ROLLENSPIEL

To greet politely the apartment caretaker and to enter the tree-house.
To ascend and stop before the door.
To check, one last time, ones outfit. To straighten up ones shoulders. To breath a big inspiration.
To knock the door.
To smile to ones mother who’s opening the door.

Usual ritual of holeth lunchtime.

Like every time, Copal entered the apartment and bowed slightly before his mother: “Deles silam lumnimae.”
Like every time, she smiled back to him and kissed him softly: “Deles silam na nidram.”

Behind her, seated at the table, his father glared at him in silence. Wrapped in his usual disapproval.
Copal greeted him prudently with a nod: “Deles silam valyenimae.”
Then he seated in his place. His back straight. His head high.
His father kept silent. An obvious sign that he had found a new gripe to reproach him for.

Copal kept a carefully flat face.
For once, he had hoped for a different reception.

His mother brought the dishes, and all murmured the prayer to Jena.
Then the meal started.
Oppressive atmosphere, that his mother tried to lighten by talking about this and that.
She began to say one by one the names of the young hominas of the neighbourhood. Asking her son what he thought of one or the other.

Copal mumbled vague answers, and kept his eyes on his plate.
How could he explain to his mother that these hominas, however charming, seemed to him now so dull compared to the ladies of the Chamber of the Nobles?
That they were only pale floret in the shade of these magnificent rotoas?
Of course, the flowers of the Chamber weren’t for him. He knew too well that he wasn’t the gardener who’d pick them.
Not counting that some had bloody thorns.
He felt himself blush at some of his memories and coughed to hide his confusion.

He drank some wine, saving time to pull himself together.
He shouldn’t have coughed. His mother was now worrying about his health.
Was he eating properly? Was he sleeping enough? Was he covering up enough when he was going out? Wasn’t his work too tiring?

Copal put his glass back. He looked at it without seeing it. Waiting for the paternal explosion.
Which didn’t take long.
“His work? What work? Moving old dusty parchments around all day long, is no work!”

His father was a warrior.
He had covered the retreat during the Second Exodus. He now was protecting Avalae as a guard.
And Copal had always respected and admired him for that.
But he only believed in his pike.
His son’s administrative career was a shame in his eyes. A stain on his name.
Of course, Nobles could be poets. And there was grandeur in being a renowned botanist or artisan. But pen-pusher in the archives was worse than useless.

Copal forced himself to count till ten before answering calmly: “We all serve the Kingdom in our own way, valyenimae.”
His father’s growl turned into a roar.
“Serving? You’re calling that serving?
Getting yourself knocked down by a kitin kilometres away from Avalae without even hitting him, it’s serving?
Wandering in the Hovel with no weapon and counting on your comrades to protect you, it’s serving?
Nattering like a Tryker instead of fighting, it’s serving?”

So, he had heard about his trip with the botanist. And about the kiban that had attacked the rear of their group.
Copal’s hand went instinctively to his chest.
His comrades had lifted him up. But he remembered the pain.

“Ser Cuiccio Perinia had no weapon either. But he was serv…”
His father cut him off, hard-voiced.
“Don’t compare yourself to the Royal Botanist. You don’t have a hundredth of his skills.
Actually, you have no skill.
You’re no warrior. May Jena save us.
You’re no artisan.
You’re no savant.
You’re not even an artist.
What good does it do to spend your time in the middle of the poetry books and amber cubes of our greatest thinkers, if you’re not even capable of taking something of it?
You can do nothing. Nothing.
You’re just a parasite of the Kingdom.
Are you even a Matis?”

Copal heard a surprised gasp.
His mother had put her hand before her mouth when hearing the biting conviction of her spouse.

Copal had dreamed one hundred times of this day’s meal.
What he would say. What his father would answer.
He had hoped for his parents to be proud of him.
Ten times, twenty times, he had put on the whole new badge before his polished amber mirror.
Ten times, twenty times, he had removed it. Uncertain.
Finally, he had left it at home.
A bit because he didn’t really feel worthy of it. He was only there to assist serae Boreale, after all.
But especially because he was so certain that his father would already know about it. As he had known about the least of his gaffes. Real or imaginary ones.
But no.

He looked at his hands, placed on the table.
Strangely, they weren’t shaking. They weren’t twisting.
He felt composed. Really.

For the first time in a very long time, he rose his eyes and dared to sustain his father’s glare.
His mother was already opening her mouth to fix what could be.
To say that it was just that they didn’t understand each other. That the words shouldn’t be considered just like that. That all this had to be seen only as the normal wish of a father who wanted the best for his son. And that, of course, they were both loving him.
He had already heard such speech. Too often. Even if never after so harsh words.

But not this time.

“You’re right, valyenimae.”

His voice was calm and controlled. It surprised him.
His mother stopped, open-mouthed.

“I’m not a powerful warrior.
Nor a talented artisan.
Nor a great savant.
Nor a renowned artist…”

He paused, his eyes still on the stern face of this father.

“But whatever you think, I’m no parasite.
I’m a Matis.
And I’m serving my Karan.
The way it pleases Him the best.”

He saw his father go red, ready to explode once more. He hurried to talk before him.

“At the last Chamber of the Nobles in Avalae, I’ve been appointed Royal Scribe by Duke Rodi di Varello.
The Karan himself confirmed my appointment before the whole of the Nobles of the Kingdom gathered in the Throne Room.
I know it. I was there.”

It sounded so grandiloquent, said like that.
He felt he had to correct a bit.
“I’m fully aware that it doesn’t turn me into someone important.
That I’m only a servant among a lot of others.
And that if the Nobles stand my presence among them, it doesn’t mean I’m one of them.”

He didn’t dare to add that the Karan had probably only been reading some notes passed to Him by a councelor.
The Karan had told his name. And all the Nobles had heard it. It was all that mattered: his father couldn’t say anymore that he was dishonouring his name.

His father, currently, seemed to have turned into a statue.
Copal glanced to his mother. She was still open-mouthed. But she looked less panicked and more impressed.

He desperately searched for something to break the strange silence that followed his declaration.
“But I won’t let you say I’m useless.
Not when the Karan himself decided differently.”
It wasn’t much of a conclusion. He preferred to drink some wine before adding the word that would ruin everything.
He suddenly felt exhausted.

His mother finally took care of filling the silence. First in a shy and then more and more confident voice.
“Oh, you went to Yrkanis. There have been years since I last went to the Great Greenhouse…”
She continued for a while to detail her last tour over the place. Accumulating unimportant details.
Both homins, as for them, finished their meal in a prudent mutism.

When he finally went back home, Copal contemplated for a long time the badge of his office.
So many hopes. So many responsibilities. In such a small thing.
Finally, he hooked it on his vest and started working.
Whether reading a paper or thinking every and each word, the Karan had entrusted him with a task. He had to prove himself worthy of it.
His father’s opinion was of no importance in front of this.
And, who knows, maybe serae Boreale would smile to him again.

To return the respectful salute of the caretaker and to enter the tree house.
To ascend and stop before the door.
To check, one last time, ones outfit. To adjust ones insignia and straighten up the ones of ones House. To breath slowly.
To knock the door.
To smile to ones mother who’s opening the door.

Usual ritual of holeth lunchtime.

Like every time, Copal entered the apartment and bowed slightly before his mother: “Deles silam lumnimae.”
Like every time, she smiled back to him and kissed him softly: “Deles silam na nidram.” With a light move of her hand, she smoothed out an imaginary fold on the uniform of his House. Straightening up in passing his Royal Scribe insignia that hadn’t moved yet.

Behind her, seated at the table, his father was waiting in silence. Like every time. An upset silence today.
Copal bowed respectfully: “Deles silam valyenimae.”
The old warrior answered with a nod: “Deles silam nidram”.
Copal sat at his place. Hiding his relief. He wasn’t the source of the irritation that was veiling his father’s eyes and had him screw up his lips.

His mother brought the dishes, and all murmured the prayer to Jena.
Then the meal started.
And with it, the long list of questions. His mother wanted to know everything about her son’s connections.

So Copal had to reel of, once again, the litany of all the Nobles he had met closely or not in the past few days. Even the ones who hadn’t granted him the least glance.
To give news from his House leader. As if wearing the same colours as the Viscount of Avalae turned him into one of his close friends.
To tell the least details of the last Chamber of the Nobles. While his mother had probably already read ten times his report carefully transcribed in the archives. And to remember to expurgate any reference to the eccentricities of the former Clerk of the Court.
To detail the outfits worn by the Karae’s Ladies in Waiting at every occasion. And, finally, let his mother speak. So that she could go into ecstasies at leisure about the fashion show organized by Ser Mendell, the new Royal Couturier. Once more.

He wouldn’t complain about the exalted pride of his mother on his account. No. Definitively not.
But if she could have taken a bit more interest in him. And a bit less in the ones he was meeting.
He refrained from sighing.

His father was still chewing vigorously and was staring straight ahead of him. Finally, he swallowed the last mouthful with a drop of wine.
He turned nonetheless kindly to his spouse: “It was delicious, nae mindalae.”
She accepted the compliment with a graceful nod: “Fila, my spouse.”
Copal smiled to his mother: “It was delicious, lumnimae. It’s always a pleasure to eat what you cook.”
His mother smiled back. “Fila. It’s always a pleasure when you visit us.”
She took the empty dish. Then she left the homins among themselves.

Copal turned finally to his father.
This one was returning his glaze. Seemed to weigh him. To search… something.
“You were at this… that… this tournament.”
It wasn’t really a question. But Copal nodded: “Sil”. Wondering which word his father had held back.
“You’ve seen the… kamists.”
Copal swallowed and nodded once again. Silently.
It wasn’t a nice memory.
“And you have heard the Karan.”
His father’s voice was more of a growl by now.
Copal refrained from frowning. You didn’t criticise the Karan. He was… the Karan. Sentence.
He nodded prudently.
“Honouring kamists! And Fyros! In our own lands!”
Copal thought for an instant that his father was going to spit on the ground. But he didn’t. His mother would probably not have accepted it.
“How could they do that?”
This time, Copal frowned. What was his father talking about?
But this one was started.
“They did not only let those woodheads win! But they also get humiliated even by mercenaries! Mercenaries! Two teams of Matis, and they both end last! That’s the kind of Nobles you’re serving? Not even capable of taking their responsibilities for their decisions?”
His father was looking at him. Visibly furious. Copal realized with amazement that he was not afraid. Not really in any case. New feeling that he was not accustomed to.
“The Viscount of Avalae fought. While Avalae had voted against the participation of the Fyros. Filirae Remigra fought, though she’s no seasoned warrior. La Firme provided also several fighters. But the aim wasn’t the victory of the Matis.
-WHAT?”
This time, it was a roar. And Copal jumped despite himself. But he got a grip on himself.
“The aim was to know if Serae Zendae had the skills for a Master of Arms. For a leader. She proved her worth on this point. And the Karan had her rewarded as fitted. And if some Fyros are wearing swords with the name of Jena, maybe they’ll find Her light.”
Copal had to admit he had been impressed with the way the Karan presented these weapons to the winners. He shouldn’t have. It was the Karan after all. He may have been forced, by the choices of His Nobles, to look contented in front of his abhorred enemies. But certainly not to the point of letting them brag after their victory.
His father was looking at him. Less furious probably, but not really convinced. And Copal had to admit that his argument was a bit poor.

All the Nobles who had voted in favour of opening the tournament to the Fyros hadn’t fought. And whatever he said publicly, the Karan would probably not be satisfied with the fighting skills he had seen. Serae Zendae would have lots to do.
The next Chamber of the Nobles would probably be heated.

But in the meantime, it was out of the question to let the people doubt about its nobility. And even less about the Karan.
So Copal was doing his share. And tried, on his level, to fix the damages caused by this defeat.
And he would never mention some of the exchanges he had witnessed. Nec. Never.

Respond to Ciero Vivaldo's polite greeting and enter the house tree.
Open his door, and return to the calm of his apartment.
Breathe. Slowly.
Evacuate the tiredness that tightened his shoulders.

Copal went to sit down in front of his apartment rotoa. He immersed himself in the contemplation of the soft nuances of the flower. And he reviewed the course of the evening's events. He needed to put his thoughts in order.

Ambassador Nilstilar had invited him to attend an official meeting in Fairhaven.
Perhaps out of friendship. Perhaps to be less lonely.
Copal had no idea that the Ambassador needed any help. But now that he had had a glimpse of the meeting in question, he could imagine that the company of a fellow Matis might have been pleasant to him.

What a mess!
Everyone was talking at the same time. Or shouting. Even running ashore. And the guard said nothing. And there were barrels of drink everywhere. Even the Governor had a tankard in her hand! That was the governing body of the Federation?

And that Tryker!
Copal blew with exasperation.
Did he really believe that nobody saw him coming, with his false good intentions? Or was he so stupid as to believe them? And he claimed to be a commander? And he thought he was giving lessons in respect?

Copal forced himself to calm down.
Well, indeed. He had not shown much respect. The person had annoyed him quite a bit.
The worst thing was that he had almost put the Ambassador in an unpleasant position. So he had preferred to take his leave.
But before that, he had been able to hear the Governor muzzle and put a leash on her crazy ragus. The Karan would never have needed to do such a thing with the Mistress of Arms.

It was more than time to sleep.
Copal went to his room.
Tomorrow, he would go back to the Grove of Confusion to get flowers. The place was much better frequented than Frogmore Place. Maybe he would even see Serae Wu She-Peng and Serae Liosta Be'Zephy again.

To take leave with as much dignity as possible and return to the tree-house.
To regain the intimacy of his apartment.
Hesitating between dancing and collapsing on the moss green floor.

Finally Copal went to immerse himself in the contemplation of his apartment rotoa.
Unfortunately this did not bring him the usual appeasement.
He stared at it without seeing it. His mind kept returning to the events of the day. Oscillated between exaltation and despair.

He had seen her again! They had spent the evening digging together at the Grove.
It wasn't his favorite activity, but it didn't matter. He had been by her side. And she had explained to him a bit of the theory of nodes. He hadn't understood it all, but that wasn't the point.
He remembered every word. Every inflection of her voice. Every gesture that reinforced an explanation. Every smile. Ah, her smile...

Copal sank into the memory.
But he quickly became gloomy. Of course they hadn't been alone.
Was it because she was afraid he would misbehave? Yet he hadn't done anything improper. At least not that he could remember.
But indeed she had stayed back several times when they had changed sources. And it seemed to him that she had jumped when he had called her.

And she had quickly withdrawn her hand when his had brushed against it too.
Yet it was completely accidental! He had not wanted to!
Or rather, he hadn't dared. It could happen when you were caring the same source. But she had still removed her hand.

On the other hand, she had agreed to let him walk her back to the tree-house. It was even the second time they had made the trip together since the teleporter. A delightful walk under the trees of Avalae.
They lived in the same tree. She in her guild. He in his apartment.
Would he dare to invite her there one day?

Nec, nec, nec. No way.
Copal looked at his few pieces of furniture. The almost complete lack of decoration.
What would she think when she saw all his scribe’s tools? The stacked files? The archives he had borrowed?
It was his work. Necessary for the Kingdom of course. And it had allowed him to attend the Court of the Karae Court.
But he was a little ashamed of it now. He was only a servant after all. While she...

Besides, she had not given his title when she had introduced him to the little Tryker at the teleporter.
He had felt a little offended at the time.
But maybe it was for the best. Maybe she hadn't wanted to remind him that he wasn't a minstrel, an artist. Nor a Noble. Like the other Matis present.
Yes. She was always delicate and thoughtful.

Or maybe she had taken pity on him.
Copal fell back into his dark ruminations.

Yet she had seemed a little concerned for him when they had talked about his training. She had hoped he was careful.
Then he had been bold. He'd dared to suggest that she come back and help him when he was practicing fencing on the cratchas of the Knoll of Dissent. As she had done before.

And she had refused.

She had been polite.
She had explained that she wanted to perfect the art of healing. That healing was her life.

Her whole life.

Copal sighed.
She was of a much higher level than he was. There was no way she would come back to heal him under these conditions.
Except out of pity. Out of the goodness of her heart.
That wasn't what he wanted.

There was only one way.
He would return to the Knoll the next day after his shift at the archives. He had to make enough progress so that they could train together. So that it wouldn't be unbalanced. So that he could help her in turn to progress.
That she became the great caretaker she dreamed of being.

And pray to Jena with all his heart that she wouldn’t meet anyone else before then.

Copal stood up resolutely.
He could do nothing against the crowd of elegant and distinguished Matis that populated the Court.
But he could sleep to be in good shape the next day.
His hand slid over the small parchment in his pocket. The one that had started it all. The few words that said she was at the Grove.
The message was not signed. But it had to be in her hand. Elegant, light, witty.
Copal took a deep breath. But the scroll smelled only of the earth they had turned over together.
It had to be her who had written it. Who had told him where to find her. Who had wished for his presence.
Maybe he had a chance. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

One last thought crossed his mind as he drifted off to sleep.
There was no way he was going to tell his mother about this at the next family dinner.

Holeth noon. The usual lunch with his parents.
Copal had almost not come. But the habit had prevailed.

And he regretted it.

His mother had let her husband and son discuss quietly at the beginning. Mostly about the latest events in the Jungle. About the madman who had unleashed gooified frippos and yubos on the Zorai cities.
Copal had remembered Ser Nilstilar's advice. He had tried to be neutral. He had limited himself to phlegmatically relating the facts he had witnessed. As an ambassador should.
Assuming that he would ever be one. The Theocracy did not seem particularly eager to give him the opportunity to present himself.

He had so hoped to prove himself worthy of this new mark of trust from the Karan.
And it seemed so insignificant to him now.

But this topic had at least delayed the moment when his mother had started talking about the Karin's wedding.
Copal had no desire to talk about it. To think about it. Or to listen as his mother speculated about the future bride.
He kept his nose on his plate. Eating as slowly as possible. Only half listening to what she was saying. Lost in his memories.

There had been this magical moment.
They had both returned to the Knoll. At the edge of the cliff.
It was as if Jena's warmth had enveloped them. They had stayed a long time against each other. Ignoring the rain.
He had lost himself in her eyes. In their light.

They had kissed.

And then they had returned to Yrkanis and everything had gone wrong.
She was crying.
And Copal didn't know what he had done wrong. Or had not done.

His meal remained on his stomach.
He used the excuse of having to do some work for Ser Cuine Pido to take an early leave.
Not fast enough though. His mother had time to ask him with a smile: "And you, nidram. When will you get married? You must have met some charming hominas at the Court."

Copal mumbled some excuse. And ran away as fast as politeness would allow.
Haunted by green eyes. And the sweetness of a mouth.

Répondre d’un sourire au salut du gardien d’immeuble. Entrer dans l’arbre maison. Monter jusqu’à l’appartement de ses parents.
Vérifier sa tenue. Respirer lentement. Se ressaisir. Faire comme si tout était normal.
Frapper à la porte.
Souffler une dernière fois.

Sourire à sa mère qui lui ouvre.

Rituel habituel du holeth midi.

Passée la traditionnelle prière à Jena, un silence étrange s’installa autour de la table. Même s’il fallut un moment à Copal pour s’en rendre compte.
Le mutisme de son père n’était pas forcément inhabituel. Celui de sa mère par contre…

Copal se força à sortir de sa rêverie. Avait il manqué une question ? Une remarque ?
Sa mère le regardait. Semblant attendre quelque chose.

« Pardon lumnimae. Je pensais à autre chose.
– Ou à quelqu’un d’autre surement. »
Le sourire de sa mère était vaguement inquiétant. Copal jeta un œil à son père.
Celui-ci mangeait calmement. Mais il s’interrompit le temps d’expliquer entre deux bouchées.
« Si tu voulais être discret, le téléporteur d’Avalae n’est pas le meilleur endroit pour un rendez-vous. »
Il semblait étrangement détendu. Peut-être même approbateur ? Copal n’en revenait pas.

Mais déjà sa mère enchainait avec impatience.
« Comment s’appelle t’elle ? Quand vas tu nous la présenter ? »
Son père haussa les épaules, l’air de dire qu’il ne voulait pas être mélé à ça.
Copal essaya d’éluder.
« Je ne peux pas vous la présenter tout de suite. Elle vient juste de m’autoriser à la courtiser. Je ne sais même pas ce qu’elle pense de moi. »
Ce n’était pas tout à fait vrai. Il lui semblait qu’elle n’était pas complètement insensible à sa compagnie. Mais Copal n’était pas certain de comprendre les homines. Surtout celle la.
Et il n’était pas question de la présenter à sa mère Pour le moment !

« Tu peux au moins nous dire son nom quand même.
– Elle porte les couleurs de la Firme. »
Voilà que son père s’y mettait.
Est ce qu’il connaissait assez les habitants d’Avalae pour reconnaître une homine en particulier ? Probablement. Ca faisait partie du métier.
Mais il ne semblait pas décidé à en dire plus. Se concentrant sur son repas.
Au grand soulagement de son fils. Qui tenta d’appliquer la même stratégie.

Sa mère semblait vaguement incertaine.
« La Firme ? C’est une bonne Maison. »
Il n’allait pas laisser sa mère la dénigrer même involontairement.
« C’est une Maison Noble. »
– Ah. » Cela sembla la rassurer. « Une homine de bonne Maison. Et de bonne famille j’imagine. »
Copal fixa son assiette. Bien décidé à ne rien trahir de plus.

« Leur chef n’est pas un Fyros ? »
Sa mère avait à nouveau l’air un peu inquiète.
Copal retint un soupir.
« Sil. Filira Zakkkaria. Il était aussi Greffier Royal. Mais il a pris sa retraite. C’est maintenant Serae She-Peng qui dirige la Firme. » Il fit une pause. « Elle est de sève zorai. »
Il n’essayait pas vraiment de choquer sa mère. Mais elle lui paraissait bien provinciale tout à coup.
« Et elle est Ménestrelle Royale. »

Sa mère semblait partagée entre divers sentiments.
« Tu connais tous ces gens ?
– Sil. Je les croise à la Chambre des Nobles. Ou à la Cour de la Karae. Ou parfois ailleurs dans le Royaume.
– Tu es devenu quelqu’un d’important. Nous sommes tellement fiers de toi, nya nidram. »
Il connaissait des gens importants. Ce n’était pas la même chose. Mais Copal ne se sentait pas le courage d’expliquer la nuance.
« Je suis certaine que tu as choisi une homine tout à fait comme il faut. Et que tu nous la présenteras bientôt. »
Copal marmonna un vague assentiment. Et il fut soulagé pour une fois quand sa mère passa sur le sujet du mariage du Karin. Même si le regard spéculatif qu’elle posait parfois sur son fils continuait d’inquiéter celui-ci.

To restrain himself. To respect the calm of the place.
To not show his annoyance.
It was a waste of time.
Copal obviously still had some progress to make in terms of impassivity.

The archivist apologized. Explaining that all the available books on Royal Weddings were out.
But that he would of course find something appropriate for the Royal Scribe. If the latter was willing to give him a few days. He would do whatever was necessary to get some of them. But with the Karin's wedding coming up...

Copal preferred to ignore this useless monologue.
He did not want a book about Royal Weddings. He was not Karan, Jena forbid.
He wanted to know more about weddings. As simple as that.

It had been a stupid idea anyway. He should have known all along.
But there weren't that many people he could ask.

A natural choice would have been to ask Filira Erminantius. Unfortunately the leader of the House Gardiens du Savoir had been gone for many cycles.

There was also Ser Nilstilar. The Ambassador was a man of good taste and wise counsel. He was well versed in the ways of the world, and the forms that should be followed. And Copal thought he was smart enough to have noticed something.
But he was also a bachelor. Perhaps the subject was painful for him. It would have been tactless to broach the subject with him.

The nobles of the Court were certainly not people to whom he could confide his worries.
Perhaps Filira Salazar? By asking the question on a theoretical level as he had done with the archivist? Or on a historical level?

The sad reality was that there were few married and discreet homins in his relations.
So Copal had turned to his usual source of knowledge. The archives.
Without success.
The Karin's wedding was a simple pretext to justify his sudden interest. This was obviously too simple.

The only one left to question was his father.
Copal shuddered at the thought.
But if he had to.
And strange as it may seem, it was still less disturbing than talking to his mother.

Anyway, he had been sure of his feelings for a long time.
And after what they'd said to each other on the cliff, he couldn't decently stay in this wobbly situation forever.
The honor of his Serae might suffer.
He had to make his request in due form.

Another eager archivist was approaching. He was carrying a few books which he placed on a desk.
The first one interrupted his stammering.
They presented the various manuals of manners and historical chronicles.
They contained many details about minor weddings. But there were also a few things about ancient Royal weddings.
If this would satisfy the Royal Scribe by the time the other books returned.

Copal forced himself to accept it all calmly. And to give thanks in the most neutral way possible.
And to better hide his satisfaction.

To crumple the sheet. To throw it on the ground.
With all the others.
Copal restrained himself from taking out his frustration on his quill in the same way.
He was a Royal Scribe and an Ambassador. He should have been able to write a simple letter.

He stood up abruptly.
With a few stretches and breaths he regained control of himself.
At least enough to recognize inwardly that this letter was not simple.
It touched on too many personal things.

He sat down again calmgly. But without taking his writing kit yet.
He remained for a long moment staring at the void in front of him.
Looking for the right word. For the right approach.
But it was too difficult for now.

He owed Serae Wu-Shepeng his sincere thanks. And he would give them to her.
But it was too soon.
Perhaps he was simply taking the problem the wrong way.

First to get married.
And then to thank the one who had made this extraordinary outcome possible.
When he had been hesitating to propose for so many months.

Getting married.
He was going to get married.
He Serae of his heart had said sil.
Copal was smiling at a face only he could see.

But first he had to find someone suitable to conduct the ceremony.
The etiquette manuals he had consulted extensively said it had to be a married homin.
Of which he didn’t know that many.

The first one that came was the newly married Karin Aniro.
But that was far too presumptuous.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hm...

Répondre dignement au salut respectueux du gardien d’immeuble. Entrer dans l’arbre maison. Monter jusqu’à l’appartement de ses parents.
S’arrêter devant la porte.
Vérifier sa tenue. Respirer lentement.
Rituel habituel du holeth midi.

Avec cette fois deux changements d’importance.
Le premier ne se voyait pas. Mais Copal en sentait pourtant le poids depuis la dernière Chambre des Nobles.
Il faisait désormais partie de l’élite de la société matisse.
Lui le gratte-papier était désormais Noble du Royaume.
Il ne s’y faisait pas. Pas encore.

Le deuxième se trouvait à ses cotés. Il n’en revenait pas vraiment non plus.
Serae Liosta lui sourit un encouragement.

Il ne pouvait pas décemment ne pas la présenter à ses parents.
Alors que la moitié de leurs connaissances au moins était au courant.
Alors qu’elle lui avait présenté sa mère à elle. Chose bien plus difficile.

Il leur avait fallu aller dans les Lacs pour ça.
La Tryker avait paru sincèrement heureuse de voir sa fille. Et même que celle-ci épouse un Matis.
Mais il y avait eu une tension entre elles.
Et le reste des Trykers du bar avait été à la hauteur de ce qu’on pouvait attendre de Trykers dans un bar.
Au moins ne l’avaient ils pas traité d’esclavagiste.
Copal se força à se calmer. Et à revenir à l’instant présent.

Présenter sa fiancée à sa mère.

Copal prit une inspiration profonde.
La main de Serae Liosta délicatement posée sur son bras, il frappa à la porte.


Alors qu’elle semblait détendue jusque là, ces coups firent tressaillir Liosta et Copal put sentir un léger tremblement dans sa main.

De son éducation tryker, elle avait gardé le goût de la famille et elle désirait plus que tout se faire admettre voire apprécier par les parents de son fiancé.
Elle vivait à la cour depuis ses 19 ans. Elle connaissait les intrigues, les commérages. Sous l’oeil bienveillant de la Karae, elle avait appris à se montrer digne de son rang et passer outre les mauvaises langues.

Mais là.

Elle ne voulait pas de ces relations formelles et superficielles. Elle voulait qu’ils l’aiment, elle, pas la dame de compagnie de la Karae.
Et elle n’était que la fille d’une tryker et d’un matis depuis trop longtemps disparu.

L’anxiété de Copal étant palpable, elle se ressaisit et, tandis que la porte s’ouvrait, elle mit sur ses lèvres son sourire le plus sincère.


Sourire à sa mère qui ouvre la porte.
Constater qu’elle porte sa plus belle tenue de fête. Impossible de ne pas le remarquer.
Copal s’y était attendu.

Il s’était moins attendu à voir son père debout à coté d’elle. En grand uniforme.
Ce holeth midi promettait vraiment de ne pas être comme les autres.

Difficile d’embrasser sa mère sans lacher le bras de sa fiancée.
Voilà bien un détail auquel Copal n’avait pas pensé.
Il salua sa mère d’un sourire. Et se figea lorsqu’elle plongea dans une révérence.
Il sentit Serae Liosta tressaillir à son bras.

« Lumnimae ? »
Copal tendit sa main libre pour relever sa mère. Mais elle se redressait déjà.
« Tu es quelqu’un d’important maintenant.
– Mais je suis toujours votre fils. »

Il chercha le soutien de son père. Après tout ce que le vieux garde avait pu dire sur la carrière de son fils. Surement qu’il n’allait pas se laisser impressionner.
Mais son père semblait prêt à se mettre au garde-à-vous.

La situation devenait trop surnaturelle pour Copal.
Il préféra se rabattre sur les quelques mots qu’il avait préparés.
« Valyenimae, Lumnimae, je vous présente Serae Liosta Be’Zephy. Ma fiancée. »

Serae Liosta s’inclina avec une grâce exquise. Sans bouger la main sur son bras.
Elle était bien plus douée que lui pour ce genre de choses.

Cela ramena au moins un semblant de naturel dans le comportement de sa mère.
Qui sourit et prit les mains de sa future bru pour lui souhaiter chaleureusement la bienvenue.
Et l’entrainer vers l’intérieur de l’appartement en posant une multitude de questions dont elle n’attendait pas les réponses.


L’attitude cérémonieuse des parents de Copal avait crispé Liosta.
Mais force était de constater que ce n’était pas sa présence mais bien l’anoblissement de Copal qui en était la cause.
Elle était vraiment très heureuse de ce geste du Karan qui était plus que mérité mais elle n’aurait jamais cru que cela allait prendre une telle proportion.

Le babil incessant de Sirgia Piri donna du temps à Liosta pour se remettre du choc et préparer l’offensive de charme qu’elle comptait bien mettre en œuvre.

« Votre Habit-arbre est magnifiquement décoré ! Savez-vous que Copal ne m’a jamais fait visiter le sien ? Tout cela est si délicat, Sirgia. Je peux vous appeler ainsi n’est ce pas ? Je suis tellement heureuse de retrouver ici une famille unie. » Liosta sourit à Copal qui était resté quelques pas en arrière avec son père. « Et d’en faire bientôt partie. Et moi je serai Liosta tout simplement. C’est une fleur qui pousse dans les Lacs. Elle est très colorée et les trykers la ramassent pour fleurir leurs appartements. Rien ne peut se comparer aux beautés du Jardin Majestueux, bien sûr. Si vous voulez nous irons ensemble nous promener et cueillir quelques bouquets pour encore plus mettre en valeur ces vases. » Liosta baissa la voix. « Et nous les laisserons parler politique autant qu’ils veulent. »

Cette avalanche prit la mère de Copal de court. La Karae avait souvent cet air un peu dubitatif en écoutant Liosta. Elle appelait cela « son enthousiasme de tryker ».

Liosta fit quelques pas en direction de la salle à manger pour gentiment laisser le temps à sa future belle-mère de se reprendre.


Copal profita que les deux homines s’avançaient dans l’appartement pour prendre son père à part.
Son attitude le déconcertait. Il semblait mal à l’aise alors que Copal ne l’avait jamais vu autrement que sur de lui.

« Je n’ai pas changé Valyenimae.
– Tu es noble maintenant.
– Mais je n’ai pas changé. »
Son père fixait un point loin devant lui. Copal avait la nette impression qu’il ne l’écoutait pas.
« Et les nobles commandent l’armée du Karan. »

Copal se sentit béer stupidement.
Lui ? Commander une armée ? Ou même une poignée de soldats ? Voire seulement donner des ordres à un garde municipal ?

Oh.

Un silence lourd s’installa.

La conversation légère des homines leur parvenait de l’autre pièce.

Copal déglutit péniblement.

« Seulement les Hauts Nobles. Et sinon le Karan enverrait la Maîtresse d’Armes ou un membre de l’Ordre Alkian en cas de besoin. »
Copal l’espérait avec ferveur.

Mais son père accepta ses assurances.
« Un Haut Noble. Sil. Bien. Ce n’est pas que je veuille te manquer de respect. »
Copal se força à accepter le commentaire avec un hochement de tête digne.
Son père retrouvait un certain équilibre. C’était l’essentiel.
Peu importait si le respect n’avait pas précisément fait partie de leur relation jusqu’à récemment.

Les homines les attendaient pour passer à table.
Ils les rejoignirent dans un silence raisonnablement apaisé.


Liosta ne se fit pas prier pour déclamer la traditionnelle prière à Jena. Il y avait tant dont elle devait la remercier.
Et le repas ne fut pas assez long pour parler du mariage.
Celui du Karin.


Poser la main sur le bras que lui tend Copal tout en saluant gracieusement la maitresse de maison pour la remercier.
Prendre congé gravement du vieux garde.
Repasser la porte au bras de Copal.
Futur rituel du Holeth Midi.

Not to slow down when reaching the door.
To pass between the guards as naturally as possible.
He was not at fault.
He had done nothing wrong.
He was not being called to order.
He was being respectfully asked by the Avalae Chief Guard to grant him a few moments of his precious time to clarify a possible international diplomatic incident as a first-hand witness.

Copal himself had written enough official documents to decrypt.
Miaro Ronti was not happy at all.
And he couldn't say so.
He had been at his post long enough to take precautionary measures with a Noble. Especially a Noble who seemed to be favoured by the Karin Aniro.
Even if he had been able to look down on the said Noble when he was still an obscure provincial official.

Copal entered the office with all the confidence he could muster.


The interview beginning was no surprise.
Miaro Ronti held a very experienced combination of a field soldier's efficiency and courtly manners.
And he wanted to know the full context to better understand the situation.

Copal had to start his story at the Hovel’s vortex.
Where the Trykeri had brought him the two mektoubs loaded with the beer he had ordered.
Where part of the escort from Fairhaven had wanted to continue to Avalae.
In flagrant contradiction with the agreement he and Commander Jazzy had made.
But the Tryker had no authority over non-citizens.
Nor had Copal.

And so it had been the disorganised journey to Avalae through the Hovel, Fleeting Garden and the south of the Majestic Garden.
Copal had felt more often than not that he was not in control of anything.
He was holding on as best he could to a leaf carried by the current.
Or rather near the mektoubs.
With enthusiastic homins who ran headlong. Slaughtering the ferocious beasts in their path.
Not caring what was going on behind them.
Nor of any instructions.
An undisciplined and inconsistent horde.
The worst moment had been when Serae Liosta had fallen. The victim of crossfire in an altercation with a patrol.
But the shipment had reached Avalae safely.

Copal did not dwell on his difficulties.
Nor on his growing fatigue and frustration as they went along.
Not even about the purple-haired Zorai who was throwing out perfidious innuendos worthy of the worst gossips in the Court.
He preferred to quickly explain the route taken. The rare difficulties encountered.
And above all the result obtained.
That was all that mattered.
Even if Miaro Ronti was probably no more fooled than his father.

Finally the beer barrels had been stored at his home with the diligent help of the Alkiane Order.
And then the special barrel had to be taken to Yrkanis.

From then on, the Chief Guard was much more attentive.
And reproachful.
He understood that the Filira Copal had preferred to keep the matter secret until Yrkanis.
And that he had preferred to calm the most excited members of the escort himself.
And even that he had allowed them to accompany him to the capital city.
But really, with all due respect:
"You should have called the Avalae Guard when that Tryker attacked you, Filira. To attack a Karan representative is to attack the Kingdom. We cannot tolerate this kind of behavior."

Copal forced himself to smile.
"Normally I would have said the same as you, Ser. But the important thing was not my fate. The important thing was the mission the Karan had given to me. The whole group would have killed each other on the spot if I had responded with weapons. And the prisoner might have had a chance to escape."

Copal paused.
He had discovered the power of silence by listening to real diplomats. Filira Salazar. Ser Nilstilar.
He tried to apply their lessons.

He continued.
"But they understood that nothing would make me change my mind."
Which was true. To his great surprise.
Copal had never imagined himself as a leader of homins. And events had largely proved him right.
But he had discovered that he was really ready to do anything to accomplish his duty.
And also that he didn't like to take orders from a bunch of uncultured and overexcited kamists. But the Chief Guard didn't need to know that.

What Miaro Ronti didn't need to know either was the real reason why he hadn't fought back.
The Tryker who had attacked him knew how to fight. She really did. And he didn't.
Despite all his efforts.
He wasn't sticking his sword in his foot. And he could handle himself against animals without intelligence.
But he was really no match for her in this kind of situation.

Fortunately, she had shot him quickly.
He hadn't had time to be too ridiculous.
And he had managed to turn the situation to his advantage afterwards.

The Chief Guard was not completely convinced.
But he knew a fight he could not win.
He thanked his host courteously and walked him to the door.
Not without commenting at the last moment.
"Who would have thought that protecting a load of beer would interest so many homins. If I may say so, Filira. Next time you'd better choose another pretext if you want to be discreet."

And Copal found himself outside in the Avalae night.
He held back an unwelcome curse.
There would be no next time. Not if he could avoid it.
Grace be to Jena. He was an ambassador to the Theocracy. Not the Federation.

He hurried to his wife.