Aside from his father’s scant portrayals after the fact, the sum of Lydus’ knowledge about the king’s rising came from a single play by Taremont, who claimed to have recounted the exact morning ritual performed by an old king of Taruschkan in all its lurid details. Well, not all, since even Taremont could only get away with so much onstage, but what still remained was apparently enough to excite the Grand Inquiry in Arcinia even before a production in the kingdom had been announced. As optimistic as he could be at times, Lydus would not expect the same quality of spectacle in the palace of Gente, though he very much wished to. Instead, he would simply wait and learn the proper way of conducting himself in the same way he had done so as a child throughout the courts of Corastia: by imitating those who did it best until he finally surpassed them.
The carriage ride this morning was much shorter than the last and made more pleasant by the fact that Lydus had drunk only a little the night before. Well… More than a little, perhaps, but certainly not a great quantity. Regardless, he felt confident in a way that required something more than wine. After two weeks of laboring over his commission, there was indeed progress to report. His selection of themes and fragments had narrowed considerably, which went more in his favor than otherwise. Too many conflicting sketches at once could only distract him from completing the project in his allotted time, or else muddle the sentiments he needed his finished product to convey. Much like that horrid fountain in the courtyard that greeted him once again today, a lack of focus could be just as damaging to a composition as could a paucity of original thought.
Morning chill still clung to the air when he arrived at the palace, the rising sun casting long and hazy shadows into the courtyard. Servants bustled through open doors amongst two dozen or so hopeful penitents crowded outside. Once again, Lydus managed to escape the notice of the familiar guard, who was otherwise engaged and shouting down a particularly vocal merchant who had evidently been eluded by one of his debtors. Knowing the experience of eluding better than that of being eluded, the composer could not help but smile at the exchange and wish the best of luck to the creditor’s prey.
Even more men and women milled about just inside the entrance. All were dressed in finery likely worth the value of Lydus’ entire commission and for a moment, he thought to feel diminished by association. However, he reminded himself that whereas most of these had come here with some petition or another, whether for marriage, adjudication, or frivolity at the crown’s expense, it was the king who called on Lydus today and not the other way around. The thought almost compensated for his feeling entirely lost.
He chose to side with confidence, or at least the show of it. Looking around him, he set out to discover the man who looked either most in charge or most harried and assume that such was the royal chamberlain. It was a difficult task,what with so many dressed in sufficient regality, but finally he saw one who could fit the description. A mustached man with a tight mouth and a heavy golden chain around his neck paced before the closed and halberd-guarded doors that separated the noble blood of Arcine from the royal chambers. His hand clutched a sheaf of important-looking papers, which further impelled Lydus to seek the man out. He took a deep breath and braved the tightly packed crowd.
“My lord,” Lydus began. “His majesty the king has called for m-” The other man’s eyes narrowed in frustration.
“As he has called for everyone else,” the chamberlain said. “You will have to wait with the rest.” With that, he was off on some other errand, and Lydus was left facing the doors as a mess of shoulders and elbows accosted him from behind.
It was not the brusqueness that bothered him, Lydus thought as the sting of dismissal began to fade. Rather, it was the complete lack of recognition. Perhaps a man like the chamberlain was entirely too busy to partake in music, or else such derision for creatures of the court was something he held in common for all. If the latter were the case, he could not begrudge the chamberlain that. The more these people jostled at him like bumpkins at a puppet show, the more he found such contempt pleasing if not necessary.
But was even one hint of familiarity too much to ask?
“Lydus,” a commanding man’s voice said behind him said. “Lydus Bereant.” Evidently not, he thought with gladness, and turned to face the speaker. Delicately curled black hair rose up in a heap over his powdered face, offset below by a great coat of red-and-gold brocade.
The composer proffered his right hand.
“I have not yet had the pleasure, my lord…”
“Arris Dolmarehl. I attended your last premiere, you know. Other matters kept me from congratulating you then, but I found it quite fascinating.” A smile practiced at a hundred performances and more spread across Lydus’ face.
“You flatter me, my lord.”
“Nonsense. It is good to see that you have earned yourself an invitation here. You have no idea how the noble blood of Oravia clamors over itself just to watch King Edel put on his own shirts.” That was new, Lydus thought, his eyebrows raising involuntarily. Durent IV always had servants dress him.
“Then I shall watch with great interest.”
“You have never been to a king’s rising before,” Lord Arris discerned, a finger rising to his lips.
“No,” he replied softly. “But my father has.” The man leaned in closer and Lydus imaged he caught the scent of cloves on his breath.
“Indulge me for a moment and I shall tell you something I wish was told to me when I was a much younger man.”
“Certainly, my lord.” At last, he thought. Now was the moment he had waited for; to finally learn some secret knowledge that could propel him into even greater heights than his great but singular commission.
“The trick, Master Bereant, is asking the most using the least amount of words.” And with that, the man was gone into the crowd before he could open his mouth.
Fitting.
Perhaps it was last night’s wine that slowed Lydus’ tongue, or else amazement at such remarkable pithiness. He could not help but laugh, first a little snort of air through his nostrils and then a giggle; a few eyes turned to him and his hand shot up to cover his mouth as he feigned a yawn.
The rapping of a halberd butt on stone saved him from his predicament, only to create a new one.
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“Lords and ladies, distinguished guests,” called a boy’s high voice from the other side of the partition. “The court welcomes you to the rising of his majesty, Edel the Third, King of the Oravi-”
Even such musical tones were drowned out immediately as a clamor rose up from the assembled petitioners, who rushed to the little gate that granted them entrance to the doors of the royal bedchamber. The chamberlain sprang into action.
“One at a time, one at a time!” he called, doing little to still the crowd. “Only those listed may enter the chamber of the king!”
Where a line should have formed before the chamberlain, there was only a mob. Unknown voices shouted out names hailing from all over the kingdom; it was a cacophony no mortal could compose. Only a few who reached the front made it through under the chamberlain’s watchful gaze—a handful of lords, one comely lady and another not so much, even a Testator in his blue cloak embroidered with flames of golden thread—leaving the rest to plead for the chamberlain to check over his list if only just one more time.
Lydus marveled at the scene and more importantly, those admitted entry as Edel dressed while he must be consigned to seeing him after. What great business they must have at the palace to catch even a glimpse of the king himself putting on the royal slippers and shaving the royal face; a new war, perhaps, or a grand ball to showcase the most current Taruschkani fashions? He resigned himself to never knowing and turned away slightly from the partition when he heard his name shouted above the din.
“Master Lydus Bereant, composer!” He spun quickly; almost too quickly. The chamberlain stood behind him on his tiptoes, peering over the assembled nobles and dregs of high society. “Master Lydus Berea-” The man’s eyes fell on him and he gestured hurriedly with his free hand holding a quill pen. “Come, come! The king will not wait and neither will I.”
Lydus did as ordered. It was difficult to keep the surprise from his face, and he felt that he should. Of course he knew the chamberlain would call his name to view the first and grander half of the king’s rising. He must above all things not appear surprised, as if there was some improbability in the name of Oravia’s greatest composer being called to see the king. Let none doubt that Lydus Bereant, composer, belonged here as much as any other.
He crossed the room to the doors of the royal bedchamber hoping that at least some of the eyes that fell on him were envious.
Inside were eight or so men and women dressed in finery and two servants in knee-length embroidered coats of deep blue velvet. Behind a golden balustrade and heavy curtains drawn back to allow visitors to gaze upon the royal person, King Edel III Loresin of the Oravians still lay abed in a linen nightshirt, though very much awake. There was nervousness on the younger servant’s face as he looked about for someone in particular.
“No matter,” the king said, “I shall proceed withou-” The royal gaze fell on Lydus. He was unsure how to act, but knew he must do so quickly.
“Your majesty,” Lydus replied and moved to bow, when another man pushed past him: the chamberlain.
“My apologies, your majesty,” the other man said as he squeezed through the assembled visitors. “Quite the crowd this morning.”
“You look like a mad hare when cross, do you know that, Lord Alfeo?”
Silence took the breath from the crowd gathered around the royal bed: did the king jest? Must one laugh at the royal joke? And what if it was not a joke, but a private moment of viciousness that must never leave this room except in the most delicate of whispers?
Lydus waited for someone else to make a mistake first.
The comely woman let out the least comely laugh Lydus could recall, a mule-like cross between a wheeze and a shriek. He could only pray it was similarly sterile; a prayer made in vain, as it happened. Now that the dam had been broken by the first eager petitioner, others joined in the braying and general cacophony.
Lydus only smiled the kind of smile a dog might, his lips parting to show his teeth without reaching his eyes. If it was in fact a royal joke, he thought, it was a poor one. But he was not here to write a scathing review of the royal joke for the magazines; only to assure the king that the royal gold was well-spent. He was happy to report that most of it was. Or rather, some. A goodly portion, to be sure.
Details.
For the chamberlain’s part, he took it all in stride.
“Your majesty, may I present Lord Alsin Herimer and his wife, the Lady Sophia.” A couple to Lydus’ left looking not much older than himself bowed magnanimously. “Master Gerard Tolt…”
The king brushed it all off.
“I shall have plenty of time for ceremony when I am lying in my casket. Besides, there are no new faces here. All are friends of the court.”
Now that was new, Lydus thought. To be a friend of the court… Quite an improvement of his fortunes since the last time he had attached himself to a court of any kind, much less a king’s.
He would have to enjoy it as much as possible for as long as it lasted.
Meanwhile, the king was halfway dressed, no thanks to this menagerie of servants and sycophants. It pleased Lydus to see that that particular rumor was true.
To Lydus’ left, the chamberlain could be seen rolling his eyes.
“His majesty will now hear briefly your petitions.”
“Briefly,” interjected the king. Another score for Lord Arris the Pithy, as Lydus turned over yet again the same thought he had wrestled with since reading the king’s invitation several days prior: how to inform the king of his progress in little enough time to not be a nuisance but in sufficient detail to convince him of great effort.
In truth, there was much to discuss. Had he the time to speak with the king in private as had been the case on the day he received this commission, he could describe the work in greater detail. Here, though, as the line of men and women awaiting the king’s ear and advice crept forward toward the edge of his bed, there was hardly enough time at all. What should he say then? That a few themes had presented themselves already but that the struggle was ornamenting them in a manner not so outlandish that the composition be dismissed as so much Eritashan filigree without being simply banal? That the real trouble was a lack not of inspiration but of motivation? Beyond the money, of course. Perhaps it really was Schaeren who should have received a commission more fitting for his sentimentality or, worse yet, Alestan.
No, he thought, fixing his eyes on the intricate rug at his feet, shuffling one step at a time toward the king. This commission is mine, should I fulfill it or fail. After all, the Lydus Bereant who was his namesake was long in the grave, his music now almost entirely relegated to those of an age to follow him soon enough. If this present Lydus could not live up to the king’s expectation, why, how could his predecess-
The chamberlain cleared his throat conspicuously.
“Master Lydus Bereant, your majesty.”
His eyes snapped up from the floor and directly to King Edel’s, who sat dressed and waiting but not for long.
“Well, Master Lydus,” he asked, his words clipped as if running late, “how goes it, then?”
In that moment, Lydus found that all his carefully chosen words had gone, yet silence followed and pleaded to be filled.
“It, er… It, your majesty? Why yes, it! It goes…” The royal head nodded him along as some of those words rushed back. Something about ornamentation, he recalled. “Well. It goes well,” he replied instead.
“Good,” the king said and rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. He clapped a hand on Lydus’ shoulder; he was already gone before another single one of those precious words could return to Lydus’ now-reeling mind.
And while King Edel prepared himself for council meetings and trade negotiations and other such exceptionally royal things, Lydus prayed that he might never again see Lord Arris Dolmarehl for the rest of his days.