Hadn't Tsavila said that he should be kind to her, for she'd suffered enough already? If she was compelled to act this part against her will, further probing could do no good; he had already learned enough to be sure she was no Vetuatsenu. Various moments of their conversations the day before came back to him: she had repeatedly changed the subject when someone brought up recent events in Netuatsenu, or asked more than a few questions about her family.

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Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes

by Trismegistus Shandy

Part 12 of 22

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Feel free to repost or mirror it on any noncommercial site or list. You can also create derivative works, including adaptations to other media, or new stories using the same setting, characters and so forth, as long as you mention and point to the original story.

An earlier version of this novel was serialized on the tg_fiction mailing list from December 2010 to March 2011. Thanks to the people who posted comments on that draft.

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Verentsu mulled over the conversation just passed. Shalasan had spoken up in defense of Viluri customs when her cousin got angry about the slave auction — well, it was an ugly thing, something ladies shouldn't have to see, but still necessary. That could be just because she was more widely traveled than her cousin and less apt to be shocked at foreign customs, but it was also consistent with his theory that she was really a Viluri... What exactly had Tsavila said about her? That she wasn't what she seemed, but meant no harm... And something about her having suffered a lot. Shalasan had said that her betrothed had died near the beginning of the war in Netuatsenu, but she had seemed more embarrassed than sorrowful when talking about it. So that probably wasn't what Tsavila had been talking about; probably it hadn't actually happened, though perhaps something analogous had.

He puzzled over it in silence until they reached the Jolly Armadillo, the inn they customarily stopped at on their way to the country estate. It was far less than half the distance, and even with the heavy traffic in the city a little less than half the time, but there wasn't another inn half so good at a more convenient place along the way. Iantsemu and Psilina's carriage was there ahead of them, and while Verentsu was helping the ladies out of the carriage (little Paukuno came running up to Shalasan as soon as they saw her, and hugged her legs), the other carriages carrying his other brothers and their wives and servants arrived. Soon they were all seated at three adjoining tables, drinking decent Nemaretsu wine — not the best, but better than was to be had at any other inn along the road to Tialem.

Soon after they were settled, Miretsi (who had been sleeping in Psilina's arms) woke up and began to fuss. Psilina checked her swaddling, then said: “It's not that; she's hungry. Whose turn is it now?”

Shalasan said something aside to Kazmina in Ksetuatsenu; Verentsu couldn't hear clearly what she said. Kazmina replied, and Shalasan said to Psilina: “I think it's my cousin's turn.”

Kazmina ran her hands over the front of her dress, chanting in a low voice; the dress changed, buttoned panels appearing where there had been a solid expanse of silk before. As Shalasan took Miretsi from her mother, Kazmina unbuttoned her dress, then took the baby from her cousin. She spoke quietly to her as she offered her the breast, and soon Miretsi quieted down and started nursing.

Verentsu was troubled. Last night he had been pleased to see Nuasila and Shalasan nursing his dear little niece, and this morning he'd been grateful to Kazmina for letting the other women take turns nursing and give his sister-in-law a more restful night's sleep than she'd had since Miretsi was born. But since his suspicions about Shalasan and Kazmina had been aroused, he couldn't help fear that they had some sinister motive for this. Even with Tsavila's reassurances, he wondered if Kazmina might be taking this opportunity, with no other wizards about, to work some spell on defenseless Miretsi through her milk...? He would have to ask Tsavila to test for that, later — if it wasn't too late. But she had clearly not expected any danger, or she wouldn't have gone off and left her brothers and sisters-in-law alone with Kazmina and her purported cousin.

Why, too, had she asked him not to tell their father of his suspicions? Certainly he and Tsavila had kept secrets from their father, and from their older brothers, often enough; but this seemed like the sort of thing they would need his help with. So Tsavila must be confident of her ability to handle it by herself, or sure that there was no danger. She had said that Shalasan meant no harm by the deception, and that she was not deceiving them of her own will; that seemed to imply that someone else was compelling her to deceive them. Did this other person — Kazmina, or the enchantress calling herself Kazmina, seemed the likeliest candidate — mean harm by the deception? Or was it some girlish prank that Kazmina was playing on Tsavila, and which Tsavila had seen through but wanted to play along with...? Perhaps Shalasan was someone Tsavila already knew, disguised and temporarily obliged to play-act as Kazmina's cousin, with a revelation of her true identity planned as a surprise wedding gift...?

“You are very quiet,” Shalasan said, leaning toward him and speaking in a low voice. “I hope my cousin did not offend you, speaking so about your country's laws and customs... She has not traveled widely as I have.”

“No,” he said, “I take no offense. I have traveled very little, myself; perhaps, if I were in your country, I could not restrain myself from exclaiming over some unfamiliar custom.” He thought back on what Kazmina had said. “Did your cousin say that you had abolished slavery in your country?”

“Oh,” Shalasan said, seeming to be at a loss for words. “Yes, it was quite recent.” She fell silent.

He suspected that she knew little more of the matter than he did. “How was it arranged?” he asked. “Were the slave-owners compensated in some way? What provision was made for the freed slaves?”

“I am afraid I did not pay enough attention when my father and his friends were talking of the matter,” she said, looking uncomfortable. He felt sudden contrition. Hadn't Tsavila said that he should be kind to her, for she'd suffered enough already? If she was compelled to act this part against her will, further probing could do no good; he had already learned enough to be sure she was no Vetuatsenu. Various moments of their conversations the day before came back to him: she had repeatedly changed the subject when someone brought up recent events in Netuatsenu, or asked more than a few questions about her family.

“No matter,” he said. “Let us speak of something more pleasant.”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted by the inn servants bringing their food. After they settled in to eating, she asked him some questions about the recent tsekiva games, which further confirmed his opinion that she was a Viluri disguised as a Vetuatsenu. He determined to play along; if Tsavila thought her no danger, she probably wasn't.

Kazmina held Miretsi at her breast until she seemed to have had enough milk to satisfy her, then handed her to her cousin and buttoned up her dress again before eating her own dinner. Shalasan pushed aside her platter and dandled Miretsi for a few minutes, talking to her — “Ah, you're a happy one now, your belly full of Aunt Kazmina's milk! Mama is happy to let others feed you and let her sleep, yes, you keep her awake all night, naughty girl — ” Again, as she grew excited and happy, she lost her Ksetuatsenu accent. No one else seemed to notice, though they smiled at her and jested that she would soon be dandling babies of her own.

When Psilina had eaten her fill, she took Miretsi back from Shalasan and insisted that the younger woman eat something more. Verentsu excused himself and went to check on the preparations for departure. Their drivers had eaten their own dinner quickly and were watering the horses; he commended them and said they should depart in another quarter of an hour.

Soon, though not so soon as he had estimated, they were on the road again. Verentsu helped his old nurse and the ladies into the carriage, spoke with the driver briefly, and climbed in after them.

They were all sleepy after lunch; Kansikuno fell asleep almost instantly, and Kazmina nodded off a while later. Verentsu and Shalasan spoke quietly at long intervals about what they saw out the windows; he avoided talking any more about Netuatsenu or her probably false history, and kept trying fruitlessly to guess what this deception with no harmful intention could be. After some time he, too, fell asleep.

---

Launuru woke to find Kansikuno shaking her gently. “Wake up, my lady; we're here.”

“Where is here?” she asked. The carriage door was open, and she could see Verentsu standing just outside talking to someone hidden from her view; Kazmina was asleep beside her.

“At Master's country house.” Just as Kansikuno spoke, Verentsu leaned into the carriage and offered Launuru his hand. “We've arrived, Shalasan.”

“Let me waken my cousin,” she replied; “then I'll let you help us out...” She shook Kazmina and said to her in Tuaznu, “Wake up. We've arrived.”

Kazmina stirred, but didn't open her eyes or say anything. Suddenly Tsavila appeared in the door of the carriage and said something loud in Rekhim. That didn't immediately help; it still took them a minute more to waken Kazmina and make her understand where they were.

This done, and Verentsu having helped the ladies and his old nurse out of the carriage, they went into the house, where the servants had supper waiting for them. Free servants, and also slaves; the ones serving at the table were mostly the latter, wearing according to law only a skirt of undyed cloth and having a tattoo on the right forearm marking them as belonging to Psavian's family.

Launuru was afraid Kazmina would make a scene over the house-slaves, but she was apparently too sleepy still to take much notice. She ate mostly in silence, replying briefly and blearily to what Tsavila and Psavian said to her. By the end of supper, she was more awake.

Launuru conversed mostly with Verentsu during supper, as before, but she thought she noticed some increase in tension between Psavian and Tsavila. Most of their conversation was in Rekhim, but when they spoke to one another in Ksiluri, there was a hyper-politeness there that she hadn't noticed between them before. She hoped they hadn't been quarreling about Kazmina's letting the other women nurse little Miretsi.

---

After teleporting Tsavila and her father to the portico of their country house near Tialem, Omutsanu and Lentsina accepted an invitation to come into the house and rest for a few minutes before returning to the city house for their son and daughter. Her father found one of the house-slaves and sent him to find the steward and tell him of their arrival; a few minutes later they were all sitting in the front parlor, drinking beer brewed on the estate.

Omutsanu and Lentsina teleported back to the city as soon as they'd finished their cups. Tsavila had been distracted from the conversation, wondering when and how she should confront her father with what she'd learned. She made up her mind to talk to him as soon as the other wizards were gone; they would probably rest for a while before teleporting back here with Itsulanu and Tsaikuno, which should give her and her father enough time to speak privately.

As soon as they were gone, she said to him in Rekhim, “Father, I have something to ask you.”

“What is it, Tsavi?” he asked. “We have much to do to get ready for our guests...”

“This morning, Verentsu remarked to me that he thought Shalasan knew rather more of our language and customs than one would expect of someone who had lived here for a short time as a small girl. And her Tuaznu accent is not consistent — when she speaks in haste or excitement, sometimes it disappears.”

Her father looked apprehensive, but said nothing.

“He suspected, in fact, that she and Zmina were playing some trick upon us, and asked me if I was quite sure that Zmina was who she claimed to be — of course I said I was, but we had never met Shalasan before... in short, he persuaded me to look into her mind and ensure that she was who she claimed to be.”

“I see,” he said. “And you found, of course, that she was not.”

“I found that Launuru had planned to deceive us only for a short time, but that you had placed a geas obliging her to continue play-acting. Why? Don't answer that,” she said as he opened his mouth but hesitated over what to say, “I know. You were trying to conceal your own earlier deception.”

“Tsavi,” he said, “I...” He paused. “I did it to protect you. You were about to make a horrifyingly unsuitable match, which you would have regretted within a few years, if not a few months — in any case, when it would be too late. I considered other ways of dealing with the problem; this seemed the most suitable.”

“It was suitable, then, to deceive me and Verentsu, to make us think our friend a treacherous scoundrel?”

He looked helpless.

“And not only to exile him, but to allow his reputation to be destroyed too! — You could have belied that loose servant girl's slander, but you said nothing!”

He looked even more uncomfortable.

“Unless — was it you who induced her to claim Launuru as her baby's father?”

“Tsavi — please forgive me! I was trying to protect you; I should perhaps have simply confronted you and forbidden you to marry him, but — well, that did not work when my father tried it on me.”

“...Oh. So you thought I would be miserable with him, because...?”

“Because your mother and I married against our parents' wishes in the same way. It was a terrible mismatch; passion united us for a few years, but that kind of passion does not last. You will need a more durable foundation on which to build a happy life together.”

Tsavila was silent, thinking. She had known that her parents' marriage was not a happy one, but she had not applied the lesson to herself until some time after Launuru disappeared. There were probably a number of reasons her parents were unhappy together, but her father's disappointment at having only one child out of five inherit his magic was undoubtedly one of them; one day, a month or so after Launuru had disappeared, she had suddenly thought: What if we had married, and then none of our children inherited my magic? Would I be angry at myself for marrying a mundane, and take it out on Launuru and the poor mundane children? And she had been glad that Launuru's bad character had revealed itself before she made so dire a mistake.

But such a disaster wasn't inevitable. “What about Setsikuno and Tetsivamo? Their marriage seems to be a happy one, though they not only have no wizardly children, but no children at all.”

Her father pursed his lips. “Setsikuno and Tetsivamo are unusual,” he said. “There are not many couples who marry so rashly whose marriage turns out so happily — for every one like them, I could mention a dozen like your mother and myself. It helps that Tetsivamo's family is wealthier and better-connected than your mother's, or Launuru's — but don't think that Setsikuno doesn't suffer for marrying a mundane man, even now, as happy as she may seem. Do you realize that when she arrives this evening, it will be the first time she's seen other wizards socially since your fourteenth name-day? And even then, I'm afraid half of them will refuse to speak to her. It was like that for me, too, after I married your mother and before you first showed your talent. At the conclave before last, after I married your mother and before you were born, only one person would speak to me outside the business meetings — ” He stopped suddenly, looking angry and, perhaps, ashamed. Before she could think to ask who that one person was, he went on more calmly.

“I was afraid that if I simply forbade you to marry Launuru, you would meet Itsulanu with resentment, and be unable or unwilling to see his good qualities. Passion is no substitute for duty, but it can be a help to it, if rightly directed.”

“But instead I met him when I was angry with Launuru — unjustly, I know now! — and I hoped that, in any event, Itsulanu could not be worse than Launuru...”

“But come — what about Verentsu? I am afraid he may do something rash, now that he knows about Launuru. I must ask Omutsanu to teleport me back to the city as soon as he returns — I fear it will exhaust him to teleport so many times in one day, but it's an emergency — ”

“No, it's not. We had so little time to speak privately this morning that I did not tell Verentsu everything I learned from looking into Launuru's mind — only enough to allay his suspicions that Zmina and 'Shalasan' were out to defraud us. I told him I would tell him more later. So they'll all travel here by carriage, just as planned.”

“Oh. Good. We must plan what to tell him... What will you do now?”

“I will marry Itsulanu on the day after tomorrow, of course. I have seen in Launuru's mind that she no longer wishes to marry me, which is good, for I have no desire to marry him, if she were to become a man again. But I insist that we do her justice. I acknowledge now that you may have been right to prevent us from marrying hastily and unwisely — that may be; but you had no right to send him walking eight hundred miles, to be a subject for Znembalan's experiments at the end of it. If Zmina had not been more devious than her father, and by a foolishly elaborate plan given Verentsu and me a chance to discover Launuru's identity, he would have suffered much worse; and even now, she is suffering from the new geas you just placed on her.”

“It was necessary — ”

“To keep me and Verentsu from learning what you had done, of course!”

“No — well, yes; I am sorry, I should have trusted you more. But it was also necessary, and it still is, to prevent a scandal from throwing a cloud over your wedding. I can remove the geas later, after you and Itsulanu are married, but now — ”

“Why not now? I can speak with Launuru, and ask her — or him, if she wants Zmina to change her back into a man — not to say anything to anyone except Verentsu until later.”

“What should we do about her and Verentsu? If you looked into her mind, you know — ”

“That she loves him. Let them do what they like — you don't have any reason to interfere the way you did with me and Launuru, do you?”

“Now that I apparently have no more secrets from you, perhaps not. They are both merchants by education; whether Verentsu continues as my business manager, or joins a merchant house, or starts his own, in any case I can see no reason this Launuru would not make him a good wife. But there is the matter of her family; will they make trouble if they learn what I and Kazmina, between us, have done to him? Will they give her a dowry? I suppose they anticipated no such need.”

“Oh... I hadn't thought of that. But that shouldn't stop you from taking the geas off her. We must do right by her. She has done nothing wrong — ”

“What! Nothing?”

“If she has, then I've done worse and deserve worse. But he owed you no filial duty, as I did — he was not disobeying his parents by courting me secretly. And if he did wrong by wanting to marry a wizard, being no wizard himself, then Mother was just as guilty — ”

“Let us not speak of her now. Very well; I will make whatever reparations I can make without bringing scandal on our house. After the wedding — ”

“When Itsulanu and I are in our wedding hermitage, and you can deal with Launuru without my involvement? No, we must do it now.”

“But the scandal — your old lover showing up now, just before the wedding, and in such a form — what will Itsulanu think?”

Tsavila was about to hotly reply that she trusted Itsulanu not to be foolishly jealous of Launuru. But she checked herself; his parents could make trouble, certainly, even if Itsulanu himself were perfectly reasonable — and, come to that, she wasn't quite sure Itsulanu wouldn't be jealous. Before she could think of what else to say, there came a knock at the door; Omutsanu and Lentsina had returned with Itsulanu and Tsaikuno.

“Is anything wrong?” Lentsina asked when Psavian had admitted them. “I heard raised voices — ”

“I beg your pardon,” Tsavila said quickly. “We were discussing the sleeping arrangements — we will have far more guests here tonight and tomorrow than in the city house last night, and some will have to sleep in tents — not you, of course, but some of our distant kin who will arrive later today and tomorrow. I was insisting that my friends from Netuatsenu must have a place in the house.”

“And I had just given in,” her father added smoothly, “though it will require more of Tsavila's brothers and cousins to sleep in tents; no matter, young men need no soft beds.”

Tsavila and her father had no further chance to speak privately for some hours, and then only for brief moments, as they busied themselves preparing for their other guests. Itsulanu stuck close to Tsavila most of the day, and when he was away, Tsaikuno or her parents were nearby. By the time the first carriages arrived, all the bedrooms in the house were ready, and several tents and pavilions had been erected.

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The full novel is already available from Lulu.com. I'm serializing it here in twenty-two parts, at least one chapter per week if I can manage it.