Read Polystom for Free Online

The very idea!
    ‘How old is she?’ he asked. It was rather a direct question, but the fact that Elena Marina was only a glorified servant rather relieved Stom of the need to be too polite.
    ‘She’s eighteen.’
    ‘Old enough to do without a guardian.’
    Another deep-coloured blush. Polystom understood that she had interpreted his observation as a criticism;
you cling to her for the money and status, instead of letting her go, although really she should be making her own way in the world
. He hadn’t meant this, or didn’t think he had, but didn’t feel particularly awkward about her awkwardness. He couldn’t help it if people misinterpreted what he said. And besides, there was no point in worrying about upsetting a servant.
    ‘Her co-parents specifically requested,’ she said, slightly flustered, ‘that I look after her into her majority. In so many ways, you see, she’s still a child.’
    ‘Then it’s
doubly
good of you,’ said Stom, the hint of malice in his voice covered by his smile, ‘to act as guardian. To steer a child to adulthood is chore enough; to continue the labour into adulthood requires particular devotion. May I ask an indelicate question?’
    Even asking whether he could ask such a question was slightly indelicate, too forward, but Elena Marina was hardly in a position to refuse it. She nodded, lowering her eyes.
    ‘Beeswing: is she spoken for? Does she have any – particular admirers?’
    Elena Marina shook her head.
    ‘And, if I may impose upon you,’ Stom added. ‘One further question.’ This next question would make his intentions unambiguous, and was even more indelicate than the last. Properly he should have asked it of his aunt, or some other close family member, but he was enjoying the blushing discomfort of the old woman too much to let it go. ‘Is she of good family?’
    ‘Good family,’ echoed Elena Marina, weakly. ‘Yes, yes. Oh yes. Her co-mother is second-fourth-cousin to the Prince.’
    ‘And her mother?’ Because, when all was said and done, and despite the polite noises everybody made, blood was more important than marriage connections.
    ‘Her mother’s father owns the second largest estate on Kaspian. Very good blood. And her father – I know he was only a contract father, but nonetheless – her father is the son of Rhepidos. You know Rhepidos? The writer?’
    Stom angled his head. Of course he knew Rhepidos.
    Later that day, as Elena Marina doubtless scurried off to gossip about her momentous news with various people, starting with Stom’s unsurprised Aunt Elena, Polystom contrived an hour alone with Beeswing. The pretext was a game of goal croquet; six players, as the rules required, in three teams. Polystom approached Beeswing directly and asked her if they might play together. She looked at him with so oddly distant an expression, as if he were hailing her from half a mile away and she couldn’t recognise his voice. ‘My name’s Polystom,’ he said. ‘Of the Northern Estate. Actually, I’m Steward of Enting. My father was also called Polystom. You’re Dianeira, aren’t you?’
    The faintest of nods.
    ‘Do you mind – I don’t mean to be forward, but . . .’ said Stom, his self-confidence, his self-stature, slipping in the face of her cool beauty, ‘but would you mind if I called you Beeswing? Some people call you it, I know. It’s so strange a name, but somehow poetic. I adore poetry, you see. So, would . . . would that be alright?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said, softly.
    Her first word to him: an affirmation. His head buzzed with the thrill of it. How he loved her!
    The goal croquet began. They started off striking the ball, taking turns. He played the game extremely badly becausehis attention was entirely on her; her silky figure, as she leant forward a little to strike the ball. The way her arms appeared so slender and yet flickered with miniature musculature when she wielded the wooden bat. Her hair, slipping over her face, or bouncing back,