Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  Once dressed, Temmin had to admit Jenks was right. The suit fit him just so; the rich yet subtle pattern of the white waistcoat relieved its formality without vulgarity; just the right amount of lace edged his stock. The royal rubies glowed at his cuffs and the fob of his watch, neither ostentatious nor inconsequential. His hair even behaved, arranging itself into golden waves. "Well done, Jenks, I must say! I look as elegant as a portrait, and about as stiff."

  "The elegance is mine, the stiffness is yours. Take Miss Ellika's example to heart and go have fun, sir," beamed Jenks, walking his charge to the door.

  "D'you know, I just noticed something--you've started calling me 'sir,'" said Temmin.

  Jenks gave him a fond smile. "You're a man now, Temmin, not a boy, and you're due that much respect." He put his big hands on Temmin's shoulders. "And you're within half an inch of my height now. Another year and you'll be past me entirely. The older you get, the more you remind me of your uncle."

  "D'you think Uncle Pat would be proud of me, Jenks?" said Temmin, ducking his head.

  "Lord Patrin loved you very much, sir, and I'm sure he would be exceedingly proud of you," said Jenks, his eyes turning watery. "Off to your birthday celebration. Go."

  "Well, aren't we looking sleek!" came Ellika's voice as soon as Temmin stepped into the hall; her bright head peeped out from her doorway. "Come in!"

  "Isn't it time to go down?" he said.

  "Don't be ridiculous! The thing's just started. We can't go down for another fifteen minutes at the earliest. Now, come in and tell me how splendid I look!"

  He walked into Ellika's sitting room, and blurted, "You look like a riot in a lacemaker's shop!"

  "Temmin, you have no taste at all. You should thank the Beloved for Jenks."

  If one row of lace pleased Ellika, twelve rows pleased her more. Its exuberance suited her. A sapphire and pearl necklace set off her bare shoulders, which rose creamy and pink from her sky blue silk dress. Though Ansella dressed more conservatively, Temmin couldn't help but see his mother mirrored in his sister's face.

  "Shall we see if Sedra's ready?" he said.

  "She's probably already gone down. She hates balls, always wants to get them over with. We're not allowed to leave until Papa does, but he usually doesn't last much past the second set of dances after dinner. He has other engagements," she added, thinning her lips. "Put your gloves on, Temmy, and don't embarrass me."

  "Yes, well, don't call me Temmy downstairs and I'll see what I can do." He stopped before Sedra's study to knock, but the door swung open. Sedra started back from the threshold in surprise. "Merciful Amma, Temmy, you scared me to death!"

  "I'm sorry, Seddy," he said, red-faced. "I--we're going downstairs--I thought--"

  "Sedra!" exclaimed Ellika over his shoulder. "You look splendid! I don't know how you manage to wear off-season colors so well, but it's perfect."

  In contrast to her sister, Sedra's dress avoided all frills, relying on the deep Tremontine red satin and cut for its elegance. Pearls and rubies encircled her neck, and plaits encircled her head in the classical style, dark roses forming a crown along their curve.

  In her hands, Sedra held a little knot of white roses, trailing blue ribbons. "For you," she said, pinning it to Ellika's sash; her sister let out a tiny, delighted squeak, and kissed her on the cheek. "And," she said to Temmin, "for you." She produced a rose of the same deep red as those in her hair, and pinned it in Temmin's buttonhole. "Happy birthday," she added, giving his shoulder a tender, tentative pat.

  Temmin gathered her into his arms. "Thank you, very much."

  "I'm sorry," she murmured in his ear.

  "Don't be, it was my fault." He hugged her close and kissed her on the forehead. "Now is it time to go down, Elly?" Ellika pulled out his pocket watch, consulted it, and gave a nod. Temmin took a sister on each arm, and the three headed downstairs.

  The music stopped as the high doors to the ballroom opened and the siblings descended the broad staircase. The dancers turned, and the orchestra struck up a patriotic fanfare; Temmin flinched before a wave of deafening cheers and applause. On his right, Ellika reflected the adulation back onto the throng, glittering and happy, and on his left, Sedra grew taller and even more regal, her head held proud and high.

  A thought crept in on him: no matter how beautiful and intelligent his sisters were, all this was for him--the Heir--not them. His hands held the reins to the crowd; he could feel them. Whenever he acknowledged the cheers, they redoubled. This must be what power felt like. He straightened his shoulders and let the energy fill him.

  He led his sisters onto the emptied floor, they saluted the crowd, and the orchestra began a tripla. Dancers took the floor in threes behind them--a woman with two men, a man with two women, and so on down the rows. Tonight, the eyes on him gave him paradoxical strength; they cleared his head, and made his feet sure.

  He turned to the buxom young woman behind him and took her hand; their eyes met, and her heated glance brought him up short. No girl had ever given him a look like that before, ever, and his pleased smile made her blush and simper. If being the Heir came with this, he would enjoy it a great deal indeed, he decided. Every girl he danced with presented some variation on the same theme, some shy and admiring, some sly and inviting, and one girl who pressed herself close to him every chance she got.

  Dance after dance, and Temmin began to tire of it despite endless beautiful women fawning over him. When the dancing paused he'd have to socialize, and that would never do. Near the end of the first set, Temmin escaped from the floor to find somewhere quiet and something to drink more quenching than sparkling wine. "Does no one drink beer in this place?" he muttered to himself.

  Poking around the ballroom's edges, he peered into the many attached salons, small and large, excusing himself from one--"Terribly sorry, didn't know anyone was here," he said to the fumbling couple in the corner--until he came into a long, deserted corner; a swaying curtain hid an oddly angled spot. Two little black boot toes peeped from its hem, moving in time. Temmin watched, curious, until a curly head in a maid's cap peeked out, spotted Temmin, gave a tiny squeak, and retreated behind the curtain. Temmin followed into a wide, hidden service hall, and caught the retreating maid by the arm.

  "I thought it was you," he smiled. "You're the maid I danced with, Dannikson, yes?" Gods, what a beautiful girl, as lovely as any he'd danced with that night--lovelier, her little form trim and straight in the severe black and white household livery, her lace cap crisp and its red ribbons dangling down to her waist. Her uncooperative hair looked ready to burst from the cap again. He wondered if she still smelled as good as she had the last time they met.

  "I'm so very sorry, Your Highness," the girl said. She blushed, and her voice shook. "It's just I love dancing and they didn' need me at the moment, I just wanted to look--oh!" She put her hands over her mouth, and her wide hazel eyes filled with tears. "I shouldn' even be speakin to you! Oh, Mr Affton will send me packin!"

  "Now, now, don't worry about that!" said Temmin. "Why does everyone seem to think I'll tell on them!" He dropped her arm, and pondered her for a moment. He wondered if he would ever get used to the staff quailing at the sight of him; he didn't care for it at all. "What's your name?" he coaxed.

  "Dannikson, sir," she said, blinking hard.

  "No, your first name."

  "Arta?" she quavered.

  "Arta? Are you not sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure, sir," she laughed, flicking away a tear. "My name is Arta."

  Caution was called for, thought Temmin. How might he set her at ease, at least a little? "Well, then, Miss Arta," he said aloud, "let's not waste the music." He held out his hands. "Shall we?"

  "...Shall we what, sir?" she said, turning white.

  "Dance! Shall we dance! You like to dance, and I'm discovering I like to dance, and you won't get to dance tonight otherwise. So dance with me!"

  Arta glanced around. "Well--this hall really isn' in use tonight--but if someo
ne were to catch me..."

  "I will make sure nothing happens to you. I'm trying my best to dance with the prettiest girls in the room, and if I don't dance with you, I shall miss the prettiest of them all."

  Arta turned a bright crimson, and hesitantly took his hands; before long they were looping up and down the hallway. Temmin found himself eager to make her comfortable. He'd never thought about it before; he behaved how he behaved and didn't wonder about the comfort of others. Why would he think about that in the stables? Everyone was comfortable there already. No one on the Estate treated him differently--respectfully, but no differently, not really. If they were comfortable together, he and Arta, perhaps something more might come of it? Something pleasant? It seemed possible, especially after the girl in the hedge.

  He watched with increasing relish as the little maid relaxed, her trusting, mischievous face with its pointed chin losing its pinched anxiety with each turn. She forgot herself and danced in earnest, her smile enough light for the dim corridor. "Truth be known, sir, I hear music and I must look! I had to hear the music proper, and see the girls in all their dresses, and wish I was one of 'em."

  "Oh, you don't want to be one of them," said Temmin. "You're much prettier, and a better dancer in the bargain." She tittered and withdrew into herself, until the music coaxed her back out again.

  Arta was far better company than any of the simpering misses thrown at Temmin in the ballroom. He slipped his hand to her waist and pulled her close; it would have been splendid were she in a ballgown like the ladies after all, to see her shoulders, and perhaps the tops of her breasts. Did she have freckles on her shoulders? He knew women considered freckles a fault, but he found them charming, especially the faint gold dust on Arta's cheeks where the sun had last kissed her. The dance came to an end. Temmin spun her around until her skirts flared out in a bell, and then bowed to her. She curtsied low, and he kissed her little work-roughened hand as he brought her to her feet. Should he kiss her now? No, that hadn't worked well the last time. Best not to frighten her. "Now, Miss Arta, do you know where I might find something proper to drink? Not sparkling wine? I'm positively parched!"

  "Oh!" she said. She shook herself, as if waking up from a pleasant nap, folded her hands, and dipped a servile curtsey. "Yes, sir, there's punch and lemonade in the Grand Salon."

  "No beer? Or cider?"

  "At a ball in the Keep? No, sir!" she said, scandalized.

  "Water, perhaps."

  "Water? You'd drink water? Well, sir, we have a tap here for the servants," she said, and watched astonished as he drank five ladles from the basin, for lack of a glass.

  "Much, much better! Thank you, Miss Arta, we have had a fair exchange! Now, off with you before someone catches you!" He watched her scamper back down the hall and disappear into the realm of the servants.

  Being with Arta felt easy; she was more like the people he'd grown up with at Whithorse, uncomplicated and honest. He would watch for her, especially now that they shared a secret. He turned and slipped back to the dance, missing a figure hidden in the drapes--a dapper little man whose eyes appeared to take in everything, and who wrote down every detail somewhere inside his skull. The little man tilted his head to one side, bounced once on his toes, and strolled down the hall after the maid.

  Temmin, meanwhile, had rejoined the party just in time for the break he'd hoped to avoid. His thirst slaked, he took up a glass of sparkling wine. He had nothing against it, but a thirsty man wanted something more substantial. He'd worried about making small talk with strangers, but found he had to say little as a steady stream of well-wishers were presented to him one by one, just long enough for a "So pleased to meet you" before being pushed out of the way by the next one in line.

  When the music began again, he'd had three glasses of sparkling wine without even noticing, and sparkled himself as he took up a plump, lively girl--the Earl of Something's daughter, he hadn't caught it--and started the second set of dances. Near its end, he found himself with a familiar blonde: his sister. He gave Ellika an extra twirl, and she giggled. "Doesn't Seddy ever dance?" he asked her.

  "Not if she can sit in a corner with her nose in the air," said Ellika. "But tell me, are you having fun? You look as if you are!"

  "The girls here are much prettier than they are at home, Elly!" he said, thinking still of blushing Arta more than the sly daughters of the nobility.

  "That's because the prettiest girls are sent to the City, silly, in hopes of snaring someone like you. Especially you."

  "I can only marry one of 'em!"

  "Oh, Temmy," said Ellika, shaking her curls. They twirled apart, and he found himself face to face with his last partner for this dance.

  He met eyes green as leaves, in the face of a woman so stunning Temmin lost his place in the dance and stumbled. When he recovered his feet, all he could manage to get out of his disobedient throat was, "Hullo."

  "Hello, Your Highness," she answered in a low, honeyed voice like nothing he'd ever heard. Nor was she like any woman he'd ever seen, so much a classical Tremontine beauty that she might have stepped out of a painting of Neya the Beloved.

  Temmin said nothing more and danced automatically, paying no attention to anything but the woman on his arm. When the dance ended, he demanded the next one, the last in the set. "Happily," she said, and he took her up in his arms again, oblivious to the presence at the floor's edge of an outraged man in a blue honor sash who'd sworn he'd already asked the lady for that dance.

  Among the onlookers, another young lady peered through her magnifying glass. "Oh dear me," she said. "It seems Neya's Embodiment has made another conquest."

  Sedra took a sip of lemonade and laughed. "That's not even worth remarking on, Despie."

  "This time it is," said the lady, nodding over Sedra's shoulder. Sedra followed the nod, and choked; Temmin was dancing with Allis Obby, looking for all the world like a gasping fish on the beach, hook still in mouth.

  Oh, Weeping Amma! thought Sedra. "The last I knew, he never showed an interest in any female who didn't have four hooves and a tail, but that was three years ago. He would have to start at the top, wouldn't he."

  "Don't worry over him so, Seddy, you're not his mother," said her friend.

  "I'm not worried," Sedra lied. "He's a grown man. Temmy just doesn't have much experience with girls, if I know Mama. I've learned Elly can manage herself--mostly. I'm not so sure about him yet. Where is Ellika?"

  As it happened, Ellika twirled in the arms of Percet, Lord Fennows. "I shall be spending a great deal of time with your brother soon," he said as they looped round and round. "I am hoping that means I might have the pleasure of your company more often."

  "How charming your sister looks this evening, Fennows!" said Ellika, looking over his shoulder. "Rose is such a flattering color on one of her complexion. I must ask after her dressmaker!"

  "To be sure, Despilla looks very well tonight," said Fennows. "What I mean to say is, I should very much like to spend more time with you--"

  "And how lovely Allis Obby is tonight, but then, there isn't anything unusual about that! Have you danced with her yet tonight, sir?"

  "Yes, but--" The music ended and the assembly applauded, cutting Fennows off.

  "Thank you for a lovely dance!" said Ellika. "Oh, yes, of course you may walk me in to dinner, I would never break with tradition! I'm so terribly sorry to be up on the dais when all of you are on the floor, but these silly state occasions!"

  "Of course, but--"

  "Here, take me over to Miss Obby and my brother please, Fennows, dear, I need to make introductions." The unhappy Fennows offered his arm and did as he was told, Ellika chattering all the while to friends they passed along the way.

  Meanwhile, Allis curtsied to the floor, and as Temmin lifted her up by the hand, he couldn't help staring into her bodice. The familiar low twitch began; he swore to himself, and tried to think of everything other than her breasts--Jenks in his underwear, that usually did it. He started at t
he sound of Ellika's voice. "Prince Temmin, Heir of Tremont, may I make known to you the Embodiment of Neya, Miss Allis Obby of the Lovers' Temple."

  The Embodiment of Neya? How was he supposed to make small talk with the personification of a Goddess? He took Allis's hand and bowed low over it to hide his astonishment. His shock must have made it past his moustache, for Miss Obby came to his rescue and so deftly steered the conversation that by the time they'd made it in to dinner he'd invited her to go riding with him. "I should love to, Your Highness!" she exclaimed, as if Temmin had given her a longed-for gift. "I will await your invitation."

  "May we dance after dinner?"

  "Oh," she said, dropping her eyes. "I'm afraid my card is filled."

  "Oh," said Temmin, drooping. "I would imagine so."

  "But I promise I shall save a dance for you at the next ball. Will you be attending the Duke of Litta's ball on Nerrday next?"

  "Yes, of course!" said Temmin, with no idea if he'd even received an invitation. "Please, Miss Obby, I would be very grateful if you'd save me an entire set!" She laughed; he pulled out her chair, seated her, and walked down the rows of tables in a haze of green eyes, black hair and sweet, pink breasts. Blessed Mother, help me, he thought. Miss Allis Obby.

  He took his place next to Harsin, Ellika on his right. "Oh dear," she said. "You do realize who Allis is."

  "You told me!" snapped Temmin. "Ah, I'm sorry, Elly, but it was completely unexpected. I didn't even show proper respect--I should have called her Holy One! I had no idea an Embodiment would look like her."

  "Don't be a goose. The Lovers' Embodiments are always beautiful, Temmy, and as much like twins as possible," said Ellika. "The two before the Obbys--they're here somewhere, just in from Kellen for a week--stunning. Blondes, unrelated but very well matched, could easily pass for twins. Of course, Allis really is a twin. Her brother, Issak, embodies Nerr. There he is, just down the right-hand side at the table with that annoying Lord Fennows. Gods, what a bore, I couldn't shut him up the whole time we were dancing!"

  Ellika kept chattering, her voice a soft chirp as she pointed out various luminaries. Temmin paid little attention. He sorted through the bobbing heads, people nodding and making small talk around the tables, until he saw a man with the same silken black hair as Allis. He had to be Issak Obby.