Read Online The Sword of the Lady by S. M. Stirling - Free Book Online Page A

were people at home obsessed with protocol too.
    Quite a few of them, in fact.
    The aide came back and she took a plate of what her mother called faculty fodder for some obscure pre-Change reason; little pieces of toast with shaved ham and pungent cheese, or bits of pickled fish, or tiny sausages and capers and pate or peppers and sweet corn. A glass of some fizzy drink called sarsaparilla came with it.
    ″I′m not Princess Regnant or Lady Protector yet, of course, not until I′m twenty-six. Then I′ll be styled Your Majesty .″
    Kate laughed. ″And everyone will have to go down on their knees?″
    ″Only one, until then. And only at ceremonies, of course—receiving homage, bestowing fiefs, that sort of thing. We′re less formal most of the time.″
    ″Is there a book of rules or something?″
    ″Well, the College of Heralds have their lists . . . but really, if you grow up around it . . . it′s all sort of natural.″
    ″It sounds like fun, really. Like a costume party!″
    Not if it′s your life , Mathilda thought. Mother complains about it sometimes. Of course, for her before the Change it was a game. Sometimes I think it still is and she can′t help it. People that old . . . it′s as if they were always watching themselves live their lives instead of just living them and being themselves. Weird.
    An inspiration came to her: ″You′re a princess too, my dear Kate.″
    At the other woman′s laugh she went on: ″No, truly. You′re the lawful consort of a ruling prince, after all . . . unless it would be more accurate to call him a King? In which case you′d be Queen, of course, and your children would be Princes and Princesses.″
    ″There′s only little Tommie so far,″ Kate said. For a moment her face was soft with love, and went from strikingly pretty to beautiful. ″And he′s my Prince!″
    ″Then you′re definitely a Princess, at the very least.″
    She made a dismissive gesture, but Mathilda could see the corners of her mouth turn up in pleasure; she could also see half a dozen others in the big room noting the exchange as they milled around. The biggest knot was around Anthony Heasleroad, of course, the Bossman of Iowa—Governor and President Pro Tem, formally, but that was the word everyone used in ordinary speech. She could just hear him saying:
    ″. . . keep the great agricultural industry of Iowa in responsible, experienced hands for the common good of Farmer and Evacuee alike . . .″
    His voice held the same booming sententiousness most barons at home would use when talking about mesne tithes and heraldry and the idleness of the peasants. Like Mathilda and Rudi he′d been born in the first Change Year, but he looked older to her. Part of that was the fact that he also looked like the statue of an athlete that had been covered in an inch of soft tallow and left in the hot sun until it began to sag a little.
    Though I may be prejudiced, Mathilda thought. And he also looks like a man who trusts nobody, including the men who guard his sleep. They say Mom′s that way but she isn′t: she always said paranoia was as stupid as gullibility, and just as likely to kill you.
    Kate was tall and willowy; her neck and fingers and piled dark hair sparkled with some truly impressive and not too gaudy jewelry, offset by the simply cut but obviously new blue silk of her knee-length dress. That had probably cost more. Jewelry could be salvaged, but silk had to be imported around the world over trade routes just beginning to function again.
    And unlike her demented spouse, she seems amiable enough. Not the brightest candle in the chandelier, but good-hearted.
    ″Oh, it′s bad enough being married to the Governor, much less being a, um, Queen!″ Kate said. ″I swear, I didn′t expect everyone to be always asking for things before I married Tony! That was before his father died and he became Bossman, of course.″
    ″Ah, well, that is a drawback of being close to a sovereign,″ Mathilda