He moved to the end of the table loaded with an array of sweets and pastries. As he surveyed the offerings, he overheard snippets of conversation, from the usual commentary on the weather to the price of silk. It was terribly mundane, but one conversation did pique his interest. It was between an older gent and a younger one.
“I weary of these parties,” the older man said. He wore a helm mask with a stuffed seagull perched atop it. Pinned to his lapel was a cormorant brooch.
Lord Coutre, Amberhill decided. The voice sounded right. The younger man also sported a cormorant brooch, but he wore a more simple eye mask of black silk with silver-blue feathers pluming from it.
“It is your daughter who is responsible for several of them,” the younger man said.
Amberhill thought the fellow likely to be Estora’s cousin, Lord Spane. He was often in close company with Lord Coutre and served as Lady Estora’s chaperone and representative.
Amberhill hovered over the table pretending to be caught in indecision over whether to try a piece of lemon cake or a fruit tart as he continued to eavesdrop.
“I know, I know,” Lord Coutre said. “I wish we could just dispense with it all and get the two married and have done with it.”
“The solstice will arrive soon.”
“Not soon enough. But we must defer to the moon priests on the date since they believe it auspicious. The gods know we want it to be a prosperous marriage; prosperous with many children so Coutre maintains its influence on the throne. Think of it Richmont! One of my grandchildren will one day reign over Sacoridia.”
“It will happen, my lord,” Spane said.
“We must ensure nothing goes wrong and that it all happens in a way that makes Estora happy. Even if it means attending these damned parties.”
“You have done everything for her,” Spane reassured the older man.
“Yes, well, I want you to promise me Richmont. Promise me that you will see to it this marriage proceeds no matter what. The future of Coutre depends on it.”
“Yes, my lord, on my honor. I promise nothing will interfere with the marriage. Nothing.”
Amberhill caught, from the corner of his eye, Spane bowing to Lord Coutre. The man came across as a sycophant who would follow through on that promise no matter what, especially if there was some reward in it. Anyone who got between him and his goal would no doubt live to regret it.
Amberhill selected a tart filled with raspberry preserves and bit into it, reflecting that while court intrigue was entertaining to watch from the fringes, he had no desire to get caught up in it himself. Too much trouble.
He left the table thinking to make a circuit of the ballroom, but the tumbler in the looking mask bounded up to him. He grinned at his own warped reflection. “Just you, old friend, eh?”
But he gasped when his reflection misted over and vanished.
“What the bloody hell?”
The mist cleared, showing his face again, but not his present face. The mirror revealed him unmasked and his hair wild in the wind, his face unshaven. He could almost hear the cries of gulls, smell the salt of the sea, feel the sway of a ship on the waves.
No, he thought, this is not real. I am in the ballroom. But he could not tear himself from the vision. The masquerade ball seemed miles and miles away.
His reflected face glanced upward and a shadow fell across it. Amberhill thought he heard the beating of immense wings on the wind. He could not discern whether he should be terrified or in awe, or both. He felt the strain of muscles demanding he duck for cover.
The shadow dispersed and then nothing. Amberhill gazed at his own reflection in the present as if that’s all there had been all along. He took a step back and the tumbler somersaulted away.
Did I truly see that? Or was it some fancy?
At some point he had crushed the remains of his tart in his hand, raspberry preserves oozing between his fingers like blood. Whatever he did or did not see, it left him feeling off balance. No wonder Karigan G’ladheon had been so disoriented after gazing into the looking mask. What sorts of things had she seen? She who had access to powers ...
He glanced at his dragon ring, but it revealed nothing more than its usual ruby radiance. What had he expected? Some flare of magic? For the gold dragon to wriggle around his finger? He shuddered. Whatever the looking mask had shown him, real or not, was damned disturbing.
He could have wondered about it more, but there was an outcry from the center of the ballroom floor.
LADY ESTORA’S MASQUE
Lady Estora Coutre was thrilled by how well her efforts to create a memorable masquerade ball were being received by her guests. The comments she overheard about the event proclaimed the food unsurpassed and the decorations beyond clever. Dancers filled the dance floor without fail and it was great fun trying to figure out who was behind each mask.
Her father might grumble about all the parties, but she’d tired of the gloomy winter and the hard, unyielding walls of the castle. She was determined to bring light and festivity into her life. If she was going to be spending the rest of her days here, she might as well make the best of it.
Now if she could find Zachary, there was something she wanted to show him.
Someone touched her wrist, a woman with a swan mask. “My lady, a most excellent masque. Why, it’s been years and years since there has been one to attend in all of Sacor City. Thank you for organizing it.”
The compliment warmed Estora, and she almost wanted to skip like a little girl, for it had come from Lady Creen, who was usually very critical of anything that came to her attention.
Estora found Colin Dovekey at one of the tables, with his blue eye mask, filling a cup with punch.
“Have you seen Zachary?” she asked him.
“I believe he stepped out for air,” Colin replied. “Would you care for some punch?” He offered her his cup.
“No, thank you.” She left Colin and worked her way through the room, greeting guests as she went. She was hardly surprised Zachary would step outside for air. He seemed to enjoy parties well enough, but now and then he required a respite from the crowds.
A Weapon opened a balcony door for her. She shivered when she stepped out into the cold. Zachary turned toward her. He was not wearing his mask, and she couldn’t say she blamed him, for it was heavy and must be hot.
Their costumes had been inspired by legends of the sea kings. Ever since Lord Amberhill’s visit and gifts, she couldn’t seem to remove the stories from her mind, so she’d turned Zachary into one of the legendary kings and herself into one of the witches of the sea that beguiled unwary mariners onto the shoals of islands, capturing them body and soul.
“Zachary,” she said. “It is so cold out here. You’ll catch a chill!”
“Oh, I don’t think so. The air is bracing.”
“Even so, you are missed, and there is something you should see.” She took his arm and guided him toward the door.
“Very well.” He grabbed his mask as he went, and then paused. When she turned to see what was the matter, she observed him bowing to the darkness. She squinted and discerned a figure in shadow at the far end of the balcony.
“What was that about?” she asked him after they entered the ballroom.
He chuckled. “I just had an audience with Queen Oddacious.”
“Queen Oddacious? Oh, yes, what a peculiar costume. She was out there?”
“Yes. Apparently a rather shy person despite the costume.”
Estora would find out who it was later. It wasn’t unusual for Zachary to strike up a conversation with just about anyone. He had as much respect for the lowly tradesman as those of the noble class, an admirable quality in a king. So she wasn’t surprised he’d found someone to speak with out on the balcony, and she could certainly see how that costume would pique his interest, because it certainly piqued hers. Still, there he’d been out in the dark, just him and some unknown woman ...
She nearly laughed aloud. Could it be she felt a ti
nge of jealousy? She and Zachary had been spending more time together than ever, sharing afternoon tea, he bringing her to meetings and audiences, and seeking her counsel on matters of court. Of course she did not expect him to change his stance on any of his decisions, but there were times when her observations had made a difference. She was enjoying her role as she prepared to become queen, and a real friendship was blossoming between the two of them that would certainly ease the transition into marriage.
At one time Estora had been reluctant to marry, but that was before her abduction. Now she was grateful to be alive and safe. And, she had been touched by Zachary’s concern for her upon her return. She didn’t think it was entirely his apprehension over what her father would do if she didn’t return safely, either.
She appreciated his solicitous attentions. If there was still a part of him that remained aloof, she thought that, too, would change with time. After all it would be unseemly for him to act too familiar with her, and because of who they were, they were under particular scrutiny from all quarters.
“What is it you wish me to see?” Zachary asked.
“Something entertaining,” she replied. That was, if she could find the tumbler with the looking mask. Perhaps it was silly of her to draw him into such a trivial amusement, but when she gazed into the looking mask, she swore she saw something more than just her own reflection: just a brief flash of herself beaming down at an infant in her arms. An infant with soft golden hair. At least she thought that’s what she saw. Maybe she had seen only what she wished to see. Regardless, the image had brought her much delight and she hoped Zachary would see something similar.
The looking masks she had gazed into when a girl attending masquerades back home had never produced such a vision, but she and her friends would make them up anyway. Once she had pretended she’d seen herself becoming queen. Funny that it was coming true.
“Where is he?” Estora muttered.
As if in answer to her query, the tumbler appeared out of the crowd with a backflip and landed before them.
Estora clapped her hands. “Well done!” To Zachary she said, “I’ve had my turn with the looking mask. Now it’s yours.”
Zachary half-smiled. “I haven’t looked into one of these since I was a boy.”
“And what did you see?”
“A boy. A boy hoping to see something great.”
They exchanged grins and then he looked into the mask. Some guests collected around them to observe their king participating in so frivolous a game.
As Estora watched Zachary, she saw all signs of pleasure had fled his features. He gazed into the mirror unblinking, as though transfixed.
“He seems quite in love with himself,” one of Estora’s cousins jested. “Perhaps there will be no room for you at the wedding!”
There was laughter from those in hearing range, but Zachary did not join in. He did not move, and an uneasy silence followed until a few moments later the tumbler leaped away.
Zachary watched after him, looking as if he’d just awakened from a dream.
“What did you see, Your Highness?” Estora’s cousin asked.
“Yes,” others chimed in. “What did you see?”
Zachary smiled, but Estora could tell it was forced. “I saw,” he said, “the best king Sacoridia has ever known.”
“And what was his name?” someone called out.
This was greeted by more laughter, but Zachary did not answer. He returned his gaze to where they’d last seen the tumbler, his expression serious.
When the onlookers dispersed, Estora asked him, “What did you really see?”
She never received an answer, for a man in a red coat wearing the mask of a lion rushed toward them with a yell, a dagger bared in his hand.
Estora screamed.
THE KING’S VISION
Karigan wearily ascended the steps that led out of the ballroom. On her way out, she had paused only to sample a few of the oysters chilling in the hull of the sloop and found them as fresh as if she were on the docks of Corsa. How that was managed, considering the miles between Sacor City and the nearest shoreline, she did not know.
In any case, they had revived her spirits a little after her disturbing experience with the looking mask, and the disappointment of not having been able to reveal herself to King Zachary. She would not have such a chance again before leaving for Blackveil. Perhaps never again.
When she reached the top landing, she stopped and turned to take in one last view of the masquerade ball. It seemed just the same as when she arrived, the dancers flowing around the ballroom floor; the music, conversation, and laughter drifting up to her. The colors, the light, the motion.
It was a pretty picture, Karigan thought, but surreal. A gilded dream she was not a part of. Never would be. Did not, she decided, want to be. Riding Condor through the woods, feeling the surge of his powerful muscles as he galloped, the rhythm of hoofbeats, and the wind against her face—the freedom of the ride—that was real; free of masks and all they implied, the only dance she required.
She turned away thinking of the comfort of her own chamber, and maybe a cup of tea, when a scream stopped her short. She whipped around, jangling the bells of her crown. Down below a man in red charged the king, a dagger flashing in his hand.
It took a moment for Karigan’s mind to digest what was happening. An assassin! “No!” she cried.
The scene turned into a knot of chaos. Before the man reached the king, Weapons in black converged on him, guests in colorful finery falling away. Dancers collided into one another in the confusion. Some ladies fainted. Shouts and more screaming rose above discordant music, the conductor doggedly directing his musicians as if to get through whatever calamity had befallen the ball, his musicians desperately trying to keep up with him.
The assassin struggled in the vortex of Weapons, his shouts rising above the clamor. “You killed him! My father! He died in exile. I have no land, no title, nothing!” It was followed by more Karigan could not make out.
King Zachary put a protective arm around Lady Estora and hurried her past the melee and toward the stairs. Several Weapons broke off from the main knot to accompany them. As they launched up the stairs, Karigan moved into a niche behind a marble statue of Hiroque of the Clans to clear the way.
Four Weapons, hands on the hilts of their swords, preceded King Zachary and Lady Estora. In the lead was Donal. Somehow he sensed her presence in the niche and spared her a glance and a nod. To her surprise, he did not order her to leave.
Does he recognize me? she wondered in amazement. Even in this costume?
King Zachary and Lady Estora followed more slowly.
“—disagreed with the exile of his father, of course,” King Zachary was saying. “And apparently exile disagreed with Hedric D’Ivary. I assume from his son’s accusation the old man did not survive life in the north.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lady Estora said.
“I put him there.”
“With the agreement of all the other lord-governors. That man was cruel to those border folk. Instead of offering them refuge, he allowed them to be subject to rape, murder, slavery ... even the children.”
Karigan was not sure she had ever heard such passion from Estora, and it appeared the king had not, either, for he paused on the landing with an expression of surprise.
“You acted justly.” Estora’s tone of conviction brooked no argument, and none was forthcoming. She turned to take in the commotion below, just as Karigan had only moments earlier. The king also looked, and Karigan held her breath hoping to remain unnoticed.
“You never did tell me,” Lady Estora said in a much quieter voice.
“Tell you what?”
“What you saw in the looking mask. What you really saw.”
“Nothing,” he replied, but even from where Karigan was standing, she could see the lines of tension on his face.
“Please do not be dishonest with me,” Estora said. “It would not be a good way to
commence our lives together, hiding things before we’re even married. I have been very honest with you, after all.”
“Very well,” the king replied. “I just did not want to cause you concern.” He hesitated, but Lady Estora’s gaze on him was unflinching. “I saw arrows in flight. Many arrows.”
“Arrows? What does—”
“I do not know what it means,” he said. “Though I cannot think it bodes well. Shall we continue on? I imagine the ball is going to break up now and I’d rather not be detained by those needing to ask a hundred senseless questions.”
They set off down the corridor, leaving Karigan feeling stunned and wondering if she’d paled as much as Estora had at the king’s answer.
Arrows. He’d seen arrows. She had also seen arrows. What did it mean? What did it portend?
Three more Weapons filed by and a fourth paused on the landing and peered at her. It was Fastion. She stepped out from behind the statue.
“You should return to the Rider wing,” he said. “It appears the ball is over.”
“But ... but the assassin!”
“He is in hand and all is well.”
“But—”
“Do not worry,” Fastion said. “We may be Weapons, but we are foremost shields. We defend the king with all our skills and will die for him if necessary.”
Karigan shuddered. Strangely, however, she was more shaken by what King Zachary said he’d seen in the looking mask than by the assassination attempt.
Fastion glanced over his shoulder. “Other guests are now leaving.”
The guests in their masks and finery mounted the stairs, their voices shrill and laughter nervous. Fastion set off down the corridor and Karigan hurried to catch up.
“Fastion,” she said. “How is it you and Donal recognized me in my costume?”
Blackveil: Book Four of Green Rider Page 27
