by Sharon Shinn
“You would not think a ballgown would make such a difference,” Darryn Rappengrass murmured to Kirra as they sat together over dinner. “But our shy little princess looks very queenly tonight.”
Kirra smiled. “She is nervous, though she hides it. She is afraid no one will dance with her. It would be a great kindness if you could bring yourself to be her partner if you see that she is being shunned.”
He laughed outright. “Serra, I will engage to do so, but my prediction is she will not be needing the attentions of insignificant persons such as me. She will be besieged with suitors.”
She dropped her lids to half cover her eyes. “Even after last night’s demonstration?”
“Even then.”
Darryn proved to be right. The dinner finally came to a close and they moved in one untidy body to the ballroom, which had been lavishly decorated with all manner of purple flowers tied up with great gold bows. Eloise had obviously gone to some trouble to inquire after the princess’s toilette. The regent led his niece out for the first formal dance, but after that he had no chance to speak to her, as she was surrounded for the rest of the night by eager young lords vying for her hand.
The rest of the young ladies looked rather put out at all the attention focused on the princess. Still, they did their best to appear as if they were enjoying the chance to tell each other diverting stories as they sat in the narrow chairs lining the ballroom and cooled themselves with their elaborate fans. Again, Kirra considered the advantages of changing her appearance, changing her sex, and undertaking a waltz with a few of the neglected women. Some of their no doubt spiteful opinions might be useful to obtain. But the effort seemed too great. Anyway, she was not all that interested in dancing.
While she had been watching Amalie, someone had been watching her. A figure slipped into the chair next to her, and when she looked, Romar Brendyn was lounging beside her. Her heart sped up, just a little, but she managed to mold her face in a dispassionate expression that was worthy of Casserah.
“Your niece is experiencing quite the triumph tonight,” Kirra said.
He nodded, pleased. “And to think she was worried she would receive no attention! But she seems to be enjoying herself immensely.”
“She might be the only lady who is,” she replied somewhat tartly.
His face crinkled in a smile. “Yes, I noticed that the only available men were a few vassals’ sons, and our grand serramarra normally would not stoop so low as to converse with them. But desperation breeds strange alliances, and I have seen more than one girl from the Twelve Houses accept an offer from a country boy tonight.”
“I hope Amalie finds time to partner with some of them as well,” Kirra said. “It would make them—and Eloise—very happy.”
“I believe it is her intention, serra,” Romar said.
Kirra returned her gaze to Amalie, just now engaged in a cotillion with a young man from Coravann. “She is young yet,” she said, “but the king surely must be thinking of the next important step. Who shall she marry? Do you see any likely prospects here?”
“Until a very short time ago, the king was not prepared to admit that she was almost an adult who could not be kept hidden away forever like some secret treasure,” Romar said gravely. “I’m not sure he can allow himself to think of her as a married woman.”
Kirra lifted one eyebrow. “She must wed. If the succession is one of the main preoccupations of our rebellious malcontents, she must give them one less reason to worry. Marry, stop the scheming for alliances, and prove she is fertile.”
“Interesting advice,” he commented, “from someone who does not look eager to take it herself.”
She was so surprised she shut her mouth with a snap.
“Why haven’t you married?” Romar continued in a pleasant way. “You or your sister, Kirra? Both of you are desirable women not only for your looks but for the connections you offer. I’m surprised Malcolm has been able to sift all the would-be husbands out at the Danalustrous border.”
For a moment she wanted to kill him, and then she wanted to laugh. She had to be careful to answer as Casserah would have. “I myself have never been too eager to wed,” she said, her voice a little bored. “I think a husband would become tedious after a while.” Romar choked and started laughing, but she continued, “I am very opinionated, you know, and I never do what anyone wants me to do. I think some husbands might find me irksome and others might find me cold. And it would be very boring to be constantly having to think of someone else’s feelings. Because if I married someone after all, I would not want him to feel wretched and neglected.”
Though I imagine that might be how your own wife feels, she wanted to add, but didn’t.
“No, indeed!” he exclaimed, strangling his laughter. “You would not want to completely ignore any man you took to husband. But don’t you think—if you married for love, or at least for affection—you might actually be interested in spending time with that man? Hearing his thoughts now and then? In fact, considering his feelings?”
Kirra opened her blue eyes very wide. She was enjoying this. “I doubt it.”
“So you plan to rule Danalustrous all on your own, with no spouse beside you?” he inquired.
“Ariane Rappengrass and Eloise Kianlever have both managed such a feat quite well.”
“Both of them married young and were unfortunate in the early deaths of their husbands,” he countered.
“Or fortunate. You might ask their opinions.”
He ignored this. “And Eloise’s husband died just two years ago. Ariane at least managed to bear five children before her husband passed away. And you must have heirs if you are to be marlady! You can’t have children unless you’re married.”
She was amused. “Can I not?”
He was caught by surprise and for a moment he stared. Then he burst out laughing again. “Indeed, I stand corrected,” he said. “You can. Perhaps you will. Accept in advance my sincere hopes for a happy and prosperous life, however you choose to lead it.”
She gave him a little nod. “Thank you, lord.”
“So we have disposed of your matrimonial chances,” he said cheerfully. “What of your sister? Do you suppose she will ever marry?”
“You’d have to ask Kirra that.”
He shook his head, his face gone suddenly abstracted as if he was revisiting a memory. “She is—she was—What a remarkable woman. Fearless. She has this natural elegance, this sophistication that informs every gesture and expression, and yet she is so much more vital and alive than any other woman I have met, in or out of the Twelve Houses. I looked at her and thought that there was nothing she could not do if she wanted to. She could charm a marlord in his hall or kill a bandit on the road. I thought, there is a woman not bound by any convention. There is a woman you cannot contain or predict. I have never encountered anyone like her.”
She wished the gods would strike him dumb so he could not say another word; she wished he would keep talking till the music ended, or the night ended, or the world ended. What would Casserah say, if she were sitting here listening to such warm praise of her sister? Casserah would agree with every word. But Kirra was not about to. “Yes, I love her very much myself, but she is not an easy companion,” she replied in a dry voice. “You never know where she will be from one day to the next. You never know what unfortunate friends she will bring home with her. She is restless, and odd, and uneven. You can count on her fidelity, for she is loyal as they come, but you cannot count on her for anything else.”
“Merriment,” he said. “I think you always expect her to show that.”
“You’re right. And that’s a fine quality to rely on when you’re in desperate straits.”
He gave her a serious look, maybe a bit reproving. “That sounds like how your father must have talked when he was telling you he was going to name you heir.”
She refused to be chastised. “Do not lecture me on how to appreciate my sister, lord,” she said in a sharp voice. “I
value her more than you will ever know how to. But do not be deceived by her bright hair and her laughing manner. She is a shiftling. She cannot stay still. She will make no man a tame and loving wife.”
He glanced away, as if afraid to reveal some expression on his face, and then glanced back, utterly composed. “I am not looking for a wife,” he said. “And I think it would take a unique man to serve as husband for your sister. I did not expect to rouse your ire by saying so.”
“I told you three days ago that I have heard nothing but praise and admiration for my sister,” she said, allowing a faint note of petulance to creep into her voice. “I suppose I had thought the subject was closed.”
He gave her a slight smile. “Jealousy? From Casserah Danalustrous? I find it impossible to believe.”
“Lord Romar,” she said, “I think I would surprise you most any day.”
“Serra Casserah,” he replied, “I am sure you are right.”
The music ended and the dancers paused to offer light applause. Young men pacing the borders of the ballroom streamed onto the dance floor to compete for Amalie’s hand. Romar rose to his feet, which caused Kirra to feel great relief and great disappointment. He was leaving.
Wrong again. “Would you surprise me again by dancing with me this evening?” he asked. “I promise, we will speak only of you and your many charms.”
For a moment, she knew, her expression was dumbfounded. He smiled and held his hand out, bending over in a half bow. “Please,” he said. “You are the only lady here to whom I feel free to speak my mind. It is a rare luxury for a man like me, who despises social conventions. You would be doing me a great honor and a great kindness if you would give me one waltz.”
Irresistible, no matter how much she wanted to resist. Wordlessly, she put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They glided onto the dance floor just as the music started. Romar’s left hand rested with a light pressure against her waist, but she was as aware of his touch as if he had worn moonstones on every finger. She thought she was just as likely to find welts on her skin in the morning.
The music was lovely, sweet and a little mournful; other couples twirled around them in a jeweled pattern of color and motion. Kirra made no effort to speak, as Casserah certainly would not have, and Romar seemed content to dance in silence. He smiled down at her, though, his eyes fixed on her face. She had to school herself to show only Casserah’s mild enjoyment bordering on true indifference.
Though she was wishing most passionately that the dance would never end.
It did, of course, with a minor crescendo of music and a last trill on a haunted flute. Romar immediately dropped his hands and bowed to her. Kirra swept him a regal curtsey.
“I enjoyed that,” Romar said. “You are a most graceful lady.”
“Thank you,” she said, unable to come up with anything more witty.
He had crooked his arm as if to lead her off the dance floor, but Darryn was beside them, making his own offer. “I did not realize you were dancing, serra,” said the Rappengrass lord. “Will you take a turn with me?”
Yes, with him, with Raegon Tilton, with Toland Storian, with anyone, just so she could end this long conference with Romar Brendyn. The regent bowed again and exited the floor. Kirra arranged herself in Darryn’s arms and they dipped into the dance.
That marked her as willing, and for the next hour she passed from hand to hand. Some of the younger lords had finally given up the pursuit of Amalie and were leading other ladies to the floor, but Casserah did not seem to appeal to this contingent. No, it was Seth Stowfer and the fathers of the bachelors and Eloise’s oldest vassals who wanted to squire the Danalustrous serramarra around. They were interested in alliances, not romance, and she had no quarrel with that. She let them rhapsodize about the beauties of Danalustrous and inquire after the health of her father and congratulate her on her new position in the household. She noted which ones wore moonstones—though Cammon’s magic held and she was not seared by them—and which ones sported only the gems and colors of their own Houses. But none of them asked her outright where Danalustrous might stand in a war. None of them mentioned either Halchon Gisseltess or the king. It was impossible to tell whose allegiances lay where.
Eventually she was able to free herself from Seth Stowfer. She made her way around the perimeter of the dance floor to where Senneth stood near a pair of tall windows.
“Where’s Valri?” Kirra asked. “She’s usually lurking right next to you, staring at Amalie.”
“She’s dancing with Heffel Coravann. For the third time this evening. He seems quite infatuated with her.”
Kirra scanned the dance floor till she located the unlikely couple, the tiny dark-haired queen and the rather lumbering marlord of Coravann. “Didn’t his wife die a couple of years ago? She was small and dark, too. Maybe Valri reminds him of her.”
“Maybe Valri ought to be careful of causing any gossip by seeming to favor any one marlord over another.”
Kirra raised her eyebrows. “Senneth Brassenthwaite lecturing on propriety,” she marveled. “I never thought to hear it.”
Senneth offered a reluctant smile. “Yes, but there are a few people who can’t afford to make mistakes. And Valri’s one.”
“The princess seems to be handling herself very well.”
Senneth nodded. “She doesn’t make mistakes. Even little ones. That’s something I’ve been noticing.”
“I think under the shiny hair and the cow eyes she’s a very smart girl,” Kirra said.
Senneth gave her an indignant look for the unflattering description but said, “There are days I almost feel hopeful.”
“Let’s see how well the trip progresses before we start becoming as rash as all that,” Kirra said.
Senneth laughed, and they talked idly for a few more moments. Kirra danced one or two more times, returning to Senneth’s side after each one to exchange observations. It was about an hour later and the ball was perhaps half over when Kirra saw Romar Brendyn slip out a back doorway of the ballroom. She smiled to herself; she didn’t think he’d made it through an entire evening yet without disappearing for a while. Three minutes later, Amalie twirled up beside them on Darryn Rappengrass’s arm, looking flushed and happy.
“Have you seen my uncle?” the princess asked. “Darryn wanted to ask him something.”
“He was supposed to give me the name of a swordsmith in Nocklyn,” Darryn said. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“He went out the back way, toward the gardens,” Senneth said. Kirra was impressed. That was something she would have expected Tayse to notice because Tayse noticed everything, but she hadn’t thought Senneth was paying such close attention.
“Well, I’ll—” Darryn began, but Amalie clutched his arm.
“Oh, no, dance with me again,” she said in an undervoice. “I have been avoiding Toland Storian all night and he’s heading this way right now.”
Kirra grinned. “I’ll go find him,” she offered. “You two dance.”
It was a relief to step from the overheated, overfull, overlit ballroom into the cool empty darkness of the corridor, and even better to step outside. The air was rich with the scent of summer flowers and thick with the promise of rain. The moon was full and high, but what light drifted through the gardens fell mostly from the ballroom windows. The scene inside was all bright colors and yellow candle flame, a painting of gaiety and grace. Outside, the world seemed mysterious, hushed, alive with secret possibilities.
High hedges separated the gardens proper from the sweeping outer lawn surrounding Kianlever Court. Kirra moved slowly in the darkness, the green walls of shrubbery to her left, the stone walls of the house on her right. The gardens were a maze of flower beds, fountains, statuary, trellises, and follies, and Kirra only knew her way through them because of the days spent roaming with Donnal in animal shape. Where would Romar have gone? Not far, she thought. He might even be walking along the pathways closest to the house so he could
glance through the windows from time to time, watch his niece, make sure all was well. . . .
She located Romar at last, pacing slowly along an outer path, head down, hands behind his back, seeming to be working out some great problem. It was hard to see him clearly, but Kirra recognized the shape of his shoulders, the tied-back style of his hair, the faint checkerboard pattern of his sash. He looked like a shadow set with a few blurred, familiar details.
A few seconds after she saw him, she saw the other men.
CHAPTER 18
JUST as Romar passed a stand of ornamental trees, two shadows detached themselves from the thin trunks and came creeping down the path behind him. Kirra could make out the glint of silver in their hands—knives or swords. They deployed, one to the right of Romar, the other to the left and a little behind his companion. Positioning themselves for the first blow and then the second.
