travel?”
“Is it troublesome?” I asked. “Sitting quietly every few days, so that no vestige of root growth mars the sheen of silver or moon-blue or lemon-froth? The hair dresser is the one who makes the effort to create the magical spell that transfers the colors to your hair.”
Lasva’s dimples flashed. “So exhausting, to sit for a hair dresser, when otherwise we sit in a carriage. I cannot decide if she wants me to begin fashions—or to make myself a hum.”
“I don’t think there is any danger of that,” I said.
“Neither did I,” she said, “but whenever I think I am safe from ridicule because of my rank, I only have to remember that poor fellow from Chwahirsland. He was a king, but they would have stepped on his shadow if they were not so afraid of my sister, who’d invited him for treaty purposes. So they hummed behind his back. What do they chirp behind my back?”
The hair dresser arrived, showing no reaction when the princess gave the order for her hair to be restored to its natural color. The hair dresser had set out her pots but put them away again. Then she performed a different set of spells, that sent the false color into the ground in the manner of the Waste Spell we all learn soon after we begin to walk.
Kaidas had slipped up the stairs, found the suite empty (Lasva always hired the floors above to prevent footsteps from disturbing us) and made his way to the balcony, from which he heard our voices.
When the hair dresser left, Lasva peered in the mirror at her newly dark hair. “It makes me look… pale.” She tapped her fingers to her lips in distaste, but said nothing more.
I never heard her say a cruel thing, though all around one heard casual slanging of the moon-pale or slug-faced Chwahir. The word “pale” alone carried enough derogatory associations. “I will need fabrics that bring my skin tones out again.” She shrugged, then whirled away, arms raised. “I’m still stiff. What was that I saw you doing on the private terrace at dawn yesterday? Is that what they call the Altan fan form?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do that? I never heard they taught it to scribes.”
“It keeps the wrists strong, as well as the body.”
Lasva clasped her hands. “There is something compelling about it, suggestive of strength. Almost the opposite of dance, which exhorts us to be light and fluid as water. Teach it to me.” And when I began a protest, she waved a hand, “Ah-ye, I know. You are not a proper teacher. I will hire an expert if I take to it. Now, all I want is to experiment.”
I fetched my long fans from my trunk. Lasva took one to spread and inspect. Neither of us was aware of Kaidas standing on the wickerwork balcony above us, caught by the sound of Lasva’s voice.
“I read that people actually fought with these fans,” Lasva said. “Didthey really, or is it metaphor? I have yet to read of anyone truly treading on someone’s shadow, yet our language is rife with references.”
“The instructor told us that the first Duke of Altan won his land after a duel with fans. See the points on the blades? These are rounded, and made of the light wood, but I did some research and learned that centuries ago they were thin steel, as sharp as carving tools.”
“That must have been quite heavy. Even these have heft.” She turned the fan over. “Black on one side, white on the other. Why is this? Caprice?”
“It’s so the master can see your moves. For certain forms, correct style requires only one side visible at a time.”
“Low shoulder,” she said, touching the blades below the plain white-sided mount. “Ours have high shoulders.”
“Gives the fan more strength,” I said. “Court fans merely have to set a breeze going.”
“I still do not see how one could engage in battle with this.” She poked it into the air. “With a sword, I know you press the point into the opponent. That frightful mural in the old palace made that evident.”
“I will
“Is it troublesome?” I asked. “Sitting quietly every few days, so that no vestige of root growth mars the sheen of silver or moon-blue or lemon-froth? The hair dresser is the one who makes the effort to create the magical spell that transfers the colors to your hair.”
Lasva’s dimples flashed. “So exhausting, to sit for a hair dresser, when otherwise we sit in a carriage. I cannot decide if she wants me to begin fashions—or to make myself a hum.”
“I don’t think there is any danger of that,” I said.
“Neither did I,” she said, “but whenever I think I am safe from ridicule because of my rank, I only have to remember that poor fellow from Chwahirsland. He was a king, but they would have stepped on his shadow if they were not so afraid of my sister, who’d invited him for treaty purposes. So they hummed behind his back. What do they chirp behind my back?”
The hair dresser arrived, showing no reaction when the princess gave the order for her hair to be restored to its natural color. The hair dresser had set out her pots but put them away again. Then she performed a different set of spells, that sent the false color into the ground in the manner of the Waste Spell we all learn soon after we begin to walk.
Kaidas had slipped up the stairs, found the suite empty (Lasva always hired the floors above to prevent footsteps from disturbing us) and made his way to the balcony, from which he heard our voices.
When the hair dresser left, Lasva peered in the mirror at her newly dark hair. “It makes me look… pale.” She tapped her fingers to her lips in distaste, but said nothing more.
I never heard her say a cruel thing, though all around one heard casual slanging of the moon-pale or slug-faced Chwahir. The word “pale” alone carried enough derogatory associations. “I will need fabrics that bring my skin tones out again.” She shrugged, then whirled away, arms raised. “I’m still stiff. What was that I saw you doing on the private terrace at dawn yesterday? Is that what they call the Altan fan form?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do that? I never heard they taught it to scribes.”
“It keeps the wrists strong, as well as the body.”
Lasva clasped her hands. “There is something compelling about it, suggestive of strength. Almost the opposite of dance, which exhorts us to be light and fluid as water. Teach it to me.” And when I began a protest, she waved a hand, “Ah-ye, I know. You are not a proper teacher. I will hire an expert if I take to it. Now, all I want is to experiment.”
I fetched my long fans from my trunk. Lasva took one to spread and inspect. Neither of us was aware of Kaidas standing on the wickerwork balcony above us, caught by the sound of Lasva’s voice.
“I read that people actually fought with these fans,” Lasva said. “Didthey really, or is it metaphor? I have yet to read of anyone truly treading on someone’s shadow, yet our language is rife with references.”
“The instructor told us that the first Duke of Altan won his land after a duel with fans. See the points on the blades? These are rounded, and made of the light wood, but I did some research and learned that centuries ago they were thin steel, as sharp as carving tools.”
“That must have been quite heavy. Even these have heft.” She turned the fan over. “Black on one side, white on the other. Why is this? Caprice?”
“It’s so the master can see your moves. For certain forms, correct style requires only one side visible at a time.”
“Low shoulder,” she said, touching the blades below the plain white-sided mount. “Ours have high shoulders.”
“Gives the fan more strength,” I said. “Court fans merely have to set a breeze going.”
“I still do not see how one could engage in battle with this.” She poked it into the air. “With a sword, I know you press the point into the opponent. That frightful mural in the old palace made that evident.”
“I will
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