The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (59 page)

“That’s fine,” Mahrree said absently. She
stared down at a fork to identify its markings, but really didn’t
see it.

Joriana put a motherly arm around her. “I’m
worried too,” she confided. “This is a very odd storm. But Mahrree,
there’s nothing you could’ve done about it even if you were in
Edge. And when you go back at the end of next week, we can pack the
carriage full of all kinds of supplies.”

“Thank you, Mother Shin,” Mahrree said dimly.
“I guess I feel guilty. Here I am, enjoying myself, while at
home—”

But Joriana spun her around so fast that
Mahrree lost the fork somewhere under the table. “You’re enjoying
yourself?” Joriana squealed.

“Well yes, of course I am—” But again Mahrree
couldn’t complete her sentence because she found her face muffled
into her mother-in-law’s shoulder. Joriana squeezed her so hard she
nearly burst the seams on Mahrree’s dress—the fourth one Joriana
had bought her.

“Oh, I
so
wanted you to have a good
time! Perrin was quite the crowd pleaser last night, wasn’t he? Oh,
but you—you were so quiet, and I was worried, but I was watching
you and saw that you were smiling occasionally, and I just wanted
everything to be perfect,” she said in a rush. She finally released
Mahrree who tried not to gasp for breath too obviously.

“It was . . . it was perfect, Mother Shin. I
don’t know how you brought everything together, or how it could
have been more . . . perfect.”

Joriana clasped her hands and beamed.
“Idumea’s not so bad, now is it? You
must
come back next
year, and I’ll give you more say in what goes on. We could try
something else besides dancing, you know. And then, in two
years—”

Mahrree held up her hand to stop the gush
that she feared would overwhelm her. “Let’s not talk about in two
years, please, all right?”

Joriana sighed and nodded. “I know. You’re
right. One year at a time.” Then, in a conspiring giggle, she said,
“You
will
be back next year, won’t you?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking that of your
son?”

Joriana winked at her. “I know where the real
influence is. My son’s been so completely smitten with you from the
beginning. From that first letter he sent home where he wrote,
‘I’ve met an interesting woman,’ I knew you had him firmly under
your control.”

From the hall leading to the kitchen they
heard Kindiri’s voice say softly, “Ahh . . . that is so sweet!”

Joriana raised an admonishing eyebrow at her
eavesdropping cook, who scampered quickly away.

But Mahrree’s mouth hung open in surprise.
“Really? I wished I’d known I had him firmly under control.”

The women chuckled.

“Please, Mahrree,” Joriana gripped her arm
and spoke so quietly that the maids in the other hall couldn’t
listen in either. “Perrin could do such great things here; things
that could influence the entire world.”

“I know,” Mahrree had to admit. “I didn’t
realize until last night just how much influence he actually
has.”

“Please help him realize his duty lies here,
in Idumea. It’s not about mansions, or dinners, or looking handsome
in brass buttons—which he did, didn’t he? I may have to have a word
with Mrs. Cush about her daughter eyeing my son again—”

Mahrree rolled her hand at Joriana
encouragingly.

“Oh, right, right—as I was saying, it’s not
about any of that showy stuff. It’s about someone as smart and
thoughtful and devoted as him doing the best work he can where the
whole world can benefit. Surely you can see that Edge is just too
small a stage for a man of his stature.”

That was the exact sentiment she felt last
night, but didn’t dare put into words. Because once you put it into
words, you’ve defined it, and then you have to
do
something
with it.

Reluctantly, she nodded to Joriana.

“Thank you!” she squealed and hugged her
again. “We both have time to work on him—together. Now, the
spoons,” she plowed cheerily along, since the world was going her
way again. “Where are the spoons? I was sure I had . . . left them
in the kitchen!” She bustled away.

Mahrree retrieved the fork from under the
table, wiped it on a clean cloth, and dropped it unceremoniously on
the Cush pile in front of her. Then she moved it to the garrison
pile and shoved away a nagging thought that was far too selfish for
her to indulge right now, especially since greater worries might be
coming to her from the north. But still the little thought niggled
at her.

Edge wasn’t the
only
thing too small
for such man as him.

---

Perrin was debating with himself again. His
usually quick gait had slowed considerably, giving him time to
think during the soggy two mile walk from the garrison back to the
mansion.

“There’s a difference between breaking the
law and doing something wrong,” he mused as he kicked the slush on
the ground. “Not all laws are good, logical, or even correct.
Right?”

No one countered him, so he continued to
mumble to himself.

“The law that we couldn’t teach our children
at home—that was made so that the Administrators could keep their
control over the next generation. It was in the best interest of
themselves.”

Saying the words out loud helped soften the
pounding of his heart.

“No debating. Again, for control. If no one
knows how to question the Administrators, then they continue doing
whatever they want.”

His chest burned with confirmation.

“Limiting women to birthing only two
children. Not only is that a damaging law, it’s contrary to the
Creator’s will.”

He nodded, feeling braver for saying the
words, even though they were only muttered.

“Likewise, there are acts which are contrary
to the will of the Creator which are not against the law. There’s
no law against unmarried persons engaging in behavior that the
Creator says should be expressed only in marriage. The laws of the
world know nothing of the Creator. They’re arbitrary, indulgent,
and frequently conflict with His will.”

He continued to trudge. “The Creator’s laws
are different—higher.”

A minute later he whispered, “So to who do I
owe my allegiance? To the Administrators or to the Creator?”

Perrin sighed heavily and stopped under a
tree that creaked ominously above his head as the weight of the
snow bent its boughs.

“The answer’s clear,” he announced quietly.
“But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

He continued to saunter, lost in thought and
not noticing those who passed him, or saluted, or rode by in
coaches or horses, or even paused to watch the colonel so fully
absorbed in his own private musings that he didn’t notice when he
stepped right in front of a wagonload of timbers that had to stop
suddenly to avoid running him over.

“I always liked building,” he said to
himself, not hearing the angry shouts behind him from the wagon
driver. “And there’s plenty to rebuild in Edge right now. I also
like the idea of a herd of cattle nearby. Maybe I just like the
idea that there’s always a steak waiting outside. Have to find a
way to keep them from running from me, though. Shem could teach me
a few things. Maybe cattle would like Peto . . . or Father.”

His pace picked up again once he reached the
mansion district. He knew what he had to do, and nothing was going
to stop him. Not Administrators’ provisions, not unnecessary
delays—nothing.

“We’ll just live with the consequences,” he
decided. “It’s the Creator’s opinion of me that’s important;
nothing else. I’ll do His will, and in turn He will—” Perrin
hesitated. “I guess He’ll find me something else to do. Mahrree
will agree. It was a good run. Father’s getting on in years, too,
and . . .”

He looked up at the sky—the first time he’d
done so since they came to Idumea—and evaluated its colors. The
snow had stopped and the light gray clouds were beginning to
dissipate, revealing gaps of blue. Soon the sun would be blazing
through, filling the world with blinding brightness. Already the
air was warming, but Perrin’s chest burned hot with
understanding.

He had a duty to do.

---

Mahrree could hardly concentrate as she took
notes and supervised the soldiers bringing the carpets back into
the Great Hall. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the windows
where she watched the massive snowflakes lazily falling until she
heard, “Mrs. Shin?”

The timid whisper turned her around from her
useless vigil. “Kindiri?”

The young woman squirmed before she said,
“It’s just that . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overhear your
conversation with Mrs. Shin . . . Well, that’s not entirely true. I
was kind of listening . . . makes the job more interesting, you
know?”

At least she blushed at that, Mahrree
thought.

“It’s just that . . . he really does look at
you that way,” Kindiri said, her brown eyes taking on a dreamy
quality. “The way I wished Tace would look at me.”

“Uh,” Mahrree knew she’d regret getting into
this conversation, but— “who’s Tace?”

Kindiri blinked back into reality.
“Lieutenant Riplak!” she giggled as if that was the silliest
question she’d ever heard.

“Oh, of course,” Mahrree tried to drift away,
but found herself entangled in Kindiri’s chatter.

“It’s just that . . . I don’t know how to get
him to look at me like
that
.”

Mahrree sighed. If she could get the
it’s-just-that
girl to her point more quickly, she’d get out
of this faster. “And ‘look like that’ means . . .?”

“Oh, he looks at me hungrily,” she sniggered,
and Mahrree regretted that she ever let Jaytsy go anywhere with her
alone, “but I want him to . . . to . . . love me. Like the colonel
loves you.” Genuine pain filled her eyes.

Mahrree pressed her lips together in empathy.
“Kindiri, you can’t force love. He has to decide all by himself to
love you.”

Kindiri looked down at the pressed
tablecloths she was carrying. “So how do I make him decide?”

“You can’t.”

“It’s just that . . .” Kindiri looked up
again, hopeful. “Last night he said that he was making plans. Big
plans. He wants to do something more than just be the general’s
watchdog, no offense meant—”

“Oh, none taken. The boy must be bored out of
his mind by now, plodding around the mansion after a weary old
man.”

Kindiri nodded. “And I asked him, ‘Do I get
to be part of those plans?’ And you know how he responded?”

“I honestly don’t know, Kindiri.”

“Well, he just rolled over and ignored
me!”

Mahrree blinked.

Then blinked again.

She had a horrible feeling this conversation
didn’t happen at The Dinner. Or the dance.

“Uh, Kindiri? Exactly where did your
discussion take place?”

She blushed again. “My room.”

“Uh-huh. And how often has he been to your
room?”

Kindiri now looked more proud than ashamed.
“Come on, Mrs. Shin—you’re married to a handsome officer. You know
how these things go.”

Up until that moment Mahrree had thought of
Kindiri as just another nice albeit dim-witted young woman, someone
who could have been her student years ago. Until she said
how
these things go
. There was something grubby about her tone, and
now about her.

Mahrree wanted to scrub her ears out.
“Actually, I don’t know how these things go.”

Kindiri rolled her eyes, and there was
something ugly about that, too. “Surely that young officer who fell
under your influence made his way to your bedroom a few times?”

“He did,” Mahrree said simply.

Kindiri waggled her eyebrows.

“—with his second in command right behind
him, to make us a new bed, which we did not share until after our
wedding.”

Another eye-roll. “Mrs. Shin, the army, the
city, it’s all changing. Everything’s progressing
—
”

Now Mahrree felt like rolling her eyes. Mal’s
progress speech had been manipulated for a couple of decades now,
usually to explain why something sweet and good was about to be
thrown out for something controlling or depraved. Slap a happy
label on it, such as progress, and everyone buys into the
nonsense.

“That’s all different now—”

“Hmm,” Mahrree mulled it over. “As far as I
know,
that’s
still done the same way it’s always been done.
But perhaps I should ask the Administrator of Science if something
new has popped up.”

She’d meant to lighten the mood that was
growing dark, but Kindiri just looked at her blankly. “Nooo,” she
said slowly. “I’m pretty sure that when a man—”

“Anyway,” said Mahrree loudly, trying to
throw Kindiri off of whatever thought was sticking in her doughy
head. “I think I know what you meant. But Kindiri, men have always
been
that way
. You’re not the first girl to ever sneak a man
to her bedroom. Or to sneak into his.” Perrin had affirmed her
suspicion of that kind of behavior in last night’s late discussion.
She learned a wide variety of definitions for what it means to be a
young officer in Idumea.

She also appreciated that he fled Idumea for
a posting in Vines the day after he graduated.

Kindiri turned red under Mahrree’s studied
glare.

“It’s not progressive, Kindiri, and it’s
certainly not new. What the two of you have isn’t special. It’s
just what dogs do in the alley.”

Kindiri swallowed. “It’s not like
that
, Mrs. Shin.”

“It is if he won’t marry you.”

Her chin began to tremble, and Mahrree felt
badly for putting it so bluntly. But Kindiri wasn’t going to hear
or believe anything less than the ugly truth.

“Kindiri, no man treats a woman he truly
loves as a common sow.”

Yes, Mahrree knew what that phrase meant. It
certainly wasn’t uttered in polite conversations in Edge, where
there were no “common sows” that she knew of. But Idumea—through
its more explicit performances that it sent to Edge’s
amphitheater—had introduced that idea to the innocence of Edge, and
to the tittering of her teenage boys who frequently ruminated about
the impossibilities they saw, hoping against irrational hope they’d
run into such a senseless and willing female.