Samuel slipped a finger under the high collar of his new outfit, tugging at it in a vain attempt to loosen the tight constriction around his throat. Unfortunately for him, the fabric was exceptional and refused to be stretched from the minor force. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, how nobles could find such constricting clothing comfortable.
“Please leave it be,” Arthur said, from where he sat at the front of the carriage. Samuel hadn’t even seen the man glance over his shoulder. “You’ll ruin the seamstress’ efforts if you keep tugging at the cloth.”
“It’s uncomfortable,” Samuel complained, knowing full well that his plight would be ignored. Perhaps he’d gone too far in insisting that Arthur embrace formality with him, he thought. The man was treating him like a problem child, sternly ordering him around. “How long is it to Silver’s estate?”
“Barely ten minutes, sir,” the steward replied. “If you look now, you can see Lord Silver’s home up the slope.”
Samuel did as he was suggested, craning his neck to peer forward. They were making their way up the Kingsroad, a wide and busy thoroughfare that stretched from the direct center of the city all the way to its outskirts. Even here, in the Noble District, there was plenty of traffic. A veritable sea of people making their way about the town diverted to allow their carriage room, showing no sign of discomfort or annoyance.
The only real difference between this section of the city and the areas that Samuel had explored earlier that day was the people. More accurately, how they dressed and behaved. Everyone moved with a purpose, their heads held high, and wearing fine, brightly-colored garments. None of them, he noticed sourly, wore high collars. Commenting this to Arthur, he was quick to receive an answer.
“The high collar is a famous fashion among the nobility as of late,” Arthur explained. “It signifies to the other nobles that you are kin. It may be uncomfortable, but it is a symbol of status.”
“So they make themselves uncomfortable in order to show how superior they are? What a ridiculous notion. If I were any shorter, this collar would cover my mouth.”
Arthur made no reply to that; ignoring him again. Samuel supposed his complaints weren’t doing either of them any good. It wouldn’t do well to irritate his steward, who’d come along of his own free will, to offer his aid to Samuel. He looked down at the rest of his new clothing, and let out a long sigh. At least it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared upon hearing that he’d be given a new outfit. He’d expected bright, flashing clothing to rival that of the other nobles.
In fact, it wasn’t all that different from his old robe, he thought. A long and sturdy town coat, dark blue in color, with plenty of golden thread along the hems. The white shirt underneath was a little uncomfortable, but it matched the fabric atop it well. Even the breeches he wore, dark grey, were comfortable. Both the sleeves of the coat and the bottom of his breeches were flared slightly. They were also very comfortable, the suffocating collar not included. He had to admit that the silver hawk, now emblazoned on his shoulders and between the shoulder blades, was growing on him.
“I suppose I’ll have to find a way to include Arcana’s mark,” he muttered, just loud enough for Arthur to hear him. As expected, the steward said nothing, though Samuel thought he noticed a slight stiffening in the old warrior’s posture.
“Tell me, Arthur. What is your opinion of Lord Silver?”
The steward gave a small, approving nod at Samuel’s proper address. “I’ve not had many opportunities to meet him. Speaking to a noble as highly ranked as he is is even rarer But I’ve seen him plenty, and witnessed his bearing from afar.”
He fell silent then. Samuel was expecting him to say more, but he offered nothing else. “That’s not an answer.”
Arthur let out a long sigh, almost sounding exasperated. “It is not becoming of a noble or his steward to gossip about others, sir.”
Samuel couldn’t help but think that his steward was purposefully avoiding the question now. He’d had enough experience with other people avoiding uncomfortable or nasty topics to recognize a man holding back a negative opinion. So even Arthur didn’t like the man. At once, an image of an overly important, stuffy, and self-satisfied old man came into Samuel’s mind. Great. He could only hope he didn’t inadvertently make a fool of himself at this dinner.
“We have arrived,” Arthur said, suddenly reassuming his stiff, stern posture, the demeanor he always used when in public. “Please wait until we come to a stop to step out. There is a certain decorum expected of you here, even as a new noble.”
“What are the punishments if I fail to meet these expectations?”
“Social ridicule and dismissal, of the highest order.”
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Almost made it seem worth the effort to have terrible manners, he thought with a slight smile. But he wouldn’t. Arthur had spent the majority of the trip here and the time preparing in his new home educating him on the social etiquette of Gorteauan nobles. He didn’t want to let those lessons go to waste. Quite apart from that, his mother had always stressed that he be polite to those around him, be them higher or lower than himself in standing.
“We all live in this world together,” she’d been fond of saying. “What’s the sense in making it tense for everyone?”
He was pragmatic enough to realize that she’d had a good effect on him. Elena Bragg was eternally warm and kind, with a wide-open heart full of compassion. Samuel allowed himself a moment of self-indulgence imagining what kind of a person he’d be if his father had been there to inject his personality into his son as well. But he simply didn’t know enough about the man to make any realistic assumptions.
Finally, the cart came to a halt. Arthur swiftly dismounted, speaking quickly and clearly to someone Samuel could not see, announcing him. “I bring you Lord Samuel Bragg, who recently arrived in the Capital.”
Samuel took that as his queue to dismount, and tried to make the movement as graceful as he could; not an easy thing to do when stepping out of the cart. Unfortunately, he stumbled slightly in the strong breeze, then he took in the house of Lord Silver, and it required every ounce of self-control he possessed not to let his jaw drop open in surprise.
If he’d thought his new home on the other side of the noble district was large, it was nothing compared to the structure standing before him. If he hadn’t known better, he might have assumed it was the palace itself, the place that the Royal Family called home. It was nearly as large as the College and seemed to have a lot of similarities in design. Tall towers on each of the four corners loomed so high that their peaks were lost in the low-hanging clouds. Just then lightning broke across the sky, and its light flashed ominously against the huge windows that lined the front of the building.
He could have spent an hour taking in the detail on the exterior of the building alone, but Arthur didn’t allow him the time. The steward cleared his throat, a subtle indicator to get him back on track. He lowered his head to look straight ahead, only then noticing the three figures standing before the large open doors. They were dressed in fine clothing, though they had the vaguely purposeful air of servants to them.
“Welcome, Lord Bragg,” the leader, a man in his late fifties said, bowing his head low. “Lord Silver is eager to meet you. He awaits your arrival in the dining hall.”
“Very well.”
It seemed an appropriate reply, and the servants clearly thought so. The lead man turned on his heel then, gesturing that they might follow him inside. Then he paused on the threshold, noticing that Arthur wasn’t following. He turned back uncertainly, only to receive a tiny shake of the head from his steward. Well, crap. Just what he needed, to be going into an unfamiliar scene without any sort of backup.
“My lord?”
“My apologies,” Samuel said quickly to the butler, then winced internally as the man’s obvious confusion. He reminded himself that other nobles didn’t apologize to staff. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Just assuring myself that my steward is on top of his business. Carry on.”
He sensed that Arthur approved of that particular line. For a person who disliked putting on airs, he was doing quite well. Still, he felt, bad about leaving Arthur out in the light rain that had appeared after the lightning. The gloomy weather outside only served to reinforce just how foreboding and grim the upcoming interaction would serve to be.
The entry hall of Silver’s home was even more ornate than the exterior. The floor was a dark polished stone, with a red carpet laid in a straight line from the outside door to the foot of a large staircase leading to the next floor. Samuel wondered how the rug was so clean after the traffic of so many people crossing it, at least until he saw a maid, hidden out of the way by the entrance, muttering under her breath and wiping away the water and dirt with a sweep of her hand. Very handy.
The butler led Samuel to the right, through several doors and long, high hallways. Yet again, he noticed the similarity to the design of the College and wondered if Silver was closely related to the school in some way. Alistair Silver, he knew, was a very wealthy man, and his family had been highly ranked in Milagre for many years; all the way back to its very founding. They were rumored to have close ties to the Gorteaus, who ruled the nation.
They paused briefly beside an open set of doors, and the butler politely asked him to wait a moment before stepping inside. Samuel stood still, his nose tingling with the scent of food wafting from inside the room. There hadn’t been time to eat before his departure from the estate, and just now the lunch with Shigeru and Grimr seemed to have taken place on a prior day.
“My lord, may I have the honor of introducing to you your newest guest. Lord Samuel Bragg, from Harlest.”
To his surprise, he heard a quiet round of applause coming from deep inside the room. He stepped forward then, assuming that was the correct action, and laid eyes on the largest table he’d ever seen. Nearly fifty people were seated around it, and there was a smaller - not by much - table further down the dining hall, placed perpendicular to the first and with about three dozen people seated at it.
Alistair Silver was not hard to spot in the crowd. For one, he was seated at the center of the smaller table. For another, his clothes stood a degree or two above the others’ in terms of fanciness. A long, elaborately woven robe of gold and silver, he shined almost as brightly as the delicate chandeliers that hung over each table.
“Your seat is over here, my lord,” the butler said, appearing out of the crowd of serving people at his elbow. He was indicating toward the end of the head table, at an empty seat flanked by two women clad in bright clothing. Their faces, covered by layers of paint and makeup, slightly unnerved Samuel. But he did his best to hide his trepidation and made his way to the seat.
He’d assumed that the most challenging part of his life would be learning magic and grappling with the sorrow of missing Sera and his life in Harlest. Never would he have thought that interacting with nobles and forcing himself to keep up a polite mask would be his true challenge. He already knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this encounter. But he may as well put up with it, for the sake of politeness.