deliberately hiding it behind a curtain. Sure enough, not half an hour later, Lady Ulia came trumpeting into the palace solari-um with the force and verve of a nomad battle horde.
"Miliaaaa- naaaaaa!"
Ulia's battle cry struck home like a heavy lance. Loitering noblewomen, maids and staff instantly scat-tered and fled like mice. Miliana simply sat in place beneath a beam of sun and closed her eyes in joy.
Lady Ulia swept into the room like a granite jugger-naut. She wore her most impressive hat-a horrid thing with not one but two tall points, which made her look like a sort of hydrocephalic water buffalo.
Sumbria's greatest lady spied Miliana's hiding place and then strode forward to confront her errant stepdaughter.
"Miliana! Miliana, I am dismayed-nay, appalled! Appalled and dismayed, that is the only way to describe it." Ulia's maid, Sophia-a scraggly little thing looking a bit like a rodent who had just been rescued from a milk jug-furiously worked a fan to sooth her mistress's brow. Ulia heaved her bosom up and down in gratitude at this simple act of kindness.
"Miliana, I have tried and tried and tried to establish you with all the skills a maiden should possess.
What have you to say for yourself, my girl? What have you to say?"
Miliana polished her lenses and perched them back on her nose, nearly awestruck by her stepmother's com-mand of theatrics. Predictably, Ulia never gave her an opportunity to speak; instead, she swept herself about Miliana in a grand circle, like a mighty war-galley sail-ing on parade.
"You shall have me faint clean away! You shall bury me from shocked disgrace, my girl. What have you to say-what have you to say about this-this…" Here words temporarily failed her. Lady Ulia held aloft the botched piece of needlepoint and pointed a great sausagelike fin-ger at the reversed coat of arms.
Thick glass discs caught in window light made the most marvelous blank mask. Miliana managed to adjust her spectacles and lean toward her embroidery in beauti-fully feigned puzzlement.
"Oh! Is it so very important? I mean-it can't be so drastically wrong…"
Ulia flapped her lower lip like a landed fish and flung up a great wailing cry of dismay.
"Important? Sune bear me witness-Oh, alack the day!" A pause for breath strained her bodice lacing, which already groaned like naval hawser cables in a storm. "Heraldry is the very quintessence of the social code! Heraldry is our tool for planning every feminine campaign. What if-oh, what if one were to give a favor to the wrong champion? Can one imagine, even for an instant, what damage might be done?"
Miliana wrinkled up her nose as she polished her spec-tacles on her gown.
"Ulia, I can't see that it matters, since they're all going to fall off their horses anyway."
"Yes-but the wounds, girl! The wounds!" Lady Ulia clapped hands beneath her great horned headpiece in amazement. "The whole point of a tournament is for the championed lady to rush forth and kiss her hero's wounds!"
"Goodness! Well, if they land on what I think they'll land on, I certainly won't want to kiss anything of the sort!"
Ulia swelled with indignation and pointed toward the corridor with one trembling, pale hand.
"Wretch! I see sterner measures must be taken. I have been soft, but I shall be soft no longer!"
Ulia sank down onto a stool, exhausted by the wicked ways of the world.
"Whatever can you young folk be thinking of today? I ask you. I beg you! Our Lomatran suitor is invited here, into my own home, to our very victory ball-and does he appear? Does he make himself known to his sweetheart or his future mother-in-law? No, he does not! He disap-pears, like a thief in the night."
Lady Ulia stood, turned her back upon her stepdaugh-ter and went into a magnificent huff. "I shall discharge my own responsibilities, even though the rest of Toril sees fit to let civilized manners die! To the library with you, my girl! To the library to study heraldry until your eyes can bear no more.
"Miliaaaa- naaaaaa!"
Ulia's battle cry struck home like a heavy lance. Loitering noblewomen, maids and staff instantly scat-tered and fled like mice. Miliana simply sat in place beneath a beam of sun and closed her eyes in joy.
Lady Ulia swept into the room like a granite jugger-naut. She wore her most impressive hat-a horrid thing with not one but two tall points, which made her look like a sort of hydrocephalic water buffalo.
Sumbria's greatest lady spied Miliana's hiding place and then strode forward to confront her errant stepdaughter.
"Miliana! Miliana, I am dismayed-nay, appalled! Appalled and dismayed, that is the only way to describe it." Ulia's maid, Sophia-a scraggly little thing looking a bit like a rodent who had just been rescued from a milk jug-furiously worked a fan to sooth her mistress's brow. Ulia heaved her bosom up and down in gratitude at this simple act of kindness.
"Miliana, I have tried and tried and tried to establish you with all the skills a maiden should possess.
What have you to say for yourself, my girl? What have you to say?"
Miliana polished her lenses and perched them back on her nose, nearly awestruck by her stepmother's com-mand of theatrics. Predictably, Ulia never gave her an opportunity to speak; instead, she swept herself about Miliana in a grand circle, like a mighty war-galley sail-ing on parade.
"You shall have me faint clean away! You shall bury me from shocked disgrace, my girl. What have you to say-what have you to say about this-this…" Here words temporarily failed her. Lady Ulia held aloft the botched piece of needlepoint and pointed a great sausagelike fin-ger at the reversed coat of arms.
Thick glass discs caught in window light made the most marvelous blank mask. Miliana managed to adjust her spectacles and lean toward her embroidery in beauti-fully feigned puzzlement.
"Oh! Is it so very important? I mean-it can't be so drastically wrong…"
Ulia flapped her lower lip like a landed fish and flung up a great wailing cry of dismay.
"Important? Sune bear me witness-Oh, alack the day!" A pause for breath strained her bodice lacing, which already groaned like naval hawser cables in a storm. "Heraldry is the very quintessence of the social code! Heraldry is our tool for planning every feminine campaign. What if-oh, what if one were to give a favor to the wrong champion? Can one imagine, even for an instant, what damage might be done?"
Miliana wrinkled up her nose as she polished her spec-tacles on her gown.
"Ulia, I can't see that it matters, since they're all going to fall off their horses anyway."
"Yes-but the wounds, girl! The wounds!" Lady Ulia clapped hands beneath her great horned headpiece in amazement. "The whole point of a tournament is for the championed lady to rush forth and kiss her hero's wounds!"
"Goodness! Well, if they land on what I think they'll land on, I certainly won't want to kiss anything of the sort!"
Ulia swelled with indignation and pointed toward the corridor with one trembling, pale hand.
"Wretch! I see sterner measures must be taken. I have been soft, but I shall be soft no longer!"
Ulia sank down onto a stool, exhausted by the wicked ways of the world.
"Whatever can you young folk be thinking of today? I ask you. I beg you! Our Lomatran suitor is invited here, into my own home, to our very victory ball-and does he appear? Does he make himself known to his sweetheart or his future mother-in-law? No, he does not! He disap-pears, like a thief in the night."
Lady Ulia stood, turned her back upon her stepdaugh-ter and went into a magnificent huff. "I shall discharge my own responsibilities, even though the rest of Toril sees fit to let civilized manners die! To the library with you, my girl! To the library to study heraldry until your eyes can bear no more.
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