Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  She almost tripped backwards as he suddenly led her in the wrong direction. His hands on her waist turned her, and then he resumed the steps of the dance, but out of the ring, into the shadows of one of the alcoves. In a moment she felt her back press up against a cold stone wall, and he kissed her.

  His mouth was strong and tasted of wine, and his hands on her waist pulled her close against his body. After an instant of shock, Tabitha kissed him back. The dim alcove, the fast music, even the coarse feel of his beard, all of it sent flushed heat through her and made her think of her night with Alain.

  Not Alain. Nicolas. Nicolas wants me. Not Marjorie. Not anyone else. Me. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to him with complete abandon.

  But then, just as suddenly, his lips were gone and his hands were pulling her forward, turning her with the steps of the dance. Tabitha gasped as she stumbled, but Nicolas held her up, and she got her feet under her in time to spin into the circle, back between the two couples they had started between. For a moment Tabitha needed all her concentration to reestablish the rhythm.

  “You are so beautiful,” Nicolas murmured in her ear at the step that brought them closest together. Her cheeks were hot. Her entire body was hot. He looked at her as they stepped briefly apart, and then he gave her that grin that made him irresistible. They came back together and he asked, “Was that your first kiss?”

  “Yes.” She did not mean to lie. The lie just came out so easily. No one knew about Alain and no one ever would, which meant it might as well have never happened.

  He grinned again. She could not stop looking at him. When the steps brought them close once more, he whispered, “I love how you dance.”

  The thought of him looking at her body sent heat through her again. There were so many people in crowded motion around them, but his dark eyes and firm hands made her feel like the only girl in the world. She was in love.

  She heard the song’s closing note from the flutes. The crowd of couples slowed and stopped, but he did not take his hands away from her waist or his eyes away from hers. He was so handsome. He was the only one she wanted. She was in love.

  “Talk to my father,” she whispered recklessly. “Ask him to consider you.” Then she froze as she heard Mistress Florain’s voice, calm but stern.

  “My lady.” The tall governess stood at Tabitha’s shoulder. “It’s time to take our leave.”

  Nicolas bowed to her and kissed her hand, and at the touch of his mouth through her glove, she had to control a wild shiver. She curtseyed, and he smiled at her as if Mistress Florain did not exist. “Will I see you at tomorrow night’s ball, Lady Tabitha?”

  “No, my lord,” the governess answered before Tabitha could. She dipped her own perfunctory curtsy to him and then touched Tabitha’s shoulder to turn her around and move her off the dance floor. Tabitha obliged, because to do otherwise would seem unruly and childish, but inside, she thought of all the horrible names she wanted to call the governess as they left Nicolas behind.

  Her father was talking with two men near the foyer, and Mistress Florain brought Tabitha directly to his side. Her father introduced both lords to her, and she went through the motions of greeting them, but her heart was too full for her to pay attention. She thought she hid it well, but then realized that her father was apologizing. “Please forgive her, my lords, but my daughter seems quite flushed.” The look he gave Tabitha as he held out his arm for her was a shadowed frown. “Too much dancing, perhaps.”

  Inside the stuffy warmth of the carriage, Tabitha’s father sat down across from her and folded his arms over his chest. The candle was not lit, and it bothered her that she could not see his face in the dark. When he spoke, she could not tell by his voice if he was angry or not. “Clearly I need to pay closer attention to Lord Bayard.”

  Tabitha said nothing, and of course Mistress Florain beside her said nothing either.

  “Tabitha?”

  Tabitha’s fingers twisted in her lap, wrinkling her skirt. Finally she blurted, “Has he asked to be a suitor?”

  “No, which is why I have not made it a priority to learn more about him. So tell me.”

  She had to convince him that Nicolas was worthy. She had to think, and stop being distracted by the memory of Nicolas’ lips and hands on her. “His elder brother is Duke Aviere’s vassal.”

  “I know about the Bayards. Tell me about this Bayard.”

  “He ... oh, Father, he is the most handsome man I have ever met, and—”

  “Beauty is for women. Tell me something real.”

  What could be more real than Nicolas’s face, his eyes, the way he held her? But she could not tell her father that. She lifted her chin. “His first name is Nicolas. He is twenty-two. His family imports chocolate and makes it into candy, and he is very involved in the process and knows all about it. His family also exports lumber, and he knows all about that too. He competes in the tournaments and he is very good at unarmed combat and pole climbing. And he listens to me when I talk, which is more than I can say for most gentlemen!”

  Her father was silent for a moment. The carriage wheels creaked and the horses’ hooves clopped. “Mistress Florain, what do you know of him?”

  Tabitha heard Mistress Florain pull a breath into her long, stupid nose. “Your Grace, I don’t know much. However, he is said to be of loose morals.”

  “That’s not true!” Tabitha flared.

  Her father ignored her. “Anything else, Mistress?”

  “Only about his family, your Grace, not him specifically.”

  Talk to him, Tabitha urged her father silently. Please talk to him. You will see. She felt an itch at the back of her neck. Just talk to him. Just give him a chance.

  “I will talk to him,” her father said suddenly, “if he asks for an interview. Only as a favor to you, since you are so taken with him. But if he does not impress me, that is the end of it.”

  “Yes, Father.” She felt like she had won the first round in a tournament. Though her head was aching and weariness was draining the energy from her limbs, she wanted to smile in triumph, and in the dark, she did.

  Tabitha heard the rattle of the doorknob and spun around immediately from her pacing. Her father entered the parlor, and her heart dropped into her stomach at the stern look on his jowly face. “No,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I told you I would interview him. I told you that if I found him unsuitable, that would be the end of it. He is unsuitable, and that is the end of it.”

  “Why is he unsuitable?” she demanded.

  “He visits women at night. He is a drinker and a gambler. His life is centered entirely on his pleasures and not on his responsibilities.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” she shouted, her hands in fists, her skin breaking into a furious itch. “You only talked to him for half an hour!”

  “I talked to other people about him. People I trust, men and ladies both. When I talked to him, he said nothing to prove them wrong.” For some reason his eyes grew sad. “He would break your heart.”

  She pushed past him and ran out of the room, up the stairs and down the corridor to her own chambers. Mistress Florain and Pamela looked up from their tatting as she raced through the sitting room to her bedchamber and yanked back the draperies covering her window. It faced the front gardens, and she saw Nicolas walking down the central path that ran from the front porch to the gate. She grabbed hold of the window latch and opened it, but Mistress Florain was right behind her to yank it shut again. “Tabitha! You will not shout from the window!”

  She saw Nicolas turn. He looked up to her window, right at her, and turned to take a side path through the gardens that ended at the servants’ door beneath her. She held her breath as he smiled, and then he blew her a kiss. She pretended to catch it and place it on her lips.

  Mistress Florain pulled the draperies back over the window. “You are a lady,” she said, her voice as low and stern as Tabitha had ever heard it, her w
hole face in frown lines behind that long nose. “You will not behave like a child or a prostitute. Your father the duke has made his decision, and you will respect it.”

  Tabitha turned on her, her rage returning. “You knew what he would say!”

  “Of course I did. Lord Bayard’s indiscretions are well known at court.”

  “Get out!”

  Mistress Florain curtseyed and left the room. She did not shut the door, which gave Tabitha the opportunity to slam it. By the time she got back to the window and pushed the draperies out of her way, Nicolas was gone.

  This is not the end of it. I love him. He is the only one I will marry. We will find a way to be together. We will. We will.

  As Tabitha sat and listened, it occurred to her that this girl might be an even better singer than she herself was. Her range was greater than Tabitha’s, her pitch was perfect, and her every note rang clear. All of Lady Renaud’s guests were captivated, and even Pamela spent more time listening to the girl’s singing than to her own playing. She had dropped two chords so far.

  The gathering was small, as all of Lady Renaud’s parties were said to be, with nearly every one of the two dozen or so ladies contributing to the entertainment and merriment. Even Beatris had participated, to Tabitha’s enormous surprise, by reciting a short, dark-humored poem from a hundred years ago. Tabitha did not know if the laughter and applause for her had been heartfelt or not, but she knew that the applause for her own singing had been.

  But perhaps it had not been as heartfelt as what was now being given to little Lady Sousanna. She blushed and curtseyed, and Tabitha reminded herself that this was not a competition. Besides, the girl was so plump, and freckled. Her voice was likely all she had to recommend her.

  The heavy-jawed Lord Renaud and his burly son came around the parlor again to refresh everyone’s drinks, both dressed as servants for Lady Renaud’s party. They were the only men here, and it was so nice to attend a party without worrying about suitors. She found it difficult to be charming with them when all she wanted was to be with Nicolas. She had not met his eyes since that evening from her window, five days ago now, but she had watched him compete in the tournaments on Mansday and again yesterday. And she had started to dream about him at night, dreams that had once been of Alain.

  Her father had to change his mind! He had to interview Nicolas again. How could her father know what he was like after talking to him only once? He was perfect for her, perfect. They were perfect together. He would make her so happy. How could her father not see that?

  Tabitha realized she was fidgeting, and forced her hands to rest. Even though Lady Renaud’s husband and son had made their rounds and had returned to the smaller parlor off the foyer, the hostess continued to talk to Lady Sousanna, and conversation began to rise around Tabitha. She shifted in her chair and looked at Beatris and Pamela, but then Lord Renaud suddenly hurried back into the parlor, his jaw clenched. Tabitha looked past him to see the red tabard and handsome face of King Motthias in the foyer beyond.

  This is a ladies’ party. He should not be here. She and her father had not even considered that the king’s habit of appearing at gatherings unannounced would extend to something like this. Now she could see black-haired, black-hearted Othot, too, and some of the obnoxious magi from the king’s inner circle.

  Lord Renaud cleared his throat loudly. “An unexpected pleasure, my dear,” he called across the room to his wife. When Lady Renaud looked up, her heavily plucked eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. “His Majesty is joining us tonight.”

  All the ladies stood from their chairs to drop their curtsies. Tabitha knew that she should not be surprised. It was entirely in character for the king to do something as arrogant and improper as intruding on a ladies’ evening. She wished her father were here, but what could actually happen? She always watched what she said to the king, and so far, he had not yet managed to trap her into promising to marry Othot, or into accidentally insulting him or anyone else. And at this party, she had another escape route. Beatris and Count Sebastene were the Renauds’ houseguests, so she and Beatris and Pamela could disappear upstairs at the slightest pretext.

  “Your Majesty, please forgive us.” Lady Renaud said solemnly as the king took her hand and kissed it. “We had no idea you planned to grace our gathering.” As she rose from her curtsey, Tabitha saw that many of the other ladies were fluttering and giggling, even the two pregnant women. It seemed incredible to her that they could not tell how false his charm was, and how he used his good looks like a cudgel.

  “But my queen has a standing invitation,” the king said with preposterous innocence. He still held Lady Renaud’s hand. “She is not feeling well, so I came in her stead. I hope it does not matter so much.”

  Lord Renaud answered, his voice much milder than his eyes. “My king, my lady had nearly lost all hope that the queen would ever attend one of her parties. May I offer your Majesty some refreshment?”

  “Do you still keep reds from your eastern vineyards, my lord?”

  “Of course, your Majesty.” Lord Renaud nodded to a servant, a real one, who had appeared at his elbow and now disappeared just as quickly.

  The king finally released Lady Renaud’s hand and gestured to the rest of them. “Please sit,” he entreated the ladies. As Tabitha resumed her seat like everyone else, Lord Renaud’s son brought another chair into the room. The king sat, and Othot and the other cronies stood casually in the doorway between the smaller parlor and the larger. “I have heard so much about your gatherings, Lady Renaud,” the king declared. “You choose a guest to entertain us, is that right? And then another, and another? And one is acclaimed the winner at the evening’s end?”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” Lady Renaud agreed, even though Tabitha had not heard that any “winner” was ever chosen.

  “Then choose, my lady. I am eager to witness the talents of my kingdom’s fairest flowers.” He accepted a cup of wine from a servant, who moved on to pass more cups from his tray to Othot and the others.

  Lady Renaud’s jaw twitched, but when she spoke, she made the offer that courtly manners dictated. “Your Majesty, we of course defer to you to choose the next performer.”

  Silence ensued as, presumably, the king looked around the room. Tabitha did not dare look up to see if that was what he was truly doing. Then she heard the very slightest intake of breath from Pamela, and she could feel the king’s eyes on her, like they were crawling on her skin.

  “Lady Betaul,” he said, and now she had to look up. Only by Nan’s training did she keep from flinching back from his gaze, which sent sharp prickles up the back of her neck. “I know that you have a lovely voice to match your lovely face.”

  Behind him, Othot smiled at her maliciously, and it made her angry. She decided to say what she was thinking. It was reckless, but it was also correct. More than half of the room had not yet had a chance to sing, play, or recite anything. “Your Majesty, I have already sung tonight, and it would be improper for me to do so again. Each guest performs only once.”

  The king took no notice of the tiny gasps from around the room. “My lady, I entreat you not to punish me for arriving too late to hear your performance. I am certain this company would love to hear you a second time. Am I correct?”

  Many voices assured him that he was. Tabitha looked at Pamela, who stared back at her and clutched her harp in her lap without moving. “Look at the poor child,” the king said, and they both turned to see him reaching his hand toward Pamela. “She is so nervous she can’t play. Allow me, little one.”

  There was nothing for Pamela to do except bring him the harp, then drop a deep curtsey. The king plucked at the strings to learn their tone, clearly familiar with such an instrument, then strummed a chord and looked at Tabitha. “Is this key to your liking, Lady Betaul?”

  “Yes, your Majesty.” Tabitha rose and curtseyed. “What should I sing for your Majesty?”

  “What did you sing earlier?”

  “Corinn
ia’s Lament, your Majesty.”

  He strummed two more chords and smiled at her. She almost froze, but a Betaul did not behave like prey, so she fixed her gaze to the wall slightly above the heads of the guests. She turned her body so that she was almost, but not quite, facing away from the king, and she drew her breath.

  She liked to sing. She was very good at it. Nan had recognized her talent early, and a series of singing masters had been teaching her ever since. Her favorite place to sing was the chapel in Betaul Keep, for many reasons. The acoustics of the dome were very good, the hymns were well suited to her range, she usually had the accompaniment of half a dozen holy sisters, and the audience knew and appreciated her.

  This performance had none of those things, and the bad acoustics of the Renauds’ parlor room were the least of it.

  When she had finished, the ladies applauded even more vigorously than they had before, but Tabitha knew that it was not because she had done any better. Their hands were clapping for her, but their faces were turned toward the king. Tabitha curtseyed and sat down without looking at him.

  “So lovely!” The king stood, handed the harp back to Pamela, and then, to Tabitha’s horror, he knelt in front of her, reaching out his hand. She had to extend her own hand, which was not wearing a glove for this ladies’ evening, and the king kissed it. She could feel his mouth and his beard directly against her fingers, and she wanted desperately to pull away. His touch felt so wrong, intrusive, like a splinter, a noxious weed pushing between cracks. But she had to control herself. She had spoken too impertinently earlier, and she did not know how far her father would want her to push the boundaries when he was not here.

  Without releasing Tabitha’s hand, the king stood to turn to Othot. “My lord, by your horrible squawking at chapel, I would never have assumed you to be related to anyone with such an angelic gift.”