Chapter 9: The Art of Greeting Royalty

Imogen's first day at court! Nothing much happens in this chapter, but it provides a foundation for coming scenes.

Nothing is mine, etc., etc.

The morning after her arrival in Corus, Imogen got up early. The sun was just peeking through her wide-open bedroom shutters as she yawned and stretched, reaching for the breeches she had laid out the night before. Coiling her long hair into a knot at the nape of her neck with the ease of long practice, Imogen glanced around her room for the last time and headed out to the practice courts. Maybe a good workout would banish those nagging, fearsome thoughts lurking in the depths of her brain. Alanna had shown her the practice courts the day before, and Imogen was dying to stretch her tense muscles after the long ride.

The courts were deserted when Imogen arrived. Since it was well before breakfast time the pages hadn't begun their day's training yet. Imogen was profoundly grateful. She didn't want to be practicing with an audience. She vaulted over the fence and walked to the middle of one of the courts.

Her routine was rather unusual. Though Alan still was instructing the older girl in the rudiments of sword-fighting, she had discovered that she was reverting more and more to her mother's training in acrobatics. Alan had been astounded at her flexibility in evading attacks through sheer agility, instead of blocking the strikes as he was attempting to teach her.

After warming up by stretching all her major muscles in turn, Imogen opened her morning routine with a series of easy cartwheels. Gradually the movements became more and more difficult. Imogen was balancing on her hands, trying to stay upright for as long as possible when she realized she had an audience. Flipping upright, she brushed stray tendrils of hair off her forehead as she surveyed her company.

One of the two men she recognized instantly – Sir Raoul. The other man, tall with chestnut hair, was one of Alanna's friends whose name escaped the girl at the moment. With them was a short woman who Imogen had never seen before.

"Hello, Imogen" Sir Raoul hailed cheerily. "You're up early."

Imogen smiled. She liked the jolly knight commander. "I have to be," she called back, walking over to the fence. "Alanna keeps me hopping. Early mornings are the only time I have to myself."

The chestnut-haired man chuckled. "That's our Lioness for you. I'm Gareth the Younger of Naxen, by the way, and this is Buriram Tourakom, commander of the Queen's Riders."

"I've heard of you from Evin Larse, Lady Imogen," the woman said dryly. "He never quite forgot the girl who swore at him so fluently." Sir Raoul snorted.

Imogen smiled wryly, hoisting herself up onto the top railing of the fence. "I lost my temper," she explained. "I didn't have any idea what was going on, and I thought I was going mad. Plus it's not very conductive of good relations to be accused of spying when all you're doing is sleeping in the middle of a seemingly deserted wood. And please don't call me Lady Imogen, unless you want me to call you Lady Buriram."

Raoul almost choked with laughter at the expression on the woman's face. "Please don't," the commander said hurriedly. "I'll call you Imogen only if you call me Buri. And stop snickering, you great lug," she snapped good-naturedly at the gasping Knight Commander.

Imogen grinned. "It's a deal, Buri." The two females shook hands. "Now, is there any particular reason you're watching me flip around the practice yards? I can't see how it would be very interesting."

"Actually, Raoul and I were wondering if you could teach us some of those fancy flips you were practicing. In our line of work we can never be agile enough, and you look very limber."

Imogen hesitated, chewing her lip. Would they, two powerful commanders, obey her, a mere girl and a stranger at that? Coming to a decision, she said, "I will, as long as you promise to do what I tell you. My teacher didn't have to punish me when I disobeyed. The bruises were deterrent enough."

Imogen's two future pupils grinned at her. "We learn early to obey orders as well as give them," Raoul explained. "Now, what do we do first…?"

When the pages came barreling out of the mess hall, the leaders halted in absolute shock, causing a pile-up of confused pages. When their teachers came to sort out the mess, they too stared in astonishment.

The commander of the Queen's Riders and the Knight Commander of the King's Own were turning cartwheels in the practice yards under the supervision of a slim, pale-haired girl sitting on the fence directing them like a drill sergeant.

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"Remind me again," Imogen said, yanking a brush through her unruly hair. "Precisely why do the royal family want to meet me?"

Alanna sighed. "They want to meet you because you're the only person ever recorded who dropped through the sky into Tortall," she said patiently. "They have many questions for you, and also they want to make sure you're safe."

Imogen snorted, abandoning the brush and starting to deftly plait her hair. "Why wouldn't I be safe? I accomplish absolutely nothing by assassinating the royal family, except maybe earning myself an untimely death."

Alanna chose to ignore this. "There is also the matter of your truthsense. There hasn't been a truthsayer born in Tortall for centuries. Master Numair wishes to test you for more information regarding why this art has disappeared within our borders."

"Test me? As though I'm an inanimate object or a lab animal?" Imogen shrieked, indignant.

"He's only going to question you, and ask your permission before trying any experiments."

Moaning slightly, Imogen stood up. Because she was going to meet the royal family, she couldn't go in wearing her regular rough-and-tumble clothing. However, she had flat-out refused to wear a dress if she didn't absolutely have to, so she compromised. From Alianne she had borrowed a pair of breeches (brown and gold to show her allegiance to Baron George) with extra-wide legs so that she still appeared to be wearing skirts but had freedom of motion. She also borrowed a simple blouse and an embroidered vest in the colors of Pirate's Swoop. After lengthening everything (Imogen was three inches taller than her younger friend), the girl was ready to meet the monarchs.

Alanna surveyed her critically, then smiled. "Very nice," she said approvingly. "You could pass for a real Tortallan girl, dressed like that."

Imogen smiled wryly. "That's until they hear me talk," she said. "I quite shocked someone today when I asked why there were no girls training with the pages. One of the spectators walked away muttering something about the 'stupid progressives'."

Alanna chuckled. "It's good for them to be shaken up like that," she said, slinging an arm around Imogen's shoulders and leading her out the door. "There's no reason why girls shouldn't become knights. Sir Keladry and I are proof of that."

Imogen smiled at her friend. "You're the embodiment of one of my mother's favorite sayings. Whenever I would complain about something I didn't like, she would tell me, "Ask why it has to be like that. Then change it." She hurriedly suppressed the pang she always felt when thinking or speaking of her mother. That wound was still very fresh. Alanna looked curiously at her, but Imogen was spared the pain of further inquiries by the duo's arrival at the doors of the royal chambers. Alanna patted Imogen comfortingly on the shoulder and then ushered her into the room.

The first thing Imogen noticed is that the entire royal family had black hair. The second thing was that they were all exceedingly tall. Finally, they were all staring at her. That was when Imogen realized she hadn't a clue what she was supposed to do when greeting royalty.

*This is what comes of living in a democracy*, she thought disgustedly. Aloud she said, "If you're expecting me to curtsey, you're in for a disappointment. I don't know how. And am I supposed to address you as 'Your Majesties'?"

Everyone blinked at her in unison. They looked so bizarrely flabbergasted at her nerve that Imogen barely managed to hide her grin. Finally the man she assumed was the king spoke up.

"You could just call us King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, if you want. And a bow would be quite acceptable."

Imogen was feeling difficult. "Ah, but that is forbidden by the Ten Commandments," she said wisely. "Commandment Number Two, if I am not mistaken. 'Thou shalt not bow down to any man, beast, or graven image, but only the Lord thy God' is the gist of it, I believe." This time she snorted inelegantly at their expressions.

A tall, bald man with a scar running across his cheek hissed at her, "Girl, don't you know how to treat your monarchs with respect?"

Imogen surveyed him from head to toe, one eyebrow raised. "But they're not my monarchs," she said coolly. "I have no monarchs. I haven't sworn allegiance to them, and if this is how royalty greet their guests, I don't think I'm ever going to either."

The entire room stared at her, mouths gaping, before the tableau was broken by a soft sound. Imogen glanced over at the royal dais.

The queen was laughing. Thayet was rocking back and forth in her chair, tears of mirth running down her cheeks. Every so often she would attempt to compose herself, only to dissolve into giggles again. Behind her, Imogen could see the girl who appeared to be the eldest princess was also fighting an attack of the giggles. Even some of the royal advisors were concealing smiles behind their hands.

This time Imogen raised both eyebrows. "I'm glad I'm so amusing," she said, her own mouth twitching.

Gradually the queen was able to bring herself under control. "Oh, I haven't laughed so hard in ages," she said, wiping tears from her face. "Thank you, Imogen. I think we needed that. Sorry for standing on ceremony like that. I never saw a person talk back to Jon quite like that, not even Alanna."

Imogen smiled at the queen. "Sorry. In Canada there is no monarchy, only elected officials, so I didn't quite know how to address you. Then you started acting like conceited idiots (pardon me), and I was in a bad mood to begin with. I hate formality."

The queen grimaced sympathetically. "I understand," she said. "I'm Thayet, as you have probably guessed, and this is King Jonathan. And here we have Crown Prince Roald, Princess Kalasin, our eldest daughter, Prince Liam, Princess Lianne, and Prince Jasson."

This time Imogen bowed. The crown prince appeared to be about twenty, tall, dark-haired, with solemn eyes. Princess Kalasin, a year or two older than Imogen, was the one who had giggled. She was also tall and black-haired, but her blue eyes sparkled with fun. Prince Liam was shorter than his older brother and his eyes were hazel. He was around Imogen's own age. Princess Lianne was quieter than her sister but her features radiated stubbornness. She was not a person you would want to mess with. Prince Jasson, the youngest, looked to be about thirteen, mischievous and full of fun. King Jonathan was very handsome indeed, with his black hair and beard offset by his brilliant sapphire eyes. Imogen pitied the females at court. They never really got a chance. Thayet clearly deserved the title of "most beautiful woman in the world." As well as beauty, her hazel eyes radiated the same sense of humor Imogen felt in such great amounts from Kalasin and Jasson.

Now the King, over his initial shock, smiled at Imogen. "Introductions are complete, so would you please sit down?" he said, gesturing to a chair placed in front of the royal dais. "My advisors have a few questions they would like to ask…"

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Three hours later Imogen emerged from the royal wing. *Thank heavens that's over with,* she thought in relief. *Being grilled on the political and militaristic structure of Canada is not on my list of favorite activities, besides the fact that I'm no expert in any case.*

Alanna and her family were waiting just outside. Thom stared at her in mock-amazement. "Congratulations," he said, shaking her hand. "You survived the fate of being bored to death."

Imogen rolled her eyes. "Just barely. Honestly, couldn't those dried-up prunes (pardon me, Alanna) think up even remotely interesting questions for me? And they seemed quite amazed when I told them that in Canada we're ruled by elected Parliament, not a King determined by heredity." Seeing George's interested expression, she hurriedly added, "Don't ask right now. My mind has been so completely picked over that I don't want to think of anything related to politics."

Alanna grinned wickedly and Imogen knew she had said something exceedingly stupid. "We have just the activity to relieve your boredom," the Lioness said sarcastically. She paused dramatically. "Dress fittings!"

Imogen groaned, clutching her head. "I think I'd rather be questioned for another three hours." She turned around and would have marched right back into the council chamber if Alanna hadn't grabbed her wrist.

"Oh no you don't, missy. If I have to do this, you have to do it. Come on."

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Lalasa's dress shop was swamped with orders for the wedding, but no shop was so busy that it wouldn't accept business from the Lioness and her family. Seamstresses were made available to the members of Alanna's party immediately. Imogen was squeezed and pinched and poked and measured until she thought she would scream. And then it was time to look at styles.

"Spare me," Imogen groaned, looking through the book of styles presented to her. "I have no fashion sense at all." She shoved it towards Katya, Lalasa's assistant and the girl who had been assisting her. "You pick. You must be very experienced in these matters."

Pursing her lips, the other girl surveyed Imogen from top to toe. "Something simple," she decided. "You have the kind of build that doesn't take frills well. Probably three dresses for everyone. For you, two pale colors and a warm one. One should definitely be green and gold, because of your eyes. Ice blue would go well, too. And for the warm color, probably bronze to accent your hair."

"Whatever you say," Imogen agreed, sighing in relief. *I probably would have agreed if she had suggested florescent orange,* she realized, a smile tugging at her lips. She glanced over at Alanna and almost choked on her suppressed laughter. The Lioness looked like she would happily murder all within the dress shop and then torch all the cloth to finish the deed.

"Thank heavens that's over," the Lioness moaned half an hour later. "Dress fittings are so incredibly boring. Now we can do something interesting. What about a trip to the palace archery yards?"

An hour later Imogen crept back to her room, nursing her sore arm muscles. Alanna had not been satisfied with her archery skills until she could hit the target eight times out of ten. Needless to say, this had not done much for Imogen's muscles, still stiff from the long trip. She flopped down on her bed and gazed up at the moving shadows on the canopy overhead. *I wonder what other surprises Corus has in store for me.*