An open, arched doorway nearby elicits the echo of voices. I don’t pay them much mind, too busy breathing deeply through my nose, until I begin to make out words.
“… don’t know why we keep throwing these worthless dances. A portion of my mind dies each time that one of these sycophants fawns over me. How can a man be expected to think straight with this much perfume in the air? The palace smells of it for weeks afterwards,” the deep voice says, smooth as butter even as he complains.
“It’s good for morale, my lord. The nobles need to see your presence, to see their leader. They also need to be reminded of who that leader is…”
“Pah, I know the reasons, Graevo. I’m just complaining, as usual.”
I freeze, my heart racing. Torlas is here, and the Sealord is with him. If I’m recognized, I’ll be following Jonah to the chopping block. I set off towards the nearest group of guests to lose myself in the crowd, cursing.
Too late. Helikos and Torlas walk out of the entryway just as I glance back towards them. My eyes pass quickly over the king, flicking towards Torlas just as sees me. I wince as recognition blossoms in his eyes, and my mind races through the possible exits if I’m forced to make a hasty retreat.
Ah, well. There’s nothing for it. I step forward and bow, holding the bow for several long seconds as Helikos and Torlas no doubt look on. Straightening, I meet the King’s gaze solemnly.
“Teldaran Hollenzar, elder son of the Lord and Lady of Hollen, at your service, my king.”
The king looks me up and down, then smiles with an inviting grin.
“Teldaran, it is a pleasure. Is Jenaras well? I regret that we haven’t been able to help with that barbarian problem, but with the growing dissent in this province, we have problems of our own. I assure you that we will spare the troops at the earliest possible convenience.”
I nod once, sharply.
“The Lord General has promised the troops presently, your majesty. The matter has already been resolved. I thank you for your generosity.”
“Wonderful,” the king says, his voice warm again, though his eyes go cold. “The Lord General would know the disposition of our armies better than I. Regrettably, I can see a line forming for my attention. Send my regards to your father.”
I bow again, holding the uncomfortable pose as the king sweeps by me.
“My lord,” Torlas calls. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I would have a word with the young Hollenzar.”
I close my eyes, praying without even knowing what I’m praying for. The king grunts once.
“Yes, yes. Don’t be too long. I’ll need you to give me some breathing room from time to time.”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll be with you presently.”
I stand up, turning back and meeting Torlas’ eye. He’s struggling to contain his laughter as he steps up to me. He glances around, making sure that no one is watching, before grinning widely.
“Jace, Jace. You know that impersonating nobility is considered treason, right?”
“Hush, Graevo. My name is Teldaran Hollenzar. Is my bow not recognizable?” I ask, grinning back.
“Did Reknor get you in? That old rascal would pull those kinds of strings. Nice… outfit?” Torlas says, arching an eyebrow at my pure-white ensemble.
“Reknor, too,” I say with a laugh. “He obviously has great fashion sense. And a great sense of humor.”
“So,” Torlas says as we move over to the wall and lean against it. “Who have you had the pleasure of meeting so far? How many dukes and earls and duchesses and puppet kings and queens have you bowed to this evening?”
“So far? Just a general, a king, and one sniveling duke whose company drags ever onward.”
Torlas shoots me an arch look before laughing.
“Splendid. Now, I can give you an idea of who you should meet before you ever have to bow…”
Torlas accurately and hilariously describes the privileged few in attendance at the King’s Ball. Men and women from all over the Kingdom of the Sea have traveled to take part. Torlas points out an Earless of a province not too distant from Hollen, and I immediately make a mental note to avoid the woman if at all possible. Most of the attendees are nobility of some sort or another, but many are noble through the benefit of wealth. Dignitaries from both the Isles and the Khalintari Republic huddle in separate corners, rich merchants lucky enough to be invited to the ball. They stick out almost as much as I do, but the sheer weight of the gold dripping from their fingers, clothes, ears, noses, and even toes would allow them to stick out wearing black to a funeral. Torlas impresses me time and again with his knowledge of the court, and with each introduction comes a sardonic little quip.
“And she, well, Countess Taloon is the most lecherous woman on the planet. And, due to her station, she can surround herself with even more lecherous servants. If you ever make it to her home, watch that you don’t get invited into the study,” Torlas says, winking at me.
“And who is that?” I ask, pointing across to a slender young woman in a green dress. She’s pleasant to look at, and only a simple string of pearls decorates her elegant neck. She turns at a comment from the man next to her and smiles, and I smile back. Okay. She’s more than just ‘pleasant.’
“Ah, that…” Torlas trails off as he realizes I’m not really paying attention. “Jace. Jace.”
“Huh, what?” I say, shaking myself slightly and looking at him.
“That, my friend, is entirely off limits. That is Helikos’ daughter, Iliana. She is worthy of any man’s admiration, but that admiration can only come from a distance,” Torlas says in warning.
“That is the princess of the kingdom?” I ask, slightly incredulous. The girl is pretty, sure, but she doesn’t seem as... impressive as she should be.
“Watch your words, or you really might get accused of treason,” Torlas says, his tone more serious than I expect it to be.
“I feel like I know her…” I start to say before realizing I don’t know her whatsoever.
“I have to say that seems unlikely...”
“Sure,” I say slowly, but I can’t shake the feeling. “All the same… Torlas, would you do me an enormous favor?”
“How enormous?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“Would you… introduce me? To her?”
“Right… I don’t know how enormous a favor that would be, but, as a friend, I’ll humor you. Then, however, I have to go. The king will be needing my presence.”
He sets out, and I fall in behind him, trying to swallow back my nervousness. The time across the marble floor is an eternity, but when I look up into the waiting eyes of a half-dozen powerful women, it feels like we’ve appeared over there instantly.
“Ladies, I am pleased you were able to attend,” Torlas begins, sweeping into a deep bow.
“Please, Graevo,” Iliana chides. “We have to be here.”
“All the same, lady, I thank you.”
Iliana leans back and gives Torlas a sad, simple smile. She’s suddenly stunning, and I ache for whatever sadness lies behind her eyes. She reaches out and brushes his arm, but neither notice. The silence draws onward, and I open my mouth and give a slight cough into my hand. At the same time, a dainty cough sounds from next to Iliana. A pretty girl with brown ringlets and green eyes her hand over her mouth in the same way I do. Our eyes meet, and we both drop our hands and smile sheepishly.
Iliana and Torlas seem to start, coming back to themselves and talking all over each other at once.
“Ladies, I would like you to meet…”
“Torlas, what are you…”
They stumble to a jerking halt, and everyone laughs at their expense. To Torlas’ credit, he laughs along with them.
“Lady, if I may?” he asks, dipping his head in respect.
“Please, proceed, my lord,” she responds, dipping into a curtsey. I find myself smiling broadly, the tension gone.
“My lady, this is the esteemed first son of Hollen, Teldaran,” he says.
I step forw
ard as gracefully as possible. She holds out her hand, and I bend over it, stopping short of pressing her hand to my lips, but only just. I straighten smoothly, and she graces me with a smile.
“The talk of the ball,” Iliana says, even as her brow furrows. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”
Strange, that she feels it, too. Something about her face, the structure, the smile, reminds me of someone. It feels less like a memory, and more like a… I can’t place it, so I simply shrug.
“I would be lying if I didn’t say I feel the same, but I do not recall ever meeting someone such as you. And, surely, I would have remembered.”
“Ah, Graevo, you’ve made a friend with a similar tongue to your own,” Iliana says, half-smiling.
“So, Teldaran,” the girl next to her begins. “What is Hollen like? We’ve heard so much about your country, and I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“Ah,” I say softly, and I hope the uncertainty doesn’t show in my eyes. “There is little to be said, other than for the mountains. When you see the peaks rising into the sky, there is something inside of you that… stirs.”
“They are beautiful,” Iliana says, her gaze far away. “I passed through with my father when I was a child. I don’t think you were in attendance at the dinner. Too young, my father said. But the mountains are indeed breathtaking.”
“Thank you, my lady, for honoring my country,” I say, bowing slightly to hide my alarm. She knows far more about my supposed homeland than I do.
“Drop the ‘lady,’ Teldaran. Among friends, I remain simply Iliana.”
“I am honored to count myself as such,” I respond, smiling.
“We shall see,” she says, smirking. “Now, Graevo, I have a royal command for you.”
“Yes, my lady?”
Iliana looks at me and rolls her eyes.
“No matter how many times I tell him, he doesn’t ever drop the act.”
“If it were only an act, my lady,” Torlas says, his eyes dropping. I would throw his comment out to the banter of the night, but something like truth rings in his words.
“Duke Graevo, I command you to dance with me,” Iliana says, tilting her head imperiously and holding out her arm.
Torlas smiles as he takes her proffered arm. He only glances once towards the king, who is engrossed in a conversation with the knot of Khalintari men. The couple disappear into the crowd arm in arm. A blonde woman in an extraordinarily intricate dress of garish green folds her arms and glowers after them. She would be pretty, but her broad chin and her ugly demeanor prevent her from being described as such. You must be Eleanor, the Duke's betrothed. I would probably dance with Iliana instead, too.
I drift over to a servant and finally find the drink I’ve been looking for, staring after my friend. Iliana and Torlas match each other in elegance, the picture-perfect sight of nobility as it should be. Their dance captivates the crowd, many of the others pairs halting their twirl to admire the two gracefully spinning about the room. Everyone applauds as they finish, the sound startling them both out of a seeming reverie. Smiling and nodding, Torlas confidently, Iliana somewhat ruefully, they walk under the balcony together.
From my vantage, their faces remain clear. He looks at her with such tenderness that my heart goes out to him, and her eyes are shining in response. Torlas suddenly looks up, and his eyes harden. Even from across the room, I can tell something is wrong. Iliana’s face falls, and my smile evaporates as Torlas turns sharply and walks away. The Lord General strolls up and puts his arm around Iliana. Her face reflects a quiet melancholy, but she reaches up and pats his muscular arm familiarly.
Iliana and Torlas obviously love one another, but even the power the couple wields, perhaps second only to the King and the Lord General in the entire kingdom, can’t bring them together. I find myself hating the man, personally for once instead of as a faceless entity. In meeting Kranos, in seeing the coldness in his eyes, in seeing the wedge he drives between Torlas and the woman he loves… A distant part of me realizes that he probably ordered the attack on the Simply. My rage awakens into a screaming, aching knot of ice and fire. The Lord General heads away, and my eyes burn holes in his back. I should be cautious, I should be afraid, but I glare after him until he disappears behind a pillar.
A soft hand comes to rest on my arm. I jump and turn, meeting stunning eyes that shock me with their intensity. They are a deep, vibrant shade of blue, like the sky at noon. I’m frozen, caught in their depths.
“Again, Teldaran,” Iliana says softly. “I feel as if I know you.”
“My lady, I believe that you do.”
Her brow wrinkles prettily, and she gives me a confused smile.
“I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“Looking into your eyes, I simply feel... known. It isn't a feeling I can explain,” I respond, suddenly embarrassed.
“Well, I can't explain my feeling, and you can't yours, so we'll just have to live in perpetual confusion,” she answers in a reasonable tone.
“Naturally,” I laugh. “Iliana, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
“Teldaran…” she glances over at Torlas, who smiles at us briefly from amongst a knot of people. “Very well.”
I pace with Iliana out to the center. We stand the awkward moments of a couple who has entered the floor at the wrong moment, waiting for the previous song to end and for the next to begin. I fidget with the buttons on my jacket, surreptitiously check the laces of my boots, and generally try to appear nonchalant. Failing utterly, Iliana and I look at each other and laugh at our own awkwardness. The music comes up, and I step close to her. It’s a slower song, the measured pace of a waltz.
I place my hand on her hip and the other out for her to grasp. Her fingers light on mine with little more than the flutter of a hummingbird, and the warmth of her radiates through the thin silk of her dress. We dance slowly, precisely, and smile together at the ease of our sway. We’re nearly directly underneath the massive orb of water that serves as the unbelievable chandelier, and I glance up at it apprehensively from time to time.
I’m nervous underneath the damn thing, so I’m not surprised when a drop of water strikes my shoulder. Another hits the top of my head, and one mars Iliana's silk dress, ruining the cloth. Suddenly, Iliana is wooden in my arms. Her feet stutter to a stop, and she spins away from me, searching the crowd.
“I'm sorry,” I start. “Perhaps we should move out from under the water, I didn't mean to ruin your dress...”
“The water never falls,” she says, waving me to silence. More drops cascade down, and soon other couples notice, voicing quiet complaints in the buzzing room. Iliana stiffens next to me. I follow her gaze to the Sealord himself. He stares at her. At me. At us. His look is intent, piercing, evaluating, but above all surprised. What’s the problem? Why is he riveted on a slow dance between a stranger and his daughter? Have I done something untoward?
I blink, and he’s moving towards me, his eyes staring and intent. Iliana’s brow furrows, and she moves to meet him on his way. Just as his eyes turn to meet hers, I duck aside and behind others in the crowd, breaking our line of sight. Whatever the king wants with me, I’m not going to stick around to find out. Damn Reknor’s remaining eye, I never wanted kings or generals to notice me. I just want to live my life. Rushing to the shining golden doors out, I slip through the tunnel and out into the night, too quickly for any orders to detain me. I don’t look back.
***
I can’t really be in trouble, can I? The King thinks I’m Teldaran Hollenzar, son to a distant and minor noble. I have no idea what his interest in me might be, but, surely, I’m safe. Every time I think of the Sealord's stare and the cold water working its way down my back, though, the icy claws of fear skitter across my stomach and I’m less certain. Reknor doesn’t show any undue concern when I tell him. When no one shows up to arrest me after a few days, I start to breathe easier. I return to my training with the sword, though I lack something of the focus I dedicated
to the art before. The ache of the single line drawn in black ink on the inside of my left wrist doesn’t help matters. Reknor assures me I won’t have to get the scars, as the others did. As to why, he’s less forthcoming.
Weeks pass, and my fear of the Sealord dissipates. Spring winds down, heading towards the clear heat of Summer. My mind and body settle into the dull slog of training without fervor. I stop getting better. Soon, in fact, I feel like I’m regressing. Cutting through seven candles and half of the eighth becomes a difficulty instead of a warm up. I get the feeling I’ve exhausted Reknor's creativity with swordplay, and the tasks are beginning to grow dull and repetitive because of it.
After everything he’s managed, why do I doubt him?
One hot morning, I’m left to sit in the library, reading another dull, uninspired volume about how a beggar rose to prominence in a kingdom and won the heart of a princess.
“What drivel,” I mutter, slamming the book closed. “How could a princess ever love a beggar?”
I hear Reknor return, but I don’t stir myself, staring listlessly at the cover of the leatherbound volume and idly running my hands along the title. My eyes don’t leave the cover when Reknor walks into the room, but they leave pretty quickly when he smacks me on the back of the head.
“Ow.”
“Wake up, my lovely,” Reknor says. He has a wide grin on his face. Shit. “It’s time for another stage in your quest for control.”
“Eternal's broken bones, there’s another stage?”
“Always. Now get up, or more than the Eternal will have some broken bones.”
Reknor leads me out of the house carrying a basket filled with a hard sourdough bread and a sharp aged cheese. We walk through the Pennies and into the Palace District, threading our way through the noonday crowds with practiced ease. I catch myself as my hand makes a leap towards a passing man's purse, contenting myself with patting it gently before moving on. I still have to fight the old instincts Jonah drilled into me as a child.
We stroll into a park with vivid, almost impossibly green grass spreading out in waves of brilliant viridian. The wealthy cruise the park in their beautiful best, courtiers and ladies wending their way among ancient oaks. Small ponds dot the landscape. Reknor leads me straight to one of the ponds, stopping by the edge and turning back to grin at me.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 37
