Everyone did seem alright, if a bit shaken, except for the king. “Merelor!” he shouted at Lord Ainsley, shaking water off the bottom of his cape. “What kind of fool do you take me for? You said it was guaranteed. No way to fail.”
“Your majesty, I’ve never seen anything like it. Andsaz operates several of the greatest dams in Loegria—”
“Save it,” said the king. “We’re going with the coal mine and power plant. I won’t waste any more time on this.”
“Of course, s-sir,” stuttered Lord Ainsley as he rose, dripping, to his feet. “I’ll send for the great mining families at once.”
“See that you do,” said the king. “I want to break ground by the end of summer.”
“Coal mine?” asked Gwenla, incredulous. “What have we done?”
They gathered afterwards in the inn at Fossholm—Alison, Keir, Gwenla, Idris, and Rinka—taking a private room at the back to avoid being overheard.
“I was right the first time,” said Gwenla. “Back when we first heard of the plan to build the dam. I said we should just let it go—knew that’s what Lady Willana would have done—and then I went and got caught up in yet another foolhardy scheme. And now instead of an extra lake, the entire countryside will be coated with soot.”
The innkeeper brought over a bottle of whisky, which Keir poured into glasses and passed around. Alison hadn’t yet developed a taste for the stuff, but she took hers anyway.
She needed it at the moment.
“We just need to convince the king that this area should be preserved,” said Rinka. “Idris, your aunts and uncles are reasonable people. Do any of them have the king’s ear?”
“Not really,” said Idris. “Not once he’s put his mind to something. Well, Ceri might, but good luck convincing her.”
“I read a book once on land conservation efforts in the New World,” said Keir. “The native humans there led a campaign against goblin strip-mining with the help of a man from Wilderise. They published a series of articles about the wild beauty of the lands there, gaining support among the elvish settlers and eventually establishing outstanding areas of beauty as parks to be kept free of development.”
“Lady Sibba suggested something along those lines using my poetry book,” recalled Alison. “Perhaps we could add an essay or two about the value of conserving land for future generations to the pamphlet.”
“Will it be ready soon?” asked Rinka. “If we can get it out in a couple of weeks, I can try to figure out who we need to convince.”
Gwenla sighed. “I suppose it can’t do any harm. At worst, maybe it will help you make a name for yourself, Alison.”
“I’ll head back and finish up my drafts as quick as I can,” said Alison. “Weyland won’t take long to add them to his illustrations. Keir, do you want to write the essays? Since you’re the most familiar with the subject?”
“I’ll ask Lady Sibba to help,” said Keir. “Two voices are better than one.”
“The only way I can see this working is if we get Ceri onboard,” said Idris. “I’ll see what I can do to mend the fences with her, but Rinka, you may have more luck.”
Rinka looked uncertain of that, but she didn’t protest.
“Here we go again,” said Gwenla. “Let’s hope this time we don’t convince him to bring in a bulldozer and push the entire Hill Country into the sea.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A SUMMER’S BALL
Rinka
The evening brought with it the first ball of summer.
After her dance lessons in the afternoon (which were unfortunately given to her and Idris separately), Ms. Murray dressed Rinka in yet another splendid gown, this one in soft gold with thousands of tiny beads and sequins sewn into a floral design. Rinka marveled at the intricacy of the embroidery. It seemed impossible that something like this could be created so quickly, but then she recalled that Lydiach was a fairy, and their magic was quite formidable.
She tried to remember all of the things she’d learned that would be needed to succeed this evening. Names, dance steps, proper introductions, personal histories, people to seek and out and those to avoid. This evening was an audition, her tryout for the part of a lady of the court. If they rejected her, or worse, if she drew Princess Ceri’s ire, she’d be of no help to their plans to convince the nobility that Herot’s Hollow was worth saving.
She was running the names of the Loegrian duchesses through her mind once more when she saw him at the top of the stairs.
Idris.
He’d looked splendid the night before in his dinner jacket, but in his immaculately tailored tuxedo, he was breathtaking.
