there was no acceptable way to end the sentence. His cheeks grew warm.

Csethiro's ears were twitching, and her eyes darted around the room. "We … of course you will know that we have no personal experience—"

Maia nodded quickly, emphatically. "Of course."

"—but from what gossip we hear, we do not believe that beds are, ah, required," Csethiro went on, her voice slightly higher than usual. "And that different pieces of furniture may be used in different ways."

Maia could see Telimezh over Csethiro's shoulder; he looked like a stuffed frog. Maia would have to turn to see what Cala looked like. "We see," he said faintly, matching her retreat into formality and trying to restrain his imagination. They had not yet even begun their dance lesson for the day, and contemplating such things while touching her would only make things awkward.

More awkward.

Futilely, he wished for a maz to throw him a few minutes back in time so that he might stop himself from saying anything. Failing that, for the floor to open up and swallow him.

"And that is why I cannot simply present myself at the Alcethmeret for tea," Csethiro said. "My Aunt Arbelan would be an excellent choice for chaperone, as a senior lady of House Drazhada, and I would ask her, only I have but a passing acquaintance with her, and I believe that thou art regularly in her company?" She was not quite composed, but she was closer to it than he was.

"Of course," Maia said. "I will ask her." He glanced around, and his eye fell on the musician in the corner, who was probably out of earshot—they had been speaking quietly, and on the far side of the room—but who had doubtless noticed their mutual awkwardness. He flushed harder, for a different reason. "We should begin."

"Of course, Serenity," Csethiro said. "Let us begin with the Tetaravadeise Reel, and see what thou rememberest from last week." She raised her voice. "Farewell Our Friends, please."

Maia was not sure whether to be glad she had selected that one, or not. It was a contra dance, which meant that he and Csethiro only rarely touched hands while moving in figures around the other couples in their set. If she had begun with a partner dance, he would have had to take her in his arms. At the moment, he was shockingly aware of her body, and might embarrass himself. And yet he greatly desired to put his hand on her waist.

The page boys and servant girls who filled out their set joined them, and Maia tried desperately to keep his face and ears under control.

Then the dance started, and he was too busy to think on it more.

***

"It has been many years since we have hosted a tea in the Alcethmeret," Aunt Arbelan said as she poured. "We had expected it to have changed at least a little."

"How so?" Maia asked. "It is centuries old; Varenechibel would hardly have knocked it down."

"It has been remodeled, from time to time," Aunt Arbelan said. "Varenechibel's father did some minor rearranging of the public receiving rooms. But we are speaking of the décor, Serenity. The wallpaper and furnishings and rugs. The vases and artwork and ornaments. These things change with fashion and the tastes of the Zhas and Zhasan—and there were four women who came after me. Granted that your mother did not have time to put her stamp on anything," she handed Maia his cup, "and by the time Csoru came along Varenechibel would have been quite set in his ways, but we would have expected Leshan and Pazhiro, at least, to have arranged things more to their taste."

Aunt Arbelan handed a cup to Csethiro, who took it neatly. She had never managed daintiness, to her governess's dismay, but she could at least manage neatness. "Is it still the way you arranged it, then?"

"Not in its entirety, but for the most part," Aunt Arbelan said. "We are not entirely sure, for of course we could do very little to keep up with current fashions, but we believe it must be very old-fashioned, by now; certainly, you will wish to make it more to your taste, Dach'osmin, and the two of you together must take thought for what visual message you wish to make, when you receive people here."

"We beg your pardon?" Maia asked, and he must be very comfortable with the former empress to express his uncertainty so.

"We think we understand," Csethiro said, thinking about how stodgy things felt in here, with its heavy geometric lines and large over-wrought flowers. Versus how it felt to visit, say, one of Dach'osmer Iäthamar's salons, after he had redecorated. The way the sinuous curves of the furniture and wallpaper showed him to be forward-thinking, fashionable, new. "It is—fashion says things, yes? Are you old-fashioned, or in vogue?"

"Yes," Aunt Arbelan said. "Also, is the room meant for comfort, or to impress those who enter with the power of those who live there? Does it invite people to stay and talk, or do their business and get out? And there are many other concerns, as well. For example, Serenity, if you were to commission art from a Goblin painter or furniture in the Barizheise style, that would be a statement … and so would not doing it, if the Alcethmeret were entirely done in Ethuverazhin styles."

"Oh," Maia said. "We do not—that is, we know little of any of this. How do we know what will say what we mean?"

"It's usually the Zhasan's job, Serenity," Aunt Arbelan said. "You tell your bride what sorts of things you like, and what sorts of messages you want to convey, and let her work."

"We confess, we had not thought of the political messages of the furnishings," Csethiro said. "Our father is, um, not the sort who would consider such things."

Aunt Arbelan's eyes crinkled. "No, we did not think so—neither was his father. But in any case, such changes need not be made immediately; you might well wish to see the place more intimately, before deciding how to shape it to your needs. Certainly, given the short time left before the wedding, it would be understandable to wait."

"That actually brings us to one of the questions we wish to discuss today," Csethiro said. She turned to Maia. "Will I be living here? That question has not been settled, and it is not clear to me what thine own preference is."

"Surely it is thy preferences which are most important," Maia said.

"Nobody has asked what I want," Csethiro said. "And in any case, it affects thee as well! I should like to settle the matter between the two of us, and then we can present it to my father and your secretaries and they can write it all up."

"What dost thou want?" Maia asked.

"I haven't decided," Csethiro said. "Certainly I would like the option of having my own apartments, in case we rub each other wrong when we try to share a suite, or in case of … other things." Mindful of their chaperone, she did not mention the possibility that once they had had a suitable number of children, one or both of them might wish to take a lover. It was common enough, but as a maiden she was supposed to pretend ignorance of such things. "I find the idea of an independent establishment intriguing, for the novelty if nothing else. But then … If I were to live outside the Alcethmeret, it would be common knowledge every time we spent the night together. And I do not relish the gossip."

Csoru had, at first, when she was newly married and her husband had called her to his bed often. Less so later, when such summons had become infrequent and the entire court could see the slow diminishing of her influence with him.

Maia's ears had sagged, and she was not certain, but the slate gray of his skin seemed a touch less cool in hue. It was hard to see his blushes, but she was determined to learn the trick of it. "I suppose there is no way of concealing marital visits, if thou hadst thine own apartments."

"No," Arbelan said. "There isn't. And believe us, we would have liked it if it were possible."

"You lived independently, Aunt Arbelan, didn't you?" Csethiro asked.

"We did," Arbelan said. "Varenechibel didn't like sharing space. So we have no experience of living in the Alcethmeret ourself." She turned to Maia. "And your grandmother, Aderan Zhasan, also lived in her own apartments. But Varevesena's last mistress, Dach'osmerrem Mairo Rochasezharan, lived in the Alcethmeret, and we were friendly, so I can tell you at least a little bit about what that was like."

"His mistress lived in the Alcethmeret instead of his wife?" Maia was shocked, though Csethiro didn't see why; it was common enough, and men had no need to be discreet. Neither did the Emperor's mistress, unlike most women who took lovers.

"Oh, yes," Arbelan said. "Aderan Zhasan disliked the press of court events, and politics; she lived a quiet life, once she'd provided her husband with his children. She never lived in the Alcethmeret through her own choice. Instead, Varevesena had a string of mistresses—often more than one—and whichever one was greatest in his favor would act as hostess, usually living here. There are a number of suites in the Alcethmeret besides the one belonging to the Emperor, you know, Serenity; some emperors have had their wives and their mistresses both, living under the same roof. Though that depends greatly on how well the women get along."

None of this was news to Csethiro, but apparently it was to Maia; his eyes were large. "But … but didn't Aderan Zhasan resent that her husband was not faithful? And so publicly?"

"We think she found it a relief," Arbelan said. "Certainly, we wished that Varenechibel would take a mistress or three; if he had fathered a bastard son, he could have had that boy legitimated, and gotten an heir that way, and we would not have been divorced and relegated." She sipped her tea.

"Yes, we suppose that follows," Maia said, faintly.

"It's very common for noblemen to have mistresses," Csethiro pointed out. "And an emperor's mistress is a coveted position, which can come with wealth and power, if the woman is clever."

"Dach'osmerrem Rochasezharan certainly was that," Arbelan said. "Far cleverer—and more politically astute—than Varevesena was. If he'd listened to her more, things would have gone better with him. But she and Varenechibel didn't get on at all."

"Did he resent her for taking his mother's place?" Maia asked.

"Not at all," Arbelan said. "He was never close with his mother. No, the problem was that Varenechibel did not respect his father, and resented that his father leaned so heavily upon her advice, instead of thinking for himself. Or asking his son's counsel."

Now, that she had not known, and Csethiro began comparing it to what other bits of gossip she knew from her grandfather's day.

"We have no intention of ever taking a mistress," Maia said.

"If ever thou changest thy mind, I would not care, as long as she was not someone like Csoru," Csethiro said. "Or like to cause problems in other ways."

Maia frowned. "Then why wert thou so upset about Min Vechin?"

Csethiro flushed. Although Maia already knew she had thought him stupid and gullible, and taken the flirtation as evidence of that, she did not wish to say it. "Thou knowest why," she said stiffly, unwilling to retreat back into formality. It seemed cowardly. "And also, an Emperor is expected to take women of great rank as mistresses. Opera singers are for merchants and the lower nobility."

Maia was still frowning; he obviously knew nothing of the unspoken rules governing such things, but that was not what Csethiro wished to discuss today.

Aunt Arbelan, all the gods bless her, was considering the delicate sandwiches and cakes set out beside the tray, giving them at least the illusion of privacy.

"But to return to the main question," Csethiro said, "dost thou wish me to reside here in the Alcethmeret, or outside it?"

"I … would be pleased always at your company, an thou wishest to give it," Maia said. He paused. "And I do not wish the court to be gossiping about our relations," he said in a rush.

"Very well, then," Csethiro said. Although if he thought there was any force on Osreth which could prevent such gossip, he was dearly mistaken. "But wouldst allow me a separate apartment, should I ever so desire?"

"Of course," Maia said.

"Then I shall tell my father so, and thou shalt tell thy advisors so, and that will be one less item of debate," Csethiro said.

"You should speak with the housekeeper about which suite of rooms you shall wish to take," Arbelan said. "We would suggest redecorating that space, at least, before you are wed and come to live in it."

"That is an excellent suggestion, thank you," Csethiro said, and added it to the things she would need to do sooner rather than later. As preparations mounted, her time was becoming ever more demanded by this task or that one, and she gave a small sigh as she considered her calendar.

"Do you have any thoughts on the matter, Serenity?" Aunt Arbelan asked.

Maia flicked an ear. "We have not explored the Alcethmeret, aside from the central areas and the rooms we use. It feels … rather awkward, to merely wander, when one must always be escorted."

This was probably true, and certainly Maia's normal self-consciousness would lead him to feel it keenly. "Yes, I see that," Csethiro said. "It must be hard for thee. I confess, I would be able to disregard thy nohecharei and other attendants most handily … but then I am the eldest of four sisters, and the ability to doggedly ignore the people around me and hold stubbornly to mine own course was deeply necessary in the nursery."

Maia smiled at her, and Csethiro returned it, happy to have won it from him. Maia's smiles were a rare treasure to be earned, and she was coming to cherish each one. "Perhaps I shall join thee on thy tour, an Merrem Esaran schedules it when I am free."

"I would like that," Csethiro said. Of course the housekeeper would coordinate with the secretary to see that the Emperor would be free, now that the Emperor had expressed a preference.

She thought about her mental list of other things to discuss. "We know, of course, that as a man and as the Emperor thou hast control over those negotiating in thy name, as I do not over my father." She was about to ask if there was anything he desired that would be best settled between the two of them, when she noticed that he had become ever so slightly more still. Maia's tells were very few, and small, and she was only beginning to pick up on them.

She thought back on what she had said, and could not think of what he might be reacting to. Of course he had control over his secretaries and lawyers; besides the fact that he was Emperor, Chavar's whole reason for attempting to overthrow him was that he would not be Chavar's puppet.

Yet he had not relaxed, and there was a faint discomfort around the eyes. "Maia," she said slowly, "dost thou not feel that thy men are following thy desires?"

There was a short pause, and Maia did not meet her eyes. "They cannot, for we have given them no instructions save to do whatever is appropriate."

At this Csethiro sat back in her seat. "But … why?" And why had he fallen back into formality for this, and not the discussion of her chambers?

Maia shrugged helplessly. "What do we know of marriage? We have never seen it, nor heard of it outside of novels. And few enough of those; our guardian had a few novels by Budarezh and Omdar, and the servants would sometimes smuggle in blue-backed novels our guardian did not approve of.

"Surely you must have some other experience of married couples?" Csethiro matched his retreat into formality. She reviewed what he had told her of his history. His mother had, of course, been married, but he had never seen her with her husband; his guardian had also been relegated apart from his wife. The manor he had been raised in had few servants, and servants tended to be single. "What about in the village?"

"What village?" Maia said.

"The one attached to the manor you were relegated to," Csethiro said. "There would have been married couples there."

"There wasn't one." Maia shrugged. "It was only a hunting lodge."

"Even hunting lodges have small villages attached to them," Csethiro said. "Who would maintain the house and its grounds, and provide food for it?"

"There was a small village a few miles away," Maia said. "And a few isolated houses closer by. We got vegetables and grain from them, and the groundskeeper hunted to provide us with meat. But our guardian did not permit us to visit the village; the marsh was dangerous to travel in, and besides, he did not want us to associate with the lower orders."

Which would have left young Maia with no one to speak to other than his guardian. What a cruel thing to do to a child. Every time she learned something about his past, it was worse than she had imagined possible. A thought struck her. "Then … how did you decide upon us to be your Empress?"

Csethiro had not been pleased to be selected (though she had felt some small bit of triumph, that Csoru would ever after have to give way before her). But she had seen immediately the political calculations behind it. Csethiro was well-bred, wealthy, dutiful, healthy, intelligent, and well-connected. Yet she was not a member of any of the factions jockeying to control the Emperor; her father was not good enough at politics for that. Redressing the insult to the Ceredada made an excellent excuse to sidestep the demands of both Chavar and the Tethimada and choose a woman not connected to either of them. And, upon getting to know the man behind the Emperor's whites, Csethiro had realized that they fit remarkably well on a personal level. He could match her for obstinacy, and she admired his remarkable powers of perception, as well as his compassion and will for justice. Selecting her—and getting the Corazhas to agree—had been a political master stroke.

"We … asked Csevet to choose, for he knew more of the court."

It took Csethiro a few moments to realize what she had heard. She was very careful to keep her voice level as she said, "You asked your secretary to select the next Empress."

"Yes." Maia's face and voice were unreadable.

"You are very lucky in your choice of secretaries, then," Csethiro said. "To find one who combines such loyalty with such political acumen." Had he, then, in choosing Csevet, merely chosen whose puppet he wished to be? She considered the many disadvantages Maia had had when he first arrived—uneducated, no knowledge of anything outside the tiny sphere of his relegation, no understanding of any of the forces at court, slandered since birth, disregarded for his goblin blood—he had had no hope, on his first arrival at court, of knowing how to tread the treacherous waters. He could not have functioned effectively as Emperor without someone telling him what to do.

If one must be a puppet, then the character and skill of the person pulling the strings was crucial. And, if ever that was to change—if, with time and experience one became ready to take the reins—why, a puppet master who would not seek control beyond what was freely given would be an excellent thing. One with a low enough rank that he could safely and easily be set aside if he would not step down voluntarily would be ideal.

She doubted Maia had thought of it that way, but it was true.

And, clearly, she needed to cultivate the secretary as an ally immediately.

But that was not something to worry about now. Maia was still very tense. Aunt Arbelan was nibbling on a sandwich as if it was the only interesting thing in the room. Time to turn the conversation in a direction less fraught.

"Aunt Arbelan, perhaps you would have some advice," Csethiro said. "Surely, as the only married person here, you have some thoughts? What provisions of your marriage settlements did you find the most onerous, or the most useful?"

"Oh! Yes," Arbelan said. "Our marriage was very unlike yours will be, of course; it was more business-like than anything else. We each had our roles to play, and our duties to fulfill. There are any number of conduct manuals that can teach the basic duties of marriage; some of them even list the husband's duties, and not merely the wife's. But really, as long as the two of you respect each other and listen to each other, you will do well together."

This was probably true, but Csethiro had been hoping for something more concrete; she did better with tangible goals.

Arbelan seemed to be considering. "Go on, Aunt," Csethiro said.

"There is one thing that you might consider, in the legal settlements," Arbelan said slowly. "You must understand, Serenity, we do not mean to suggest that you would ever treat anyone as Varenechibel did, nor that Csethiro has anything to fear from you. But … if you include something in your settlements, and put it also in the settlements of your children, then it may become tradition, and some future Empress may be protected by it."

"Would it be possible to prevent an Emperor from relegating his wife?" Maia asked dubiously.

"Not through the marriage settlements, surely," Csethiro said. Such a private agreement between husband and his wife's family could not possibly constrain the power of the Emperor in such a way.

"But there are many things that might be done to make any such relegation more comfortable," Arbelan said. "For example, we did not have access to our dowry. Varenechibel kept that, and we received an allowance. Of course people in relegation are seldom allowed access to their full funds, and for good reason—"

"One would hardly want traitors such as Sheveän and Chavar to have access to resources sufficient to do anything dangerous with," Csethiro said.

"Exactly," Aunt Arbelan said. "But we were no danger to our husband or the Ethuveraz; we were merely inconvenient. We do not know the particulars of the Empress Chenelo's relegation, but we imagine it would be similar."

"Yes," Maia said. "That is, we were too young to notice any poverty before our mother died, but certainly we felt it at Edonomee."

"It would be easy enough to add a clause to the settlement, saying that if I am put aside for any reason except treason, I would be given control of my dowry," Csethiro said. "Or even—" she broke off, and gathered her courage. "Thou couldst specify that my dowry would always be under my control. From the beginning."

"That would be just," Maia said, ears twitching. "But … would it be legal? Doesn't a wife's property always become her husband's?"

Csethiro did not quite sag in relief that he had not been offended by the suggestion. She knew him well enough by now that she had not expected the scorn or anger that any other man would have had, but it had still been a risk to suggest. He would surely never agree to it, but it would be the coward's way out to never even ask.

"It is indeed the general law that a wife's possessions—excluding her jewelry and clothing—become her husband's upon their marriage," Arbelan said, "but if a woman's fiancé and father agree otherwise beforehand, and set it down in a contract or in the marriage settlements, then she will retain full legal possession of her property. But, Serenity, if you were to agree to such a thing, there would be talk."

"Everything we do causes talk," Maia said. "Why would this be any different?"

"A woman retaining control over her own property is more common when it is a widow who remarries," Csethiro explained. "Or the daughter of a prosperous merchant or guildsman might retain her property, especially if she has no brothers and her husband will be taking over her father's shop. Among the nobility, it is rare, unless the bride is of a much higher rank than her husband … or the husband is expected to be feckless."

Maia's ears flattened as he considered this. "So," he said slowly, "If I grant thee the courtesy of assuming you are capable of handling thine own money—and the justice of keeping thine own property—people will say that I am stupid or that thy father thinks I am a wastrel, or that I am admitting that I am not worthy of marrying a great elvish lady."

"Yes," Csevet said, her heart in her throat. It had been too much to ask—foolish to even consider the possibility—but she wished it were possible.

Maia flicked an ear dismissively. "They will think all of that regardless of anything I do or say. I do not believe it to be a reason to cheat you of what should be yours by right."

The set of his jaw was positively mulish, and Csethiro did not think that his advisors would be able to argue him out of it.

For propriety's sake, she should smile and assure him that her dowry was of course his to manage, and that he should not waste his political capital on something so insignificant. But she would not. For it was significant, and she should be allowed to control her own money.

Aunt Arbelan sighed. "That is very admirable, Serenity, but … not very practical. An Empress's allowance is very generous, she will not lack for anything. A clause stating that in the case of relegation she may draw upon her dowry without limit would be more than enough to protect her from any privation or embarrassment."

"We are sure that is the case," Maia said. "And yet it is still not just. We do not say we should ask the Corazhas and Parliament to change the law of the land; but this is within our power, and easily done. And it is just. And Csethiro desires it, and we believe she is right to."

***

On the way back to the Ceredada apartments, Csethiro had the greatest trouble keeping her countenance and ears in a properly dignified manner for the soon-to-be-Empress. She did this by reminding herself that, however much joy and astonishment she might feel at his taking her side now and proclaiming it to be just, and holding to it despite all arguments for propriety and politics, that same stubbornness would likely prove highly troublesome in the future. Csethiro herself was not very good at acquiescing to the will of others even when they were right; she foresaw some bitter arguments in their future, for surely there would be times when they would disagree and each would be certain of their own righteousness. And even as firm as he had been, there was a very good chance that, after consultation with his advisors, he would see the need to bow to propriety in this, and her dowry would become entirely his property upon their marriage. And the obstinate look upon his face had not been attractive at all.

But thinking about that in a public place was not wise, for she had come to appreciate the sight of him in a way she had not, at first. On Varenechibel, the Imperial white had so washed out his face and hands that he seemed almost to recede into his clothing, more like an unpainted marble statue than a man, entirely consumed by the role.

On Maia, the Imperial white was striking. The contrast made his face more noticeable, emphasizing the man inside the clothing. And he was filling out nicely, losing the gawky adolescent look he had arrived at court with; she thought that when at last she saw what was underneath the stiff white fabric, she would be very pleased. And his eyes were so fine. The grey that had disappeared into Varenechibel's pale face was clear and striking on Maia.

Even at the start, when the betrothal was announced, her consolation had been that at least he was handsome enough, and performing the intimate aspects of her marital duties would not be a hardship. Now, she found herself looking forward to it.

***

It was perhaps the least important consequence of Chavar's coup attempt, but the disruption of his social schedule was the most annoying to Maia on a personal level. The Emperor could not hide himself away in the Alcethmeret; the Emperor must attend social gatherings and at least attempt to make positive connections with the members of his court. Nurevis had been adept at arranging things to suit Maia's comfort level and his lack of social graces. Without Nurevis, things were harder.

Despite this, the evening party Maia was atttending was not bad. It was hosted by Dach'osmer Ashadar, and Maia was attending it at Csethiro's suggestion. Ashadar had not been one of the sportsmen whose presence Maia had found so soothing at Nurevis's parties, but his nephew was. As the younger Ashadar was wholly dependent on his uncle, he perforce attended every party his uncle invited him to, along with several of his friends. Which meant that there were people present whom Maia not only knew, but felt comfortable around, and whom he could lurk near and listen to their conversation without being expected to contribute much—nor feel judged for his silence.

Although given his riding lessons with Velvet, he had at least learned enough to follow the conversation, and ask the occasional leading question, so he was no longer wholly silent.

Csethiro arrived about halfway through the evening, as she had been at a different party. She looked particularly lovely, in a burgundy gown he had never seen before. The skirts were a bit fuller than was quite fashionable, and a few inches shorter, so that he could see the embroidery on her slippers. The fuller skirts emphasized the curves of her body, which Maia appreciated. She smiled at him as she entered, and after making a circuit around the room, approached him and pulled him off to a little nook with two chairs and a table, upon which one of the servants had just deposited two glasses of wine and a plate of finger foods.

"Thank thee for suggesting I attend," Maia said. "It was nice to see some familiar faces."

"Thou'rt welcome," Csethiro said, selecting a canapé. "I did not know whether thou considerest any of Nurevis's friends thine own, but … thou did seem more comfortable with them than anywhere else I have seen thee."

"I am comfortable around them," Maia said. "But I am also comfortable around thee."

Csethiro hummed. "While thou took pleasure in company during our last dance lesson, I do not know that I would have called thee comfortable during it." She gave him a wicked look.

Maia felt his face heat, mortified that she had noticed.

"Do not fret, Maia, I found it quite, hm, encouraging," Csethiro said. "And a good sign for our upcoming marriage." She took a grape and popped it in her mouth. "I hope thou dost not mind if I eat? Osmerrem Ivrenaran keeps a very expensive table, but not a good one."

"How so?" Maia asked.

"Her family has a great deal of money, but not much in the way of history, so she is always anxious to flaunt her wealth," Csethiro said. "Everyone at court does so, of course, but … just because a certain spice is expensive, does not mean that it goes with every dish. Or in that quantity. And bringing in fruits by airship all the way from the Versheleen Islands was certainly impressive, but it would have been even more so if her cook had known what to do with them—or even just served them sliced up for us to try them. The wine was excellent, but I ate … sparingly."

"Please, eat your fill, and I am certain the servants would be happy to fetch us more." Maia looked around to discover that in that case they would probably have to have Kiru or Telimezh signal them. The alcove they were sitting in was in full view of the main room, but deep enough, with potted plants on either side of it, that nobody could approach directly without coming through the nohecharei.

"Thank thee," Csethiro said lightly, and spread some caviar on a cracker.

They chatted lightly as she ate. Maia, who had eaten dinner earlier, contented himself with a few nibbles.

"Dost thou read, Maia?" Csethiro asked. "For pleasure, I mean. Thou said there were few novels at the place thou wast relegated to."

"I listened, when the cook's daughter would read them in the kitchen," Maia said. "When my guardian would not miss me. But I have not had time since coming to court." A thought occurred to him. "I do not even know where I would find them."

Csethiro lifted her eyebrows. "The Alcethmeret has a library of its own, and there is also a library for the court itself. And anything thou wished to read that was not there, thou couldst of course purchase. There are several very good bookshops in Cetho, and the most prestigious one comes to the court itself once a quarter."

"I …." Maia considered trying to find something he might like, with no idea of even what possibilities there were, and how he might fit it into his busy schedule even if he did. Though he would have said he did not have time for riding lessons, and yet when he had said he wanted to learn to ride the horse his grandfather had given him, time had been found for it. "Dost thou enjoy reading?"

"Oh yes," Csethiro said with a laugh. "Adventure novels, mostly, but also history, and some of the classic works of literature." She paused. "Actually, I recently re-read the book of wonder tales that was my favorite as a child—I have found myself pondering one of the stories in it, lately. The Tale of the Loathly Lady."

"I'm not familiar with it," Maia said.

"It's one of the rarer wonder-tales, but it also appears a few times in more serious literature—in the Sevezheise Tales, the Wife of Cairado tells it, for example, and it's one of the poems in the Lays of Ethelan of Ilinveriär."

"Aren't those both … very old," Maia said doubtfully.

"Yes, and consequently hard to read, if thou hasn't a translation. But the Alcethmeret library would definitely have a copy of either, and the nursery might have a collection of wonder tales that includes it."

"I shall have to check," Maia said. "I have not read any wonder tales since … since I was a child." He did not want to turn the conversation to the pains of his past, or why he had not read any wonder tales at Edonomee. From Csethiro's sharp glance, he suspected that she had noticed his omission. But she did not ask.

"I like the dress," he said instead. "Is it new?"

"Oh! Yes," Csethiro said. "It is part of my trousseau, although technically it is not finished—when we are married, it shall go back to the gown-maker, to have white ribbons and braid added."

"The style suits thee," Maia said.

"Thank thee," Csethiro said. "I am not much of a fan of current fashions; the skirts are too tight to move freely in, and the train is annoying at best."

"And Csoru loves them," Maia said, feeling very daring.

"And Csoru started some of them," Csethiro said. "Or at least encouraged them. I am not quite egotistical enough to think she did it because she knew I'd hate it … but I must admit, I would be quite happy if she stopped being a leader of fashion in the court."

Maia raised his glass in salute to her.

***

Instead of sending Csevet to find one of the books Csethiro had mentioned, or seeking out the Alcethmeret library himself, Maia found himself drawn to the little shelf of books in the Alcethmeret nursery, the next time he visited his two youngest cousins.

"Do you like wonder-tales?" he asked them.

"Oh, yes, Cousin Maia," Ino said eagerly. "My favorite is the Three Feathers."

"I am afraid I don't know that one," Maia said. "It wasn't in the book my mother had."

"Was it a goblin book?" Mireän asked. "Could we see it?"

"It was Barizheise, yes," Maia said. "But I don't have it any longer." To his relief the girls did not ask why he did not have it, and Beshelar and Cala—who had heard him tell Lanthevel that his mother's things had all been burned—were behind him, and he did not have to see their expressions. "Do you know the tale of the Loathly Lady?"

"It's in one of our books," Mireän said. "But I like the tale of the Cowherd and the Weaver better."

"A friend told me I should read the tale of the Loathly Lady," Maia said.

Ino bounced up and down. "Cousin Maia, Cousin Maia, would you read it to us?"

"I would be happy to," Maia said. When presented with the book, he flipped through until he found the right page, and began reading. His mother had done voices, sometimes, if he had been very good that day. Maia had never tried any such thing, and would rather not attempt it the first time reading through the story.

He felt dreadfully self-conscious, although Mireän at least was listening intently. Ino was fiddling with a doll, and he would not have thought her paying any attention, except at the end she piped up. "What does sovereignty mean?"

"A sovereign is an Emperor," Mireän said. "She wants to be Empress."

"But the Faithful Knight isn't an emperor," Ino said. "So she can't be."

"Sovereignty just means that she wants to make her own decisions," Maia said. "She doesn't want to have to obey her husband. Or anyone else."

"Everyone has to obey someone," Ino said.

"Emperors don't," Mireän said.

This was not quite true—Maia had to obey the Corazhas, in certain matters, and things were generally better when he obeyed Csevet's advice—but Maia did not think it was the time to explain that. "She wanted to be the Emperor of her own life," Maia said. "So when the Faithful Knight allows her the choice of whether to be loathly in public and lovely with him, or lovely in public and loathly with him, that breaks the curse and she is her true self always."

"So if he'd made the decision for her, she'd have been stuck like that forever?" Ino asked. "That's not fair."

"No, it isn't," Maia said. "It wasn't fair that she was cursed, and it wasn't fair that her husband had the right to make the choice that she would have to live with. But it turned out alright anyways, because he gave her the choice—he gave her sovereignty."

Csethiro had wanted him to read this tale, or at least, she'd been thinking about it. Did she feel like the loathly lady, expecting to be imprisoned in a curse her whole life, and freed unexpectedly by a husband who gave her sovereignty over herself? Or at least over her dowry.

Ino asked for another tale, and he read it to them, and then it was time for him to go to his next appointment.

He was half-way through the stack of paperwork from the Parliament and Corazhas when it occurred to him that if Csethiro was thinking of herself as the Loathly Lady, she might be casting him as the Faithful Knight.

This was so unexpected a way of thinking of himself that he had to read the next document three times over before he could focus enough to understand it.

***

At their next dance lesson, Maia was distracted, and not, this time, by carnal thoughts; at least, that was what Csethiro inferred from the way he did not seem to be sneaking glances at her. The conversation was, of course, mostly related to the dance itself, and Maia was as perfectly courteous as ever, but he was not engaged by it.

"Maia, if thou hast something else that thou wouldst rather be doing, I would not be offended," Csethiro said. "Thou hast so many demands on thy time."

"Why wouldst thou think that?" Maia asked.

"Thou seemst distracted," Csethiro said. "Or, perhaps, if thou wishest to talk about whatever is on thy mind …?" The ballroom was not the best place for such conversations, but she had come to realize that Maia had very few people with whom he could speak openly, and Csethiro wished to be one of them.

"I apologize for my inattention," Maia said.

"There is nothing to forgive," Csethiro said. She had little skill at teasing answers out of people—her stepmother quite despaired of her—but Csethiro was not naturally a very subtle person, and besides, it always seemed rude to her, to try and winkle out secrets someone didn't wish to tell.

The lesson was pleasant enough, and Maia paid better attention for the rest of it.

When it was over, Maia lingered, as he often did; she did not think he took much pleasure in his duties, and it pleased her that he might enjoy her company.

"The Alcethmeret nursery did have a collection of wonder-tales with the Loathly Lady," he said.

"Oh?" Csethiro's ears perked up. "And didst thou read it?"

"I did," Maia said. "I read it to Ino and Mireän."

That sounded quite charming, and boded well for the kind of father Maia would be to their own children. Csethiro added it to the list of things she had never dared hope for in a husband, and yet would receive in Maia. "I wish I had been there to see it," Csethiro said with a smile. "Didst thou do voices?"

"I thought about it," Maia admitted, "but decided that I should not attempt it the first time I read the story."

"Understandable," Csethiro said. "Didst thou like it?"

"Yes," Maia said. "I had to explain what sovereignty meant to the girls. Mireän thought it meant that she wanted to be empress."

Csethiro sighed. "Even an empress has not much sovereignty, with the wrong emperor."

"As my mother's life proved," Maia said. He twisted his mouth, and his ears had a particular set to them that said he was holding them still with effort.

"Yes," Csethiro said. "I thank thee that I will never have to worry about that, nor my daughters, nor my daughters-in-law."

"It should not have needed me to do anything," Maia said. "The way my father treated my mother—and Arbelan, at least, though I don't know enough about his other wives to say—was wrong. It should not be allowed. If he had not had so much power over them, things would have been different. And part of that was that he was Emperor, but not all."

"Much of it was merely … that he was a man, and their husband," Csethiro said.

"I do not know that he treated Vedero much better," Maia said.

"No," Csethiro shook her head. "But there are few people in the entire Ethuveraz who would agree with you. He did very little that is not within the normal realm of what a husband and father has the right to do." They were speaking quietly, but she was very aware of the servants and musician who were also in the room. The nohecharei, they could trust not to spread gossip about the emperor's radical thoughts, but the rest … she hoped they were far enough away not to hear.

Maia nodded soberly.

"Thou likest music," Csethiro said. "Perhaps thou shouldst commission an opera on the subject. There are many operas based on wonder-tales. Or a ballet!"

"I have never been to either," Maia said.

"The Emperor has a box at both, though thy father only went to be seen," Csethiro said. "Or, at least, he might have genuinely liked the music, but if so, I never saw much evidence beyond his attendance as much as was proper. We shall have to go."

"Are there any wonder-tales about female cavaliers?" Maia asked. "If we are commissioning an opera—or a ballet—I think that would be lovely."

Csethiro blushed at the plural 'we', and the reference to her own taste. "I am sure there must be, but there were actual female cavaliers whose stories could be told, and historical stories are also common in the theater."

"Oh?" Maia said. "Thou shalt have to tell me of them, sometime."

"I would enjoy that," Csethiro said.

"In the wonder-tale, the lady is given her sovereignty by the knight," Maia said. He bit his lip. "I did wonder, if thou might be … casting me as the Faithful Knight, in the story, with thyself as the lady so freed."

"Didst thou like that thought?" Csethiro said, as archly as she could. She had never been good at flirting, but thought it might be fun to try with Maia. And they could both do with a little lighter thought, before parting to go about their day.

"A little, yes," Maia said, glancing at her with what she thought might be a hint of bashfulness. "But it seemed … wrong."

"Because thou dost not see thyself as a faithful knight?" Csethiro said. "If it is thy lack of sword-fighting skills, I assure thee, that the political battles at court are at least as dangerous—and twice as vicious—as any ever fought by a cavalier."

"It was not that," Maia said. "No. It was … shouldn't thou be the Faithful Knight? I think thou wouldst do the job handsomely."

"If I were the Faithful Knight, I wouldn't have made such a blunder to begin with, and would never have needed the Loathly Lady's help," Csethiro said, considering the story. "And then she would still be trapped in the curse."

Maia laughed. "Very true. Faithful or not, he was very stupid."

One of the nohecharei cleared his throat, and Maia's eyes went to the clock in the corner of the room. Csethiro followed his gaze, and made a face; the lesson had gone long, and so had their conversation, and Maia was probably already behind his schedule. But she did not wish to end their conversation.

"I must go, I have a meeting with our Lord Chancellor," Maia said, ears sagging.

"Is thy disappointment because thou dislikes thy chancellor, or because thou dost not wish to leave me?" Csethiro asked, voice light.

"I like my chancellor very much," Maia said. "And … I also like thee very much."

It was the most awkward compliment she had ever received, but probably also the most sincere; she smiled. "I like thee very much, also," she said.

He took her hand, and kissed it. It was the first time he had done so, and Csethiro made an inarticulate noise of delight.

"Until next time, my sensible knight," he said, and turned to leave.

Csethiro laughed and bade him a fond farewell.

***

The closer the wedding got, the more frantic preparations became … for everyone at court except Csethiro. Her gown was ready, and the last of the details of the final settlements had been agreed upon, and all that was left for her to do was to show up to the Untheileneisemeire at the correct time. Her stepmother had, just that morning, sighed and advised Csethiro to enjoy the idleness while it lasted, for surely once she was empress (and thus perforce the hostess at every major court event) she would have no time to herself.

Csethiro was not enjoying the idleness. Csethiro was pacing the small parlor like a caged animal.

"Wouldst be no happier if thou didst have to help with the wedding," Hozhero said without looking up from the letter she was writing. "Thou hast gotten everything thy heart desires—and more than thou dreamed possible. Think on that, and let it calm thy feet. Or let thy feet take thee elsewhere, where thou wilt not drive us to distraction as well."

"Sorry," Csethiro said, dropping herself into a chair and casting about for something—anything—to do. It was too cold for riding, fencing would cause talk which neither she nor Maia wanted, all her friends were busy with their own preparations for the wedding, and all other events at court had been suspended until after the wedding. She had no letters to write, she had finished the box she was working on and did not wish to start another until she was settled in the Alcethmeret, and she could not focus enough to read.

"Sister?" Pelan said, somewhat more timidly than was usual, "may I ask thee a question?"

"Of course," Csethiro said. She considered what a girl of Pelan's age might be curious about. "As long as thou rememberest that I have little more knowledge of the intimacies of marriage than thou dost."

Pelan flushed beet red. "No! That is not—that is," she collected her dignity, "any such questions would of course be entirely unsuited to our maidenly modesty."

"Of course," Csethiro said.

"I am … curious about your marriage settlements," Pelan said. "If the contract was signed before Winternight, how were the details changed later? Was that not … improper? Breaking the original contract?"

"No," Csethiro said. "None of the provisions of the original contract were changed. But it often happens that additional agreements are added later, especially when there is some reason to hurry to sign the contract, or the time between the signing of the contract and the wedding itself is long. In this case, the original contract specified what my dowry was to be, but nowhere did it state that my husband would control it. It was assumed that he would, because that is the law when no provisions are made otherwise. But assumptions are not legally binding, and so the Emperor was free to add a stipulation that I would be given control of my dowry. There were several other details that had not been covered in the first contract, as well; it was not the only addition made."

"Osmin Orchelin had a great deal to say about it," Pelan said. "About how improper it was, and how it was legally dubious."

"Everything about it was perfectly legal," Csethiro said. "The Emperor has very good lawyers. So does our father. The right of women to control their own property if their husband agrees in advance is a long-standing one; it is only that men of our class seldom trusts their wives and daughters with such power. And as I said, supplementary contracts are also well-established with much precedent."

"Then why did she say it was legally dubious?" Pelan asked.

"Because she is looking towards her future," Hozhero said.

"How so?" Csethiro asked.

"Pelan will not need a governess for much longer, and even if the child our stepmother carries is a girl, there will be several years before she would need a governess. Osmin Orchelin will need to find another position—and governesses are supposed to make their charges into proper ladies."

"Of course," Csethiro said. "And I am not exactly a good advertisement for her success at that—nobody would want to hire a governess who would teach their daughters to demand control over their own money."

"Why not?" Pelan asked. "You seem happy about it, but Osmin Orchelin is not the only one to dislike it."

"If women have control over their own money, they are less dependent on their husbands," Csethiro said. "Not to mention how many men choose their wife based on the size of her dowry. If that dowry is not under their control, they are poorer for it. But that does not mean that it is just. And there are many women who are jealous, because they will never have anything but an allowance, and there are other women who gain power by flattering men and agreeing with everything they say, and of course they would speak ill of the Emperor for giving me such power."

"But what if thou misuse it?" Pelan said. "What if thou waste it?"

"If thou thinkest men don't misuse and waste their money, thou hast not been paying enough attention to court gossip," Csethiro said.

"Oh," Pelan said. "But … if thou truly thinkst it good that he has done this, and approve of all of it, why art thou so nervous? For thou hast been getting steadily more on edge for weeks."

"I thought thou didst not wish to hear Csethiro's thoughts on marital intimacies," Idaneän said.

Pelan blushed again. "Oh." She bit her lip. "Art thou worried?"

"No," Csethiro said. "Maia is kind, and considerate, and I have had quite enough time during our dance lessons to contemplate the power and grace of his body."

Pelan's blush deepened.

"Really," Idaneän said. "I wouldn't have thought it. He's so gangly."

Csethiro smiled. "Given the available evidence, I expect our wedding night to be … lovely. And so will the life after it."

At that, Hozhero looked up from her writing. "I'm so glad. Art very lucky, sister."

"Yes," Csethiro said. She smiled, and thought of Maia, and let those thoughts warm her. "I am."