"I spent my whole life preparing for the war, and then it was over almost before it had started. It was a bit of a shock for the reclamation, going straight from preparing for war to administering the peace, with almost no war in between - It was a good surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. The county on its own would be manageable, I think, but the reclamation is still involved in efforts across Cheliax that I have been directing, and there's the convention on top of all that... I must admit, it's a bit much for one man." And here's the part where the duke of Fraga introduces his twenty-year-old daughter...

"At least we had staff to bring with us, ill-prepared as they might have been to their new tasks. I inherited much of the household of the pretender to Fraga, and when I interviewed them to see who should remain and who should be replaced, I at least had my company to consider as replacements, and my wife had her friends from Taldor and their recommendations. I think we only ended up with one of two appointments drawn from the pools of the Reclamation and others available to all of Cheliax. I feel for the resurrected nobility, who have a harder task and less to do it with."

Caterina is at the party, over with Isidonia, and is 18, not 20. But as much as he respects the man, there are two unmarried archdukes, and he wants to explore those options more carefully first.

"It was certainly the most difficult thing I have ever attempted. You need a few people whose reports you can be reasonably confident aren't patent nonsense to get anywhere on anything, and I ended up having to hire foreigners for almost every sensitive position - and then, of course, it's a bit much to expect the people of Chelam to trust them. We are on more stable footing at this time but a year ago I'd have traded my left arm for a dozen sensible people accustomed to working together who speak the language, follow the law, and think that I might be interested in knowing about things even if they haven't figured out yet how to pin the blame for them on someone else."

He nods. "I hope your footing continues to grow more stable. What are the serious problems facing Chelam, especially those we might be able to assist with?"

"Yields are terrible, though I hear that negotiations at the convention with the druids have gone surprisingly well." Seguer came to her for maps earlier. She hadn't even imagined they were at the stage of negotiations where maps might be helpful. "There are local lords I'd replace if I had anyone suitable to replace them with. At this time we are not more terribly troubled by monsters than any place is, but - I'm a third circle wizard, and not an inexperienced one, and have a particular knack for making very fast horses, and have been substituting for a force I trust unsupervised by just offering it lots of supervision. I do fret over whether we'll have more trouble in my absence."

"I too am heartened by progress with the druids. I worry they are less hierarchical than we are, and their delegates may not be able to treat for the whole of their forests. But even a few friendly druid citizens can do much for the country, much as a few friendly faces can do wonders for an administration."

He considers bringing up that he has already had worrying reports from Fraga, despite leaving most of his retinue there, and as Chelam is further away, her reports must be even more stale than his. But there's sympathy, and then there's being depressing. He's not getting a great opening, so he might as well make one.

"Have you met my eldest son? My grandfather swore that his line would bear his name until the duchy was restored, and so his name is Felip as well. My sorcerous blood runs strong in his veins, and I hope that he will one day surpass me."

He's within eyesight, watching the conversation and waiting to be gestured over. He is 16.

"As we are all commanded to hope, and often enough blessed to see realized." It is a perfectly sensible match and the man the Duke is gesturing at looks barely old enough to grow a beard. "But you must not judge the fulfillment of your hopes off the next ten years; I am told every man's courage is mostly rashness and his fervor mostly foolishness for his teens and half his twenties, and it grieves me to report that some women are also so afflicted."

At least he's not the only one being offered unsuitably young matches. Oh no, he's not the only one being offered unsuitably young matches. He will save the sympathetic look and comments until after the duke of Fraga has left.

"Indeed. I had it much easier than he does, I fear; I spent the first ten years of my adulthood gallivanting across Avistan, no responsibilities but making myself worthy of my name, and was not called to marry until my father was on his deathbed, by which point I could present myself quite adequately." He smiles at Isidonia from across the room.

"Cheliax's situation is quite different. If things were stable, I would give him the same opportunity I had, but as a people we seem perilously unbound to one other, and perhaps our youth must be taught courage and fervor by the experienced, instead of by the world."

He's right, of course, and Fraga's nearby and wealthy and an important ally, and - her true rejection is that she simply cannot bring herself to swear her obedience in marriage to a little boy.

Well. The more sympathetic of her true rejections. The other is that she thinks she can land an archduke.

"Perhaps when this convention business is concluded I can host you all in Chelam, because you are of course correct that we are a perilously unbound people and that among our most urgent duties is addressing it. But - while I flatter myself I do not look it - I am a hundred and eight years old. I believe a woman owes her husband deference, and obedience, and the sincere conviction that she shelters in his protection and best serves Heaven in his service, and - he can't be sixteen. I'm sorry."

He smiles. "There's no need to apologize, and I would appreciate visiting Chelam greatly. You are, of course, welcome in Fraga anytime." He catches Isidonia's eye. "If you'll excuse me, I think I will rejoin my wife." He turns to Cansellarion. "Lord Marshal, the same goes for you. Again, what a pleasure to meet you."

Carlota will murmur a polite goodbye. She should go speak to Isidonia at some point but probably not at this one. 

"My sympathies."

"You have the worse of it, I think," at least in terms of volume of solicitations, though not in terms of - what he would be surrendering by agreeing to any of them. Carlota is firmly committed to take all her opinions about the disadvantages faced by women to her second grave because otherwise she will come across as a wild-eyed radical. "I was aware they wed younger, in Taldor, and wouldn't have listed it particularly among the evils of Taldor, but - they're so young." She gestures at Lucretia, who would in fact probably be a good match for Fraga's boy and is eyeing him from across the room. 

"What was the usual age of marriage in Cheliax before? In Lastwall it's around twenty and - even that seems very young, from the perspective of someone coming to marriage quite late."

"Around twenty, or at most a few years past it. I think the problem is that a great many teenagers will go make decisions much less wise than marrying young, if you try to tell them not to marry young. 

I don't think twenty is too young, exactly. I think that if both of you are twenty you can grow into it together, and the ardor of youth probably eases some of the challenges of the first years of marriage. But - it is one thing to be two young people attempting to grow together and another to - not that I'm done growing, of course. But these days I make very elaborate and complicated mistakes instead of the blazing and straightforward mistakes of youth."

"Yes, exactly."

Issa’s hiding from the party in the servant’s quarters of the mansion. All the actual serving will be done by unseen servants, so the staff isn’t needed. It’s nice to have the evening off, even if it’s in a tiny windowless room. And since mansions are furnished by magic, it's a tiny windowless room with fancy comfortable beds, if narrow ones. She is sitting on hers and reading a book she picked up while on her terrifying obligatory pamphlet route, about a brave adventurer appointed by an odd and hilarious series of coincidences the king of a distant foreign land.

Juan has spent a while talking to several of the women in attendance, introducing Lucretia to a handful of other men only twice her age before losing track of her, and drinking enough wine to, perhaps, slightly impair his usually fantastic judgement. 

He wanders down a hallway, and into a set of rooms that aren’t especially the part of the mansion where the party is happening. He peeks into Issa’s room, and smiles when he sees her. 

“What a tragedy, that such a beautiful woman should be spending such an evening without company.”

What.  

He’s dressed like he’s very rich and important, almost certainly a nobleman, and the room’s really not very big and - Issa curtsies deeply, lest she cause some horrendous offense. She doesn’t look terrified. She’s Chelish. “Your grace,” she murmurs. 

“It’s a fine party. But speaking with so many people can be tiring,” he muses, casually entering and shutting the door behind him. “Perhaps you have the right idea, staying out of sight. But loneliness can be a burden, too, no?”

“Your grace, I’m not -” is he imagining that she’s someone important who should be at the party? He’s looking at her rather like that, like he happened upon a duchess taking a rest in a private room instead of like he happened upon a servant in the servant’s quarters.  She is acutely aware he’s between her and the door, that there is no accident in this nor any generosity, but also there is something very compelling, about being greeted like a duchess like that, even knowing full well it’s a pretense and also knowing exactly what the pretense is for. “You honor me,” she says, instead of whatever objection she was halfway to making which was in any event very stupid and wouldn’t have worked. Her heart is still pounding but -

“I only recognize the obvious,” he smiles. “And I am lonely sometimes, too.”

“I think,” says Issa, attempting valiantly to recover and then use her senses while he’s doing her the courtesy of a conversation here, “that it is for this reason that my mistress, the Duchess of Chelam,” who might be annoyed if you hurt her servants without cause, and probably not invite you to future dinner parties, “arranged tonight’s event, that noblemen might find themselves suitable noblewomen. My lord.”