Fortune was with me. Their breakfast was still set out on the table between Peottre and the girl, though it did not look as if either one had eaten much. Her uncle was already dressed in his riding leathers. Elliania was in a pretty little frock, blue and white, with much lace on the cuffs and throat. Peottre was shaking his heavy head at her. “No, little one. As with a fish on a line, you must first set the hook before you can play him. Flaunt your displeasure with him now and he will avoid that bitter taste, to follow instead the bright feathers and sweet egg of someone else’s lure. You cannot show him what you feel, Elli. Set aside the insult; behave as if you did not notice it.”
She clacked her spoon back onto the tray, so that a tiny glop of porridge leapt from it. “I cannot. I have pretended as much calmness as I could muster, last night. Right now, I could not show him what I truly feel about him with less than a knife’s edge, Uncle.”
“Ah. How well that would benefit your mother and little sister.” He spoke the words quietly, but Elliania’s face grew very still, as if he spoke of death and disease in the next chamber. She tucked her proud little chin, bowing her head before him with lowered lashes. I sensed the strength of will she used to rein herself in and suddenly saw the changes that her months at Buckkeep had wrought in her. Peottre might call her his “little fish” still, but this was a different girl from the one I had first spied on. The last vestiges of child had been hammered from her by the pounding of Buckkeep society. She spoke now with a woman’s determination.
“I will do what I must, Uncle, for our mothers’ house. You know that. Whatever I must, to ‘hook’ this fish.” When she looked up at him, her mouth was set and flat in determination, but tears stood in her eyes.
“Not that,” he said quietly. “Not yet, and perhaps never at all. So I hope.” He sighed suddenly. “But you must be warm to him, Elli. You cannot show him your anger. It tears my heart to say that to you, that you must appear untroubled by his insult. Smile upon him. Behave as if it never happened.”
“She must do more than that.” I could not see who spoke, but I recognized the serving maid’s voice. She walked into view. I studied her more closely than I had previously. She appeared to be about my age, dressed simply as if she were a servant. Yet she bore herself as if she were in charge. Her hair and eyes were black, her cheeks wide, and nose small. She shook her head at both of them. “She must appear humble and willing.”
She paused, and I saw the muscles of Peottre’s face bunch as he clenched his jaws. It made the woman smile. She went on with evident relish. “And you must make him think it is possible that you will . . . yield yourself to him.” Then she spoke in a deeper voice. “Bring the farmer prince to heel, Elliania, and keep him there. He must not look at another; he must not even consider another one as someone to bed before he is wed. He must be yours alone. Somehow, you must claim him, heart and flesh. You have heard the Lady’s warning. If you fail in this, if he strays, and gets a child with anyone, you and yours are all doomed.”
“I cannot do it,” she burst out. She mistook her uncle’s horrified look for a rebuke, for she continued desperately. “I have tried, Uncle Peottre. I have. I have danced for him, and thanked him for his gifts, and tried to look entranced by his boring talk in his farmer’s tongue. But it is all useless, for he thinks I am a little girl. He disdains me as a child, an offering from my father simply for the making of a treaty.”
Her uncle leaned back in his chair, pushing his untouched dish away from him. He sighed heavily, then glared at the serving woman. “You hear her, Henja. She has already tried your disgusting little tactic. He does not want her. He is a boy with no fire in his blood. I do not know what more we can do.”
Elliania suddenly sat up straight. “I do.” Her chin had come up again, as had the fire in her black, black eyes.
He shook his head at her. “Elliania, you are only—”
“I am not a child, nor a mere girl! I have not been a girl since this duty was laid upon me. Uncle. You cannot treat me as a child and expect others to see me as a woman. You cannot dress me like a doll, and bid me be sweet and tractable as some doting auntie’s little treasure, and expect me to attract the Prince. He has been raised in this court, among all these females as sweet as spoiling fish. If I am but one more of them, he will not even see me. Let me do what I must. For we both know that if I continue as I have, we will fail. So. Let me try it my way. If I fail on that path, also, what will we have lost?”