"Perhaps if she wasn't so cold, they would have more luck. Poor Roisen must freeze when he touches her," Corston said with a snigger.
Fiedra slapped her lightly on the arm. "The liege is fond of Amethyst," Fiedra stated.
"Her only saving grace." Ghishka's mouth drew together and she sipped her tea.
"Admittedly, I have never observed any particular fondness between the Lorcans," Lady Roenbaum said, but interest in the topic seemed to have fizzled out.
To Ashra, the whole issue around Lorcan was a big question mark. He appeared to be a strong force in this court, but this new information meant he had a large weakness.
She set to wondering about these women. The way they attacked Amethyst—was it just gossip, or was it because they were beneath her, stabbing at the powerful when their backs were turned?
Ashra's biggest problem was that she didn't understand how power worked here. Did she have any of her own? She must, or she would never have been accepted here. They'd been forced to accept her—well, grudgingly, because she had power. She just didn't know how much, or really how to yield it. But then, maybe she had very little and she was just sport, as she had suspected a few nights back.
Another interesting thing she'd learned today was that the liege had favorites. What did that mean? Some of these women seemed to imply Lady Lorcan was protected from her husband because of that favor. A shiver ran down her spine imagining having to protect oneself from one's husband. This was the culture that Torunn had tried to get away from by marrying her. She felt a rush of sad longing. Never again would they spend languid mornings in bed, warm and snug.
Chatter continued around her and as time went by, it became clear that they had no real interest in her. They didn't ask anything about her, weren't interested. Perhaps in their eyes, she wasn't interesting. She had no history other than her marriage with Torunn; she had no alliances or schemes—being a brand new person that had simply appeared at court. She had no family or connections to anyone. They dismissed her. Innately, she had no value as a person. There was an option to take it personally, or simply as a consequence of her low birth, but considering how they treated Amethyst, no one seemed to have any personal value here. Her importance would be in the power she yielded.
Aia Fuedes turned to her. From what Ashra had observed, she was less horrid than the others. "I suppose you will seek to marry again," she said to Ashra's surprise.
"Excuse me?"
"To secure your position," she said as if it was the only logical extension. The woman now wondered if Ashra was dense; she could see it in her eyes. The thought hadn't even occurred to Ashra. Was that what they expected? Were they waiting to see who she'd aligned herself with? Of course they were. Family alliances—marriages—had importance here. They were waiting to see who she aligned her estate with, and if she could pull it off before someone wretched her lands from her. There was the game, and the reason these women were tolerant of her presence—because she would have more power when she made her move—if she managed.
Ashra felt like throwing up, her stomach churning. Still so raw from her loss, she couldn't even contemplate another marriage. Her head was still full of pain and longing, let alone trying to imagine some man touching her—one she picked for the purpose of power. For a moment, she could sympathize with Amethyst and the position she was in. Sleeping with someone for politics turned her stomach.
A page brought out cucumber sandwiches on a silver tray and put it down on the table. He scurried away without anyone taking notice of him. "More tea, anyone?" Fiedra said brightly.
Chapter 9:
* * *
The russet silk gown fit her beautifully. She'd had to have it made just for an occasion like this. Apparently, Raufasger liked the idea of a refined society, which included dances, or balls—she wasn't exactly sure which it was tonight. The point, however, was to dress up in their finery and parade around.
With a sigh, Ashra watched herself in the mirror. The emeralds around her neck contrasted with her skin. They sparkled as did her eyes in the muted lights of candles. The necklace belonged to the Greve family along with other jewels that had traveled in a case with her when she'd arrived. She hated this, having to dress up, but it was all part of the game. Raufasger wanted a ball, so they were all complying.
A night sitting by the fire reading would be her ideal choice, not having to tread the waters with all of this court's predators. Each evening she spent with these people, she saw new dangers. No one had their intentions written on their faces; they were hidden behind the polite smiles. Or they just scowled like Lorcan did.
A clock chimed. It was time to go. Her skirt rustled as she walked. She checked on Tabain who was sleeping sweetly, watched by Maria, retrieved from the Greve estate. Ashra refused to hire someone from here; she didn't trust anyone who hadn't grown up in the Greve house. Who knew the past of anyone who worked at the citadel?
A page waited outside, ready to take her wherever she needed to go that evening. She still couldn't find most places, but she could now safely make her way down to the garden and back. They walked down there every day and it was always deserted.
It took time to walk through endless corridors before they reached a hall of some sort. It wasn't one she had seen before. Murals covered the walls and ceiling, showing scenes from history, scenes she was fairly certain weren't always true. This was Raufasger's vision of the past—history as he wanted it.
Hundreds of candles surrounded them, floating above their heads and along the walls. Women with their gowns, looked like they floated across the floor. Even some of the men wore bright silk robes tonight. Everyone milled around discussing amongst themselves. What were they talking about, Ashra wondered. No doubt they were gossiping, even scheming. Eyes turned to her as she walked past, making her intensely aware that she was alone.
Making her even more nervous was the fact that she had to dance. It had been a very long time since she'd danced formally—a past life, really. She could barely remember steps to any of them. Would she be ridiculed and whispered about if she messed up the steps? She felt they were still looking for evidence that she wasn't as good as them.
Collectively attention shifted away from her to somewhere behind her. Ashra turned to see what was suddenly so interesting. At the door was a beautiful, dark-haired woman Ashra had never seen before. She had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, beautiful eyes, blue unless the candle light lied. Her gown was light green and heavy diamonds accented her slim neck, wrists and ears.
This was the woman everyone watched. Her head was held high and she looked almost bored. Emerging from the dark behind her was Lorcan, looking not just bored, but grim as well. It dawned on Ashra that this must be Amethyst, his wife and the woman Fiedra and her cronies had all been talking about.
Amethyst had a fan and she snapped it open with a crack, waiting for Lorcan to catch up with her so she could take his arm. Lorcan never looked friendly, or happy, as far as Ashra had ever seen, but she could see the truth in the statement that there was no love lost between these two. A political marriage, which had probably gained the families things of more importance than happiness.
She had to wonder at the pressure on Torunn to marry well and the scandal when he'd chosen to marry for love, someone of humble origins, too. Maybe his decision was a family cross to bear now that he was dead and his widow left to protect the estate against the circling sharks.
As Ashra had done on her first night here, Amethyst walked past everyone through the center of the room to where Raufasger was sitting on his raised platform. She was to be presented, letting go of Lorcan's arm and performing a deep curtsey.
"You have returned to us, Lady Lorcan," Raufasger said softly, his beady eyes watching her intently. "I hope you enjoyed the solitude of the country."
"It was very restorative," she said, her voice high and sharp. "I am, of course, most pleased to be back in your splendid company."
Raufasger twisted his head and considere
d her. "Let's hope it doesn't lead you astray."
Every person in the room was watching this exchange, trying to figure out the subtext to the things being said, and if anything shifted in the process. From the discussion of Fiedra's acquaintances, Ashra suspected she had been sent away by Raufasger and she was now being warned against being led astray—which meant what, exactly? Had she been led astray and been punished for it?
Nothing was given away by Lorcan's face, but when Amethyst was dismissed by Raufasger, Lorcan didn't return to his wife's side. Instead, Fiedra was at Amethyst's side, walking arm in arm as if best friends had been reunited.
Seeing Aia Fuedes standing by her husband, Ashra greeted her. She seemed the kindest of the women, maybe the safest harbor she could find. Aia introduced her husband, Delwar Fuedes, a man with large eyes and yellowish blond hair.
"I don't think you've met Lady Greve," Fiedra's drawn tones sounded behind Ashra. Wishing she didn't have to, Ashra turned around and met the two women. Amethyst's eyes were definitely blue, the same shade as sapphires. She certainly was beautiful.
"I have not," Amethyst said, openly studying her. "The Solmnite," she continued as if that was extraordinary.
Ashra smiled tightly. What could she say? It was true, even if incredibly rude to introduce oneself with that statement. "Lady Lorcan," Ashra said through gritted teeth.
"She is here with the young master Greve," Fiedra continued.
"Oh?" Amethyst said, looking around.
"Well asleep," Ashra added.
"And how are you finding court life?" Amethyst asked.
"Never a dull moment." Ashra refused to elaborate, refusing to make this meeting less awkward than it was.
"We certainly don't like dullness here, much less dull conversation."
Ashra was being told off, but she didn't care. She had no interest pandering to this woman as apparently was expected of her.
Amethyst's staring was unrelenting. "You must dance, of course. It is a ball, after all."
"Of course," Ashra said, not exactly sure what was going on, but she refused to be cowered.
"Perhaps the Bern Cross. It has the most simple steps," Amethyst said, almost pityingly.
Ashra itched to argue, but she really couldn't take on something more complicated. "Good advice. I am a novice, after all." What harm was it denying it? Would it serve her to lie? Unless Amethyst had lied and just now recommended the most complicated dance, but Ashra suspected she hadn't. She doubted Amethyst went in for such simple misdirection. No, her insult had already been delivered.
"Charming woman," Ashra said as Fiedra and Amethyst moved away. She fought to keep a straight face saying it. Aia Fuedes only smiled and Ashra had to wonder if she was simple. Maybe she was someone who refused to react whatever way the wind was blowing. As a strategy, Ashra wondered how that worked. It couldn't do wonders for the self-respect.
Ashra was aware that she had painted herself into a corner, being goaded into dancing. She had recruited Allor Heiege for the task, who she saw as a harmless choice that wouldn't cause too much of a stir.
They lined up, facing each other and nerves fluttered around Ashra's stomach. She didn't know the steps, but she wasn't absolute imbecilic. Hopefully she could fudge her way through.
She was a step behind at first and she felt herself flush, but the steps were remarkably simple so she caught up. The dance formed little squares inside a big square. Two with Heiege's arms around her waist, then two turning ones without, but in the end, she had ended up facing Dugal Churing, and looking around in panic, she realized this was supposed to happen. She now had to repeat the whole thing again with his hot hand on her waist. She smiled uncomfortably, but it got worse, because the next person she landed across from was Roisen Lorcan.
"Lady Greve," he said coldly. As opposed to others in silks and satins, he wore black. In fact, she'd never seen him wearing anything but.
"Lord Lorcan." An instinct told her to step back when his hand reached for her waist. She felt trapped there with the person who, from what she could gather, liked her kind the least. He, most definitely, did not wish her well, and in the game for her lands, he would be a player. They both seemed to know it, so it was awkward pretending this familiar regard within the confines of a dance. Like a respectful bow before the fight starts.
"Are you enjoying the evening?" he asked. His cold eyes were on her, testing her in some way. Or was this a predator playing with its prey?
She couldn't be honest, because apparently, Raufasger didn't like the diversions he put on being disparaged. "It is certainly very bright with all the colorful dresses and jewels in the room."
"You are impressed by such things," he stated as if it were fact, as if someone like her couldn't be anything but awed by the opulence. Emphatically, she wanted to deny it, but would that serve her? Was she better off with Lorcan thinking her a wide-eyed moron?
Her hand sat in his as they turned and she looked away, refusing to confirm or deny her lack of intelligent thought. Then, to her immense relief, they shifted apart and she ended up with Lukas Brieton to repeat the whole thing before ending back with Heiege.
Mercifully the dance ended and she had survived. Her nerves might not exactly be intact, but she had made it through without substantial embarrassment. Could she now avoid the dance floor for the rest of the night, she wondered?
Lorcan was on the other side of the room, stoic and grim as always, drawn into discussion with a group of men. She couldn't believe she'd ended up dancing with him, the one person she would never ask, and she'd been in his arms—not terribly close, but close enough. There was almost something indecent about that.
But something was wrong. There was too much attention on her. Whispers and arrogant looks seemed directed at her. Heiege was too much of a gentleman to dump her so quickly and Ackerle joined them. Refusing to show concern, she greeted him, but was intensely aware that too much attention was on her. Was it because two enemies had swung around the dance floor in a guarded embrace?
"They were whispering, my dear," Ackerle said quietly.
Ashra turned her attention to him. "What now?"
"Some seem to question your authenticity."
"What? How it is I'm not authentic? Enough people here came to dine with myself and Torunn to know we were married."
"Well, they question whether your son is really his," Ackerle whispered apologetically.
"That's ridiculous."
"Merely gossip, my lady," Heiege said dismissively as if it had no consequence whatsoever.
No, this rumor would not be going around if it had no consequence. Ashra's mind was racing. It was a ludicrous claim. What could they hope to gain by it, and who was spreading it? "Where is this coming from?"
"These things just spread," Ackerle said kindly.
No, they don't just spread. Someone was spreading them, and they had some intention behind it.
Chapter 10:
* * *
Ashra was furious. It was one thing to attack her, but to attack her innocent son, too small to defend himself—that was despicable. It was so unfair. People shouldn't be allowed to do that, but they used anything at their disposal to cause trouble. This certainly wasn't a place for more noble sentiments, such as not attacking a child.
She didn't know what to do about it—what was the best way to react. Part of her wanted to rant at them, tell them how awful they were and that their scheming only showed how base their characters were, but that wouldn't achieve anything. She could well imagine the sneers she would receive if she lost her cool. There would be consequences of something like that, highlighting herself to be targeted for others, or even Raufasger himself.
No, acting impetuous and responding would not be the best course of action. For all she knew, this rumor might well have been started for that express purpose—to discredit her based on her reaction.
But then there was the bigger issue of the substance of the rumor—Tabain's parentage. Ashra knew accusat
ions could take on a life of their own. Trying to discredit Tabain as the rightful owner of the Greve estate could be a tactic that worked as it was largely unprovable—but that pertained to every single person at the court, as well. As a tactic it was as dangerous for her as it was for everyone else, but then not everyone cared for longer term consequences in a place like this.
Pacing her apartments, Ashra considered what to do, how to respond to this. Should she just ignore it, which was a possibility because no one could prove he wasn't Torunn's son either. It seemed a reasonable reaction, but she worried that the person who spread this would keep doing it, keep bleating until people started believing it. Belief was sometimes more powerful than truth—or logic. People believing the rumors could be more damaging than anything else, and for this, she really had no recourse.
Perhaps the only thing she could do was to bring the dowager Lady Greve, Torunn's mother, to court to add gravitas to her insistence that Tabain was the rightful Greve heir. Ashra was certain the dowager would state with certainty that there was no other possibility. It was perhaps the only thing she could do, if she had to. The dowager would come if she was needed, although Ashra hoped she didn't have to ask her to.
It could be that this rumor had received little traction and would go away. That would be the best possible outcome. She would have to pay close attention to see whether she needed to act.
The weather was mild, but gray, heavy clouds rolling across the vast valley. It would rain later. Darker clouds threatened on the horizon. If they were to spend some time in the garden, they had to do so that morning, rather than wait until the afternoon.
Turning away from the window, she watched as Tabain played with his toys. Looking up, he smiled at her, the dimples in his cheeks appearing. Love flared in her heart and she walked over and crouched by him.
How could anyone doubt his father when he looked just like him? Anyone who knew Torunn would see that. But the people who were spreading this rumor didn't care about the truth. That was not what this was about.
Dark Court: The Summons Page 5
