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Illusion
by
Paula Volsky
Published by Victor Gollancz ltd.
ISBN: 0 575 05138 8
Chapter One.
When one of the serfs was caught with a bundle of seditious pamphlets
in his pocket, the Marquis vo Derrivalle was understandably infuriated.
Bad enough that a serf should be reading at all, for literacy
overburdened the menial mind, resulting in mental and moral injury.
That the pamphleteer in question should prove none other than the
execrable republican Shorvi Nirienne, whose writings the Marquis had
specifically proscribed, was doubly offensive; and it was more than
certain that the culprit, a featherheadedyoung dreamer by the name
ofZhen Suboson, was in serious trouble. Even now, Zhen was locked up
in the stable, awaiting interrogation and the inevitable punishment.
If he escaped with less than a dozen stripes, he'd be lucky. Before
sunset, the lad's fate would be decided. In the meantime, crazed
speculation ran rife among the field workers and house servants.
The Marquis vo Derrivalle's daughter Eliste might never have troubled
her head over such a matter, had it not been for the extraordinary
attitude of her maidservant Stelli Zeenosgirl. Sullen and
lackadaisical, with an expressionless nonchalance sometimes skirting
the edge of insolence, Stelli at the best of times was no prize; and
now, since the news of Zhen's arrest reached the chfiteau, she'd waxed
utterly incompetent. Within the space of two hours she had broken a
vial of perfume, overturned a jar of powder on the dressing table, torn
the lace on a morning negligee, and botched her mistress's coiffure so
abominably that Eliste, in despair, was forced to liberate the glinting
mass of fair curls, which now hung loose and unfettered as a child's.
It was really too tiresome. And yet Eliste, regarding herself in the
gold-flamed mirror on the dressing table, was forced to admit that the
juvenile style suited her very well. Her hair was certainly one of her
chief beauties, and what better way than this to display its enviable
sheen and extravagant length? Moreover, the curly tendrils spilling
over a clear white forehead somehow emphasised the changeable lustre of
the largest pair of thick-lashed grey eyes in the entire province, if
not in all the land of Vonahr. At seventeen, passionately loath to
play the ingenue, she aimed for sophistication.
For all of that, there could be no denying the effect of that great
honey cloud framing her heart-shaped face was delightful. She would
let it stay that way, at least for the rest of the day. Perhaps that
sulky jade Stelli had done her a good turn, if only by accident.
The mirror reflected most of the sunlit bedchamber, in all its
disorder. Open boxes and trunks stood scattered about the floor. The
armchairs and window seat were heaped high with gowns, petticoats,
fichus, shawls and manteaux, scarves, feathers and ribbons.
Hat boxes stood piled against one wall, silk and woollen stockings
dangled from the open bureau drawer, fans and gloves cluttered the
escritoire, shoes and boots and chopines lay underfoot, snowdrifts of
crumpled tissue paper rose in the corners. It was another week before
 Eliste was scheduled to depart for the capital city of Sherreen to take
her place at court as a maid of honour to the Queen, but packing was a
protracted affair-one for which Stelli, as usual, displayed neither
aptitude nor enthusiasm. Even as Eliste looked on, the maid crushed a
thin muslin nightgown into a tiny ball, which she thrust by main force
into the depths of a too-full trunk.
Eliste stiflened with an irritation disproportionate to the offence.
It would have been different had she not been so certain that the other
girl, but a few years her senior, was deliberately destructive.
It was one thing to know, quite another to prove it. If taxed, Stelli
would doubtless plead inadvertence, in that monosyllabic, elusively
impertinent manner of hers. The thing was impossible to verify, and in
any case, really beneath notice. Taking a deep breath, the Marquis's
daughter addressed her maid with studied composure.
"Not there, girl. Take it out, fold it and put it in another box."
With a barely perceptible shrug, Stelli obeyed. Every movement a
wordless insult, she sauntered across the room, treading on scattered
garments as she went. An ivory fan cracked beneath her heel.
"Take care, clodhopper!" The exclamation burst from Eliste, and she
regretted it immediately for she, like many of the more progressive
among the Exalted class, deemed it cruel to reproach inferiors for the
limitations of intellect and ability imposed by Nature.
Stelli, however, appeared unmoved. The thick-skinned, dull
insensitivity of her kind armoured her against insult, or so it
appeared. In which case, what in the world accounted for the
maidservant's chronic ill-humour? Surely the girl, who owed her
present comfortable situation solely to the high esteem in which her
brother Dref was held by the vo Derrivalle family, ought to appreciate
her own singular good fortune? How could she be so stupidly
ungrateful? Occasionally Eliste wondered.
Stelli slouched to the bureau and began to sort through the jumble,
tossing hairpins and jewellery around with minimal efficiency and
maximal clatter. Presently she dropped the curling iron- perhaps by
accident, perhaps not- and the implement hit the floor with a solid
thunk.
Eliste started, jaw muscles tightening. Deliberately she relaxed,
striving to suppress all annoyance. In that instant she realised that
what she felt exceeded mere irritation, amounting to actual dislike,
which was clearly inappropriate. One might reprimand a clumsy or
incompetent servant one might express displeasure or dissatisfaction -
but one did not stoop to personal animosity.
Curiously, the reverse did not hold true. An easy, pleasant
condescension marked good breeding. Many of Eliste's friends and
family members liked certain individual serfs and servants; sometimes
even regarded them with warmth bordering upon real affection. She
herself liked Stelli's brother Dref immensely, and always had. She
liked him so much, in fact, that she would be sorry -yes, actually
sorry to leave him behind in a week's time. She might even miss him a
little. Did that, as she sometimes suspected, carry liking too far,
perhaps to the verge of absurdity? No, certainly not. Dref pleased
her, but she was equally fond of Hussy, the red satin mare that she
 rode nearly every morning. She would miss beautiful Hussy. Likewise
she was fond of Prince vo Plume, the modishly minute lap dog that she
intended to carry with her to Sherreen. There was nothing ridiculous
in such affections they were indicative, in fact, of the tender if
wholly artificial sensibility appropriate to marriageable daughters of
the Exalted class. The gush of fashionable sentiment, however,
remained at all times suitably channelled, dammed as required by
standards of behaviour precluding so much as an instant's forgetfulness
of the vast gulf existing between Exalted and all other mortals.
Aristocratic education notwithstanding, Eliste personally disliked her
maid.
Having consciously recognised that fact at last, the mental response
was prompt: I will not take that sour slattern with me to Sherreen, she
thought. 1'll get another one and train her. That little wench
Kairthe, in the dairy- she looks bright and pleasant, she should do.
I hope Drefwon't be too disappointed that I don't want his sister.
If he is, too bad. The jade has been given every fair chance. Having
reached this decision, her mood improved at once.
Stelli was still jangling brooches and bracelets. She had not bothered
to pick up the fallen curling iron. Knowledge that the other's
blighting presence was but temporary enabled Eliste to speak
pleasantly. "Put that aside for now, girl. Come here and brush my
hair." Stelli dropped a handful of jewellery. One of the bracelets
rolled off the bureau and on to the floor. She ignored it. In silence
she crossed to the dressing table, took up the brush and attacked her
mistress's hair as if raking burrs from the tail of a plough horse.
Eliste endured the punishment in silence for a time. At last a
particularly vicious tug yanked her head backward so violently that a
cry of angry pain was wrung from her.
"You stupid, clumsy slut, get out of here before I slap you!"
Instantly Eliste coloured to the roots of her hair. Never before had
she spoken so to an inferior. She was always kind to animals and
serfs, and she entertained great contempt for women who beat their
servants without good cause. In yelling and threatening, she violated
her own standards of behaviour, and was correspondingly ashamed.
Stelli seemed neither frightened nor offended. Rather, her black brows
rose slightly, and her lips curled in the satisfaction of confirmed
expectation. She laid the hairbrush on the dressing table with
elaborate care.
[LLUSION I
Ridiculous, absurd, humiliating, to engage in a contest of wills with
an insolent servant, as if she were an equal. Sure Iv the liberality
of such so-called ell lightened modern philosophers as Rees-Raas
Zhumeau and Stalvo Jouvelle, who prated of human fraternity and
universal education, was never meant to include recalcitrant menials?
The puerile rantings of renegade lawyers and journalists like Karri
Del, or the dangerous Shorvi Nirienne. who openly called for the
restriction of traditional Exalted privilege certainly these things
inspired entertaining debate with house guests in the quiet hour before
 dinner. But they were stimulating intellectual exercises, nothing more,
and what had they to do with reality? The real world held no place for
such impracticality.
Stelli hadn't gone yet. She was still standing there, feet planted
firmly, arms akimbo, stance expressing a graceless, dogged
determination. Was she deaf as well as disagreeable?
"Didn't you hear me, girl?" Eliste could rarely bring her sell' to
pronounce the other's name. "Get out. Go busy yourself elsewhere.
Tell the housekeeper to find you something to do." This was a
deliberate insult. A lady's maid was never expected to lower herself
to the level of the ordinary household servants. An angry tirade could
scarcely have expressed Eliste's disapprobation more forcefully, but as
always, Stelli seemed indifferent. Incredibly, she did not move.
Still she stood there, staring at her mistress's face in the mirror.
Eliste's brows drew together, and her cheeks flushed. Given the
provocation, she had proved patient; at this point, however, additional
indulgence could only be interpreted as weakness, which ought never to
be displayed. Serfs were notoriously quick to exploit the weakness of
their masters, but they were calmer and actually happier when ruled
with a firm hand. Eliste drew a deep breath, but the reprimand died
unspoken on her lips as she met her servant's reflected gaze. Stelli's
eyes- dark as obsidian and usually about as expressive now blazed with
an odd mixture of defiance and something that almost seemed like fear.
The expression was so startling that Eliste forgot her anger.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked, kindly enough.
Stelli, fully prepared to withstand verbal assault, was taken unawares
by the unusual forbearance. Scowling and uncertain, she folded her
arms.
"Come, what is it?" Eliste persisted, curiosity aroused.
Stelli hesitated. The olive-skinned face beneath the frilled mobcap,
ordinarily so impassive, now reflected conflicting emotions.
Eliste waited expectantly, and at last the maid replied with an effort,
"It's Zhen... miss." As always, she pronounced the honorific with
perceptible reluctance. "Who?" "Zhen Suboson. My lord the Marquis
has Zhen locked up in the stable. What will happen to him now?" "Oh,
the boy caught with the pamphlets, is that who you mean?" Stelli
nodded.
"Well' Eliste shrugged, 'he'll be punished, no doubt. He certainly
deserves it." Deserves?" "He disobeyed my father's orders.
What's more, he must have done so quite intentionally. The Marquis can
hardly let that pass, can he?" "What will be done to Zhen?" "Oh-'
Perceiving the other's concern, Eliste responded with easy compassion,
'nothing too dreadful. Perhaps a few stripes, scarcely more. Father
is no barbarian. The lad need hardly fear for his limbs." Her
reassurance was more than rhetorical. In an earlier, more violent age,
erring serfs were commonly subject to mutilation and dismemberment.
Times had changed, however, and the current enlightened generation of
 the Exalted limited corporal punishment to flogging, kicking and the
pillory, except in extreme cases.
Stelli seemed to have trouble translating her feelings into words.
At last she replied, with evident difficulty,
"Zhen mustn't be beaten." "It won't be so bad. It will be over
quickly, and then his slate will be clean." "No. He mustn't be
beaten." "What, are you saying he's innocent?" "Yes. Innocent.
That's right." "Foolery. He was caught carrying Nirienne's
scribblings. How do you account for that?" "It's only paper and ink.
He shouldn't be beaten for such a trifle." "Don't you understand the
principle involved? My father has banned Nirienne's writings from this
estate. Your friend Zhen wilfully disobeyed, and that is why he must
be punished. He won't really be hurt, and if this teaches him to
behave himself, then everyone will be the better for it. Can't you see
that?" "Zhen's done nothing so bad."
Stelli's grasp of principle appeared weak. "He mustn't be beaten. He
can't bear it." "Well, I'm afraid he'll have to. If he's a bright
lad, then he'll learn his lesson, and there's an end to the affair. No
one will hold a grudge against him." "You don't understand." "What do
you say to me?" Again, Eliste's astonishment overcame anger at the
servant's remarkable impudence.
"You don't understand. Zhen mustn't be beaten, he can't bear it.
He isn't strong. He isn't like most of us, he can't endure abuse."
"Abuse? You don't know what you're saying. Really, you are stupid."
"No doubt. Well, you're the smart one here. miss." A touch of
sarcasm? Would she dare? It was unclear, and in any case, too trivial
to bother about.
"What I'm saying is, Zhen's always been kind of puny," Stelli continued
with unwonted expansiveness. "He's skinny, he's got a weak stomach, he
can't take the heat in the fields, and he gets these fainting fits."
"The details are unnecessary." "He's sort of weak, and not meant to
take a beating. And I've been thinking-' Clearly it was difficult for
Stelli to ask for anything, but the cause overcame her reluctance and
she continued stoically.
"I've been thinking that you might ask your father to go easy on Zhen.
Will you, miss?" "Well I don't know, it might not be quite so simple
as that." Intrigued by the novelty, Eliste swung round in her chair to
face her servant. "To begin with, Father's angry, and not all that
likely to heed my advice. Beyond that, I'm not quite certain this is
right. It might be best in the long run that the boy learn his lesson
now- "He's learned it, miss. He's learned it, you may be certain of
that." "You sound very definite. Do you know him so well, then?" "He
is my intended." "Ah?" Eliste regarded her maid with interest. It
would seem that the sullen Stelli was human after all, and the rush of
surprised cordiality at the discovery threatened to overwhelm old
hostility.
'1 didn't know you were promised." "Zhen and I came to terms about
eight weeks ago, miss. Last week the steward handed down his
lordship's permission, and I thought our troubles were over. And now
this." Stelli's habitual insolence was expediently diminished. For
the moment at least, she looked and sounded almost winsome. "Zhen's
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