The Curse of Chalion - Lois McMaster Bujold [63]
“Oh,” said Betriz. He’d shocked her a little, but not excessively, he was relieved to see. “Oh.” She fell into a thoughtful silence for a few moments, staring out over the rolling golden plains beyond the river and its widening valley. The harvest was almost all in. She bit her lower lip and looked back at him in narrow-eyed concern. “It’s not…it’s surely not…there is something very odd in the spectacle of a forty-year-old man like Lord Dondo hanging on a fourteen-year-old boy’s sleeve.”
“To hang on a boy? Odd indeed. To hang on a royse, his future roya, future dispenser of position, wealth, preferment, military opportunity—well, there you have it. Grant you, if Dondo were to let go his space on that sleeve it would instantly be seized by three other men. It’s the…the manner that’s the matter.”
Her lips twisted in disgust. “Indeed. A drab, ugh. And Lord Dondo…that’s what is called a procurer, is it not?”
“Mm, and ruder names. Not that…not that Teidez is not on the brink of full manhood, and every man must learn sometime—”
“Their wedding night isn’t good enough? We must learn it all then.”
“Men…usually marry later,” he attempted, deciding this was an argument he’d best stay away from and, besides, embarrassed by the memory of how late his own apprenticeship had been. “Yet normally, a man will have a friend, a brother, or at least a father or an uncle, to introduce him to, um. How to go on. With ladies. But Dondo dy Jironal is none of these things to Teidez.”
Betriz frowned. “Teidez has none of those. Well, except…except Roya Orico, who is both father and brother, in a way.”
Their eyes met, and Cazaril realized he didn’t have to add aloud, But not in a very useful way.
She added, after an even more thoughtful moment, “And I can’t imagine Ser dy Sanda…”
Cazaril muffled a snort. “Oh, poor Teidez. Nor can I.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s an awkward age. If Teidez had been at court all along, he would be used to this atmosphere, not be so…impressed. Or if he’d been brought here when he was older, he might have a more settled character, a firmer mind. Not that court isn’t dazzling at any age, especially if you’re suddenly plopped down in the center of the whole wheel. And yet, if Teidez is to be Orico’s heir, it’s time he began training up to it. How to handle pleasures as well as duties with proper balance.”
“Is he being so trained? I do not see it. Dy Sanda tries, desperately, but…”
“He’s outnumbered,” Cazaril finished for her glumly. “That is the root of the trouble.” His brow wrinkled, as he thought it through. “In the Provincara’s household, dy Sanda had her backing, her authority to complete his own. Here in Cardegoss Roya Orico should take that part, but takes no interest. Dy Sanda has been left to struggle on his own against impossible odds.”
“Does this court…” Betriz frowned, clearly trying to frame unfamiliar thoughts. “Does this court have a center?”
Cazaril vented a wary sigh. “A well-conducted court always has someone in moral authority. If not the roya, perhaps his royina, someone like the Provincara to set the tone, keep the standards. Orico is…” he could not say weak, dared not say ill, “not doing so, and Royina Sara…” Royina Sara seemed a ghost to Cazaril, pale and drifting, nearly invisible. “Doesn’t either. That brings us to Chancellor dy Jironal. Who is much absorbed by the affairs of state, and does not take it upon himself to curb his brother.”
Betriz’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying he sets Dondo on?”
Cazaril touched his finger warningly to his lips. “Do you remember Umegat’s