Chapter 16 Part 1 | Son in Sorrow | IHGK Book 2

Harsin sat at breakfast the next day, alone but for his eldest daughter. Ansella's robin's egg blue morning room, cheerful even in the weak winter sun, served as consolation and goad to them both; they sat silent, picking at their eggs and coffee. The butler appeared, arms full of newsprint, but set the stack before the King alone. "Affton, where are my morning papers?" asked Sedra.

"There'll be no more of that," growled her father. "I'm done with you ruining your mind. All this reading will stunt your ability to bear children."

"Papa, you know that isn't true! Many educated women--"

"Not in my house!" roared Harsin. "Not in my house! No more! I will not have the women of this family constantly disobeying me! Is your mother's death not proof enough I know best? You will obey me, Sedra. Better you should learn to bend that stiff neck now, because Brinnid of Sairland is due next year to bargain for his brother. Do you hear me? You will obey my will and then your husband's, girl, and we're both within our rights to beat you bloody otherwise!"

"May I remind you I'm not sold--excuse me, married--yet, sir?"

Harsin reached across the table and slapped her.

Sedra brought her hand to her cheek in shock. No one had ever hit her before, let alone her father. She was his favorite. He disapproved of her studying and encouraged it at the same time; they talked politics at breakfast and over dinner, enthusiastic and friendly arguments that often ended in laughter. She thought they understood one another, in spite of the disagreement over Teacher, in spite of his conventional attitudes toward her learning.

He had hit her.

She pushed her chair back, deposited her napkin beside her untouched breakfast and left the room with measured step; her father stared after her but didn't call her back. When she was certain she was unobserved, she raced up the stairs to her rooms, slamming the door behind her. "Camma! Damn you, Sinsett, where are you?"

Miss Sinsett came hurrying from Sedra's bedchamber. "Miss, what is it? Why is your cheek so red? Let me bring you some lavender water--"

"I don't want to bathe my face. I'm going out. Lay out my new black winter walking suit. I'll have the black mink muff and hat as well."

"Oh, but Miss, you haven't been out in at least a week. It's quite cold out, and the snow is thick on the ground. You won't be able to get through the woods on foot, I'm certain of it."

"Then lay out a riding suit and furs, and send a footman to the stables to bring LeiLei here. I should have gone home with Elly!"

Dressed in warm black wool and warmer fur, Sedra stomped out of the mudroom entrance, mounted LeiLei and galloped into the snowy King's Woods. So, the Sairish were coming, a deal would be made, and she would leave Tremont. She would become a figurehead and be hemmed in on all sides, even more than she already was. No reading, no walks, just endless nodding and smiling and the bed of an unknown man. Her worth would no longer be measured in her abilities but in the number of children she bore.

She'd never had any real illusions as to her future; she was "the smart one" after all, and had always known she and Ellika were destined for diplomatic marriages. She'd expected it far, far sooner than this. Perhaps Papa should have married her off more quickly; at 17 she might have been more flexible, more biddable, than she was now at not-quite 23. When mourning for Mama finished she'd be almost 24--perhaps older before the wedding could be celebrated. She'd be so far away--she'd never see Tremont again. With Mama gone, would that be so very bad?

No, it was still unsupportable, never seeing her sisters and brother again, never wandering in these woods again, never being her own person again. She was not made for marriage. She was made for learning and independence, for books and quiet woods.

Sedra stopped. She'd come to the place Teacher and Connin had called Mirror Clearing. Down the path before her stood the Travelers' caravans; pleasantly tangy smoke came to her nose. She reined LeiLei in. The old crone had invited her to take up where Teacher's instruction had left off. Yes, Maeve had been Sedra's unknown rival for Teacher's affections, but the chance to learn more about her family's unknown history, especially its women, was tempting. Maybe there'd be something in it to hold her up and guide her through the coming years.

And then there was Connin's invitation to consider.

Sedra tapped her heels into LeiLei's sides, and they started down the path toward the camp.

It had snowed overnight at Whithorse Estate as well, smoothing the rolling hills and long flat plains and turning the old Freehold in the distance into a white palace. Temmin rode out into the snow on Jebby. Alvo's greeting had bordered on curt, and he'd answered in kind; if that's what Alvo wanted, that's what Temmin would give him. By the time he came home on his steaming horse he was contrite, but Alvo had disappeared. Sunk in gloom, he left Jebby to the grooms, ate a lonely breakfast in the Morning Room and stomped upstairs to let Jenks fuss over his morning toilet.

"Bathed, trimmed, turned out and for what?" Temmin muttered.

"For your own good, sir. A man's outsides affect a man's insides, and that's all there is to it. Look at the old crow," Jenks continued as Teacher entered the drawing room. "Neat as a pin every time you see him. Orderly dress leads to an orderly mind."

"High and unexpected praise, Colonel," said Teacher, iron-colored brows raised, "but is my mind orderly because I am 'neat as a pin,' or am I neat as a pin because my mind is orderly?"

"One follows the other," sniffed Jenks. "I'm off, sir. Wallek needs more etiquette beaten into him." He shut the door behind him.

"Poor Wallek," murmured Teacher.

"Oh, he's all right, he has a hard head," said Temmin, his expression approaching a smile.

"And how is your head this morning?"

Temmin sank back onto the gold couch. "Troubled. I like the snow--love it--but today it's just cold white stuff. I can't seem to get much enthusiasm going about anything. My best friend won't speak to me, just when I need him the most. I'd say let's take a trip into the book to take my mind off everything, but I'm wary of what I'll find out."

"Shall we assay it anyway?" said Teacher.

"Oh, why not," groaned Temmin. He opened the book and the story continued.


MeiLin's picture

Most High

Re-reading this I see there might be confusion over settings, since both scenes pass through morning rooms. The original is at Whithorse; Ansella imported the room's function and appearance to the Keep. I mentioned this earlier, I think in book one, but it bears repeating now. Woulda done it different now.

"Bathed, trimmed and turned-out" is a euphemism for my husband's mantra when he's depressed. His version is "shower, shit and shave." If you can't do anything else, at least do that.

Cheez-It's picture

Your husband's absolutely right (and Jenks before him). Even if you can't manage anything more, the accomplishment of cleaning up and becoming presentable helps on two levels; one, you've managed to DO something, despite the besetting feelings of helplessness, and two, you're clean, human and no longer adding THAT particular weight of self-disgust to the depressive freight.

And to paraphrase Colonel Jenks: Fake it until you make it. Force yourself to do basic self-care long enough, and eventually you'll do it for itself -- because you've acquired the habit, and because it makes you feel better (even if only in tiny increments).

Unexpectedly encouraging lines, implying a real-world (non-fantasy) coping mechanism operating in a fantasy world. I applaud the realism and convincing nature of Jenks.

Tigger's picture


When my son was a newborn, the only thing that made me feel human was taking the time to shower, wash my hair, shave my legs. Even now that he's a toddler, there are times when that's just what it takes. It's amazing the difference being "clean" makes to a mental mind-set!

Diva's picture

I've had a bad couple weeks, and today, I just gave myself a shower, shit, and hairwashing(Since I'm a gal and don't shave). It's kinda funny that I come here and find Jenks advising Temmin to keep himself up for his own mental well-being, and that, like me, Sedra is hemmed in and restrained by her life circumstances. Also, Sedra's just barely younger than me. When she hits 24 in the story, we'll be the same age, so that makes me feel even more connected to her.

It's nice to feel connected, even just a little bit.

Oddfish's picture


Oh, Harsin, you are an assbucket. The society that made you is made of assbuckets. It is only thanks to your late wife that your children are not assbuckets.

MeiLin's picture

Most High

...but Harsin's reaction is in keeping with his style of grieving.

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