A/N: Ugh… OOC. This is the third time I've tried to write this, though, so I'm posting it for now. Hopefully I'll revise it.
Meliara was light, and was easy for Russav to carry her back to her rooms.
Her maid met them, wide-eyed for only an instant. "What happened, Your Grace?" the woman asked, helping him set Mel down on a stack of cushions. The Countess groaned, but didn't open her eyes.
"She had too much to drink," Russav said. The woman's eyes widened again; she knew the social repercussions of getting publicly drunk. "Unintentionally," he added.
"Does anyone ever get drunk on purpose?" the woman murmured.
Russav smiled, though he thought the remark hadn't been intended for his ears. "True enough. I'll leave her to your care."
Leaving the corridor, he turned towards the Royal Residence Wing. He had an unpleasant task to perform.
Danric was indeed still working in his study, reading by the flickering light of a single candle. He glanced up, gave Russav a weary smile, and then looked closer. "What's wrong?"
Russav sighed heavily and seated himself cross-legged in front of the low table. "Tamara got Mel drunk."
Danric stopped writing abruptly and put his pen down. "Drunk?"
Russav nodded.
"How?"
"By serving her blenis punch," the Duke said disgustedly. "Of course she didn't know to stay away from it." He shook his head. "She gave Mel bristic, as well."
Danric was silent. Looking at his stiff shoulders and wide, unfocused eyes, Russav knew he was furious.
Finally he said, "How is she?"
"I do not envy her her headache in the morning," Russav said, "but she'll be fine. I left her in the capable hands of her maid."
"You escorted her out?"
Russav nodded. "Not," he said regretfully, "before everyone in the room noticed she was drunk." He ran his hand through his hair, throwing it into wild disarray. "I should have been watching. Of course Tamara would be planning something."
"It's not your fault," Danric murmured. "No one could have anticipated something like this."
"I should have," Russav said. "This is, after all, Lady Tamara Chamadis we are speaking of." He took a sheet of blank paper from his cousin's stack and fed it absentmindedly to the flames. "I often wondered whether her ambition knew any bounds. Now I know. She--" He shook his head; both of them were already angry enough. "I think the others left shortly after."
"Then they recognized Tamara's scheming for what it was."
"Or they merely decided to follow my lead." Russav brushed ash from his fingers and looked at his cousin. "You seem calm."
"On the contrary," Danric said dryly. "Had I been there, I probably would have said something utterly unforgivable. It's just as well I was dining with my parents."
"Had you been there, you would have noticed her scheming and acted sooner," Russav said, irritated with himself.
"Perhaps, though I think Tamara would have done her best to make sure I didn't notice until she wished me to."
Russav stirred his fingers through the ash. "What do we do now?"
Danric rubbed his eyes, a rare gesture of fatigue, and the candlelight illuminated the deep hollows on his face. "You have already affirmed your partisanship for Meliara."
"That will help," Russav agreed. "If only because they don't want to be on the losing side of a court battle. But most of them genuinely like her." He smiled, thinking of the remarkable ease with which Mel had won the courtiers over. Initially, that had been because of Russav's interest, but as he had said, most of them genuinely liked her. He wondered if she was aware of it. "I think everyone in the room was disgusted with Tamara. Excepting our esteemed hostess, of course." He remembered the cold, hard look Tamara's eyes had worn as soon as he had stepped forward to steady Mel. Russav had not looked back as he walked out, but he knew Tamara well enough to picture how she would have looked: face a hard mask, eyes glittering, hands perfectly controlled as she watched everyone make abrupt excuses to leave.
"It will be up to Meliara," Danric said, interrupting his thoughts. "Assuming the others recognized Tamara's intent, they'll be watching for her response."
Tamara's made a lot of enemies, he thought. No small wonder. His jaw tightened in anger at Tamara's pettiness. "They'll be expecting Mel to give her the cut," he agreed. "Or hoping." If Meliara wasn't familiar with that particular Court custom, Nee, or someone less well-meaning, would quickly enlighten her. "But somehow I can't see her doing it."
Danric shook his head. "Nor can I." He was quiet for a moment. "I've learned that trying to predict Meliara's actions is usually a fruitless endeavour," he said dryly. "But were I forced to guess, I would say that she and Tamara will spend the duration of her stay here in mutual avoidance."
Russav frowned. "That would be difficult."
"We manage it well enough," Danric said wryly.
Russav smiled. "True." Then he frowned, thinking. "What could have possessed Tamara?" he said finally. "It would have been spectacularly horrible had it worked, but now her reputation in Mel's hands. She must have known I wouldn't have sided with her."
"Do you think she did it on purpose?"
Danric's question confused Russav by surprise until he realized his cousin was speaking of Meliara, not Tamara. "It would have been a risky gamble," he said at last.
"True," Danric agreed. "But now Meliara, and everyone else, knows exactly what Tamara was planning. There are few other successful ways she could have found out."
"It certainly aligned nearly everyone on Mel's side," Russav said. Then he sighed. Why does Tamara have to be like this? Why can't she let things be? He knew the answer: ambition, and childhood training. The Chamadis countess's parents had hammered into her the lesson that she was not good enough unless she was the best, and of course the competition ground, and stake, was social status at Court.
Danric still looked puzzled. "She had to know Tamara was planning something."
"We did, but her chosen… method… still caught both of us by surprise," Russav pointed out, then added disgustedly, "Perhaps the Countess was laboring under the mistaken impression that there were depths to which Tamara wouldn't stoop."
"Perhaps," Danric agreed, and Russav saw his hand tighten on the table for a moment. Then he sighed. "I feel responsible. If I hadn't asked you to make her popular, this wouldn't have happened."
"Mel would have had a horrible time at Court," Russav pointed out.
"I know," his cousin said. "But I still feel accountable for fixing this."
"How?" Russav asked after a moment.
Danric shook his head. "I don't know. Your influence might be enough to resolve the issue, but if it's not, I can't appear partial. The Merindars would hurt her to get to me."
"The courtiers take Meliara's side," Russav said. "Most of them want to see Tamara fall. My influence shouldn't be needed."
His cousin nodded. "The only action we can take, until Meliara chooses a course of action, is to assure her that no one blames her."
Russav smiled. "I think I know how. May I have some paper?"
Danric slid a stack across the table, along with a pen, and Russav began writing to the Tlanth countess, inviting her to a picnic. On another sheet he made a list of all the people he told her he was inviting, so he'd remember to write to them, too. Those who had attended the party were on the list, with the definite and conspicuous exception of Tamara.
After a few minutes he became aware that Danric was also writing steadily, and glanced at the top of his cousin's letter: it was to Meliara. Russav laughed.
Danric looked up. "What?"
"If she could see us now," Russav said. "Plotting strategy like military generals!"
His cousin looked startled, then smiled. "She'd probably throw something at me once she realized I was her Unknown."
"Come, come," Russav chided gently. "She wouldn't. She doesn't hate you."
"She didn't hate me before, but I still ended up with a bruise," was the wry reply.
"But I thought you said the two of you were past the projectile stage?"
"I did," Danric admitted. "Attribute my dramatics to the lateness of the hour."
Russav looked down at his letter, and realized he'd let himself for at least another hour of writing invitations. He groaned.
"You know what they say, Russav," his cousin said with a raised eyebrow. "No rest for the wicked."
"You would know, " Russav muttered.
