He laughed. “Save some dances for me, Your Highness,” he said. “I’ll need refuge from the aunts and grannies.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned to greet Mellony and her father.
She danced with Miphis Mander and the wizard Wil Mathis, who spent the whole time looking over her shoulder at Fiona. Mick Bricker and Garret Fry, cadets from Oden’s Ford, who made awkward small talk and towed her around the floor as if she were breakable. Then her father, who was as skilled at court dances as he was in the more challenging clan steps.
The entire time, she was aware of Micah’s presence, drawing her attention like a lamp in a dark room. Whenever she looked for him, it seemed he was looking at her.
Kip Klemath asked her to dance. And then Keith. Then Kip again. The brothers apparently meant to pass her back and forth like a satin-clad kickball, but behind her someone said, “Your Highness, may I have the next dance?” while Kip and Keith were arguing over who was next.
She turned, and there was Amon Byrne, tall and broad-shouldered in dress blues that fit his frame perfectly.
She grinned at him and said, “Absolutely.” And he spun her away as a storm of protest from the Klemath brothers erupted behind them.
“Where have you been?” she asked. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I got delayed,” he said. “There was…some business I had to take care of in Ragmarket.” He took a breath, like he was going to say something more, but then seemed to think better of it.
“Where’d you learn to dance?” she asked as they circled the dance floor. “I don’t remember your knowing how.”
“I’ve learned a few things in the past three years,” Amon said.
If she thought he was going to elaborate on that, she was disappointed. They circled the room again in silence. He’d look into her eyes, then avert his gaze as if afraid he’d give too much away.
Amon had never been known for his flirtatious banter, but on this evening he had almost nothing to say.
She tried again. “Didn’t you say you don’t have time for dancing at Oden’s Ford?” she said.
“I said I didn’t have time for sweethearts,” he said.
Raisa was surprised he recalled their conversation in such detail.
“Then where did you learn to dance?” Raisa asked, feeling like she was prying each word out of him, like mussels out of their shells.
“Tamron Court isn’t far from Oden’s Ford. We’d go over there if we had a day off duty.”
Tamron Court, the capital of Tamron, had the reputation of being a wicked city, the place to go for fancy women and gambling and illicit entertainment.
“Oh, really, Corporal Byrne?” Raisa lifted her eyebrows. “And do what?”
“Well, dance,” he said, as if it were obvious. “And play cards. I’m a fair cardplayer,” he said almost defensively.
“Well,” she said, “of course. You’re a soldier.” She tried to imagine Amon carousing in a tavern, and failed.
He didn’t reply, seeming lost in thought, so she changed the subject. “How are things going in Southbridge? Did they ever find out who killed those Southies?”
He flinched as if she’d caught him out somehow. “Actually, I have some news,” he said, avoiding her eyes.
“News? What kind of news?”
Amon glanced about as if worried they’d be overheard. The song was over, so he drew her aside, off the dance floor, and to one of the more private tables. A servant offered a tray. Amon took two glasses and handed her one.
Raisa flopped into a chair, a little relieved to be off her feet. “I need a drink to hear this news?” she asked wryly, taking a cautious sip of wine, aware that she hadn’t had anything to eat.
“Well, first of all, my da tried to get Gillen dismissed again, and got nowhere.” He grimaced. “He must have powerful friends.”
Raisa slammed her glass down on the table, spilling her wine over her wrist. “Not more powerful than me,” she said. “That’s it. I’m going to my mother. This can’t stand.”
Amon reached for her hand, then hastily drew his back, glancing about again. “Please, Raisa, you can’t tell the queen about that whole Southbridge thing. Trust me. You just can’t.” He drained his glass and set it down. “Don’t worry. We Byrnes don’t give up. We’ll get him sooner or later.”
That was unsatisfactory. What was the good of being the heir to the throne if you had no real power?
Raisa looked up, and Amon was still watching her with that peculiar expression on his face. Wary. Almost guilty.
“What?” she asked irritably.
“That streetlord. Cuffs,” he said. He cleared his throat.
Images came back to her: Cuffs sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor of his cellar hideout, offering her stale biscuits to eat. Cuffs armored in his leggings and deerskin jacket, his blade in his hand.
She’d thought of him often, since her adventure in Southbridge. She’d hoped he’d managed to avoid the Guard. Even wished she could see him again.
“What about him?”
“He’s dead. Murdered in Ragmarket.”
“What?” She spoke louder than she intended, and he flinched, shushing her. “When? When did this happen?” she demanded, her insides funneling into her toes.
“Likely it was last night. They found his things this morning on the riverbank.”
She felt ambushed. Betrayed. It wasn’t possible. “His…things. They didn’t find a body?”
He shook his head. “Just his clothes, and Ragger scarf. Whoever did it must have thrown him in the river.”
“How did you know the clothes were his, then?”
“They scratched his name in the mud,” Amon said. “A warning of sorts.”
Cuffs Alister was dead. Raisa recalled the last time she’d seen him, on a street corner in Ragmarket, his sardonic bow on parting.
I think you’re a Ragger at heart, he’d said.
It wasn’t true. He’d been a free spirit, and Raisa was everybody’s prisoner. Was death the price of freedom?
“You don’t know he’s really dead, then,” she said stubbornly. “If there was no body.”
“It was…there was blood everywhere,” Amon said, glancing around, seeming to realize that this might not be the time or place. “I’m sorry, Raisa, I guess I shouldn’t have said anything, but…the good news is, maybe now the killing will stop,” he said. “You see, that same night they found another body. Boy named Shiv Connor, who’s streetlord of the Southies. He’d been tortured and killed, like the rest. We think Cuffs was done in revenge for that.”
“Or maybe he had nothing to do with it. Maybe the same people that killed this Shiv killed Cuffs. If he’s even dead.” She looked up, hope kindling. “He’s tricky. What if he just wanted us to think he’s dead? The Guard’s been hunting him forever! Maybe he just decided to disappear for a while.”
Amon didn’t reply, but he wore a pitying expression that infuriated her.
“Fine!” she said, blinking back the tears that burned in her eyes. “You win. He’s dead. Are you happy?”
Amon looked as if she’d struck him. “Rai, come on, I never wanted—”
“I’d better go finish off my dance card,” she said, rising in a rustle of satin. “I’m sure I’m way behind.”
She pushed blindly through the draperies separating the table from the dance floor and ran right into Micah Bayar.
He gripped her elbows to keep her from falling. “There you are,” he said. “I was looking for you.” He focused in on her face. “What’s the matter? Are you crying?”
“Oh,” Raisa said, swiping at her face. “I’m fine. I just ate some hot peppers is all.”
“Hot peppers?” Micah laughed. “There is danger everywhere tonight. For instance, that Lady Heresford is cold as Harlotsborg at solstice. I tried to steal a kiss, and those guard dogs of hers practically assassinated me.”
“What about Princess Marina?” Raisa asked, thinking that
Tamron’s ways might be more to Micah’s liking. “She’s lovely.”
Maybe a little too lovely.
“Right now I want to dance with this princess,” he said, bowing gracefully. “I’ve just escaped from the aunts and grannies. Let’s take advantage, shall we?”
He led her out onto the dance floor as the orchestra launched into a waltz.
“Why aren’t you dancing with someone who might do you good?” Raisa whispered as they navigated their first circuit of the ballroom. “Missy Hakkam looks positively sullen over there in the corner. And you know Princess Marina is here for the wooing.”
All this was true, and yet she had the urge to keep Micah Bayar entirely to herself.
“You should make the most of your time tonight,” she said dutifully. “This must have cost your parents a fortune.”
“I am making the most of my time,” he murmured, pulling her in closer than was entirely proper. His fingers burned through the fabric of her dress. Raisa felt dizzy again, as if the wine had gone to her head.
“Or have you already made your conquests?” she said recklessly. “Any marriage contracts in the offing? Any trysts planned for later on tonight?”
“There’s only one conquest I want to make,” he said, leaning down and speaking into her ear. “Only one heart I want to win.”
“Oh, no,” she protested feebly. Don’t waste your time flattering me, she wanted to say, but somehow she couldn’t get the words out. It seemed that her wits had deserted her. So she gave in and rested her head on his chest, hearing his heart thump through the fabric of his coat. Even his scent seemed intoxicating.
I only had one glass of wine, she thought.
It seemed whatever she had to say, he had a clever answer. So they danced three more dances, and with each twirl she felt more weightless and insubstantial in his arms, like she was disappearing.
“Can we…can we get something to eat?” she asked, thinking maybe food would help.
“Of course,” he said, leading her through a maze of black and white fabric to a secluded table. He settled her into a chair, resting his hot hands on her bare shoulders for a long moment.
He must have left, but she scarcely noticed. Even the music seemed diminished, as if everyone else were far away.
Then he was back, with plates of food and two more glasses of wine, and she startled awake, although she didn’t think she’d been asleep. He pulled his chair next to hers and sat close, his leg pressing against hers. He draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head down on his shoulder, and fed her bits of food with his other hand.
He raised the glass of wine to her lips, and she tried to say no, but before she knew it, she’d drunk.
He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her. And again, longer and sweeter. And again, and her resistance evaporated. He kissed her lips, her chin, her collarbone.
Wizard kisses, she thought murkily, are dangerous things.
And now she was kissing him back, snaking her arms around his neck, getting lost, wanting to somehow burrow into him. And he was laughing a little at her enthusiasm, but his breath was coming quicker too, and there were spots of color on his cheeks.
I don’t care who you are, she thought. I don’t care about who I’m supposed to be. I’m tired of following old rules.
Micah pushed his chair back and stood. “Come on,” he said, gently lifting her to her feet, steadying her with a hand under her arm. “I know somewhere we can go.”
She nodded mutely and gripped his one hand with both of hers to keep from swaying. He led her through the maze of silk tents, past candlelit tables and murmured conversations.
A sound insinuated its way into her clouded mind. A familiar voice, someone calling, as if from far away. “Raisa! Where are you?”
Micah’s hand tightened on her arm. “Don’t answer him,” he said.
“But it’s Papa,” she said. “He sounds worried.”
“He just wants to keep us apart,” Micah said. “They all do. Come on.” He pulled her in the opposite direction. “Let’s go this way.”
They ran, twisting and turning, toward the side exit, ducking away from Wil Mathis, who was chatting up a girl in the corner, and Mellony, who was edging close to the dessert tray again. It was exciting, like a game of hide-and-seek in dress-up clothes.
They slipped out into the corridor, and came face-to-face with Amon Byrne, who blocked the way.
“Oh!” Raisa skidded to a stop in her stocking feet. She seemed to have lost her shoes.
“You again,” Micah said. “How is it possible you can be everywhere at once?”
Amon ignored him. “Your father’s looking for you,” he said to Raisa. “Didn’t you hear him calling?”
“Well, ah…” She looked at Micah, somehow at a loss for what to say. “We’re going…somewhere else.”
“This is none of your business,” Micah said, pulling Raisa forward as if he meant to bull right past Amon. “Out of our way.”
Amon did not move, but looked from Raisa to Micah, scowling. “What’d you do to her?” he demanded. “She looks like she’s in some kind of trance.”
Again, Raisa heard her father’s voice. Coming closer. “Raisa!”
“Lord Demonai!” Amon shouted. “She’s here! In the corridor! With Micah Bayar. Hurry up!”
“Blood and bones,” Micah swore. “When will you learn to stop meddling? You’ll pay for this.” He let go of Raisa’s hand and chose a pastry from a nearby tray. Then leaned against the wall, waiting.
And suddenly her father was there, his face like a thundercloud over Hanalea.
“Ah. Well. I’ll be going, then,” Amon said, edging back toward the ballroom. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he were pleased with himself.
“You! Stay where you are until I get this sorted out,” Averill said, and Amon froze in place.
Averill picked Raisa’s wrap up off the floor where it had fallen, and settled it over her shoulders. As he did so, he seemed to fix on Raisa’s necklace. He stared at it for a long moment, then turned back to Micah.
“What are you two doing back here?” he demanded, glaring at him.
Micah shrugged and waved the pastry. He was trying to look casual, but his hand was shaking. “I was encouraging the princess to eat something. I think she’s had a bit too much to drink.”
“Oh, really? Is that what it is?”
Averill took hold of Raisa’s chin and gazed into her eyes. He looked so peculiar. She laughed, then flinched when he gripped harder.
“Not so hard,” she complained, wresting herself free. Why was he being like this? “Micah and I were just leaving.”
“Were you?” Averill suddenly seemed very tall and imposing in his clan robes.
“I was going to show her the view off the terrace,” Micah said, popping the rest of the pastry into his mouth and licking his fingers. He had powdered sugar on his lips, and Raisa impulsively pulled his head down and kissed it away. His kisses had been sweet-hot already, and who knew how much sweeter they might be now.
“Raisa,” Micah whispered rather thickly, sliding his arms around her again, ignoring Averill’s glowering expression.
Micah seemed a little intoxicated himself.
“Raisa!” Averill pulled her away and pushed her down into a chair. “You’re not yourself. I think it’s time we called for your carriage.”
“It’s early yet,” Micah said. He cleared his throat, looking from Raisa to Averill, back to Raisa. “Please, Your Highness. Stay a while longer. It’s my name day, after all.”
“I think not,” Averill said, his voice hard and even. “Go on back to the party, jinxflinger. But first I want to know where you got this.” Averill’s hand closed on Micah’s wrist. He lifted Micah’s hand, displaying an elaborately carved ring set with emeralds and rubies.
“Let go of me!” Micah struggled to free himself. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business, actually,” Averill said, releasi
ng him. “I’ve seen this design, but only in old manuscripts. It predates the Breaking, and it’s forbidden these days.”
Micah rubbed his wrist. “Someone sent it. A name day present. I’ve a whole vault full. What’s it to you?”
Raisa squinted down at it, bleary-eyed. Somehow she hadn’t noticed it before. And now that she looked closer, she saw that it was a ring in the form of a serpent, coiled around Micah’s finger, with rubies for eyes. But there was something familiar about it.
She reached up and touched her necklace. The gold pendant that rested against her skin matched Micah’s ring. It felt warm to the touch.
Averill’s eyes flicked between the two pieces of jewelry. “Where did you get the necklace, Raisa?”
“Hmmm?” For a moment she couldn’t remember. “Oh. It was a gift from the Bayars.”
Averill gripped the pendant and lifted it away from her chest. Beneath it was a red mark burned into her flesh. A snake’s head.
With a roar of anger, Averill ripped the necklace away, breaking the clasp and sending bits flying. He flung the jewelry into Micah’s startled face.
“Just what was it you hoped to accomplish, jinxflinger?” he demanded.
Micah blinked at him, then glanced down at the necklace on the floor. He looked completely bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Raisa doubled over, pressing her hands to her breast, feeling as if her father had ripped out her heart. “Merciful Maker,” she gasped.
Averill looked at her, then closed his eyes for a moment as if struggling for composure. He turned back to Micah. “I’m clan, remember? Demonai. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize it?” Averill gripped the front of Micah’s fancy coat and gave him a hard shake. “She’s not for you, do you understand that? That will never happen.”
Now anger flooded into Micah’s face, replacing bewilderment. “Why not? I’m good enough for the princesses in Tamron.”
“Then marry one of them,” Averill said.
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 26
