"Surely I am a better mistress to serve?" "You are more beautiful, Your Majesty." The queen smiled again… — Megan Whalen Turner
"Surely I am a better mistress to serve?"
"You are more beautiful, Your Majesty." The queen smiled again before I finished. "But she is more kind."
So much for discretion. The smile disappeared. You could have heard a pin drop onto the stone floor as her alabaster cheeks flushed red. No one could ever accuse the queen of Attolia of being kind.
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Ambiades, I realized, was the kind of person who liked to put people in a hierarchy, and he wanted me to understand that I was at the bottom of his. He was supposed to treat me politely in spite of my subservient position, and I was supposed to be grateful.
For my part, I wanted Ambiades to understand that I considered myself a hierarchy of one. I might bow to the superior force of the magus and Pol, but wasn't going to bow to him. Neither of us moved.
"...Everything about you reveals your low birth. You'd never be comfortable at the court."
"I'd be famous."
"Oh, you're already that, Gen," he said pityingly.
"You can always give me some of Ambiades's food."
The magus gave me an ugly look. "You'll get your share and nothing else. No one's going hungry so that you can eat."
"I don't see why not," I said as I lay down on the grass for a nap. It had dried in the sumer sun to crakling stalks that poked me in the arms and neck. "I'm a lot more important than anyone else here," I told the blue sky above me.
