Read Online The Privilege of the Sword by Ellen Kushner - Free Book Online Page A

who they were.
    In the mirrored salon was one portrait that always pleased me. The painting was vivid and bright, not so old-fashioned as the rest: a woman in a pretty dress, with curls so fair as to be almost silver. It was a wonderful, lively painting. She was looking just past my shoulder as if someone was coming in the door behind me and she was sharing a joke with them, laughing as if she wanted a secret teased out of her. Her eyes glistened, and the pale grey satin of her dress did, too; even her jewels looked real, until you got close enough to see that it was only bits of paint: streaks of white over rose swirling to red, and such. Behind her, I was almost sure I recognized the lawn of Tremontaine House itself, sweeping down to the river. People were playing flamingo on the grass. I decided we had nearly the same nose. I wondered if, when I had the right gown, I might get the same artist to paint my portrait, too, and if I might look even half as lovely as the lady in grey.

    A RTEMISIA F ITZ -L EVI’S MOTHER DID NOT THINK MUCH of her choice of gowns for the evening’s festivities, and was busy telling her so. “A supper-party, my dear, is not a ball,” she said. “Even if there is dancing after, you want something a little more…restrained.” “But Ma ma ,” Artemisia argued, “the green silk was most particularly admired by the Duke of Hartsholt at the Hetleys’! And you said his taste is impeccable.”
    “So it is, my dear—and don’t think he won’t notice if you wear it again! Do you want to look as if you are courting his favor? And Hartsholt a married man…no, no, it would never do.”
    Artemisia pouted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mama. No one would think that. Besides, I wanted to wear the tourmalines Papa gave me, and they suit it perfectly.”
    “So they do, my love, and you shall wear them at the next possible occasion. But not the green, not so soon after you’ve worn it once. Do you want people to think you don’t have enough gowns?”
    That worked, where nothing else had. “What about the yellow?” Artemisia asked hopefully. The yellow dress was the result of an argument her mother had lost, with a bodice cut down to there, and enough flounces to trim a cake.
    “Don’t you think it might hurt Lydia’s feelings, since it is her party and she looks so peaky in yellow?”
    “Mama, you are an angel of kindness!” Artemisia flung her arms around her mother’s neck. “How could I be so unfeeling? I know—I shall write to my dear Lydia.” Artemisia settled in a ruffle of dressing gown at her escritoire. “I’ll see what she’s wearing. If it’s white or cream or ecru, I’ll wear mine, too.”
    “Now why,” her mother said dryly, “did we not think of that before?”
    And Lady Fitz-Levi went to scribble off a note to Lydia’s mother, so that Dorrie could take them both at once, and return with the correct response.

    M ASTER V ENTURUS CONTINUED COMING EVERY DAY. Every day Betty laid out my sturdy practice clothes, and every day I dutifully put them on and went to the practice room to meet him. And every day after he’d left I’d practice for an hour or more. What else was there for me to do with my time? I could hold the sword without my arms aching for quite a while now, and my legs could hold their position without trembling, at least until Venturus was gone. I learned how to hold, how to stand, even how to strike—if aiming at a spot in the air can be accounted striking. It was all a bit dull, really, this training to be a swordsman. Venturus talked, and I repeated drills for him, and he talked some more, and finally he left and I did them again and again, until it was time for my bath.
    I didn’t even notice the morning I woke up with no ache in my muscles at all. Betty did, though; sprightly , she called me, and I went down to my lesson feeling very pleased with myself for being sprightly instead of sluggish and dull. Venturus retaliated with a whole new set of moves