We got in as much time as we could before the next round of carriages came up the hill. We were far from the only invited guests, House Snairlin was trying to develop contacts and connections through the Coltorn branch, after all, and this was a splendid opportunity. So when we got displaced, Nathan and I followed Their Graces up to a temporary apartment set aside for us to change and prepare.

  Father scooped me up and carried me up the stairs. "I'm sure your legs are tired from the long ride," he said, hugging me close.

  "It was only a mile," I protested, leaning into him and draping my arms around his neck.

  "Bah, a mile on someone else's horse is like a mile in someone else's shoes," he said. "Always far harder than it sounds."

  "What were you and the lord and lady Coltorn talking about?" Nathan asked, holding Mother's hands as they mounted the stairs. This part of the house was old castle, and built of stone. Long rugs had been woven to cover the stairs so that things were more insulated and comfortable, but it could be treacherous for some.

  Mother smiled fondly. "He was disappointed with the yields of some of his legume crops. He asked our opinions whether it was more cost-effective to hire a wizard to juvenate the soil for a few years, or to hire scriveners to enchant the haywards and guarantee greater production in perpetuity."

  I considered, there were real pros and cons to both methods. On the one hand, the question of renting-versus-owning, how much would each cost and how much results would you get? The scriveners' work would not last forever, but it may last decades, so how much more would be reasonable to pay? Maybe a hybrid system, hire a wizard for a few years, until the extra produce generated enough profit to pay for the scriveners' work.

  Nathan had a thoughtful look that I recognized. I probably had an exact match on my own face. He looked up at her. "What did you tell him?"

  Mother glanced down at him with a fond smile. "What do you think I should have told him?"

  My brother chewed at his lip and put his words together while he turned the landing and headed up the next flight of stairs. They were sized for adults, and he had to lift his knees high. "I think that before you use magic to force more production, you should try letting a field lay fallow to see if that helps," he said. "If it just needs a rest and you force it to work harder, the problem will be worse next year."

  "- And then you'll have to work the land even harder to make up the difference," Mother finished. "A cycle that costs money, increases work, and will definitely end in famine. Good thinking."

  I buried my face in Father's neck. I was embarrassed, I had gotten caught up thinking about which kind of magic was better, and how much money could be earned. My brother was instead thinking of the land as a living thing. Nathan nodded. "If something is not working hard enough, it probably needs to rest."

  I've played this game so many times, and I learn so much from it. But even now this kid is eight years old and he's so wise and kind that it embarrasses me. When that goddess made me his twin, she made sure I'd spend my life being compared to him. It's a lot of pressure.

  Up at our borrowed apartments, the tutors settled in to look over our work and presumably dream up more torments for us. Or, more realistically, as soon as we were out of the way they would likely find like-minded members of the other entourages to sit and talk shop with over some wine. Madame Cushnere grabbed a couple of the Coltorn chambermaids to help Nathan and I prepare for the party, while my parents made do with one valet and one lady-waiting. I confused my borrowed attendant: I took a quick shower and scrubbed my scalp with rock salt and soaps, then rinsed out and dabbed some olive oil into my hair. She and I then brushed it out very thoroughly until the water was evaporated but the oil was a thin slick sheen, and then i had her braid my hair very tightly in four plaits.

  After we got me into my shift, stockings, chemise, petticoats, corset, gown, bodice, sash, gloves, and shoes, then we unplaited my hair and drew the brush through a few times until it all sprang up in a cloud of looping drill-shaped curls. With all this dress to haul around, I was glad that Coltorn's castle was so drafty even in the summertime. Also, with skirts so fluffy and floofy, you can vent a lot of heat just by rocking back and forth a little bit. The core might be very restricted, but the men had to wear full trousers that buckled over their tights, with cravats to hold their collars shut.

  Nathan and Father were already darkly tanned with ruddy complexions, but dressing up formally in summertime turned them both into sweaty radishes. And their corsets were no less restrictive than mine!

  I swear, the minute that I am permitted to establish my own wardrobe, I'm inventing cocktail dresses and short-sleeved gowns for summer time. Anything with a bell skirt can wait for chill weather.

  I was permitted flat shoes to wear because it was unseemly that Nathan not be at least an inch taller than me, so he had to move carefully in his built-up heels and I could walk comfortably. I helped him balance as we moved back down the stairs, his arm around my elbow and his hand resting on my wrist. We were quite a matched pair, still in the family red-and-white, both with red outer layers and white on the midline. His shirt collar came up to his ears to break up the red of his hair and face from the red of his coat and sash, a stark white cravat and shirt contrasting them. I did not use a tall collar for the same effect, but a lace scarf at my throat and shimmering-white chandelier earrings created the same effect. Both very gender-appropriate presentations that created the same visual effect and broke up our lines in the same way. His patent-leather shoes matched the ruffle at the bottom of my skirt, his white stocking-tights matched the tread of my skirt, and his red satin knee-breeches were matched to the red satin of my ruffle. The wardrobers had fun with the contrast of us as well as the matching, and the play of our native coloration against the house crest.

  Father and Mother were most magnificent. His already-broad chest and shoulders were extended with pinned sleeves and mortared epaulettes with gold fringe and aiguilettes. The jacket cut in deeply in a v-shape, buckled at the back, with folded cuffs with jacquard embroidery, and gold tape chased up the double-breast of his coat to the pinback buttons. The fabric was a crushed velvet with a textured matte finish that contrasted to the silken waistcoat of the same deep scarlet. He eschewed the usual fruit-salad of medals and ribbons, his look was busy enough as it was. His hair was slicked back sharply, his beard oiled, and somehow this brought his features out more strongly and pronounced his hawklike golden eyes. His golden sash centered the highlight color of his clothing, against all the white-and-scarlet.

  Mother had her golden elements more integrated throughout, mostly as threads of embroidery that wove through crimson, scarlet, vermillion and ruby all over the brocade bell-shape. The red continued as a sheer shimmer of ruby-colored satin as a shawl sash that framed her back and wove over her upper arms. The bodice and gloves were all white with pearls chasing in spiraling lines up her arms and shoulders, with all her hair gathered into a high twist and held by a white-jeweled tiara.

  I know I sound smug, but there were gasps from the crowd below when we appeared. As the highest-ranked family present it was our due to walk in last, which means that everyone was gathered for our entrance. That's right. The party don't start 'til I almost trip and throw myself down the stairs except that my brother who I was supposed to be balancing manages to catch me instead and turned it into a minor wobble instead of an extremely mortifying faceplant.

  "Thank you," I muttered from the corner of my mouth.

  "Calligraphy," he replied.

  My face burned bright red. And since Mother felt that eight was too young for makeup, everyone could see it. He looked so smug. I'm a fully grown twenty-first-century adult inhabiting the body of an eight-year-old. How is an actual eight-year-old dunking on me this hard?!

  The scandal of the evening was that nobody from the main body of the Snairlin House came to attend the daughter's birthday, only the cadet branches and allied Houses. Harigold showed more honor to young Filita than her parents, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, seconds, removeds, and grands did. Nathan and I heard a couple of whispers of this as we peeled off the promenade and entered the press of greetings and small talk, coasting quickly from one clique to another until we arrived at Filly's elbows, flanking her like an honor guard. We made it our mission, without a word exchanged, to keep any of that "scandal" from reaching the girl of the hour.

  Time and again, we would move as a unit through the labyrinth of etiquette, and confronted by some elder-and-presumably-wiser adult who would start to say some "Such a shame that your-" before Nathan or I managed to deflect it. What a lovely color, do you think that this style of hair is going to be the next fashion, how did your crop yields perform this past year, I've heard your son was accepted as a master of his guild. Sometimes they did not even start the words, you could see the expression that they made when they were about to say it. Filly definitely saw what we were doing, but she did not stop us at all and seemed grateful for us keeping a procession of grown folks from reminding her that her usefulness to her family was as investment collateral and not as a daughter.

  I don't think most of them did it maliciously. They thought they were empathizing and commiserating, or perhaps it was merely the only thing they could think to say. Maybe they thought it was a black mark against her parents not against her. And some surely did just get off on the rumor-mongering.

  Be that as it may, we guided Filly through the how-do-you-do's and so-glad-you-could-attend's and swept her away to the side chamber where her birthday cake and friends awaited. Her social circle had some overlap with our own, but not full. It is always a balancing act of which Houses are in alignment and which are having business spats, who has previous commitments and who is just too far away to make the drive in person for a birthday party. Or even to not bother sending a card in their place.

  Oh, there's a whole welter of messages sent in greeting cards and absence cards. The modern era of Hallmark has lost a major art form. The house staff at Coltorn have surely accepted at least a modest amount of bribes to influence the arrangement of cards gathered on the sideboard. Which to the front, which raised above. Prominence over one competitor or over all others.

  The more of these parties I attend, the more dimensions I discover to the infighting, backstabbing, power-plays and one-upping. For my first three years as a duke's daughter, I just thought the cards were pretty.

  We shut the door behind us, and caught a deep breath. I looked around, mostly-familiar faces at least. Not all of them close enough to attend Harigold birthdays, but I would at least recognize them from Filita's last birthday. The most familiar face was Geland, the big beefy boy with a passion for drawing. He ambled over, and clapped a hand on Nathan's shoulder.

  "Hey, good to see you," the bigger boy said with real warmth. "Especially with no Yheta around, for once."

  Filly's face fell. I sighed. I pulled her into a one-arm half-hug. I looked across, at the patio doors that showed the way to a wide patch of flat smooth lawn between gardens and paddocks.

  Geland glanced, saw he had done something wrong. "Um?" he said, hesitating.

  "Ma'am," I said to Filita's governess, turning away from thew view of the field outside.. "I think I require a ball. About the size of Geland's fist, and about as hard as Geland's head."

  "What?" Filita said, craning around to look at me.

  "Nathan?"

  "Natalie."

  "Fetch me the pi?ata bat."

  I explained that Oddball used everything in odd numbers. One batter to nine fielders. One catcher, three outfielders, five infielders. Three strikes, three outs, nine innings. I used five balls instead of four. I treated the shortstop as a base, which made five including home plate. The shortstop was required to stand their base until the hit, but it was not required for a runner crossing.

  The patio next to the house was littered with jackets, cravats, scarves, shoes, petticoats, corsets, sashes, and jewelry. Governesses were lined up to keep an eye on these discarded clothing, and also to cheer on their charges.

  The hard part was teaching them that the strike zone is from shoulders to knees, and no broader than home plate, and that nobody is to move off their base until they hear the crack of the bat. Once they got this down, the rest of the game went really smoothly. I was in as full-time umpire, and each team picked a governess to act as their coach. Just good wholesome early-summer fun.

  Geland was a powerhouse of a hitter, and surprisingly fast on his feet. Filita figured out the mental aspect of the game early, and positioned herself as the pitcher so she could organize her team around her. Nathan quickly mastered the idea of a bunt and used that to get base runners advanced, and he could get more lead-off to steal a base than anyone. Quiet Vesi turned out to have a dead-accurate arm and a quick eye, perfect for shortstop.

  I probably should have introduced croquet, or lawn bowling, or something else appropriate to a fancy dinner party with an outdoor occasion. But these kids instantly fell in love with the crack of the bat. And, as I learned with the egg-race, the valuable team-building kind of requires that you give up your dignity somewhat. Sweaty nine-year-olds sliding into second base rouse more cheers, shoulder-slapping and high-fives than croquet. Next year, I think, badminton.

  Oh, I introduced high-fives. They all loved it, but only in the context of Oddball. They never really used that anywhere else. Our very first game went into overtime innings. The score was eleven-to-ten. We were all a complete mess when our parents came to collect us. It was glory.