by V. Holmes
Bren shook his head. “Women take forever with their face-paint and baubles. We should get to the foyer before they announce us.”
“They won’t without her.” Arman cast a last glance at Alea’s door, then followed her brother down the hall. They met Raven and Eras just outside the throne-room door. Raven wore his sword and was dressed as they were, in pale grays and turquoise. The latter did not become him.
Eras' calf-length sarafan was made of blue-green silk and split in the back and front, as if for riding. Underneath she wore a bloused white shirt and breeches. She grinned and Arman was surprised to note she was attractive under the hard exterior. “Once Her Majesty arrives, we will be announced. Arman will have Dhoah’ Lyne’alea’s arm, and Brentemir, you will have mine.” She glanced at Raven, “Monareka will join us shortly, you may escort her.”
Bren leaned back against the wall to wait. Reka arrived a moment later, dressed like Eras, but in saffron and brown, accompanied by a striking woman.
Arman glanced at them, then froze. His gaze inched over Reka’s companion. Alea was dressed in brilliant silver. Every inch of the silver silk, from the thin straps to the lace hems of the skirt was embroidered. ribbons gathered the bloused sleeves of her black underdress. The upper half of her dark hair was braided back and held under a blue and black net. Her kohl-rimmed eyes met his and her nervous smile broke the spell.
“You look nice.” He smiled. “I hardly recognize my road-partner.”
She wrinkled her nose, “I’d rather be able to breathe!” He frowned, but she waved the comment away. “Never mind, I’m just nervous.”
The doors opened suddenly and a path cleared as the heralds called for order. Alea could see the brilliant colors and lights just beyond and her excitement erased her nerves. “Give me your arm!” She gripped Arman’s forearm as she whispered at him. “We almost fit in here, with all the nobles.”
He jostled her with his elbow lightly.
She was about to retort, but the words were forgotten as they stepped through into the throne room. Wooden panels were folded back to show the expanse of the ballroom behind the dais. It was decorated in Athrolan’s colors. A network of gold-washed chains held chandeliers across the bottom of the dome. A cleared circle surrounded the area where the queen awaited them. She wore lavender as before, but now it was deeper and trimmed in blue.
Alea curtseyed, tugging Arman into a bow. “We are honored to be here, Your Majesty.”
Tzatia beckoned them over, “Dhoah’ Laen, let me introduce you to my court.” The silent nobles around her craned to catch a glimpse of the legendary guest.
Alea moved to stand beside the queen, Arman a step behind. The music began and the chatter renewed. Arman’s gaze followed Bren enviously as the lieutenant disappeared with the military members of their group.
“Only four of Athrolan’s seven provinces are represented officially tonight,” Tzatia explained. A tall, elder man approached at her gesture. “This is lord Tevon, Duke of Pardelan. His son, Geladai, is one of our naval commodores.”
Alea bowed her head. “Well met, my lord.”
“I saw your sister, Lord Tevon,” Tzatia noted. “If you would, tell her I wish to introduce her to Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”
Tevon smiled. “Of course.” He bowed. “If you excuse me, I’ll sample the newest fare of your kitchens.”
Tzatia laughed and waved him away. “We grew up together,” she confided. Over the next few minutes she had quietly introduced Alea and Arman to the Earl of Ceir Felden and the Duke of Ceir Tetran. As the latter moved off, Eras called the queen away.
Alea put a hand to her brow. The corset and press of people made her dizzy. “This is complicated.”
“I just hope there will not be an examination where we must remember every name.” Arman glanced over at the small clusters of dancing. “Even a waltz would be better than sitting through this procession of nobles.”
“Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.” A well-dressed man in blue suddenly filled Tzatia’s place. “I’m Sir Daymir of Ceir Athrolan, Her Majesty’s nephew.” Even without the mention, his dark hair and brown eyes spoke to the relation. Daymir glanced at Arman. “You must get weary of this. I certainly did when I was new to court.” He ignored Arman’s narrowed eyes and turned back to Alea. “My aunt suggested I give you a dance.”
Alea glanced at the extended hand. “I’d be delighted.”
Φ
Daymir’s brows rose at Alea’s steps. “You know many Athrolani dances?”
She smiled. “A very few. We learned the traditional ones from surrounding lands. Lately I’ve been practicing the less formal steps, however.” The current music was a quick, four pair dance. Alea enjoyed the brief introductions as they exchanged partners with several other nobles. When the dance ended she was breathless and her eyes bright.
“Shall we find a quieter corner of the room?” Daymir pressed a glass of lemon water into her hand and found a small alcove across the room.
She took a seat on the cushioned bench across from the nobleman. She observed him over the rim of her glass. He was over ten years her senior, but his eyes and energy were youthful.
“What do you think of our city?”
“She is beautiful.”
“If you have the chance, you should see the surrounding hills. I’d be happy to ride with you, if you’d like.”
Alea smiled, but she felt her guard rise. “Perhaps. I know Arman expressed an interest.”
“Your guard?” Daymir glanced across the room. “Is he truly Rakos?”
“Yes. He is learning himself, though, like I am. He will be incredibly powerful.” She took another sip of water. “You bear the title ‘sir.’ Are you a gallant?”
“I am, but my duties differ.” His gaze traced the dome above them. “Athrolan is not as beautiful as she once was. I hope you might brighten her a bit.”
“All legends fade.” She followed his gaze, thinking of An’thoriend. “She has faded with grace, if you insist she has at all.”
“The legend of you did not fade.” His thin face was intent.
Her gaze flicked to him, but she did not answer. There was interest in his eyes. Not the usual lust, but something calculating and curious. He was powerful and intelligent. Moreover, he knew it.
Φ
Arman took a deep sip from his goblet of mead. “Uncomfortable clothes aside—a man could get used to this.” He enjoyed the swirling colors and music, but only from a distance.
Reka’s lips thinned. “I need the quiet—this many people in one room makes my skin crawl.”
He laughed. “Fair enough.”
Reka nodded to where Bren sat close to a pretty young woman whose name Arman could not remember from their introductions. “I think he wants to get used to this life!”
“These people are not like those he’s accustomed to. The nobles play to keep, especially with the power he could have.”
Reka shrugged, “You people are too preoccupied with power. Besides, he says he doesn’t want it.”
“He may get it, either way. I think Her Majesty wants him to take up Mirik and be an ally.” Catching Alea’s brother’s eye, Arman waved him over.
The former lieutenant maneuvered his way through the crowd, leaning against the wall beside them. “How is your evening?” He grabbed two pastries from a passing page.
“Not as entertaining as yours, apparently.” The Bordermen had the unnerving habit of never smiling, which made it hard to tell joke from truth.
Seeing the crinkles at the corner of her eyes, Bren laughed and waved her words away. “It’s harmless flirting.”
Arman snorted. “Careful. Nobles are a different breed.”
Bren ignored him, scanning the crowd for Alea. She danced with Daymir again. “Lady Fariel mentioned that the queen’s nephew—with Alea—is next in line for the throne.” He offered Reka his hand. “Dance?” When Reka glanced up in surprise, he grabbed her hand.
“I suppose you’re the only one w
ho might tread on my feet as often as I do yours. I might actually look good in comparison.” She followed him out, and they pranced around. Bren laughed at their clumsiness and wrong moves and at the sometimes good-natured and sometimes haughty looks they received.
Breathless, Alea appeared beside Arman at the refreshment table. “I forgot how many muscles dancing involves! You think hand-to-hand fighting takes strength? Try a three-step! I’m glad that woman pulled Daymir into conversation or I’d never have gotten free. ”
Arman laughed. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”
“You’re not much for dancing?” She found a hand-plate and piled it high with candied fruit. “Have you tried anything? Is it good?”
Arman hid a grin at her barrage of questions. “Try the brown things. They’re filled with cream. You’ll enjoy it—it’s too sweet for my tastes.” He gestured to a free bench along the wall. “As for dancing—I never was very good. I hate making a fool of myself, especially in front of people I know little. I’ve always been a bit proud.”
“Hence why you ended up fighting through half your boyhood?”
He shot her a glance, one brow raised. “I thought you weren’t going to mention that story.”
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone else that you were acting like a paving cobble for several hours. I said nothing about reminding you that you’re human.” She lost herself for a moment as she tried the small pastry Arman had indicated.
“Only part of me.” He grinned broadly, displaying his teeth.
She wiggled her fingers, marbling her skin black in response. “Look at us, dueling powers for fun in the corner of a ball because we lack the socializing needed to mingle.”
“I thought you liked dancing with the heir to the throne.”
Alea’s brows rose. “He failed to mention that.” She picked Daymir out in the crowd. “The dancing was fine, but he looks at me oddly.”
“I think he’s trying to gauge you. You’re new, but unlike the other young, pretty women he has paraded before him, you’re Laen, you’re powerful, and you’re intelligent.”
“I’m certain other noble women are just as intelligent, Arman, but I see your point. I guess I’m not used to being scrutinized.”
“If you’re finished, may I?”
Alea stared at his half-smile and offered hand. “Are you taking my plate or asking me to dance?”
“If you can’t tell, perhaps I should rethink the offer.” He glanced over at the musicians. “I might as well make a fool of myself where rumors can’t get back home to Veredy.”
Alea laughed and took his hand. “Depending on how poorly you dance, they just might.”
Though his hand on her back was gentle, his steps were stiff and lacked his usual grace. He caught sight of Bren and Reka and snorted. “No one can argue he was raised in the barracks!”
Alea followed his gaze to where the two cut a wide swath through the other dancers. “Just think of the steps like combat motions.”
He watched the surrounding partners and tried to follow suit. “Strike, kick, step aside.” He responded. His eyes softened. “I suppose this isn’t terrible.”
“I promise I won’t tell Veredy. She might think I bespelled you if you’re dancing at a palace ball.”
Arman’s smile faded and he stepped away as the music ended. A strange series of expressions crossed his face, but he finally settled on a faint smile. “You should enjoy a better partner, thank you for tolerating my lack of skill.”
Alea watched him go for a moment before being swept up in another dance, this time opposite her brother. She did not dance with Arman or Daymir again, but by midnight her yawns were jaw-cracking.
She retreated to a corner to gulp down a glass of lemon water. The ball was beautiful and the dancing lively, but something nagged her. I do not feel like the Dhoah’ Laen. I feel like an imposter. This city’s grandeur is not meant for me, but some powerful inhuman creature. That thought stalled what remained of her excitement. Is that really what the Dhoah’ Laen is? Is that what I must become? Her stomach churned and she ducked out of the room, racing to her chambers. She was tired and the journey had taxed more than just her body. She tore off her fine gown, scattering tiny pearls. She felt more like herself without the trappings, but that was little comfort. The tiles of the privy floor bit into her bare knees. Must I give up being human?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The 31st Day of Vurgmord, 1251
The City of Ceir Athrolan
A PURPOSEFUL KNOCK WOKE Alea. She felt as if she had just closed her eyes, but the sky was light.
“Dhoah’ it is Valadai. Her Majesty wishes to pay you a visit in a quarter of an hour.”
Alea scrambled from the bed. “Of course, thank you!” She pulled on the dress from her audience, running a brush through her hair and re-braiding it.
As she tied the ribbons gathering her sleeves, Girre knocked and entered. She placed a tray of tea and bread on the table of the sitting area before straightening the bed sheets.
“I trust you find the bed comfortable?”
“I was reluctant to leave.” Alea smiled. She had forgotten what it was like to talk with other women and a sudden wave of sadness took her breath away. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
“My lady?”
“Forgive me. I was thinking of how much you remind me of my foster sister.”
Girre bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, my lady.”
Valadai's introduction of the queen interrupted Alea’s response. Alea rushed to stand by the sitting area.
Tzatia swept in, the picture of calm and benevolent charm. “Thank you for receiving me, Dhoah’ Laen.”
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty. Will you join me?” She motioned to the chairs, sitting across from the queen. She waited until Girre had poured them both a cup of tea and left before speaking again. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Tzatia savored the tea for a moment before fixing Alea with her dark eyes. “You speak noble language well, but let us drop the pretenses. I will not judge you for frank speech.” The wry wit in her eyes held the sharpness of a younger life. “I came to discuss our business today and your stay here.”
Alea leaned back, relieved, but curious. The queen bore her sixty-odd years with grace. Something about her iron-colored hair and fierce features reminded Alea of the Laen.
“It is tradition to accept an alliance as a favor, to which you would respond with gifts during the ceremony.” Her cheeks rounded with a smile. “I think you see the folly in such a thought when it comes to you and your guard. It may be that you need more defense, but…”she paused, as if finding the proper words.
“You need us.” Alea’s interest in economics paired with Daymir’s claim that Athrolan faded told her enough. “You need the inspiration of a cause.”
“Did your wisdom come when you discovered your power or were you always so astute?”
Alea laughed softly. “My pride wishes to say the latter, but it would be a lie. I have been blind to many things I see clearer now. I do not know whether my new insight is due to age, experience or something entirely different. My foster-father claimed intuition and insight were observations, when our conscious minds were not ready to see the reasons. Perhaps I am simply listening now.”
Tzatia’s clear gaze took the younger woman in without judgment. “You spoke of staying in this world for some time.”
“Many assume I will run to Le’yan. What I can learn from my people can wait. I cannot expect any to fight for me if I do not first pay my dues. Besides, I can learn things here that I cannot in isolation.”
“Athrolan will fight for you. Judging by my visit with the Banis ambassador, they will as well, despite their views towards women.”
“I am not a human woman.” Alea’s words were soft, as much out of fear for the truth as manners. She put down her cup. “I need you to understand that while my safety is important—”
“That is a
gross understatement.”
Alea flushed. “I am not given to conceit.”
“You have a right to it. Forgive me, please continue.”
“While my safety is imperative,” she amended, “I need to be in the battles. I need to see the bloodshed. I must learn all I can about our enemies and my allies so I might better train. For myself as well.” Her last words were whispered, and the queen did not press the matter. “Arman would argue that I should be shut away, lest I stove my smallest toe. That cannot be.”
Tzatia hid a smile. “I understand. I’m afraid I must get ready for the ceremony, but thank you for seeing me.” She paused at the door, fixing Alea with her pointed stare again. “If you need anything, do let me know. I am no longer young, but I understand the sharp edges of power and how deeply they can cut.”
Φ
Conversation buzzed behind the doors to the throne room. Alea could hear the patter of pages’ shoes against the stone as they hurried about last minute errands. Eras paused on her way by. “Dhoah’ Lyne’alea, Commander Dorcal agreed to escort you into the ceremony today, as a show of support.”
Alea winced. “Who thought of that one? The man detests me.”
Eras’ pinched expression could have been displeasure or a hidden laugh. “Very well, would you prefer Arman?”
“Milady can be on my arm.” Arman offered.
Alea drew a breath and closed her eyes. Who thought deciding how I enter a room would be my greatest decision. “Thank you, general, and Arman, but I think I can walk up to a dais on my own. If I can’t, the world has greater problems.”
The general held her hands up in surrender. This time her expression was certainly a disguised smile. She ducked into the throne room and pulled aside the herald. Silence fell as the queen’s entrance was announced. After a moment Valadai opened the doors for them.
“Dhoah’ Laen Lyne’alea of Le’yan.” Alea schooled her features into calmness. This is the moment you win over an entire kingdom. The throne room was bright and filled with many more noble families than she had met the night before. The throne itself was pushed back against the wooden panels of the wall behind. Tzatia stood at the dais. She dazzled in pure white and turquoise. Stitched white rays on her elaborate headdress drew gazes to the rough-cut aquamarine set in the official crown.
