Page 59 of Claiming the Tower
“Glory, is it?” Hereswith plucked the last of the hairpins out of her hair and shook it loose.
“That is not helping. Oh, let me braid it for you. Talking first. And yes, glory. You’re...” Bess rummaged for the right word. “Something changed.”
“Mmm. Yes. I had a conversation this afternoon where that surprised someone. I made the comment that I was not going to paint myself with woad. And besides, Wales is as chilly as Scotland this time of year, at least up by Dinas Emrys.”
Bess took a step back. “What on earth were you talking about? No, wait. Hair, let me get out of my dress. Talking. Have you eaten?” Hereswith had not eaten sufficiently, so Bess presented her with the tray, and then went off to change. It took Bess longer than she liked. Her hair had tangled in a way that took three charms and a good five minutes to solve without cutting two tangles out. By the time she came back, though, Hereswith had eaten a sandwich. She was perched on the bed, cup of drinking chocolate in her hands, emerald silk wrapped around her.
“Mmm.” Hereswith gave her a pleased look up and down. “Your glory, too. Will you let me buy you another dressing gown? So you have choices?”
“This is an unexpected mood.” Bess did not answer the question, not yet. “Why another one? This one is perfectly fine.” It was, too, and only a month old, a deep blue that Bess found relaxing, somehow, like a deep lake or the calm ocean.
“I continue to like the idea of giving you gifts.” It was a decidedly fey mood, and Bess used that term advisedly. “I ended up talking for an hour with Erasmus Forley before the meeting, and another— what time is it— after.” She considered. “Two hours?”
Bess blinked. “Not the person I’d have expected. It was helpful, then.”
“Oh, very. And it raised some interesting points. One about my predecessor. And one about something I need to tend to, and I’m not at all sure how. Will you help?”
“Yes.” Bess said it immediately, then lifted her fingers. “I mean, I’m assuming you’re not going to ask anything I don’t want to do.”
“No.” Hereswith said. “Get your chocolate, maybe? Can’t have you going without.” Bess sighed a little, got the chocolate, and came back to settle on the bed, feet tucked up, facing Hereswith. It was like being back at school, tucked in a friend’s room to chat and gossip, only this time the bed was rather bigger, certainly more lushly covered. Also, the conversation did not involve Bess trying to figure out how to talk about what she felt about boys in general or in specific.
The first part that Hereswith laid out made sense enough, the way she’d been working backwards to look at the current decisions better. The second part— of three, as Hereswith had framed it— confused her, though. “What do you mean that Theseus Harrington wore himself out?”
“That’s what Erasmus suggested. I am going to ask Blanch, at least, what she thinks. Possibly not Gervase. That might be tipping my hand. I am still coming to understand the patterns of who tells who what. And how.” Hereswith considered. “Harrington, I’m not enough of a ritualist to understand the nuances. Do we know someone who is? I suspect I’m going to want to have a stable of experts. Only, no, that makes trouble. If I ask questions, people will wonder why. And start to put the puzzle together.”
“It seems to me there are several questions there.” Bess paused, taking a sip of her drink. “What he was doing that caused him trouble. That part, properly delineated, might be something you could take to an expert. Then there is the part about why he was doing it, or what he expected to achieve. And should you be talking about that with me?”
“I can,” Hereswith pointed out. “The oath hasn’t caught me yet.” She tilted her head, tapping one finger on the porcelain cup. “Erasmus suggested a number of titles related to the Pact. Mostly monographs, the sort of thing where there are a handful of copies total. The Keep library has most of them, but not to borrow. We’ll see how much I can share about that.”
“Don’t press yourself.” Bess frowned. “What do you think Harrington was doing?”
“Trying to make a bridge.” Hereswith said it immediately, without having to think about it. “Make himself into a bridge. I know there are ritual methods for that, but they’re risky, especially without the proper supports. Like a bridge. I don’t know what to do differently about it, though. Not yet.” She shook her head. “That’s one puzzle. The third is— do you know anything about Antonia Pulverton? Or that family?”
“Mmm.” Bess let her eyes half-close. “Her younger sister was my year at Schola, though in, what was it, Salmon? Not Fox, I’d remember that, of course, they’re the sort of family who make a point of it.” She looked up. “I didn’t like her much, and I liked what I heard of her sister less. Why?”
“You know I expected my Challenge— and my being successful at it— was going to annoy some people.” Hereswith had treated it as entirely ordinary, in fact. “One person getting a thing makes people around it think about not having the thing. Even when the item in question isn’t something they really want or would know what to do with. Some people want to reach for the status.”
“Rather a lot of people want to reach for the status and glory,” Bess agreed. “Doesn’t it upset you, knowing that about people?”
Hereswith shrugged, and Bess could only partly measure how much this was covering other emotions. “If I were upset about it, I’d be upset most of the time. And not to any real benefit that I can see. I note it, I consider what it touches, and then I get on with things. It’s easier now, actually.” Hereswith cocked her head, thinking. “I feel like I have a lever now, where before the Challenge, things were slippery. I couldn’t get a good hold on them.”
That was a metaphor Bess thought she wanted to come back to, but perhaps not tonight. “So why the Pulvertons? Or is it her husband too?”
“Someone is beginning to rally rather a lot of support, with some goal in mind. I gather I will not like that goal much, but I can’t tell yet which angle they are trying to take. It’s not as if they can undo the Challenge. Centuries of tradition, and all that.” Hereswith shrugged and then drank the rest of her chocolate.
“Are there—” Bess wasn’t entirely sure how to ask this question. “Are there people on the Council who want you gone?”
“Oh, I’m sure. Who? That’s a harder question.” Hereswith did not seem much bothered by it. Before Bess could figure out how to ask about that, she said, “People have different opinions about how the world ought to be. A great deal of diplomacy is finding enough of a space in the middle to be going on with. The problem here is that I have points of leverage that can’t be shared, not like the Pulvertons want.” She turned her hands palm up. “Do they have some other candidate they’d prefer— not someone who Challenged, obviously? A son they’d like to marry me off to? Papa didn’t care for them, but he never said why. There might be something in his notes. Could you have a look, maybe? Or would you rather do something else with your time?”
It was a good question, actually. Bess shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’m glad to tend the household, of course.”
“That’s not nearly enough to keep you properly busy.” Hereswith set her cup on the bedside table. “What would you do to find out more about Antonia Pulverton?”
“Mmm. Take tea, a number of places. What I’m wondering is whether they’re focused on you— wanting something to happen to you— or whether they are looking for their own gain. The two are different problems.”
“How would you solve them?” Hereswith was leaning forward now, bright-eyed.
“If they are looking for their own gain— well, we can assume they probably are. It’s a question of what else is involved.” Bess tapped her fingers. “Then some other benefit might suit them better. Since I presume, I mean.”
