A Posse of Princesses by Sherwood Smith

I didn’t expect that from someone older. It seems
crueler, somehow.”
    “Oh, yes,” Shera said, rolling her eyes.
“Didn’t I tell you that Iardith is mean? As for that princess, I
talked to her a little. Name is, um . . .” Shera pursed her lips.
“Yuzhoo. No, Yuzhyu. Yoozh-h-h . . . yuh! It’s hard to say it
right! No wonder she has trouble with our language! Anyway, Lios
introduced her to Carithe, and she wants to be in the play. I
didn’t know what to say! She seems very nice, but oh, she speaks
our language so badly! One can’t help but laugh at some of her
mistakes. I don’t know what I ought to do, because if we give her a
part, I can just see Iardith and Hanssa and their friends laughing
at us all. Ought I to tell her the play is full?”
    Rhis thought about the princess’s merry face,
then shook her head. “Give her a small part. We can always coach
her to say her words perfectly. Memorizing is so much easier than
conversation.”
    “Ah. True. And perhaps I can find a play that
has a foreign person in it . . .”
    Shera went on, trying different ideas, but
Rhis didn’t listen. Her mind had gone right back to the previous
conversation. Shera hadn’t really sounded interested—she was
comfortable with her ideas about rank being rank.
    Is it because my mother was not even
remotely wellborn? Rhis thought. Sidal also treated people with
respect that had nothing to do with rank, and everything to do with
individual merit. Yes, that was her mother’s term. Merit .
You weren’t given merit along with a crown and velvet clothes, if
you were born a princess. You had to earn it, same way anybody else
did.
    Rhis stared at the window, against which
runnels of rain streamed down, gold-lit from the lamps.
    Shera had stopped talking—and she wasn’t even
humming. She was looking at Rhis with a puzzled, narrow-eyed
study.
    Rhis tumbled into quick speech. “One thing
for certain. Dandiar is more fun to talk to than Vors, lord or
not.”
    “Still thinking about that?” Shera gave Rhis
a funny sort of a half smile. “I’m hope you weren’t upset with my
comment about Vors,” she added.
    Rhis gazed at her. “This is the second time
you’ve said that—or something like it. You know something.”
    Shera shrugged. Too quickly.
    “You are! You’re hinting about something!
Come out with it.”
    “I’m not sure,” Shera said in a slow
voice—not one of conviction, but the sort of tone a person uses who
is determined to at least sound like she’s being fair. “It could be
he’s truly in love with you—and I wouldn’t be surprised, for any
fellow with taste—”
    “Skip the flowery talk,” Rhis said.
    “He’s been asking about Nym. I really noticed
it during the dance tonight. He was asking me if the royal family
really is as wealthy as rumor has it. More about the diamond mines.
Who owns them. If you have any other brothers and sisters. Things
like that. The other night he just asked about you—but tonight he
wanted to know all about what wealth you have.”
    Rhis felt her insides swoop again, but this
time it was a nasty feeling, like slipping on a rock near the edge
of a cliff. “He thinks I’m rich,” she said. “That is, he knows I’m
rich. He wants a rich princess,” she added, her middle feeling the
chill of winter, “So that’s why all those compliments and
things. The—the flirting. Is that it, flirting is really just fake
compliments and smiles and, well, lies? Because he’s not interested
in me, but my inheritance.”
    Shera looked hurt. “I’m sorry.”
    Rhis hugged her arms tight against her. “It’s
much better to know. Much better. Though it still hurts.”
She drew in a breath, trying to steady her feelings. “Now. Tell me
more about the play.” And this time she made herself listen.
    “Well, we haven’t decided yet. We’re all to
try to find one we like, and meet the day after the Masquerade to
pick among our favorites.”
    Rhis was glad she knew where the