Vistaren saw her coming while she was still some distance away. He abandoned his conversation with Arama and Lozarr and crossed the room to meet her, hands outstretched to take hers. As their fingers met, she thought she heard someone near them sigh. It must look like a scene from a play, she thought. Her heart gave another absurd thump. It made no sense; she wasn't in love with Vistaren, and yet the romance of the situation was affecting her even so.
"Princess, you are lovelier than ever," Vistaren said, his voice pitched to carry even though the smile in his eyes was reserved for her alone.
Heat spread through her body and Azmei replied, "You honor me, paying such compliments when you look so handsome yourself." Her voice didn't carry as his had. She considered herself lucky that she hadn't squeaked when she spoke. What was wrong with her?
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "They tried to put me in yellow. Can you believe it? Tonight of all nights?" He shook his head, full lips curving. "I had to insist on a completely different outfit, and so I am late. I apologize most sincerely."
Azmei laughed. "I thought you promised not to lie to me again," she said. "You will never get me to believe they wanted you to wear anything but what you have on."
Vistaren tipped his head in concession. "It is possible they attempted the yellow first to soften me to this. I am fond of fine clothing, I confess, but I was afraid the silk trousers were a bit much."
She snorted, feeling absurdly happy. "I feel better now that you are here," she confessed. "I thought perhaps something was wrong."
"Nothing of consequence. There are Amethirian citizens here in Ranarr, of course, and politics seem to follow me everywhere." He shook it off. "But tonight is for you and me. I won't let politics ruin the celebration that marks the official beginning of our betrothal."
Azmei swallowed as he brought both of her hands together and lifted them to his lips. "Dance with me, Azmei, my betrothed and my friend."
As she let him lead her into the center of the ballroom, Azmei concentrated on placing each foot where it ought to go. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She knew Vistaren didn't love her, just as she didn't love him, but he was playing the part remarkably well, and she could feel herself being swept along. Then again, what would it hurt if she appeared to be entirely smitten with him, and he with her? That could do nothing but good for their two kingdoms.
The musicians struck up a lively tune that made her even more nervous about placing her feet properly, but Vistaren's strong arms closed around her and held her up, guiding her with his skilled lead. She surrendered, following his movements and mirroring them. He was a graceful dancer, though she had witnessed firsthand the clumsiness he had professed during their first meeting.
For a time they danced in silence. As she was no longer concentrating on her steps, she was able to enjoy the intricate way all the dancing couples wove around each other. She no longer felt everyone was whispering about what Anderlin had said. Almost everyone was watching her dance with the prince, but she thought--she hoped--it was because they made a pretty picture together. She was unaware that she had been smiling until Vistaren spoke.
"You truly are beautiful," he murmured. "I don't believe I deserve you." He gave a self-conscious laugh. "But at least I am cognizant of that fact, and it serves only to make me more grateful of the honor you are bestowing on me."
She jerked her gaze back to his, tilting her face up to study him. "Do you honestly not realize how nice-looking you are? Perhaps yellow makes you look like a puff-skin, but blue and green are very good colors for you."
He smiled, but there was a strange light in his eyes as he looked away from her face and over her head. "I am glad you think so. At least I don't shame you."
"Of course not." Azmei tried to think back to their last conversation. Had there been any clues then that he might be doubting himself? Well, no more than usual, anyway. But no, they had parted laughing, she remembered, over a story he'd told regarding his first time sailing with a stormwitch. At some point over their acquaintance, Vistaren had deduced her anxiety about stormwitchery; several times he had brought up experiences that made the strange weather magic seem natural and normal.
Given the way they had parted that evening, their last long conversation must not have made him doubt himself or her. What had changed since then? The political trouble he mentioned? She looked up at him again, opening her mouth to say something just as he spoke.
"Did I tell you Arama came to see me yesterday?"
Azmei closed her mouth and shook her head. Maybe that was what troubled him.
"Mm. She all but had her tail between her legs, asking if I would mind terribly if she attended the ball in a dress. A dress. Mind, I haven't known her all that long, really, but I've never even heard of her wearing something like that." A smile flashed across his face and faded just as quickly. "I told her what she wore was no business of mine. She was quick to point out that she's technically here as one of my bodyguards. I told her that if I needed my body guarded at the ball, I was certain she could do it just as well in a gown as she could naked."
Azmei snickered and he blushed. "Well, it's true," he protested. "I believe Arama is the most capable, frightening woman I have ever met. And I'm including my mother in that assessment." He smiled down at her and she realized he was holding her very tightly. "Though I suspect you will give Arama a run for her money," he said, lowering his voice.
Azmei tilted her head and pursed her lips. She didn't have to ask her question aloud, though. Vistaren chuckled.
"Do you know what she said to that? She said she was inclined to give you a sword and let you protect me, considering what a fierce little rock-cat you've proven to be."
"Rock-cat?" Azmei repeated.
Vistaren grinned. "They're small, not much more than thirty pounds, but they can take down a full-grown cliff ram. They scale rock faces you wouldn't think anything could get up. And the claws on them! Sharper than shark's teeth. No one who lives on the coast wants to get afoul of a rock-cat. Fortunately, they're more fond of rabbits and cliff sheep than people."
"You know, I think most women would be insulted at being called a rock-cat," Azmei said. She knew she looked as pleased as she felt, though. To have Arama say such a thing about her was fine indeed.
"Most women, perhaps, but not you," Vistaren said. He lifted one hand from her waist to cup his palm against her cheek. "You are quite unlike most women, Azmei of Tamnen."
He was going to kiss her. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, just once, and then settled back into a regular rhythm, though rather faster than usual. Azmei had never been kissed before. What if she did it badly? What if she turned her head the wrong way and made them look foolish in front of the others? What if--
Then his lips were pressing gently against hers. They were soft and rather moist, and she remembered how he'd licked them nervously just before they touched. She breathed slowly in through her nose and kissed him back, wondering if one were supposed to think about the scrape of evening shadow against one's chin when one was kissing a prince.
And then he pulled back and her heart refused to settle back into its usual rhythm. Vistaren looked uncomfortable but not flustered or excited. Azmei licked her lips, but she tasted nothing but her own peppermint lip gloss. Her chin felt a little sore and she hoped it hadn't reddened.
The music swirled and swooped and Vistaren guided her into the next arcing turn without missing a step. Azmei's cheeks warmed until they were burning. He seemed so unaffected. Was that how every man reacted to kissing someone he had just called beautiful and unlike other women?
Her mind felt as if it had continued spinning when they finished the dance turn. To break the miserable silence building between them, she blurted the first thing that came into her head.
"Have you had a chance to look at my translation of Rona and Fann?"
Vistaren twitched and missed a step. She stumbled with him and uttered a wordless exclamation as they clutched at each other to
keep from losing their balance. By the time they had righted themselves and caught up with the others in the dance, she had almost forgotten her question.
Vistaren obviously hadn't. "Rona and Fann. I, ah, actually I've liked the tales you chose. I've had to ask what some of the words were, though. What version of the tales did you use?"
Trying not to be hurt that he was so relieved to talk about something unrelated to their kiss, Azmei said, "I don't really know. It's a leather-bound copy my brother gave me for my fifteenth birthday."
"Hm. I only ask because there are a few nuances that I wasn't sure if I was missing, or if your translation had left them out, or perhaps I'm just not good enough at reading Tamnese yet.."
When he didn't finish that sentence, Azmei took a deep breath. "Do you mean how Rona and Fann--that is, they, ah--well, the way they seem to be..." She trailed off, thinking. "Mmm, not merely brothers in arms?" she finished.
At the same time, Vistaren blurted, "Lovers?"
Azmei stumbled, but Vistaren was prepared and caught her elbow in a grip that was gentle but strong. He kept her with him, lowering his head until his mouth was very close to her ear. "It's one of the secrets I felt we shouldn't have between us, Azmei." His voice was low and steady. "I love men. I have as long as I've understood what it meant to desire another person. And the woman who is to be my wife must know that about me."
This time it wasn't just her mind that was spinning, but her stomach as well. He had promised not to lie to her again, and he hadn't, not exactly, but he had concealed this from her, and he had led her on, kissing her in front of all these people! What could have made him do that? Why would he marry her if he wanted someone else--someone male!--even if it was to end a war? Azmei stumbled again. She looked up, plastering a bright smile across her face.
"Oh, this heat! I am so unused to it," she declared in a loud voice. People were already staring, and more turned towards them at the sound of her voice. "It's making me clumsy. Vistaren, would you have someone bring me something cold to drink?"
His gray eyes were agonized as he looked at her, but she thought she saw understanding in them. She hoped that was what she saw. He bowed. "Let me help you to a seat," he said, guiding her to a cushioned bench near a planter.
She watched him walk away from her. Now that they weren't dancing, he seemed unable to walk a straight line. She folded her hands around each other and hoped desperately that no one could read her face. Everything she had been planning for, everything she had anticipated, suddenly seemed to be crumbling into shaky ground under her feet.
Why would Vistaren marry her? Was it truly for the reason he'd said, that he needed an heir? But would they even be able to have children? If he desired men, how would he give her children of his body? And she was certain there was no magic to make that happen; the Amethirian magic was only related to the weather.
Did Vistaren have someone at home? Perhaps he wished to marry her for heirs but keep his lover near him to make him happy. But was she capable of sharing? She had been trying to fall in love with him! Would he have let her? But if he couldn't feel the same for her, what would be the point?
He was coming back to her, a golden goblet in each hand. Her stomach flipped. Did the others know? Obviously it was not commonly known, but Lozarr and Arama? Surely they must know. What if Arama had been pitying Azmei as they talked in the courtyard?
She swallowed back a sob that swelled in her throat. This was certainly not the place for her to lose her composure. And this was not even the time for that. Vistaren was a good man. She had become convinced of that over the past month. She might not feel desire for him, nor he for her apparently, but she knew him for an honest, honorable person. He would not have told her about himself for no reason. And it could not have been easy to tell her.
She pressed an icy hand to one hot cheek. Perhaps she had inadvertently made this all worse! What if, by choosing the epics of Rona and Fann to translate, she had made them all believe she already knew about Vistaren's disposition? He would have been relieved that he didn't have to explain it to her. And then she told Arama how much she wished Vistaren to love her, and Arama realized Azmei didn't know. Arama would have gone to Vistaren, who must have felt that his life had just grown more complicated than he had expected. And here they were, at the ball celebrating the beginning of their official betrothal, and Vistaren had faced her knowing she didn't realize the truth about him.
Gods, poor Vistaren! The agonies he must have been going through made her own look insignificant. That realization gave Azmei the courage to smile at him when he arrived, goblets in hand. He exhaled and smiled back at her, handing her a goblet. It glistened with condensation, so cold was the wine inside.
"How is it so cold?" she asked. Surely there hadn't been time to fetch a bottle from the depths of the rock where it would be kept out of the sun.
Vistaren's smile strengthened. "Our stormwitch frosted it. Have you met Kinnet? I think you'd like her. She's prickly, but fierce and independent. Rather like someone else I know," he added, and sat next to her.
He was sitting so close their shoulders touched. Azmei wasn't sure if it was proper, and she wasn't sure why he did it, since he'd already told her that her beauty didn't affect him. But she found herself leaning into him ever so slightly. His presence was solid and so very, well, Vistaren-like that she felt comforted.
She sipped her drink. It was so cold it hurt her teeth, but the taste of sunlight and brisk winds and oranges and heartfruit hit the back of her throat and made her smile and then sigh. "You could have told me sooner," she muttered. "It would have been easier."
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the tall, spare, Ranarri councilman was bowing before them and requesting a dance with the princess. Azmei shot an agonized look at Vistaren, but she stood and joined the man on the floor. As they danced, she learned his name was Menerth and that he was one of the few non-Diplomats who had worked on the peace accord. He was polite and interesting and for the entire set, Azmei wished for nothing more than to escape him and go back to her conversation with Vistaren. She feared she offended him when she refused a second set with him, but she was too busy looking for Vistaren. When she finally found the prince, however, he was dancing with Orya, who appeared to be chattering gaily up at him without pausing for breath.
Another important person, this one wearing a turban, bowed before her, proclaiming his earnest desire to join the princess in a dance. Swallowing a sigh, Azmei pushed down her desire to talk through things with her betrothed. Tomorrow she could go back to being a confused young woman pledged to marry a man who loved other men. Tonight she must be a princess.
Through dance after dance, she managed some semblance of grace, though she never felt as comfortable as she had while dancing with Vistaren. She made polite conversation with merchants, councilmen, guildsmen, and scholars. She was beginning to truly feel overheated and headachy and cross by the time a handsome brown-skinned man in a scarlet sash bowed before her.
"Princess Azmei, may a humble soldier request a dance with his future queen?"
She looked down into Lozarr Algot's sparkling gray eyes. The general's mouth was quirked with humor, inviting her to share in his joke. Azmei laughed and placed her hand in his. "It would be my delight," she said.
The general was very tall, but being so close to him for the first time, Azmei could see that he was actually young for his rank. He looked to be around thirty. Perhaps it was the mischief in his gaze that made her notice it. He was usually so solemn.
"Arama thought perhaps you would like a moment or two with someone familiar," he said, guiding Azmei into the dance. It was, to her relief, a less lively number than the last several.
"I would indeed," Azmei agreed. "I have long suspected ceremony and etiquette to be difficult as well as tiresome, and I confess myself disappointed, for the first time in my life, that I was correct."
Lozarr laughed. "I see why Vistaren and Arama like you so
much." He smiled wryly at her. "I hope you will forgive my forwardness, princess. In the court of Amethir, we don't stand so much on ceremony as the Ranarri do."
"Nor do we at ho--" She caught herself. "In Tamnen, where I grew up."
His expression softened. "It cannot be easy to leave all you know behind you. I hope we are doing everything we can to make the transition easier on you."
Azmei lowered her gaze. She had thought they were, but then again, she hadn't realized the enormity of the secrets they were keeping from her. "I expect it is a transition for everyone," she temporized.
"It is indeed." He paused. "And even before we leave Ranarr for Amethir, you are changing those around you." She didn't know what he meant until he added, "I'm in your debt, Princess Azmei."
She looked up at him. His gray eyes were intense on hers. Of course. Arama must have changed her position on their relationship. Had she told Lozarr about their discussion, then? Hells, Azmei hoped she hadn't told him all of it. But she could see, from the mingled gratitude and sympathy in his gaze, that Arama had told him.
"Did you know?" she murmured. "About Vistaren?"
She felt the muscles of his back tense under her hand, though his feet never faltered. The physical reaction told her as much as anything he could have said, but he nodded, glancing away. "I did."
She shoved aside the urge to cast blame. It didn't matter if she thought Lozarr or Arama should have told her. What mattered was looking forward. "I don't know what to do. I thought I had some idea of what to expect, but now I am thrown akilter again."
They skipped and turned in silence, then his voice came, low. "Does it distress you?"
Her mouth dropped open. "Do you suppose it distressed Aevver?" she demanded. She matched the volume of his voice, though; too many people were near who should not overhear.
Lozarr frowned. "It won't--" He broke off and shook his head. "I pray you, hear him out, princess."
Stormshadow (Storms in Amethir Book 2) Page 13
