Moonwater Perfume/Written at the Third Chime

They are an ever changing blue...his eyes, I mean. I do believe the dear boy has enchanted me. There’s no way I could possibly deny this, considering I’m mixing up words. But why should I deny this feeling? It is true, it is mine, and it is glorious!

Everything is so strange now. But life is best when it is extraordinary. And so a new thread was woven into the tapestry of my existence this morning, out in the garden, underneath the nousila flowering arches.

This meeting is part of the endless ritual bound up in the process of introducing an heir to that state which it is deemed he shall have full control of for the rest of his life. Many times, it’s a laborious, occasionally frightening, affair, with the heir and his assigned companion going through a round of back-and-forth conversation. He of course talks the most. The courtesan who is wise always keeps her eyes on the floor or the wall while the Prestat Apparent waxes forth on whatever topic he chooses.

But that is unpleasant to think about...and I have no heart for dark matters right now. So I will put that aspect away in an appropriate musty corner of my thinking.

This morning, under the nousila, we sat together, over the second meal, as he had requested. He missed the first due to the fact was up late last night, until the Fifth Veiled Hour to be exact. A very naughty and capricious action, but he was doing something that is actually quite amusing, and nothing I would have expected from the young man. He was wandering about the gallery, with the many dour holoportraits of his ill-begotten ancestors staring down. He was pacing back and forth on a long carpet of exquisite antiquity...it’s absurd in some way, but funny...the dear boy was reciting poetry! Out loud, aided by the friendly spirits of the fermented sort. Specifically, a bottle or two of his father’s finest Belinigransa helped along his sudden urge to recite 3,000 year old verses while heroically battling the still enemy of an armor suit with a rolled-up scroll. It was his first experience with inebriation. Taking bottles of the finest vintage and most rare sort from the private cellars is not unusual. Almost every child of the nobility tries and fails or succeeds in some silly attempt at rebellion. It’s one of the unofficial but necessary foibles the youth of the aristocracy need to do while living in this rigid society. But his act was so minor, really low-key, compared to the escapades that I have heard of other young sons doing. Only two bottles of wine were consumed. The scroll did not suffer from any chipping. Even the suit of armor is none the worse for wear. Perhaps the only thing which was injured somewhat were the words of my favorite poet. But it is recorded that Suiame was most fond of beautiful young men, and I think it likely she would forgive her poems being slightly garbled by a lovely yet drunken creature.

But I’m losing my train of thought...we had our meeting in the late morning sunlight, over a small meal of aleori patis and far too many cups of Cyren Star Dark Kahve. But he needed all the help he could get in banishing his headache. Because of his condition, it was necessary to roll out the awning so the brightness of the day would not have too much of a harsh impact on him.

I told him he could have canceled for a better time. He reached across the table, touched my hand, and said, “Absolutely not. If I had to miss finally talking to you just because I did something stupid, then I have no right to be around you.”

An unexpected statement that was sincere. I cannot label precisely how I knew he was being honest and not just making a poor attempt at flattery. His eyes show true sincerity. They are the shining blue of mythical lost seas, and change ever so slightly just like the ocean from deep to light when he is happy. His smile reflects that joy, and it is an expression that tells the truth. Smiles may often lie, but his do not. I’m certain sure of this.

There is much more to tell about this morning, but I must report to the Prestatia’s chambers. The heir’s mother wishes to speak with me.



Part IV