Swordpoint diplomacy 41

CHAPTER 41

“It would be much better to disguise me,” Vivian said, not for the first time.

She wasn’t wrong. She was the most distinctive member of their party by far. They were back to traveling on the main road for lack of better options. The group was tense with nerves every time that they passed merchants or troops. So far, they had had no more conflict, but how long would it hold?

Marcel looked at Kian.

Kian considered the merits of  breathing exercises. Their second rest break was more tense than the last one. “And how would we get a disguise?” He asked. If he led them to the correct answer, perhaps they'd think the conclusion was theirs and cease this tedious repetition.

Vivian shrugged as if this part was unimportant. “We stop at any one of the towns that we pass, and pay someone for clothes.”

‘They’re wholly ignorant. They need to be led by the hand.’

“We aren't near any of the noble family’s homes,” he explained, aiming for patience. “In a farming town, there won't be anyone to borrow from.” Having extra clothes was a privilege of the rich. Vivian would probably wear fewer clothes if she had to weave, sew, and wash them herself.

“I am not so selective when the stakes are high,” Vivian said, indignant. “I will wear a peasant’s clothes. Appearing different is the concept. Perhaps even a soldier’s uniform? That would be inconspicuous.”

He valiantly refrained from asking which royal outfitter she thought she would get armor from. “A peasant will not have clothes to spare,” Kian said. He wanted to add; Obviously. He controlled himself and refrained.

If he knew this, they certainly could. He wasn't any less high-born than Vivian, merely socially fallen due to his father's political demise. But there wasn't much incentive for the truly rich to understand the daily lives of their serfs.

This trip was a lot more time than he usually spent with the social elite. His patience was sorely tested.

“...Surely they will have some old clothes,” she said, but she didn't sound confident. Then she rallied. “But I would provide enough coin to replace their clothing, so it matters not.”

“That seems fair,” Marcel said, clearly a little anxious about the conflict.

Kian closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He smoothed a hand down his mare’s flank. She was much less foolish. The horse would never make him explain these things. “Even if there is a merchant tailor in this hypothetical town, he will not have clothes ready,” he explained. “Nor will he have a team of apprentices to create an outfit at the speed to which you are accustomed. Our peasant friend would go there, presumably in their stockings and shift, purchase cloth, and then wait days or weeks.”

“Weeks?” Vivian asked, scandalized.

Maybe. Kian wasn't a tailor. But he nodded. “Each stitch represents time,” he pointed out. “Time that the tailor likely does not have free.”

And wouldn't choose to devote all night and day to preparing a gown in haste for some farmer or miller, Kian suspected.

‘Why doesn't she have a sense of the time it takes to sew?’ Kian wondered. His sister had to tat her lace and make her other fine decorations. Wasn't that a crucial part of the noble education in refinement?

Vivian seemed to be experiencing a revelation about how the poor lived. Kian left her to it.

“Is it a bad time to inquire about our route?” Marcel broke the silence. He was leaning against his horse, absently stroking her cheek. “My geography is not the best, but I understand that your family seat is quite south, Lady Vivian?”

Kian pursed his lips. He didn’t see much benefit to withholding information any longer. That was good, because Vivian answered easily.

“That is correct. As we are, it should take perhaps a week?” she estimated. “Assuming that our horses stay healthy and there is adequate grazing. We may need to stop and purchase provisions. I have been considering that– the best option is another day of travel away.”

“We should probably make several of those stops,” Kian added. “We can’t carry all that we need for more than a day or so. The horses are burdened enough with our weight.”

Marcel nodded thoughtfully. “All the metal is heavy.” He stroked his horse again. “Is our aim still a secret?” He sounded amused by it.

Vivian looked to Kian, as if entrusting the decision to him.

“The cloak,” he said, because he saw no reason not to. They would be better off with a sense of comradery at this point. “It is required for the coronation ceremony.” He cleared his throat. “We should stop at Hartsbluff on the way,” Kian admitted. “The detour from the main road would be a day, total. Or we might rest there.”

“Perhaps we ought to do that on the return trip instead, so that we spend as little time as possible carrying irreplaceable cultural heirlooms,” Vivan suggested dryly. “I think that both the cloak and the saber would be a tempting target.”

“...We are collecting a special outfit for Princess Rose’s big day?” Kian clarified. He sounded way too amused by something so serious. “Is there anything else? A special hat, perhaps? Ancient socks?”

Vivian looked down at him with an unreadable expression, lips pressed tightly together. “There is a symbolic key to the kingdom,” Vivian said, crisp and correct. “Marquess Karitta keeps it, and her son has been dispatched to bring it to the capital. There are no ancestral socks to collect.”

Kian opened his mouth to jape that Rose would bring her own royal socks and then he closed it again just as quickly. He didn’t need Vivian’s disapproval directed at him. “I suppose, then, that your kings are crowned in the nude,” he said archly. It was better to present a united front against Marcel.

“What?” Marcel spluttered, face pinking.

“Why else would you be so surprised by the trappings of the ceremony?” Vivian slid in, tone innocent and smooth. She smiled pleasantly at Kian. “We believe it lends a certain level of dignity to the whole affair, but of course we respect the bare assed traditions of your people.”

“And your ancestral socks,” Kian added. Marcel whipped his head between the two of them, pouting and scowling.

“You are terrible,” he declared, and got on his horse. “It’s time to go, is it not? Have we not rested enough?”

“We can go,” Vivian agreed. When Marcel was looking away she gave Kian a sly smile, only one side of her mouth raised. He returned the expression.

Perhaps she wasn’t such a silly snob. He could cooperate with these people.