Hoard

The “private lounge” was really more of an enclosed booth—spacious enough not to feel cramped, but cozy in design. Its center was a broad, circular table, surrounded by a single long, round seat at roughly knee height and incredibly deeply padded, with a scattering of throw pillows. The room itself was square, so the round bench left a ledge around its perimeter upon which ornamental plants and decorative statues were displayed. Opposite the door, the entire wall was dominated by a window, featuring frosted glass and multiple layers of gauzy white curtains, an arrangement which admitted ample light while obscuring the view.

Percy was huddled as close to one corner as she could get on the round bench, still covering her face with both hands; Pheneraxa sat beside her, looking worried and uncertain. Shadrach had ensconced himself at the other corner and lounged there as if all this had been arranged for his benefit personally, already reading his book again.

Kaln slipped into a spot by the door. Rhivaak had multiple dining customs; he’d eaten both in tall chairs and sitting on the floor, and this was about halfway between the two. It was more comfortable than he would have expected.

He’d only just gotten settled when the thin door was pulled upon from the outside, the heavy curtain within pushed aside, and another young woman glided in, a tray deftly balanced upon her arm.

“A fine morning to you,” she said, politely ignoring Percy’s distressed state, and bent to lay her tray in the center of the table. “Please enjoy this chilled water, delicately flavored with cucumber and lime, to soothe away both heat and fatigue whilst you settle in and decide upon your order. The house’s specialties are listed in these menus, but the Rose is able to accommodate many additional desires, should you have special requests. The chef prides herself upon versatility.”

“No need,” said Shadrach, looking up with a smirk. “I’ll just have—”

“You’re about to ask for the most expensive thing on the menu,” Kaln interrupted, “because the thought of wasting my money amuses you. My money, Shadrach, is all inherited, from someone whose very memory I despise, and I have more of it than a person could conceivably spend in a lifetime. It means nothing to me. Instead of squandering this opportunity trying and failing to be a prick, why not just order something you will actually like? I have an idea of about how often you get the opportunity to dine on anything of this quality.”

Shadrach stared at him in grim, pointed silence for two slow seconds, then snatched up a menu and commenced scowling at it.

“I shall return in a few minutes,” their server said with a discreet smile, ignoring the byplay, “to hear your needs. Please do not feel rushed, honored guests. You may order whensoever it suits you.”

Bowing, she retreated, gently closing the door behind her with a muffled click.

“Are you…feeling any better?” Pheneraxa asked hesitantly.

“…mortified,” Percy mumbled through her hands.

“It’s okay, nobody blames you,” the dragon assured her. “It was just—”

“By you!” Percy exclaimed, finally lowering her hands. She was still flushed bright pink, but scowling in anger. “I mean, by me and by you. Do you know how humiliating it is to be…picked up and hauled around like luggage?”

“I—I—”

“I was not incapacitated! I just needed…a little space. You know that! Shadrach already provided it. Shadrach was more helpful than you!”

“Situation: normal,” Shadrach commented without looking up.

“I’m…sorry.” Pheneraxa looked crushed. Kaln was fighting all his instincts, which wanted him to jump in here and reassure everybody. Fortunately he had other, more developed instincts, warning him that they needed to work this out. Maybe with a little light help, but it would be a mistake for him to step in and try to fix it. “I didn’t mean to…embarrass you. I was worried, Percy. After the last time… I didn’t know what to do.”

At that, he had to interject. “Last time? I don’t remember that. Do you mean when she first arrived?”

Percy covered her face again.

“No… It was in the old city,” Pheneraxa answered, still watching Percy. “After you left. She just… She seemed fine and then she just crumpled, and I didn’t know how to help.”

The princess heaved a deep sigh, grudgingly lowering her hands again. She still stared down at the table, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

“I’m sorry, Pheneraxa. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you were trying to help. It’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, it’s mine. I should have explained ahead of time. Or…last time.”

“Yep,” said Shadrach, still perusing the menu.

“I hate talking about it,” Percy whispered. “I hate being…being a burden. At home, everyone understands. They’ve dealt with me for years, they know what to do. I was so hoping… I was trying to be better.”

“You’re not a burden,” Pheneraxa insisted.

“Yes, I am! Everyone says that! It’s automatic, it’s a platitude, and it’s not true. I can’t do anything—I’m not fit to be provided for, all I do is live on other people’s charity and contribute nothing. I hate it!”

“Nah, you’re just spoiled,” said Shadrach.

Everyone, including Percy, turned venomous glares on him, and he finally looked up, continuing before Kaln or Pheneraxa could lay into him.

“I mean, your family didn’t do you any favors by keeping you locked away. If you’d been born in a poor family, you’d’ve had to work. If your folks didn’t have the luxury of keeping a mouth to be fed that wasn’t attached to a working pair of hands, they’d have had to pound it into you. That way you’d probably have ended up with a lot more trauma and hangups, but you’d be able to cope better. There’s a tradeoff for everything. It’s hard to say that would’ve been better, just different.”

“Wow, that was…almost helpful,” Pheneraxa said.

“I don’t want to press you, Percy,” Kaln said quietly. “It would be helpful if we knew how to help you, though.”

She sighed again, once more staring at the table. “Well…you saw. Sometimes things get to be too much. Anything that’s…that’s new, or a lot at once. I get overwhelmed. It’s not…it’s unpredictable when and how. Sometimes it doesn’t hit me like that until a while later. Sometimes I can stop it if I feel it coming in time, and can go be by myself in familiar surroundings. That’s not even the worst of it, that doesn’t actually happen very often. I’m bad at people.”

“You are not missing anything.”

“Just shut up, Shadrach,” Pheneraxa exclaimed.

“I don’t understand what people are trying to communicate most of the time,” Percy said quietly. She looked and sounded so depressed Kaln had an urge to sidle over there and hug her, but of course he maintained space. “I understand language just fine. It took me the longest time to figure out that that’s barely half of communication. There’s… There are all these nuances. Facial expression and body language and cultural norms and…and…there’s so much, and I don’t get it! People have—I mean, my family have tried to teach me. Maman and Franz have actually managed to help a bit, but they were figuring it out as they went because apparently even they don’t know how they know, at least not well enough to explain it in words. It’s just instinct for everyone but me!”

Percy absently lifted her hands above the edge of the table, and Kaln noticed for the first time that she was rapidly rubbing her thumbs across the fingertips in a complex sequence of taps that was almost too fast to follow. Seeming to belatedly realize this herself, she balled her hands into fists and stuffed them back into her lap.

“A princess has to be good at these things. The role—the job is entirely social. Royalty are meant to be of service to their nation, that is the only point and the only use of royalty. Mother is firm and extremely clear about this! My family care about me a lot, I have never felt unloved, but…but… You can’t have a princess who just lurks in her rooms and isn’t any good to anyone! All I do is live off tax revenue and contribute nothing and cause problems. My family and my country are better off without me. Vanimax did them a favor. A big favor, swooping in before anything happened that made them decide it was necessary to get rid of me. I know it would’ve come to that eventually. It would have hurt them far worse, but Mother does not shirk from painful duty or allow anyone else to. This…it’s lucky this happened. It’s better this way. I’m just… I’m sorry to be your problem, now.”

Shadrach was ostentatiously absorbed in the menu. Pheneraxa looked almost as plaintive as Percy—helpless, unsure what to do, and hating it. The young dragon shot him a pleading look across the table.

“You should talk to Izayaroa,” Kaln suggested.

Percy looked up, frowning at him. “About what?”

A soft rap sounded against the outer door. After a second’s pause, it was pulled open, and then the curtain pushed aside to reveal their waitress, who bowed.

“Do forgive the interruption, honored guests. I am ready to be of service, unless you wish me to return later.”

Kaln winced; Shadrach was the only one of them who’d even looked at a menu.

It was he who spoke first. “Lamb biryani, medium spice,” the mage said curtly, tossing his menu back down on the tray next to the still-untouched water.

“He means lamb biryani, please,” said Kaln.

“I have never meant that, in my life, to anyone.”

“You do here and now! You can be as much of an ass to me as you want, but I’ll have my wife bite off your legs before I let you abuse servicepeople on my coin.”

“Which one?” Shadrach asked, smirking.

“Both legs, Shadrach. Forgive me if this is an odd request,” Kaln continued, turning back to the waitress with a smile, “but I’m a traveler from Rhivaak who doesn’t know enough about Missari cuisine to order intelligently—all I know is that I love having new experiences. Based on my experiences in the marketplace I’m comfortable with what seems an average level of spicing in Shamissar, so if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to request whatever the chef would recommend to an inexperienced but adventurous newcomer.”

“Ah! Good sir, I most ardently assure you it is the opposite of trouble,” the waitress replied with a deep bow and a pleased smile. “In fact, hearing this shall absolutely make the chef’s day. She will take this as a sacred charge, and ensure you the ultimate welcome to the fair shores of Shamissar.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll have what he’s having,” said Pheneraxa.

“She’ll have it a bit less spicy,” Kaln added.

“Now, see here—”

“Pheneraxa, to dine on high quality food is an experience, and I would greatly regret seeing you miss out on the proper enjoyment of it for the sake of making some kind of absurd point. You should get something that will make you happy, not that will make Shadrach stop making fun of you. Nothing will accomplish that, anyway.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that’s an unbeatable argument,” she said sourly. “Very well. I will amend my request with the proviso that…I have a somewhat more delicate palate than the Rhiva, here.”

“In the grand bounty of Missari cuisine, there exist a cornucopia of flavors both intense and mild,” replied the waitress. “Our chef shall be delighted in the extreme by the opportunity to introduce honored guests to its full scope.”

“I…I don’t know what any of this even is,” Percy said glumly, staring at the menu she had picked up during the preceding exchange. “I’m sorry. I also don’t know what to order, but I’m not as…um. Not as adventurous as my friends.”

“Do pardon me if I presume, good lady, but does that happen to be a Mitzen accent I detect?”

Percy looked up at her, blinking in surprise. “Oh! Um, no, Verdi. That was really close, though.”

“Ah, do forgive me, the Evervales are an intricate place and at this distance I fear the nuances are over my head. Shima Vaat is blessed to sit at an intersection of trade routes, and the Rose prides itself on offering a taste of home to many a far-flung traveler. Do you happen to like pierogi?”

Percy sat bolt upright. “I do! You can do that?”

“The chef can do many things, good lady. Her sausage and cabbage pierogi happen to be a particular specialty, however, which she is always pleased to have an opportunity to create. If you wish to join your friends in trusting her expertise, she can also produce an array of traditional side dishes. And, if you will further accept her recommendation for dessert, the Rose is blessed to have a quantity of Verdi honey in storage, from which I am sure she would be ecstatic to craft a delicacy for such a discerning palate.”

“That…that would be wonderful.” Percy looked almost on the urge of tearing up.

“Then so it shall be.” Deftly gathering up their menus without disturbing the carafe of water and still-untouched glasses, the waitress bowed and backed up through the door. “Do please take your leisure, honored guests. A feast befitting your most admirable tastes shall be underway for you in moments. We must not rush perfection—and less than perfection the Rose will not deign to serve.”

The curtain swished shut again, the door clicked, and they were once more in private.

“Verdi honey has to be stupid expensive in a place like this,” Shadrach commented.

“What’s it to you?” Pheneraxa snipped.

“You’re wearing a translation pendant and speaking Filvallin,” Shadrach added in a more contemplative tone. “The fact that she was able to even hear your accent is uncommonly impressive. That kind of attention to detail is something diplomats and spies develop, not waitresses.”

“This is obviously an expensive restaurant,” said Kaln. “People who make their living catering to the rich and powerful have to be a lot sharper than they’re given credit for. It’s a point worth keeping in mind—we should probably be careful. Speaking of, Pheneraxa, thanks for shielding us from eavesdropping all day.”

She scowled. “I have to say, it’s a little unnerving that you’re aware of that.”

“Everybody has their talents,” he replied with a wink. “Like, for example, at the Royal Archives we have a couple of what are called variant stations. One used to be one of my favorite places to visit—it was set up so the clerks there worked in a kind of semi-open enclosure right at the intersection of six of the major hallways in the Archives. It was a high-traffic area, people were always coming through, and it was also designed to be purposely distracting. Stained glass that made different patterns on the floor as the sun moved, hanging chimes that would go off with every little breeze, and they had a different kind of incense burning each day.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Percy said, aghast.

“For me, too,” Kaln agreed, grinning. “Well, no, not that I wouldn’t like it, I just wouldn’t get anything done, working there. Too many people to stop and chitchat with. In fact, the Lord Scribe eventually banned me from visiting them during my working hours, which…yeah, that was reasonable. But that’s what made it a variant station, you see. There are some folks who aren’t able to concentrate properly unless they have constant stimulation and distraction. Izayaroa put together programs to make accommodations for people with mental variants like that, so most government offices have at least a couple. The other one in the Archives was just the opposite: off in the very quietest back hallways, everything strictly routine and quiet and controlled. The people working in there were not to be disturbed, you could get in big trouble for bothering them unnecessarily.”

“Mental variants?” Percy asked, staring at him fixedly.

“So, back when Izayaroa was putting together Rhivaak’s hospital and university systems, one of her scholars had a breakthrough in treating madness with magic. That was previously considered unreliable verging on impossible, but he designed spell formulae to treat mental illnesses by targeting the abnormalities in the brain that caused them. Here’s the thing, though: once that method was known, and scholars began working to expand it, they kept hitting dead ends. A lot of conditions responded well to it, but a lot didn’t. Healing magic works by… Well, at a basic level it has to start by distinguishing good from bad, by knowing the body’s base state and remedying alterations to it. There are some mental conditions that exist across most sapient populations which aren’t treatable this way. Because, for purposes of healing magic, they aren’t illnesses. They aren’t wrong; those people aren’t insane, they’re supposed to be like that.”

She was staring fixedly at him, silent and even more wide-eyed than usual. Pheneraxa was watching Percy; it was likely she’d read about at least some of this previously. Shadrach had his book out again and was pretending to ignore them.

“The breakthrough happened,” Kaln continued, “when Izayaroa herself had the idea to try accommodating these kinds of mental variations rather than regarding them as aberrant. She gathered up some specialists and set them to cataloging as many of these conditions as they could, and figuring out as much of their needs as was possible. Then designed recommendations to accommodate them. And that worked. There are people whose minds are a little different; it’s not that they’re insane, they just aren’t built to work within certain cultural frameworks. Oh, yeah, this kind of thing tends to be culturally dependent, too. So she made programs to provide employment for them in government offices. Izayaroa hates wasting talent.”

“How…how many of these variants are there?” Percy asked tremulously.

“I’m afraid I don’t exactly know,” Kaln admitted. “It’s one of those things I kept meaning to study up on, but… There’s always so much to study and only so many hours in the day.”

Pheneraxa nodded sagely.

“But that’s why I suggested talking to Izayaroa,” he continued. “She definitely knows a lot more about this than I do. Percy, I can tell just from talking with you over the last week that you’re not stupid or crazy. I’m willing to bet that whatever…uh, issue you’re having, it’s something along these lines. Izayaroa would probably recognize it and have ideas about ways to help you get along, if you described it to her. I promise you that wouldn’t be an imposition. She feels responsible for how Vanimax treated you; I think she’d be really glad of the opportunity to do something good for you beyond just providing hospitality.”

“Why,” Percy whispered, “why is this the first time I’ve ever heard about any of this?”

“Cos Boisverd isn’t much of a country,” Shadrach grunted. “Rhivaak is always beyond the cutting edge of social programs because its incredibly powerful immortal Empress likes to use parts of it as laboratories to run huge social experiments and figure out stuff like this. Most countries don’t have the resources to follow along, and a lot of cultures find the entire business terrifyingly creepy.”

“A subject about which Shadrach is completely neutral, as you can see,” Pheneraxa added.

“It’s nothing that needs to be solved right now, or can be,” said Kaln, finally pouring a glass of cucumber-lime water and pushing it across the table to Percy. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk with Izayaroa once we’re back. The job before us right now is to relax, rest, and have what will probably be the best lunch any of us can remember.”

It was, for all of them except apparently Shadrach, whom Kaln ignored on the grounds that he would probably never admit to enjoying anything.

After an early (locally; for them it was closer to dinner) and magnificent lunch, they resumed Percy’s shopping at a more sedate pace, by unspoken consensus taking frequent, aimless detours from the busy market streets to window-shop along the sleepier districts beyond. Returning to Madame Ludensky’s to pick up the altered dresses was the last errand of the day, undertaken just as the afternoon reached its zenith, by which time Percy was visibly uncomfortable in the tropical heat.

Upon returning to the customs office, they were greeted politely by the same commissioner as before—who had been on duty before dawn, and whom Kaln hoped they hadn’t kept at his post the entire day but very much feared that was exactly what had happened. Well, at least this trip had been educational. Dragons could pass for dragonborn among random adventurers, but evidently not in any circumstance in which mages would be inspecting them closely. Had he known what kind of intake procedures Shamissar had for teleporters, he would never have suggested coming here.

The commissioner informed them diffidently that departing the country via teleportation didn’t require the same controlled measures as entering it, but that he nonetheless appreciated their diligence in letting him know they were leaving.

Minutes later, they were back in the foyer area of Shadrach’s tower. It was after dark in Dragonvale, and Percy was struggling to repress her increasingly huge yawns.

While the dragon and the princess stepped outside, Kaln lingered to settle up accounts with their transportation.

“Hey, Zelekhir,” Shadrach said suddenly, holding his new Illuvon Lenses. “Did Atraximos have any more pairs of these in his hoard?”

“What, you want to do business, now? Well, I wasn’t planning any more excursions, but if something comes up—”

“I meant for the girl,” the mage said irritably. “I used to know a guy who got fits similar to that. He described it as…too much information coming in. More data than his mind could process at once, so it would build up in a backlog until it turned into emotion and overwhelmed him.” He wagged the black glasses at Kaln. “These work by helping the mind process things it normally can’t. They provide a kind of…buffer, so dangerous input doesn’t actually affect the brain.”

“I…huh. Do you… Would that actually work?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of ‘em being used for that, but logically, it’s at least possible. In the worst case, it can’t hurt to try. These are protective gear, the very definition of safe. She couldn’t even break the lenses and cut herself.”

“Thank you, Shadrach,” Kaln said, smiling. “Now I guess I’d better get out of here, before you go revealing any more of your soft, gooey center.”

“I have a terrible premonition this isn’t the last time we’re going to meet,” the mage growled, “which forewarns me that at some point I’m going to end up dropping you through a hole into someplace dark and nonlinear until you learn to keep that yap of yours shut. Goodbye, Zelekhir.”

Kaln was still grinning as he stepped outside and the door slammed behind him. Pheneraxa had already assumed her larger form and was clinging to the side of the mountain with Percy astride her neck. With a simple exertion of will, he flashed across the space between to join her.

“That is a very neat trick,” Percy observed. “I wish I could do that. Climbing up here was quite uncomfortable. It would be extremely helpful if I could get on top of Pheneraxa at will.”

The dragon twitched beneath them. Kaln would have given a lot to see her face in that moment, but she had her head turned stubbornly forward out of their view, and he decided to be merciful.

“All right, ladies, today was a good trip. We had fun and got stuff done—altogether a successful outing. Now let’s go home.”