“Yes,” she said mildly. “Relations between Thorania and Kyona are not as complicated, no doubt. In fact, I understand that your king has requested assistance from the Kyonan royals in addressing the plight of Kyonan descendants who remain in your kingdom, and may wish to relocate back to the North Lands.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” said Rasad, inclining his head slightly. “It was at my suggestion that His Majesty made that request.”
Lucy shot a sideways look at the Thoranian, trying not to show how startled she was by his casual declaration. Just how influential was this man? He had mentioned no title, but he said he had holdings in the north, so he must be fairly wealthy. And apparently he had the ear of his king.
“You look tense, Luciana,” said Rasad, his tone mild but his eyebrows raised. “Are you afraid of heights? Perhaps it was not so courteous of me to bring you out onto a balcony.”
“Oh.” Lucy followed his gaze and pulled her hands from the railing quickly, sliding them into the folds of her skirts instead. She hadn’t realized how tightly she had been clinging to the balustrade, but the truth was that she was a little wary of being on a balcony, after the accident that had so nearly claimed King Giles’s life.
“No,” she said hastily. “I’m not afraid of heights, not generally. But…” She hesitated, color rushing to her cheeks as she realized how foolish she sounded. “But it is a long way down, isn’t it?”
Rasad didn’t answer. He just met Lucy’s eyes with a penetrating look. She found herself unable to hold his gaze, although what she had to hide she couldn’t have said.
“Well,” he said at last. “If you are sufficiently rested, maybe we should once again brave the crowds?”
“Yes, of course,” said Lucy, taking his offered arm with relief. She found herself unusually awkward in this impressive man’s presence, as if she didn’t know what to do with her limbs. She couldn’t remember ever having that problem before.
Rasad led her back into the ballroom, and she blinked at the brightness of the light after looking out into the blackness with him. The gala was still in full swing, but she found herself weary of it all, and wishing she could be in her bed.
She rallied enough to send an exasperated look toward Cody, who was hovering so close to the doorway onto the balcony that he had almost certainly been eavesdropping on every word of her conversation with the Thoranian man. He met her look squarely, clearly unrepentant, before letting his eyes pass to Rasad, their expression shrewd and calculating. In all honesty, Lucy didn’t mind. She would be curious to hear later what Cody made of the man, because she wasn’t at all sure how to assess him herself.
Her eyes quickly picked out the other Kyonans in the room. Lord and Lady Rodanthe were seated near the Balenan sovereigns, watching the dancing, although their eyes regularly flicked to the young royals. They didn’t seem to have noticed Lucy’s departure from the room, and she didn’t blame them. Their authority over her and Matheus—and even Cody who, although older than her, was significantly younger than them—had never been well defined. They probably considered her and her brother to now be delivered into the care of their royal Balenan family.
Eamon was standing with Jocelyn and Kincaid, ostensibly speaking with Prince Astor’s oldest son—the only one of their generation of the Balenan royals who was old enough to attend the event—but in reality watching her progress with Rasad. Eamon looked no more impressed than he had done when they had parted ways, and Lucy avoided locking eyes with him. She didn’t want to get caught up in his angst right now.
Following Rasad’s lead absently, Lucy found herself approaching a refreshment table from behind. On the other side of the table, several younger members of the Balenan court were drinking from gleaming goblets, their eyes fixed on the Kyonan and Valorian royalty whom Lucy had just been watching herself.
“What do you make of these North Landers?”
Lucy paused at the question. The speaker was a young man, and he was clearly unaware of her presence behind him, separated from his group by the heavily laden table.
“The royals in the party seem respectable enough,” another man responded, his voice indifferent. “Hopefully they and the other delegates have the authority to negotiate a trade treaty, and they’re not just wasting our new king’s time.”
“I thought they were going straight on to Thorania after the coronation,” interjected another young man. “I don’t think they’ll have much opportunity to negotiate a treaty.”
The indifferent one sighed at his companion’s ignorance. “They’re returning here afterward.” His voice turned sour. “Although I don’t know why Thorania gets first chance to negotiate with them.”
Lucy wanted to roll her eyes. Maybe because they didn’t enslave our people for generations?
“What about the dragon rumors?” asked one of the female courtiers in the group, her voice slightly breathless. “Do you think it’s true that the Kyonan king promised that if we made an alliance with them, their dragon allies would give us magical protection?”
The first young man snorted. “Where did you hear that piece of nonsense?”
“Lots of people are saying it,” retorted the girl, clearly offended.
Several members of the group chuckled openly at her, and Lucy barely refrained from joining them. The chance of King Calinnae making such an offer was non-existent, but the chance of the dragons agreeing to uphold it was even less. The girl who had spoken gave a defiant flick of her hair.
“Laugh if you want, but everyone knows the Kyonans have some kind of deal with the dragons. It’s how they broke the magic that was keeping the slaves here.” She turned her head toward the visitors, and her tone turned thoughtful. “I don’t think an alliance would be such a bad thing. Even you said the royals seem respectable,” she shot at the indifferent boy, who was clearly the critic of the group. She giggled. “The prince is quite handsome, if you ask me.”
“Handsome?” protested another girl. “Stop drooling over a Kyonan—you’re embarrassing yourself.”
The girls started to bicker lightly, and Lucy shifted, not sure whether she was more irked by the admiration of the first girl or the derision of the second. Of course Eamon was handsome—any imbecile could see that. But these girls had no business either pointing it out or denying it.
“The Kyonan king and queen are certainly bold to send their heir here,” said the critical one, cutting through the ongoing argument. “If my father had his way, the prince would be pressed into service to make a point to these Kyonan upstarts.”
Lucy frowned, anger rising up in her to hear Eamon spoken of that way. But before she could get too worked up, the first speaker cut his friend off with a snort.
“Your father has always been sour. He needs to catch up with the times. His Majesty wants good relations with Kyona now, and I have to say I think he’s wise. We can’t go back to how things were in our parents’ day. Everyone but them can see it.”
“I didn’t say I agree with my father,” the other man said mildly. “I’m sure King Giles knows what he’s doing.”
“The girls are positive prudes,” giggled the girl who had refused to acknowledge Eamon’s appeal. “It’s like they’re wearing tents.”
Lucy felt her face heat, none too pleased to have her earlier fears confirmed. She had momentarily forgotten about her escort, but she was suddenly burningly conscious of her hand on Rasad’s arm. She found herself wishing desperately that she wasn’t overhearing this conversation while in the company of the enigmatic stranger.
She chanced a glance at him, and found him cocking his head toward the group with an eyebrow raised. He looked down at her and met her eye, his expression inviting her to share the joke of the Balenans discussing her in her presence without realizing it. She gave a weak smile, trying to tell herself that it was simply entertaining, and not humiliating.
“Different fashions, I suppose,” one of the young men was responding. “I don’t think you could call the one who’s half Balenan a
prude. She’s ravishing.”
Lucy’s face burned more brightly than ever.
“Half Balenan? I think you mean half Kyonan,” responded the man whose father was apparently stuck in the past, his voice cold. “Really, I wouldn’t think you’d be so easily taken in, like all those fools who’ve been fawning over her all evening.”
The first speaker shrugged. “Who said anything about being taken in? I said she’s ravishing, not that I want to marry her.”
“I should hope not,” shuddered one of the girls, sounding none too impressed with the man’s repeated compliment to Lucy’s looks. “Talk about tainting your family line.”
The man shrugged. “Well, as to that, her mother was a Wrendal after all. One of our best families, in its day.”
Lucy frowned, a strange feeling creeping over her at the man’s use of the past tense. She had never had any love for her Wrendal heritage, but it was strange to realize that the family line was now gone completely. Thanks to her own action in killing Scanlon, the last Wrendal. She barely suppressed a shudder.
“Her mother may have been born a Wrendal, but she was little better than a harlot,” said one of the girls snidely. “She didn’t just marry a Kyonan, but a Kyonan commoner. I heard the Kyonan king wouldn’t have her, so she just took the first man who would. And it looks to me like the daughter is cut from the same cloth.”
Lucy felt her free hand curl into a fist, not so much at the insult to her, but at the slight to both of her parents. She knew a sudden savage desire to pull out her blade and make the girl swallow her words, but she suppressed it with horror. It was a timely reminder of what she was trying very hard not to be. She glanced self-consciously at Rasad, fighting the irrational fear that he had read her violent thoughts. But he wasn’t looking at her at all, his gaze focused on the group of locals, his expression still faintly amused.
“Personally, I feel sorry for the Kyonan,” said another girl, her tone of compassion unconvincing. “She seems to think all those boys are genuinely interested in her. She probably doesn’t realize that they’re all hoping she’s as loose as her mother. I imagine she’s hoping to snare one and get the title her mother threw away, but she’s just going to be humiliated. They might want to entertain themselves with her, but it’s not like any of them would ever consider actually allying themselves with a Kyonan.”
“You are severe,” said one of the men, a hint of amusement in his voice, and the girl shrugged her pretty, bare shoulders.
“I’m just being frank. I mean, look at the company she keeps. Do you realize that the man who’s here as some kind of a guard to her and her brother is actually a former slave?”
Lucy bristled in defense of Cody, but the others in the girl’s group seemed more inclined to be impressed than derisive.
“Is he really?” said the first speaker. “He must be brave to come back here. I’d love to get close enough to see his mark. I’ve never actually seen one in real life.”
Lucy turned away, hoping Rasad would take the hint and move on. She had heard more than enough. The Thoranian man did seem to sense her discomfort, and he gallantly led her away, making for a different table on the other side of the room. Lucy tried to keep her face impassive as both anger and embarrassment washed over her.
She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. And she even knew she was foolish to take the courtiers’ words to heart—she was no stranger to the jealousies of court life. But it still stung to be reminded that she and her party were nothing but curiosities. Of course these Balenans would be derisive of her. It had been absurd to imagine for a moment that she would find more acceptance in Balenol than in Kyona, where she was at least known to the court, and familiar with the culture.
It took her a moment to realize that they had stopped walking, and a moment longer to realize that Rasad was looking down at her, his eyes shrewd but kind.
“Balenans have always been narrow minded,” he said softly, his gaze not wavering from her face. “In Thorania, people are not like that. Anyone in King Abner’s court would be enchanted by you, Luciana. Anyone with eyes, that is.” Lucy barely realized that he was raising her hand to his lips, her mind scrambling to catch up with this latest casually dropped compliment. Rasad pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, capturing her gaze with his own as he spoke.
“Think about my invitation, Luciana. I think you would be pleased with Thorania.”
And then, with an incline of his head, he was gone. Lucy was left blinking, her thoughts strangely befuddled, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently agreed to something without realizing it. She really didn’t know what to make of this Rasad. Had he issued an invitation? She remembered him talking about his kingdom, but nothing concrete.
Her confused gaze roamed across the ballroom. One pair of eyes was impossible to miss, they burned into hers with such intensity, even across the crowded space. Eamon looked like he was ready to murder someone. And for no sensible reason that she could identify, the back of Lucy’s hand seemed to burn with guilt on the spot where Rasad had kissed.
Chapter Seven
“Hurry up, Matheus!” Lucy tapped her foot impatiently. “Do you want to be late for the coronation after we sailed all the way to the South Lands to be here for it?”
“Relax,” Matheus yawned. “We’re not going to be late.”
Her brother studied her with bleary eyes as he joined her in the corridor outside his suite. “How are you looking so polished, anyway? You were up as late as I was. And who plans a morning coronation after an all-night gala the night before?”
“Oh Matheus,” said Lucy indulgently. “You think that was an all-night gala? We were barely up past midnight.” She ruffled her brother’s hair condescendingly. “You need more practice. That was nothing.”
“Get off!” scowled Matheus, pushing her hand away indignantly. “I thought you were in a hurry! Messing up my hair will just make us more late.”
Lucy chuckled. “Don’t worry, it was already awful. I was going to have to fix it for you anyway.”
Matheus groaned, but didn’t actually protest as Lucy carefully re-ordered his hair. Like her, Matheus had inherited their father’s dark, thick hair. But on him it looked less elegant and more like a haystack.
“Satisfied?” Matheus grumbled when she finally stepped back, surveying him with a critical eye.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said Lucy in her best maddening-older-sister voice. “But you’ll do.”
Matheus swatted her arm away as she tried to straighten his tunic. “Aren’t we waiting for the others?” he asked, as Lucy led the way in the direction of the vast throne room they had been shown in their tour.
“They’re probably not ready yet,” she said airily. “We can meet them there.”
Matheus favored her with a derisive snort. “You mean you’re trying to avoid Eamon still. Now I know why you’re supposedly worried about being late when the coronation doesn’t start for ages.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lucy loftily, tossing her hair in a practiced manner.
“Of course not,” said Matheus dryly. “You seriously need to let it go, Luce. You can’t stay mad at him forever. You know he would never come after the freedmen on purpose. He was under some kind of enchantment—you’re the only one who can’t seem to accept that.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Lucy said impatiently, less than impressed at being lectured by her little brother.
“Sure,” said Matheus agreeably. “How about last night’s gala? You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.” He shot her an accusatory look. “So much for being worried the court would eat you. Eat you up, more like.”
Lucy remained silent for a moment. She wasn’t proud of it, but she had lain awake for far too long the night before, stewing over the insults she had overheard. She wished she could be as unconcerned as Matheus seemed to be about how their family was perceived, but it rankled to know how scathingly the court here spoke about them.
She loved her family, and she wouldn’t change her heritage, not really. But it wasn’t entirely comfortable to be suspended between two worlds, never fully accepted in either. To the Kyonans she was Balenan, and to the Balenans she was Kyonan. And in neither case did the foreign blood win her any favor.
Not to mention the fact that the nobility would never fully accept her as one of them, with a common father. She knew that even Jocelyn had felt the impact of prejudice within the court over her mother’s common background, even though her mother had been Kyona’s queen for decades. No one cared about such things in Raldon, of course. But in Kynton, there were always people like Sonia and Vanessa who were only too ready to hint constantly at her unsuitability for court life.
“I enjoyed the dancing,” she answered her brother at last. She hadn’t mentioned what she’d overheard to Matheus the night before, and she decided not to say anything now, either. He didn’t need to share the discomfort of being insulted. “But it was so hot compared to home.”
“I suppose that’s why the women here wear so much…less,” said Matheus reflectively. “I wonder why the men don’t.”
“Because no one wants to see your shoulders,” teased Lucy, earning herself a brotherly shove.
“Lucy, Matheus!”
They had almost reached the throne room, and Lucy felt her heart sink at the salutation. So close.
“Joss,” she said, turning around with a smile that she knew was unconvincing. As she had anticipated, Eamon was there as well, keeping stride with his twin. As was standard for the Kyonan heir, he had two Kyonan royal guards trailing behind him. Lord and Lady Rodanthe were also walking not far behind, deep in conversation with one another.
“There you are!” Jocelyn was saying. “Why didn’t you two wait for us? We obviously weren’t far behind you.”
“Apparently, Lucy was concerned about being late,” said Matheus, raising a challenging eyebrow in response to Lucy’s glare. “What?” he muttered, as the others hurried to catch up to them. “I’m on Eamon’s side.”
Downfall of the Curse Page 7
