The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (51 page)

“I promise I’ll find a way to prove I am not
a wild man,” he said, since he had no way of escaping except for
climbing over his mother. “That’s all you can hope for. Now, teach
me how to use a fork.”

Joriana was not amused. “PERRIN! When are you
going to get ready?”

“As soon as I make sure everyone else is,” he
promised. “But maybe you should tell me again: which is the spoon
and which is the knife?”

When his mother snatched up a butcher knife
near one of the ten dressed pheasants and threatened to show him
how to use it, he ran down the Grand Hall like a disobedient boy to
Peto’s room.

He knocked on the door and opened it. “Need
help, son?”

Peto squinted at him. “Haven’t needed help
dressing myself for over ten years now, but how thoughtful of you
to check on me, Father.” He was finishing buttoning the row of
shining brass buttons that went all the way up to his throat. “So
if this were in blue, it’d be a dress uniform?”

Perrin smiled grimly. “Same wool, too. Your
grandmother’s subtle attempt to demonstrate how handsome you look
in ‘uniform.’ She did the same thing to me when I was your
age.”

Peto evaluated himself in the long mirror. “I
like the kickball uniforms better. You should be getting dressed,
Father. I have a feeling Grandmother won’t approve of those stable
clothes for The Dinner.”

“It’s getting bad,” Perrin muttered. “Now
you’re even nagging me.”

“And I don’t have to dance.” Peto batted his
eyelashes.

Perrin sighed. “I guess I better check on
Jaytsy, then. She may be wanting a man’s opinion.” He cringed at
his words.

“Oh, she’s ready. She’s been floating up and
down the Grand Hall staircase for the past ten minutes. Didn’t you
see her? In that yellow she looks like a giant mutated hornet. Even
got her hair all . . .” With his hands he gestured some bizarre
arrangement over his head and shuddered.

“That bad?” Perrin winced.

“Yes! Some cousins of somebody’s have been
doing her up all Idumea-ically. Rather hysterically, I think.”

Perrin grinned. “Good. No one will want to
dance with her then.”

He stepped out of Peto’s room just in time to
see the hornet fly by.

But she wasn’t a hornet. She was much more a
fantastic butterfly, having taken on human form. Even with her dark
brown hair all piled up and hand-motiony, she was exquisite.

Unfortunately.

She stopped and twirled in front of her
father, the full yellow skirt rising in a flutter of roundness.
“Well? How do I look?”

Perrin swallowed. He finally had to admit she
was beautiful. And a young woman.

“Very nice, Jaytsy,” he sighed. He’d be busy
that night following around her admirers.

“Ha!” she shouted at her brother’s door.
“Told you! And if you make any more comments about my being a
hornet, I’ll sting you good and hard.”

Perrin relaxed, because if any of her
would-be admirers heard her with her brother, there’d be no
problems whatsoever.

From behind Peto’s door came a buzzing sound,
followed by the loud smack of a hand slapping the wood door.
“Eww—hornet guts.”

“You two just keep that up,” Perrin grinned,
“and we’ll be run out of Idumea before dessert.”

Jaytsy put her hands on her very dainty
waist, the skirt flaring out below and down to her knees, and the
figure-hugging silk rising up and over her shoulders. Perrin
wondered again when her body turned so womanly, and why the silk
couldn’t go any higher to encase her entire throat. While there was
no cleavage, he felt there was still too much flesh of his daughter
displayed for the roving eyes of young soldiers.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready, Colonel
Shin?” Her mature tone woke him out of his private musings as to
where he could find her a thick shawl. “You just missed
Grandmother. She’s looking for you, and she’s got a vein bulging in
her forehead.”

“Really?”

“She’s kind of scary right now.”

“I believe you.”

Jaytsy pointed authoritatively to his bedroom
door. He shrugged obediently, only because his daughter’s stance
had taken on the demanding quality of her grandmother, and whether
out of duty or genuine fear, Perrin had been conditioned as a small
boy to recognize that pose as the fifth and final warning.

Reluctantly he made his way down to his
bedroom, purposely ignoring the details that had gone into making
the Grand Hall even grander, and knocked once at his bedroom door
as a warning.

“That better be you, Perrin!” Mahrree
called.

He opened the door slowly, peered in, and
raised his eyebrows.

“I know, I know,” Mahrree said hurriedly,
brushing down the full gown that fit his ‘coverage’
specifications—over her shoulders, down her arms to the elbows, and
with no cleavage in sight.

He smiled in approval. Some views were his
alone.

“Yes, it is silk,” she confessed with some
embarrassment. “It is gray—not my favorite color. Smokey something
or the other with something sleepy. Your mother chose it, Kuman
made it . . . I would have been happy in something more like
cotton, but—”

“But nothing.” Perrin smiled broader as he
closed the door and walked over to her, his eyes traveling up and
down. She was more stunning than his daughter could ever hope to
be. Her hair pinned up emphasized her smooth neck and her perfect
shape, which the gray silk hugged down to her waist where it flared
out just like Jaytsy’s dress, but almost to the floor.

“You wear it beautifully. I couldn’t imagine
how you could look more wonderful for tonight.” He winked at her,
and the worried tension released from her face.

“You really think so?” she breathed.

“Absolutely,” he assured her. “My wife
covered in gray bug vomit. What I’ve always dreamed of.” He tried
to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

Mahrree turned pink. “I rather expected you
to say something like, ‘Just wear what you wore down here,’ but
this is actually more comfortable than I imagined. I mean, even
though it’s so form fitting—”

“Yes, it is,” he said, running his hands over
her form in appreciation.

“Perrin!” she chided, and slapped his hand
away.

But she’d have to hit him a lot harder than
that to be effective. “What’s this called?”

“The bodice,” she said, torn between fighting
him and enjoying him.

“Bod-iss,” he said slowly with a wicked
grin.

“Don’t say it like that! Someone might hear
you! This mansion is packed with strangers.”

“I’m just learning the ways of Idumea. But
what I meant was, what’s the little knotted string over the
bod-iss?”

She squirmed when she saw the look growing in
his eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. “It’s called lace.
Cro-shayed. Kind of like knitting, but thinner and with a hooked
needle.”

Perrin shook his head as he pretended to
inspect it closely. “What kind of torturous insanity requires a
person to sit and make tiny knots in a string, with a needle of all
things, just to cover something else with it? I bet if I unhooked
this part, right here—”

“PERRIN! We’re running out of time—”

“Oh, there’s always time.” He raised his
eyebrows in smoldering suggestion as his large fingers fumbled with
the first tiny clasp designed for nothing larger than raccoon
hands. “We can easily
argue
about just how much—”

She smacked his hand hard enough that he
instinctively drew it back from the impossible clasp that would
have taken him an hour to undo. Maybe that was why they were made
so tiny.

“Your mother said she’d be by again in five
minutes to check on you, and that was about four minutes ago!”

“Hmm,” he mused. “That would be cutting
things a little close—”

“She’s very irritated with you,” Mahrree
warned. “She fully expected you to change after you bathed, but
obviously you didn’t.” She fingered the collar of the worn work
shirt. “Perrin, it’s time
.
”

He winked at her and started to pull his
ratty shirttails out of his stained trousers. “Knew you’d realize
we have time—”

“For YOU TO GET READY!”

He hesitated and shrank a little under her
volume.

“Perrin, please!” She gestured to his dress
uniform lying on the bed, the medals polished and the dark wool
brushed. “You’re doing it again, being
not
the husband I
remember. Right now Idumea has reverted you back to a man less than
half your age.”

He had one or two good comebacks for that,
about how he was always as robust as a man less than half his age,
but instead sensibly elected to keep his mouth shut because . .
.

. . . because the worst moment for any
officer was to recognize when he was defeated.

He sighed and sat next to the uniform, laid
out and patiently waiting. It was another brand new jacket,
courtesy of his mother, woven of the highest quality dark blue
wool. Some poor servant or despised junior officer had been tasked
to transfer all of his medals from his old dress uniform to his new
one, and even shined them up brighter than he’d ever seen them.

But it was the garish buttons that really
stood out. Their golden hue sparkled brighter than the dull silver
buttons of the lower ranks. Perrin had never before realized what
an ugly alloy brass was.

“I’m really dreading this night, Mahrree,” he
confessed quietly as he fingered the shiny surface of the top
button, unintentionally making it more lustrous. “If we make a good
impression, we’re doomed to return. If we do poorly, my parents
deal with the consequences.”

“How about we just do our best, and let the
Creator decide the path for us?” Mahrree suggested gently. “Maybe
His plan for us involves tonight somehow, and this trip.”

“Now you’re sounding like my father,” he
mumbled.

Mahrree released a loud exhale that held more
frustration than relief. “And now you’re starting to irritate me.
Perrin Shin, get dressed and do your duty! Let’s just get this over
with! I’ll be back in five minutes, and if you aren’t ready, I’m
sending your mother in here to dress you!”

Perrin leaped to his feet, saluted, and
grinned in terror.

---

Mahrree paused as she stepped out of her
bedroom where her husband was obediently changing, and took in the
Grand Hall. Decorated in vines and flowers that dripped artfully
from the balcony above, the main floor of the Hall was lined in
chairs and side tables littered with spring blossoms and elaborate
candlesticks soon to be lit. In less than an hour here would be the
elite of Idumea—soldier and citizen—dancing and mingling in front
of her bedroom door.

And also down the Hall, and up the stairs,
and likely on the balcony, and probably into the study, where
Relf’s sick bed had been recently removed, and into the large
gathering room and the massive eating room . . .

She began to feel claustrophobic in Idumea’s
second largest mansion.

Fortunately the three long tables for The
Dinner had been set up parallel to each other on the other side of
the house in the west wing, where she warily made her way now.

As she neared the fo-yay, she noticed a sofa
from the gathering room had been placed strategically against a
corner. Sitting there stoically was an older man in his dark blue
uniform that was covered in more metal than made up his sword,
watching every point of the mansion, from the front door to the
staircase to both wings and even out to the stone terrace in the
back garden.

High General Shin leaned against his crutch
as he watched the small army of servants, caterers, and soldiers
hurriedly set the tables with more dishes and silverware than
Mahrree had ever seen together in one place. He squinted
analytically when he saw Mahrree, but his eyes were twinkling. In
his deep rocky voice he growled, “Ready to meet your doom tonight,
Mrs. Shin?”

She assumed his formal tone was a hint,
considering the number of strangers working just in front of him.
It was odd to be so formal in one’s own home.

Mahrree chuckled nervously. “You’re not
helping things, High General.”

He patted the sofa. “We’re not allowed to
help, if that’s what you’re hoping to do. We’re allowed, however,
to supervise.”

“Ah,” she said as she sat next to him. “So
I’m at a complete loss, then.”

Relf leaned over to her. “Where is he?” he
said in a slightly anxious tone.

“Getting dressed. Finally.”

“Maybe you should have stayed in your room
and supervised him?”

“Uh,” she paused to find the best way to say
it, “considering his state of mind, my presence would have been a
hindrance.”

Relf chuckled quietly. “Understood. Well, you
do look . . . very nice,” he said, trying to sound as if he
frequently gave women compliments. He firmed his grip on his
crutch, concerned that he’d unintentionally crossed some line.

“So do you,” Mahrree felt was necessary to
add, and also found herself in unfamiliar territory. But she knew
how to get somewhere else quickly. “You hardly seem to have nearly
died last week.”

“Thank you for that,” he said impassively as
he watched the bustle of activity in front of him. “And you hardly
seem to be about to pass out again.”

“And I thank you for that,” she said
formally.

He smiled ever so faintly. “But I have to
admit, I am a bit worried about . . . There she is.”

Mahrree sighed with him.

Down the wide staircase and past a maid who
was removing invisible bits of dust from the fretwork floated the
yellow butterfly. Jaytsy’s nearly black eyes were glowing with
anticipation, her cheeks were rosy, her dark brown hair was piled
remarkably on her head with curled dangles framing her face, and
her every movement was dainty yet vibrant—