A shiver went up her spine at the caress in his words.
“To cool ourselves,” she murmured in reply, and he laughed.
“I think that cooling is what we both need, my Moon Maiden!” he chuckled. “It is just as well that our masks will hide our faces, or they would surely betray us to anyone with eyes in his head!”
He took her hand, and led her back toward the festivities, at a far more decorous pace this time. She was glad of the night air and the chance to get her pounding heart to quiet itself. Her hand trembled in his, and he felt the trembling, and tightened his fingers about hers for a moment.
They passed other couples on their way to the dancing-lawn, making use of the little bowers and grottoes of the gardens, standing or sitting together. They also passed places shrouded in darkness from which little sighs and murmurs came that made her cheeks flush again, and a stab of envy lance through her.
But Karath took no notice, or at least, did not appear to. They sauntered on together, like any couple on a leisurely stroll, until they stepped onto the lawn below the terrace and into the full glare of the torchlight.
She did not know what she would have done then, but the situation was taken out of their hands by a wild game of crack-the-whip that crossed their path the moment they stepped onto the torchlit grass. The trailing girl seized Karath’s hand in passing, and since he still had Selenay’s she was perforce now the running, laughing, end of the “whip” until she in her turn could grab another hand.
Before long, the scampering line was too unwieldy to be a whip, and became a dancing, running snake, winding its way among the more sedate and older courtiers, who either laughed indulgently or frowned and snorted behind their masks. Around and around they went, in and out of the ornamental bushes, until everyone that had any youth in his body had been caught up in it; the musicians seemed to have been infected by the excitement, for they did not stop or even pause in their playing, until Selenay was out of breath, her side aching, the corners of her mouth actually hurting from all of the laughing and smiling she was doing. When they snaked around a potted rosemary tree, she finally let go of Karath’s hand and that of the person behind her so that she could drop out of the line. The person behind her ran up and grabbed Karath’s hand to keep the line going, and he was soon out of her sight.
With her hand pressed to her side, breathing hard, she sought out a stone bench that was too exposed to be a choice of lovers, and sat down on it. She wished she had the fan that she had lost, somewhere back when the dancing began. But at least the breeze was cool, and her gown was light; she fanned herself with a piece of her veil, and took deep breaths, waiting for the stitch in her side to pass.
But she had not been there long before Karath appeared again, and wonder of wonders, he brought a fan for her! He handed it to her with a graceful bow, and she thanked him and wafted herself with it, wondering gratefully if there was any other man here who would have thought of such a thing.
He took a seat beside her on the bench, and covered her free hand with his own. “One thing only, my own lady,” he said, quietly, his voice barely audible over the music. “Is it your pleasure that we make our choice known tonight, or would you—”
“Tonight!” she said quickly. “If we wait, if I go first to the Council—there will be objections, however trivial, and the Councilors will want to argue it over for days and days! But if we simply tell them, at the unmasking, they will accept what they must.”
“You are as wise as you are beautiful,” he said warmly, patting her hand. “I would not have thought of that. And—how fitting, for any who might recognize my costume if we are standing together at the unmasking—”
“Or better still,” she said, suddenly seeing it all in her mind’s eye, “—on the terrace!”
His eyes sparkled behind his mask. “Oh, well thought! How soon before midnight strikes?”
That, she could answer, for there was a time-candle visible from where they sat. She pointed, and they could both see that there would be just enough time for them to slip into the Palace and get into place before the trumpeter marked the moment of unmasking.
Giggling with a giddy exhilaration, she now led him in through an unguarded door in the public part of the Palace, then back through the maze of corridors to the terrace door where she had so lately stood. There was no one there now, not even a page, and the doors stood open. Together, hand in hand, they walked out onto the terrace at the exact moment that the trumpeter sounded the call of midnight.
With a cheer, the masks came off—all but theirs. With an instinct for the drama of it, they both waited until the rest of the guests noticed that there was a couple standing alone on the brightly-lit terrace where the Masque had taken place—
—that one of the figures was a Moon Maiden—
—began to grasp that the other must be Prince Karathanelan—
And at that moment, he pulled off his mask and flung it behind himself, as she pulled chaplet, veil, mask and coif all off, shaking her hair loose so that it fell down around her shoulders. And as the guests saw that it was her, he again pulled her to him, and bent down in their first public embrace and kiss.
She closed her eyes, as her ears filled with the great cheer that went up as her arms went around him.
And she thought, in that moment, that there could be no happier person in all of Valdemar than she.
15
From the moment it was announced, Alberich had deliberately planned to avoid the masquerade. This was precisely the sort of gathering at which he felt most uncomfortable. And after all, it was primarily a Court function, and not one at which he expected anything significant would happen either. Those older members of the Court upon whom he had his eye were unlikely to use such an occasion for any conspiratorial gathering; both he and Talamir were agreed on that. Of all the times and places in which one could talk with fellow conspirators, an occasion such as this, where there were dozens of people milling about, all masked so that you could not know just who, exactly, was around you, was not ideal. And furthermore (although many popular plays and romances would have attempted to persuade otherwise) a gathering that was held out of doors where you could never be sure there was not someone hiding and listening to you, was probably a very bad choice for passing on secret information.
Alberich hated this sort of entertainment with a passion. And since Selenay was going to be costumed identically with eleven of her ladies, at least until the moment of unmasking, this was probably one of the few times when she would be safer without a bodyguard. Unless, of course, all twelve of them were to be granted bodyguards. So he had said, decidedly, that he was not needed nor wanted, Talamir had agreed with him, and had suggested that he might wish to actually relax that evening for a change.
He had, in fact, decided to keep an eye on Norris that evening.
He already knew where to find him; there was not a performance tonight, and with all of the young nobles up at the masquerade, there was little chance that Norris would be meeting any of them down slumming with the actors tonight. No, if he met up with anyone above his own station, it would be because there was something more than drinking going on. This was one of the things that Alberich was going to keep a watch out for; someone who should be at the masquerade who was not.
If anybody had asked him what he was hoping to discover, he would have told them that he was not, in fact, hoping for anything. He knew better than to expect a result from any given evening; results never came when you expected them. You got ready for them in case they cropped up, and you watched for them to make sure you didn’t miss them when they came, but you never expected them.
Since Myste would not be there tonight as it wasn’t a performance night, he decided to trot out a new persona, one that was designed to blend in as well as Myste did—the aging, cranky scholar. His station would be shabby middle-class, genteel poverty, but poor because he spent all his money on books, travel to confer with other scholars, and paying to print his
own monographs on obscure subjects. He wore clothing that was of good material, but not new, a long-sleeved, high-collared, belted tunic and trews of heavy linen in a rusty black, with a shirt of white linen, and the flat scholar’s cap. Not shabby, but also neither well-cared-for nor well-fitted. He had an old leather satchel stuffed full of papers and books. He brought a reading book with him, parked himself in an out-of-the-way corner of the common room, and apparently kept his nose in it while he ate, in an absentminded fashion. He had engaged a room, but it was a very small one and did not come with candle or lantern, so it was perfectly reasonable for him to take his book here to read. He had debated getting a set of lenses like Myste’s, but decided against it. If he were checking to see if someone was in disguise and snooping about, the first thing he would do would be to arrange to knock their lenses off to see if they were real. A pair of plain clear glass lenses would be a dead giveaway. And for once, his scars were an asset rather than a liability; by enhancing them rather than trying to conceal them and at the same time enhancing those creases that would, in time, become frown-lines, he was able to age himself credibly by nearly thirty years.
He did not know for certain that Norris would be here tonight, but with no play on, there was a good likelihood that he would at least spend the afternoon in rehearsals, then have some dinner here, where he was fed for free, before going out anywhere. And at any rate, even if the man didn’t start his evening here, there was a good chance that by careful listening, Alberich would pick up some gossip about him or his whereabouts.
But his luck was truly in tonight; not only did Norris begin his night here, but the rehearsal ran long, so that Norris came down from his room about two candlemarks after sunset, dressed in quiet elegance, all fawnskin breeches and fine linen shirt open at the throat, thigh-high boots nearly as tight as the breeches.
He stepped up to the bar and ordered himself a drink. And shortly after that, so carefully timed that Alberich did not for a moment think it was coincidence, someone came looking for him.
Except that the man didn’t exactly come looking for him, the way an admirer would. He didn’t begin by asking the doorkeeper if Norris was about, for instance, and he didn’t come up to him openly, as a simple admirer would.
The stranger cast a glance around the common room; his eye lit on Norris, standing beside the bar and chatting, mug in hand. Since Alberich was watching Norris very carefully, he saw the actor catch the stranger’s eye and hold it for just a moment. Then the newcomer took a seat of his own, in the same out-of-the-way corner that Alberich was already in. It was an awkward little cul-de-sac beneath the stairs, big enough for only a couple of two-person tables. Alberich already had the most exposed of the tables; the stranger took the one that was the least exposed to the rest of the room.
Alberich went on reading. He did not even look up as the man brushed by him, nor when the serving wench brought him his order. Norris didn’t pay any great amount of attention overtly either—but after some time, the actor left the bar and drifted over in his direction. By this time, the common room was at its most crowded, and virtually the only seats left were at two-person tables like the ones Alberich and the stranger each had. Somehow Alberich didn’t think that Norris was going to ask if he could join the scholar.
Norris paused for a moment beside Alberich; Alberich’s neck prickled, but he didn’t look up from his book. Surely it wasn’t possible that the actor was going to sit at his table!
Surely it isn’t possible that he recognized me?
The actor certainly gave Alberich a good look-over. Alberich did just what his persona would have done: he read, outwardly oblivious to anything going on around him. Norris moved on, and said to the stranger, “Friend, would you mind if I sat at this table?”
“Be my guest,” the man said with every sign of indifference. And that would have been perfectly ordinary, if it hadn’t been that both of them pitched their voices just a little louder than if they’d been talking merely to each other, and not for the benefit of anyone who happened to be nearby.
Alberich turned his page, and furrowed his brow. It was appropriate to furrow his brow at this point; the author was taking a slightly controversial stance, and one that someone like Alberich was bound to disagree with. Alberich had chosen this book quite deliberately; he was very familiar with it, and if challenged, could converse knowledgeably about the contents. And tonight, he just might have to. Despite the heat in the overcrowded room, he felt a chill of apprehension.
He heard the scrape of a stool on the floor; the sounds of someone sitting down behind him. He didn’t actually hear anything then, but the serving wench materialized, as they all did, whenever Norris summoned them, however imperceptible the signal was to anyone else. The actor ordered dinner, and when it came, there was a pause as the wench flirted a little with Norris then was summarily shooed away.
“Is it all right?” said the stranger, in a very, very soft voice.
“Safe as houses,” Norris replied, casually. “Safer than my room. Can’t tell who might be on the other side of the wall, there.”
Well, thought Alberich, That’s what you get for insisting on the big corner room. Norris had recently demanded—and gotten—one of the better chambers at the inn. Even with Myste keeping a jaundiced eye on the take, the innkeeper was doing a phenomenal amount of business thanks to the ongoing presence of the actors here, and couldn’t afford to offend Norris at this point. The problem with the new room, however, was that while Norris had one of his fellow actors as a neighbor on one side, the other was a room that anyone could rent, and it was often taken by someone who wanted to be near the actor. That would practically guarantee a snoop with her ear to the wall.
“What about him?” persisted the stranger, and Alberich knew, by the prickling feeling on the back of his neck, that the man was pointing at him in some way. Probably with a little jerk of the chin; less obtrusive, unless you were watching for something of the sort.
“Hmm.” There was a scrape; Norris this time; Alberich could tell from the position of the chair.
He’s going to do something. Alberich thought he could guess what, and a moment later, it came. And now he had to do something that was against all of his instincts; he had to relax, not tighten his muscles in anticipation. The scholar would be deep in the book and would not even be aware of the rest of the world. You should be able to come up behind him and shout in his ear without his noticing.
There was the sound of a stumble, and Norris blundered into him, spilling his drink, knocking the book out of his hand, nearly knocking him over. Alberich did not try to save himself; he let the chair go over, and himself with it, as with a cry, he lurched for his book. Norris was there before him, picking it up, all apology, offering his hand, and when Alberich was on his feet, dusting him off.
“Horribly clumsy of me, I beg your pardon—” While Norris babbled on, he was managing to get a look at the book, in fact, at the place where Alberich had been reading. And thank the Sunlord for that, since it meant he was not looking closely at Alberich’s disguise instead! He handed it back to Alberich so quickly, though, that it was unlikely anyone like the scholar would have realized that the actor had examined the book before relinquishing it. But an actor had to be a quick study; the man probably had both pages memorized by now.
Alberich snatched it away, glared angrily at him, and fussed over the book, making certain that none of the pages were bent, nothing stained. “You clumsy oaf!” he shrilled, pitching his voice to a whiny falsetto. “Curse you, fellow! Where did you think you were going?”
“I’ll buy you a new drink,” Norris was saying, as the serving wench bustled up with a towel to clean up the mess.
“If you’ve so much as creased a page, you’ll buy me a new book, young man,” Alberich replied querulously. “Copies of Canton’s Lives of the Philosophers do not grow on trees!”
“No, they don’t, I’m sure,” Norris said agreeably, as the serving wench brought another
drink and Norris paid her for it. “And I would be devastated to think I had ruined one. I particularly admire his scholarly treatise on Loval Hestalion, for instance.”
Alberich simply gave him a good long stare, as if suspiciously certain that Norris was only trying to jolly his way past Alberich’s anger. “It’s Lowal Hestalion, young man, as you would know if you had actually read the book, rather than making something up to try and worm your way into my favor. And what is more, the man may be sound enough on other biographies, but his treatise on Hestalion is little more than a repetition of scurrilous rumor!”
Norris threw up his hands and laughed. “Caught! Well, I most sincerely apologize again. I have restored your drink, and I hope I haven’t foxed your book, so are we quits?”
“The book appears to be intact,” Alberich said icily, “I believe I am also intact. And I beg the pleasure of your absence.”
“Yes, sir!” Norris laughed, and went back to his place while Alberich ostensibly and ostentatiously reburied himself in his book.
“So, there, you see,” Norris said under the sound of the conversations all around them. “Nothing but a bookworm. We could burn down the place around him, and he wouldn’t notice.”
“Good enough. The game’s in play tonight,” the stranger said. “We think it will play out well.”
“Good news,” Norris said with satisfaction. “And my reward?”
“You’ll get it when the bond is sealed,” the stranger replied. “Even if all goes well, there will be opposition. We may need you before then. And don’t forget, we’ll also need you after, for a time, anyway.”
“No, you won’t,” Norris growled, sounding irritated now. “The boy’s a natural seducer. And the girl’s untried. And I absolutely the finest instructor in the arts of seduction that was ever born. You say he’s showing his hand tonight. If he doesn’t have her well enchanted before the week is out, and wedded within the moon, I’ll eat my hat without salt.”
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