Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “Lady Renaud told me that Mistress Agnes was in a war with Mistress Delfine for years for the princess’s favor,” Beatris said. “No, wait, the queen’s favor. Lady Renaud always calls her ‘the princess’.”

  “What happened?” Pamela asked.

  “Apparently, just before King Roupert passed,” Beatris said, making the sign of the Godcircle, “Mistress Delfine outbid Mistress Agnes for a wagonload of Tolandish cotton. Mistress Agnes took her to the court to accuse her of fraud, and the king took Mistress Delfine’s part. Mistress Agnes has not asked the queen for any custom since.”

  Tabitha lost her smile. She liked Mistress Agnes, but wearing her designs might antagonize the queen, which Tabitha had no desire to do. That hatred in her eyes yesterday had been very real. Then she wondered if her father had known about this fashion feud when he had hired Mistress Agnes. “So you think she wants to show the queen that it was wrong to rule in favor of Mistress Delfine? Through me?”

  “Probably,” Beatris shrugged, then she saw Tabitha’s face. “It’s all right, I think. I think this is pretty common here at court. Designers constantly try to outdo each other. They are artists, and ladies are their canvases.”

  “But the queen hates me,” Tabitha said, then immediately bit her lip and looked behind her, where the men were talking. Her father did not seem to have heard her. He would not have wanted her to say such a thing in public.

  Beatris edged closer and gestured for Pamela to do the same so they could all speak more quietly. “From what the Renauds tell me, she was going to hate you no matter what.”

  “Why?”

  “This is all just what I heard,” Beatris hastened to say. “Apparently, eight years ago, she came of age and came to visit the court. Her uncle was the Duke of the Jasinde Marches then, and he introduced her to Prince Motthias. He was so taken by her beauty that he married her within just a few weeks. Now, though, she is older, she has had a son, and she is not so slim anymore. The king, well, he looks elsewhere now, and she is bitter about it.”

  Tabitha nodded slowly. Pamela said, “So the king thinks Tabitha is more beautiful than the queen, and so the queen hates her because she can’t compete with her.”

  “Essentially,” Beatris nodded.

  Pamela huffed. “If she had any sense, she would hate the king.”

  “Oh, she does.”

  Pamela looked back at Tabitha. Her eyes widened in sympathy, and she put her hand on Tabitha’s arm. “It will be all right. We will only be here for a few weeks.”

  “But what if the man I marry serves here at court?” Tabitha asked.

  Beatris and Pamela looked at each other, but neither of them knew what to say. Tabitha turned away to pretend to look at the bird cages.

  Tenor bells tolled when it was time to be seated. Servants came to carry off the birds, and the harpists in the colonnades’ niches were joined by flutists as the nobility of Thendalia waited at their chairs for the king and queen to arrive. Tabitha could not see very many people without turning her head, due to the wide brim of her hat. She knew it would be a long feast, since a coronation feast traditionally had the same number of courses as the new king’s age and King Motthias was thirty-three. Perhaps some of the food would be to her liking, but it did not actually matter since, as a lady of one of the four highest houses, she was expected to take only one bite from each plate. Fortunately, she had already had a filling breakfast. Like yesterday’s ceremonies, these were hours to be endured, not enjoyed.

  She quickly realized that she had been seated so that the king at the high table ten or twelve paces away was in her direct line of sight. All the guests sat on one side of the dining tables so that the dishes could be served from the other side, so there was no one between her place facing the high table and the high table facing the rings of guests. Many times the king seemed to be looking straight at her, even during meat-thanks, so she kept her eyes on her utensils. Her father spent most of the time speaking to Duke Aviere on his right, and the Jasinthe lady on Tabitha’s left ignored her entirely, leaving her bored, uncomfortable, and at times nauseated by the smells.

  She sneaked glances up at the high table to see what the queen and the other ladies of the royal house were wearing. Though the queen wore a tall wire crown with feathers and pearls, most of the others wore wide-brimmed hats like Tabitha’s own. None of their gowns had the sleeve trim hers did, and of course most of them favored shades of red while hers was blue. One lady had a necklace of what looked like large silver coins, another lady had an enormous blood-red ruby ring that stood out loudly against the white of her glove. Yet another wore big hoops in her ears. Mistress Agnes had told Tabitha that oversized jewelry was currently very fashionable, but only suitable for married ladies. Tabitha did not like the look. It was for ladies who needed to draw attention away from their faces, since the same ladies were wearing face powder, obvious even at this distance. Both Mistress Agnes and Mistress Florain had said that Tabitha did not need it, not in the least.

  I may truly be the most beautiful lady in the kingdom. It was a vain thought, but she could not deny that it gave her satisfaction.

  The thirty-third course was a tiny confection of pine nuts in white pudding, and Tabitha scooped a single nut onto her spoon. Lise happily took the bowl away to share with the other Betaul servants, who had eaten well today. Tabitha sipped more watered wine, watched the musicians set up, and waited for everyone else to finish so that the dancing could begin.

  Eventually the king escorted the queen in a solo dance to honor their coronation. Tabitha was relieved to see that the steps of the dance were familiar, with only the slight variations that Mistress Florain had taught her and Pamela. When the king invited the nobles of the ducal houses to join them on the floor, Tabitha and her father were easily among the most graceful of the group. When it ended, Tabitha saw that the first ring of tables had been completely taken away to make more room.

  “Duke Etienn, my friend. If I may?”

  Tabitha turned to see King Motthias holding out his hand to her even though he was speaking to her father. She had known that she would have to dance with the king, and she had hoped that her distaste from the day before had been nothing more than nerves. But it all came flooding back when she looked at him. His eyes were predatory, and his doublet was such a dark red it seemed dipped in blood. When her father consented with a bow and passed her gloved hand to the king, she could only make sure that her face revealed nothing as she stood up from her curtsey.

  “How are you liking Tiaulon so far, my lady?” he said as the music began and he took both her hands for the first steps.

  “It is beautiful, your Majesty. I like it very much.”

  “Have you attended the theater yet? We have several accomplished companies performing every day during the festivities.”

  “I look forward to attending, your Majesty.”

  He kept up a stream of small talk throughout the dance, never saying or even hinting anything improper, never squeezing her hands more than necessary. Tabitha was not fooled. The overwhelming sense she had of him was that of a vulture. And then there was that strange, tiny twinge, like a needle or a splinter or something that she could not quite describe. At the end of the dance, he gave a polite and correct bow and gave her hand back to her father, who had stayed close by while dancing with Duchess Aviere.

  “Did he say anything to you?” her father murmured.

  She understood what he meant. “Nothing serious, Father.” The dance floor was filling up, and she curtseyed to Duke Aviere as he approached to partner her next.

  The Duke of the Avir Marches was a tall, kind old man with a long, skinny beard. She danced with his son next, who was so tall it hurt her neck to talk to him, and then the grandson, a blonde child who was rather cute and very serious about dancing properly. The Pravelle and Jasinthe lords followed, their voices condescending and their expressions neutral as they evaluated her. Some were magi, and just as with the king, their nearness ma
de her feel that odd, not-quite-there twinge. It was a relief when the counts and barons were invited onto the floor and Lord Daniel came to take her hand. It meant that she had danced with everyone she had to, and was now free to accept, or decline, dances as she wished. “How are you faring, my lady?” Lord Daniel asked as they joined the other couples.

  “Well, my lord, and you?”

  “Well.” His hair was falling into his eyes again. Maybe Pamela could convince him to get it properly cut. “Did you eat any of the feast?” he asked.

  “A bit. I thought of Pamela when they served the beets.”

  That made him laugh. Everyone knew about the single row of beets Pamela had tried to grow in the south garden two springs past, the most pathetic little vegetables ever to come out of the ground. “Loyalty compels me to say that the royal beets did not taste as good.”

  “Not nearly.”

  He smiled again, but then grew serious. “Lady Pamela and I saw Lady Jenevive.”

  “Jenevive? Here?”

  “I imagine she is attending with her husband. He is said to be wealthy.”

  “Which is why they forced her to marry him.” Tabitha was still offended that she and her father had not been invited to Jenevive’s wedding. “Is he really a commoner? I heard he was.”

  “Not anymore. He is here so that his Majesty can confirm his elevation to baron.”

  “Did you talk to her? Did Pamela?”

  He shook his head. “Lady Pamela tried to get her attention, but she walked away and we lost her in the crowd. I think her family wants her to avoid us Betaul folk.”

  “Where is Pamela?”

  “Over there, with Lord Renaud.” He gestured the direction with his chin, with that blonde beard that did not match his brown hair. His eyes softened as he looked at Pamela.

  They really did care about each other, despite the very practical and sensible reasons for their engagement. So maybe even an arranged marriage can be romantic. Tabitha hoped so.

  Lord Daniel escorted her to a table when the music ended, and Pamela quickly joined them there, and Beatris too. Both girls had flushed cheeks from their time on the dance floor, and Pamela’s hat ribbons were tangled in a fat knot dangling down her back. “Lord Daniel told me that you saw Jenevive,” Tabitha said to Pamela as Lise filled goblets with icy watered wine.

  “Yes! Back there.” Pamela nodded toward the end of the courtyard where the lesser nobles had been seated for the feast. “I know she saw us, but she turned away.”

  “We need to find her,” Beatris said solemnly, lowering her goblet after a long drink. “I am worried about her. She never answered any of our letters.” She looked up at Lise. “Lise, could you help? Lady Jenevive is here at the feast. Will you see if you can find her?”

  “But don’t talk to her,” Tabitha added. “Just come back and tell us where you saw her.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Lise curtseyed and disappeared.

  “How did she seem to you?” Beatris asked Lord Daniel.

  “All I could tell was that she was not smiling.”

  Lord and Lady Renaud joined them at the table, and then Count Sebastene arrived with another lord and lady who had attended the Betaul party the night before. Count Sebastene asked Tabitha to dance, and Tabitha was pleasantly surprised at how well the stout man was able to keep up with the energetic reel, and even more pleased that it was just taxing enough to keep him from his usual boring topics of talk. Lord Renaud danced with Tabitha next, and when they returned to the table, they saw Lise talking to Beatris, who waved Tabitha and Pamela over.

  “Lise saw Jenevive in the gardens,” Beatris said. “I am going to find her and talk to her.”

  “We all should,” Tabitha said. “We all have a right to know what happened.”

  Beatris hesitated, but at Pamela’s pleading look, she relented. “All right.”

  Lord Daniel and Count Sebastene exchanged a glance, and Beatris asked, “Do we really need an escort? If too many of us are bearing down on her, she may disappear again.”

  Count Sebastene hesitated, but said, “I would feel better if you did have an escort, dear. Some of his Majesty’s guests are already quite drunk. Lord Daniel and I will stay a few steps back to not spook the young lady.”

  The castle gardens were on the other side of one of the colonnades from the main courtyard, and Tabitha breathed in the scent of thousands of flowers as she stepped between two tall hedges. Narrow paths wound through clusters of small trees and tiered flower beds. It was far bigger than the garden that fronted Tabitha’s father’s mansion here in the city, of course, but it was also bigger than all the gardens surrounding Betaul Keep put together. She tried to think of where such gardens could be arranged back home, but the hilltop did not lend itself to such lavish landscaping. The castle here was much less a fortress and much more a palace.

  Some of the hedges had been trimmed to resemble animals, big and small. As they walked along one of the paths, Pamela pointed out a reindeer, a puma, and a bear. Then frowned. “I don’t see a swan. Do you see a swan anywhere?”

  Another insult. The Pravelles seemed determined to offend the Betauls in a thousand little ways. Why else have all the other ducal families’ heraldic beasts here, but not the Betaul swan?

  The paths, trees, and hedges created many semi-private spaces, not allowing Tabitha to see far ahead or more than a slice of the gardens at a time. Tabitha did not think they would be able to find Jenevive with so much ground to cover, but as they came to an enormous fountain, Pamela stopped. “There she is.”

  “Where?”

  Pamela extended one finger toward their left. It was nice to see her not pointing with her whole arm like a child. “In the pink gown, next to that tall man.”

  “I see her,” Beatris said, craning her neck. She glanced back at Lord Daniel and Count Sebastene, who as promised had kept some distance, but Tabitha had already started forward. She heard Beatris make her exasperated sound as she and Pamela hurried to follow.

  Jenevive turned and saw them just before they reached her. Her gown was indeed pink, a color she had never liked, and her hat was white and plumed with exotic feathers. She did not react to their approach, just stood and stared dully at them, and when Pamela came close to hug her, she flinched away. Her face looked awful. Pale powder hid her ruddy cheeks, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

  The tall man turned around and frowned. Jenevive’s hand was on his arm, so this had to be her new husband. He was blonde with a thick neck, but while he was handsome enough and not even as old as Lord Daniel, his grey eyes were cold.

  “Baron Riebel,” Beatris said quickly with a shallow curtsey that Pamela quickly imitated. “Please, we just want one moment with the baroness. Please. We were like sisters once.”

  Riebel sneered a little at Tabitha, who had not curtseyed to this jumped-up commoner and never would. Jenevive looked up at him without emotion and said, “It will only be one moment, my lord. You have my promise.”

  He gave her a single, stiff nod and turned away. Jenevive let go of his arm and walked a few steps from the fountain to the edge of a flower bed. Tabitha, Beatris, and Pamela joined her there, and no one said anything for a few moments.

  “We wrote to you,” Beatris said at last. “But it seems you were not allowed to write back.”

  Jenevive shrugged. “I did not even know you had written. I really did not expect it.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Tabitha asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Of course we wrote to you,” Pamela said solemnly. “We would not forget you.”

  “You forgot me before I even left.”

  Pamela’s mouth dropped open. Tabitha did not know what to think of the change in her friend. Why was she not glad to see them? She had been so stunned when she had left Betaul that she had barely spoken farewells to anyone, but why would she refuse to talk to them now?

  “Please, Jenevive,” Beatris said softly. “You did not come to my wedd
ing. None of us were even invited to yours. If your family prevented it—”

  “They did,” Jenevive said. “They said I should not associate with you, so I did not.”

  Tabitha frowned. “When did you become so dutiful and obedient?” The old Jenevive would have only pretended to follow her family’s rules. She would have at least found a way to send them a letter.

  Jenevive glared at her. Tabitha was perversely glad to see it, and even more so when Jenevive said, “Shut it. Just shut it. You have no idea. None. About anything.”

  Beatris reached out to touch Jenevive’s arm, and Jenevive swatted it away. “Jenevive,” Beatris pleaded, “we want to help.”

  “Do you?”

  “What makes you think we don’t?” Tabitha demanded.

  Jenevive glared at Tabitha again. “The fact that you did not stand up for me like you did for Marjorie. None of you did. You just let them take me away.”

  Tabitha stared at her. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Tell your father that you did not want me to leave!” Jenevive hissed.

  “But it’s not up to him! Your family has the right—”

  “But you did not even try! You did not give your father a single reason to use his influence, or his money, or anything for me! Marjorie murders someone and you still care about her—”

  “Marjorie did not do it!” Tabitha protested, as Beatris said, “Jenevive, you know you don’t believe that.”

  “Maybe I do believe it,” Jenevive said. Her eyes were bright and wet. “I have had a lot of time to think about it. I don’t think anyone else could have murdered him.” Pamela tried to say something, but Jenevive continued her tirade right over her. “But what does it matter? Marjorie got a cozy cloister and I got put on the auction block for the highest bidder. And none of you said anything about it.”

  Tabitha was speechless. How could Jenevive blame them? She had known that she had to get married. She had known her family needed that from her.

  “You are right,” Beatris said, and Tabitha looked at her in surprise. Beatris’ homely face was drawn with pain as she looked at Jenevive. “You are right. We did not help you. Maybe it would not have done any good, but we still should have tried.” She reached out again, and again Jenevive slapped her hand away. “Jenevive, I am so sorry. You deserve better. I know it’s probably too late, but if there is anything I can do, anything at all …”