Free [Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny by Morgan Howell Page B

floor of her hanmuthi, each pile destined for a different garment. “Nir, this is never going to work. I can’t remember what’s supposed to be what.”
    “It’s simple, really. Those gabaiuks are for your sukefas. They have two sides so they’re paired with tuug that…”
    “Enough, Nir! You’ll have to tell Thorma-yat what to make.”
    “But…”
    “Secret of wisdom is recognizing it in others. I can’t do everything myself. Should I grow my own brak and pashi? If I cooked my feasts would you want to eat them?”
    Nir-yat grinned, recalling Dar’s ineptness in the kitchen. “Thwa.”
    “So I’ll rely on your wisdom when it comes to clothes.”
    “You must tell Thorma-yat something.”
    “Then tell me what to say. Something brief.”
    “Tell her your nevas are to be long and fit tightly,” said Nir-yat.
    “For what reason?”
    “Because you’ll always sit on stool or throne, never on cushion. Also tell Thorma-yat your kefs should taper to point below your waist. That’s most elegant.”
    “I can manage that,” said Dar. “I’ll send for Thorma-yat. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
    After the seamstress arrived, she stayed most of the morning. Dar repeated what Nir-yat had told her, then asked her sister to describe how each item was to be made. While Thorma-yat and Nir-yat talked, Dar only half listened. Finally, the seamstress gathered up the fabric samples and bowed to Dar. “I know what must be done, Muth Mauk.”
    “You’ve pleased me, Thorma-yat.” Dar waited until she was alone with Nir-yat before curling back her lips in a broad orcish grin. “Sister, you’ve pleased me also. I’m certain I’ll look grand.”
    Nir-yat returned Dar’s smile. “You will!”
    Dar was encouraged by Nir-yat’s self-assurance, for it was a sign that her sister hadn’t been cowed by their muthuri. Nir-yat had handled ordering the clothes skillfully, and Dar expected she would be helpful in many other ways. She learned more from her grandmother than she realizes , thought Dar. She knows how a queen’s hanmuthi runs. Indeed, Nir-yat’s thoughts were already on the next task. “Before you speak to Gar-yat about feasts, we should get hanmuthi list from lorekeeper.”
    “One that says which families are high and which are humble?”
    “Hai. It can be delicate matter.” Nir-yat explained that, though many Yat clan members lived in the surrounding countryside, hanmuthis within the clan hall were coveted. There were only thirty-three. Since there was no room on the mountaintop to build more, deciding which families occupied them and which mother headed each hanmuthi was a complicated and often contentious matter. It was largely based on ancestry, but other factors came into play. Hanmuthis changed hands as the standing of families rose or fell, and the lorekeeper recorded all the changes. Thus, the order in which the hanmuthis were feasted would be carefully noted.
    That afternoon, Nir-yat led Dar to the lorechamber. It was in the old part of the hall, and resembled a hanmuthi in its design, except that the adjoining rooms were not sleeping chambers. Instead, they were filled with shelves that were stacked with thin wooden boards, each approximately an arm’s length and a palm’s width. Dar had the impression that she had entered a carpenter’s storeroom, not a repository of knowledge. The center chamber was filled with tables, and these were also piled with boards. The lorekeeper was seated on a stool next to the central hearth, like a muthuri in her hanmuthi. She was gazing intently at a board on her lap and was startled when Dar spoke. “May Muth la bless you, Yev-yat.”
    The mother immediately rose and bowed. “Shashav, Muth Mauk.”
    Dar was surprised that a mother who looked only slightly older than Nir-yat was the lorekeeper. Yev-yat had exotic features. Her thin face made her green eyes look especially large, and her thick hair was jet-black, an unusual color among orcs. Lightly built,