Icevein: Chapter 39
“Peridot,” Iolite said, appearing at the inner passage. Leaving her father’s seat empty this time, Peridot sat in one of the smaller wooden chairs reading a volume from the Book of Tourmaline. Since her rhundal, she had read nearly all of her father’s collection. She looked up at her sister and arched an eyebrow.
“Beryl is at the hold for you,” Iolite said, then turned and left without even telling her what Beryl might be seeking. To be fair to her sister, Beryl probably had not told Iolite her purpose, and it may be a simple visit. Beryl was now two years past her own rhundal, and she had neither taken a dwarf nor a craft. It was not for lack of offers for marriage. Peridot suspected that her friend enjoyed the suspense and attention, all of which would go away if she chose. Or, she hadn’t yet gotten the particular offer she wanted. As Shineboot’s daughter, Beryl hardly needed wealth. Peridot and Beryl hadn’t seen much of eachother of late, and the thought made Peridot feel guilty of neglect. She stood and hurried along the inner passage.
“Peridot!” Beryl said. The maid stood in the reception chamber.
“Yég, Beryl,”Peridot said, using the informal greeting. She saw at once that Iolite had not cared to tend to the samovar, and judging by the lack of any smoke or steam, it had gone cold. Beryl should have been seated and tended to.
“Let me warm the samovar,” Peridot said, “and I will pour us tea.” It was almost unthinkable to show proper hospitality without hot drinks, and in the wealthiest hold in the mountain—though it would not be obvious compared to others of the Owners’ holds—tea or spiced mead would be expected.
“No, no,” Beryl said. “I am on my way to the Lowpleathold. I hope we are. Prase has invited us.”
“Us, or you?” Peridot asked. When invited for a visit, it was normal for one maid or wif to bring along a gilne or an unfamiliar guest to make introductions, and no invitation was necessary for relatives, but no such circumstances applied here.
Beryl hesitated, and Peridot must have left her face unguarded.
“Oh, Peridot,” Beryl said. “Do not be insulted.”
“I am not insulted,” Peridot answered, not stopping to consider whether that were true. Would she have felt it untoward a month ago? Most likely no. But then, it wasn’t a month ago. “Was your mother invited?” she asked.
“It came to me,” Beryl said, smiling. “I didn’t mention it to mother. Prase has a new brocade she wishes to show me.””
“Why would you not bring your mother?”
“She said she would not waste another yothe on my finery after I refused that last offer. Besides, I thought you might wish to accompany me. You’ve been shut up here for months.”
It was true; Peridot had hardly left the Owner’s Drift, and when she had, it was in her full regalia with an escort of wardens. Judging by the overawed expressions of those who had seen her, the effect was significant. As rich as Glint was, there were no other dwarf-maids in any mountain who walk so arrayed, and the sight of such magnificence was beyond all prior experience. The Lowpleat hold had assisted in creating her exquisite raiment, and they were clearly not overawed by it, but to go with Beryl unadorned in the outer drifts would erode the marvel. More, she did not want to find herself in another trap. She dreaded having to tell her father what had occurred with Prase at the arbitration. Another arbitration had come and gone since then, but the petitions brought to her had been paltry and easily settled.
“If I go, you must wait for me to dress, and it will be with wardens.”
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“Peridot, it is just to the Lowpleat hold,” Berylsaid, her tone reproachful. “They are friends, and it is not far. There is no need. You were never so extravagant before.” Peridot tried to keep herself from rankling; Beryl did not know the full extent of Peridot’s hopes.
“Not before, no,” Peridot answered. “But now.”
“Ah,” Beryl said, taking a step back and making a mock bow. “How honored I would be to walk in the presence of the Jewel of Glint, and no doubt the cushions of the Lowpleathold will count themselves honored to serve the Jewel’s rump.”
Peridot looked at her friend in shock. She could hardly tell whether hurt or anger barbed her more, but she remembered her father’s admonition:
“Fools judge in wrath,” he had quoted from the Sayings of the Wise. “But the wise dwarf hoards his words.”
She held her tongue, waiting for the first waves of emotion pass and her thoughts to clear. After the initial urge to insult Beryl back, Peridot found it easy to hoard her words, because no other words came to her. The mockery had caught her off guard, and it surprised her. Thankfully, Peridot’s silence appeared to unnerve Beryl.
“I’m just trying to help!” Beryl snapped. “What are you doing, anyway? Do you think anyone is going to take your arbitration seriously? What’s the point? Just because your father lets you play pretend in the judgment hall doesn’t mean anything. I’m the daughter of an Owner, too, and I don’t have to walk around with guards and cloth-of-gold everywhere.”
As Beryl spoke these words, a calm came over Peridot.
“Are these your words, Beryl?” she asked.
That caught her friend off guard.
“I—there’s. . . I’m not the only one,” she answered.
Peridot nodded.
“And it appears you have been useful for them,” she said. “Their message is delivered.”
“I didn’t come here with a message,” Beryl said, “just an invitation.”
“Give my regards to Prase,” Peridot said. “And tell her I would be happy to receive her here if she should so wish.”
“You’re really not going to come with me? It will be seen as a slight.”
“I wasn’t invited, remember?”
“She—I. . .” Beryl stopped.
“You should take your mother,” Peridot continued, “if you wish to trade for the brocade.”
“I’m disappointed,” Beryl said.
Peridot did not say what she thought: the feeling was mutual.
“Are you sure you will not take something?” Peridot asked. “I can stoke the samovar.”
“No,” Beryl answered. “I am going.”
“Another time, then.” Peridot moved to the door of the hold and opened it.
“Guf anak,” Peridot said.
Beryl blew a breath out of her nose and left without response. Peridot shut the door behind. For a moment, she thought she might cry, but she mastered herself. The sting of the exchange surprised her. She was not used to being so wounded. Her whole life, she had done little that might draw anyone’s ire. She was not used to reproach, but it hurt more coming from one she thought a particular friend.
Regardless of Auntie Tourmaline or the legend of Queen Jade, wifs and maids did not arbitrate in Deep Cut, not alone. In the days of the caravans, the dwarf-wifs had kept the folk together, for there was no telling when the humans might come and haul the dwarves away. Though some wifs-of-craft had served on the Council, it was unheard of for any to arbitrate alone.
In the eyes of the mine, she could not be seen as a mere maid or wif. She needed to become something else, and she had already put in too much work to jeopardize its delicate nascence. It would not be difficult to dazzle the minds of dwarves who saw maids as a means to secure their own legacy. In splendor, she could become unreachable to them, and so change herself into an ideal. It would be much harder for those who had known her before, and most who had known her were maids and wifs, themselves.
Stepping to the samovar, she opened it and found cold ash. After scraping it out and filling it with new coals, she lit kindling from a lamp. Hot mead would be welcome. From deeper in the hold, she heard the cries of the babe, and she left the flickering kindling to catch the coals, seeking the child. Iolite peeked her head out of the workshop, saw Peridot moving toward the passage, and closed the door again.
The babe, now over two years old, lay in a stone cradle in her parents’ sleeping chamber. He had cast aside his lambskin covering and woken from a nap.
“Dot!” he said, raising his arms. “Dot!” Peridot lifted him and held him close, breathing in his scent. Sometimes after his naps, he still had that babe smell, although now she found he needed dried; he had woken himself up wet.
She doubted she would have babes of her own, but she had helped to raise her siblings for years. She had resented it, at times, especially when they were newborn and she was made to tend them while her mother and Iolite kept to the workshop, as if the babes were Peridot’s, but now she cared for the little gilke who had nothing but love for her, and she did not resent it.