Duchess Carlas Rhismordith stood fanning herself in the center of the vast marble-floored chamber as she scowled at the servants putting the finishing touches to the decorations, then at the door, where she was expecting her son Garian.
The hot, breathless air had felt thundery for the past three days. Clear, bright sky and hot winds were not the weather for a ball, yet the Duchess had insisted on holding one in honor of the birth of Queen Rhis’s first child, Mordith—the ancestor of the Rhismordith family. Teressa leaned on a cool marble balustrade, lifting her face to the weak breeze ruffling up the stairway. It was too hot for a ball, and everyone seemed out of sorts.
Teressa knew that she was. The others could blame their bad moods on the weather if they wanted, but she knew the real cause for her own: everyone was far too busy minding Teressa’s business, unasked, and she didn’t want to listen to any of them.
She glanced at herself in the long framed mirror in the wall. The mirror was an old one, its glass dark and blurry. Her features were just discernable above the severe gown of sheer pale blue layers trimmed only with silver leaves along the neck and sleeves; unexpectedly Teressa was reminded of her mother.
How that hurt! Grief never seems to go away. Teressa glowered at her own image in the mirror. It just hides, and leaps out to claw at your heart when you least expect it.
But feeling sorry for herself would not bring her mother back. She forced herself away from the mirror, and down the last of the broad marble steps.
Duchess Carlas waited, her posture stiff. Her sharp nose, already elevated, now twitched. Teressa hated it when her aunt did that, as if she smelled something disgusting.
“Good evening, Aunt Carlas.”
The Duchess looked Teressa over from top to toe, then her thin lips creased in the condescending smile that Teressa also hated. “A fine gown. You can wear blue, unfashionable color though it is.”
Anger burned behind Teressa’s ribs. As always, she clenched her jaw against a retort, because her mother had always said, Kindness never makes anything worse, and can often make things better.
Hawk’s mocking smile flashed in memory. He’d said about Garian, Someone should tell him to avoid red. Unless he wants to look like a skinny-legged, poke-nosed rooster.
Teressa had quoted her mother’s line, to which Hawk retorted, If that was true, where is your mother now?
That made Teressa angry—everything made her angry, including this impossible heat. She gave in to impulse, just once. “Then I’ll make it a fashion.”
The Duchess’s arched brows shot up toward her hairline, and her lips pressed into a line. Then she said in a measured voice, “I wish Mirlee could wear that color. Or that style. But she is formed like me. Delicate.”
Like a broomstick. Teressa could hear it in Hawk’s sardonic tone, but she kept that thought to herself. She was not going to emulate Hawk’s irritating habit of sarcasm, and she would certainly admit to no one that she’d chosen this gown because Wren had admired it. How she missed Wren!
The Duchess snapped her fan open and fluttered it. “Well, never mind. Mirlee isn’t here. And isn’t likely to be, not until our Rhismordith land recovers. She’s as well where she is.” She glared as her son Garian hastened in, his crimson brocade over-robe floating out behind him.
Like a rooster tail, Teressa thought. No, she wouldn’t say that, either.
“Sorry, mother.” Garian gave the Duchess a respectful nod and Teressa a proper bow. “Things to see to.”
“You ought to remember to be on time,” the Duchess scolded. “Your father always was. Always. He said it was part of a duke’s responsibility to set the standard, and others will follow.”
“M’father had about fifty more servants than I do,” Garian retorted, shrugging. “Some things this duke has to see to himself.”
His mother gave a delicate sniff. “Go on up to the gallery, and see that the musicians are ready. Teressa and I must stay here by the entry, as the guests are due any moment.”
As if waiting for her signal the steward entered, thumped his staff on the ground, and began announcing the arrivals.
A flurry of conversation and laughter preceded the first guests. The women dressed in filmy layers, some in many colors, some only one. The men wore long, loose embroidered robes over tunic-shirts made of silk, or lawn, or very fine linen—all except Hawk, who arrived alone, dressed as always in flawlessly fitted black and gold.
Duchess Carlas gasped. “I did not invite him,” she whispered. “I deliberately did not invite him. He’ll not rule here, and so I meant to show—”
Anger burned even hotter through Teressa. So that was why her aunt had insisted on having this stupid ball, and then pretended all that nonsense about Teressa sharing the hostess duties to show family unity.
Hawk strolled through the middle of the guests, apparently unaware of the whispers behind fluttering fans as they parted to let him pass.
He stopped before Teressa and the Duchess. After the faintest of smiles he executed a perfect bow, equal to equal. Then he held out his hand to the Duchess, as if daring her to put hers into his.
Every guest was watching.
The Duchess stiffened. But manners won; she laid her thin, wrinkled hand on his strong, callused palm.
He bent his glossy black head and kissed her hand.
Well, after that, it would have been too awkward to demand why he was there. He knew it, the Duchess knew it, and he knew they knew; Teressa was almost dizzy with bitter laughter.
He stepped back to make way for the guests standing behind him, cut a brief, sardonic smile in Teressa’s direction, then sauntered away to the cooled drinks.
All the ladies appeared to be watching him over fans, or cups, or in groups. Some of the lords as well, with various expressions of disgust. There was no doubt that Hawk stood out in a room. And further, he didn’t care. So far he had never flirted with any of them, he just danced with Teressa a few times, then left.
He’s here for me. She felt that shivery lightning in her bones.
A step and a rustle close by broke her reverie. The newcomer was Garian’s old friend Perd, who had gotten quite tall and broad. Perd was escorting his cousin Merelda. Teressa forced herself to bow, smile, greet, murmur polite nothings, and turn to the next.
As soon as the last guest had arrived and the enormous carved doors were closed, Teressa walked away to get something cool to drink.
Hawk fell in step beside her. She was aware of him before she saw him—something about the leisurely ring of his heels on the floor, somehow an arrogant sound. Characteristic. She met his dark, appreciative gaze. Tingling flame sparked through her nerves. “Why did you come?” she asked abruptly. “It’s so hot, and everyone is cross.”
“I came because I wasn’t asked.” He grinned when she couldn’t prevent a tiny gasp. “Or did you expect me to say something gallant about not being able to keep away from you?” He laughed. “But you already know that, and I never repeat myself.”
She snapped her fan open. “You knew my aunt would never commit a breach of manners.”
He snorted. “Someone has to stand up to that old woman. It’s past time.” At her frown he said, “Don’t try to tell me you don’t hate her.”
“I never liked her when I was younger. But we get along all right now. And you would have looked pretty stupid if she’d summoned the guard to have you thrown out.”
“They would have looked stupid if they’d tried. And you would not have liked their blood spilled all over your nice marble floor.” Hawk gave a soft, derisive laugh. “You hated Carlas Rhismordith when you were younger, and you hate her now.”
“You do not know what I think.”
He shrugged. “If I’d given in to her little ploy and stayed away—so very polite—all the rest of these fools would have followed right behind her, having breakfasts and games and gambling parties and balls and masquerades—and not an invitation for the wicked Duke of Rhiscarlan. Don’t tell me it isn�
��t true.”
Teressa shook her head. “If you were more polite to them, maybe that would change.”
Hawk glanced across the ballroom at Garian. Teressa followed his look. Garian was tall and thin. The red he loved made his gold-tinged skin look sallow. He had his mother’s sharp nose and his father’s spade chin. His partner, Darla Kilyan, was short and charmingly round, which called attention to his worst attributes so that he did resemble a rooster. He would never be handsome, but Teressa had come to like him. His smile was shy as Darla laughed teasingly up into his face.
“You mean to pretend Rhismordith isn’t a twit?” Hawk looked around. “Speaking of twits, I notice your hound isn’t here. Not high-born enough for an invite?”
“Tyron was invited, but had other things to do.” Teressa resolutely kept her voice even.
Tyron had written: I made my excuses to your aunt, but you know the truth: until you can hear me again, there’s no use wasting time in sitting around your palace talking to the air. I’m needed here for far too many tasks.
Teressa let some of her mounting irritation slip. “And that’s the last time I’ll listen to you calling him ‘the hound.’ I hate that. His name is Tyron. Use it.”
“Or what?” Hawk retorted, still smiling. “Challenge me to a duel here on the ballroom floor? Or out behind the barracks at dawn, where Garian and Nyl and Marit used to play at swords a few years ago? He’s always going to be ‘the hound’ to me.”
Teressa turned her back and walked away. She felt hot and cold at the same time, her ears pricking as she listened for his step, but she reached the refreshment table alone. With trembling fingers she poured a cup of the fruit punch, her attention assiduously on the magic-made ice floating like an island in the center of the punch bowl. She sipped, keeping her gaze on her cup as if her future lay written in the pleasant reddish liquid. Inwardly she braced for Hawk’s derisive voice, and mentally considered several possible retorts.
But when she finished the cup without hearing his voice she set it down and turned around, her fan languidly stirring the hot, stale air. Hawk had remained on the other side of the room, and not alone, either. He was talking to little Teressa Kaledd, the newest and prettiest girl in court—the one everyone was starting to call Robin, because she reminded them of a little red bird. Robin stood stiff and outraged, her face half-turned away. But she didn’t move.
Several other courtiers drifted near, obviously listening, even though they pretended not to—both male and female.
Teressa, for once alone, for once not the center of attention, watched how, without expending any effort whatsoever, Hawk commanded the attention of the entire room.
He said something. Robin shook her bright red ringlets. He spoke again—and suddenly she laughed.
And when the musicians began a brannel, and Hawk held out his hand, Robin—the most popular girl in court—placed the tips of her fingers daintily on his palm and stepped out, still laughing, to join the forming dance.
Teressa found her cousin Garian at her side, his flushed face clashing horribly with his beloved crimson.
“Shall we dance?” she asked brightly.
He bowed and held out his hand.
o0o
Tyron slipped out of the magic school before dawn. As he walked up the road toward the royal palace a hot, humid wind whipped at his tunic. Rain on the way. Good for the crops. He gave the low gray clouds a sour grin. And good if it settled in for the next three weeks and spoiled Teressa’s planned lake party.
Except she’d just hold it another day.
He hurried his steps as the first spatters of rain began to chuff on the dusty road. The rain was beginning in earnest when he reached the guard barracks behind the palace.
Early as it was, Garian awaited him, with fresh-baked rolls, buttered eggs, and pan-fried potatoes on a side table, along with a frosty-sided jug of berry punch. Garian was dressed in a deep blue velvet tunic studded with rubies and embroidered in gold, clothing entirely appropriate for a formal court affair, but inappropriate for a hot summer morning.
Unless it was meant to intimidate.
Tyron realized his own expression must have changed when Garian’s thin face reddened slightly. “This ridiculous getup is for a party later today, and I won’t have time to go back and change. Far too much to do.” He fought a sudden yawn, looking tired. “Sit down. Have some breakfast. If you’re as busy as I am, this might be the last chance to eat until tonight.”
Tyron sat down gratefully. “Thanks.”
As Tyron helped himself to the food, Garian said, “I wanted to report my plans, but maybe they won’t be needed.”
Tyron paused. “Why do you say that?”
“You weren’t there at my mother’s ball last night. You didn’t see Teressa ignore Hawk Rhiscarlan the entire evening. He spent the whole time dancing with everyone else—especially Robin, um, Teressa’s namesake.”
“I know who she is,” Tyron reminded him.
Garian’s brow puckered. “Maybe Teressa’s gotten sick of him?”
“Did she watch him?”
“Huh?”
Tyron smothered a sigh. Garian was Teressa’s own cousin. How could he not know her? “Did she spend the whole evening watching him?”
“I don’t know.” Garian frowned. “Well, yes, she did. At least when we were dancing. But she was glaring at him the whole time.”
Tyron shook his head. “Let’s not count on her being sick of him, then.”
Garian sighed, then leaned forward, more sure of himself. “All right. Then here’s what I’ve been doing. I have someone assigned to every one of Hawk’s so-called honor guard. Three of whom have been strolling around court asking friendly questions about garrisons in other cities, and how many warriors, and who trains them, and what sort of defensive plans they have in place. Most of the nobles don’t know those things.” Garian raised a cup in his ringed fingers and gave Tyron a sour smile. “I instructed the three who do know to lie like rugs. They all distrust Hawk, so I foresee no problem with their cooperation. He won’t get any information that we don’t want to give him.”
“And on two-moons’ night you’ll have the lake under guard in addition to your people watching Hawk’s men?”
“Yes. I have every single possible angle of attack covered. Mistress Bentla will have a band of archers in the trees before any of the servants even arrive to set up Teressa’s party. I’ll have people on watch in all the stables, and on the roads and paths in and out.”
Tyron nodded. “Good. As for the magic end, I’m going to pace the entire lake with four of our best and quietest third year students. We’ll have several wards laid before Hawk so much as sets foot in a boat. I’ll also have two mages and several trusted mage students in the trees with your archers, on the watch for magic trickery. And of course I and a couple of the mages will be on hand, supposedly just to provide the fireworks.”
Garian laughed. “We’ll have more defenders lurking in the trees than Teressa will have guests.”
“If that’s what it takes to keep her safe,” Tyron said.
“Yes, if that’s what it takes to keep her safe,” Garian repeated. Then he added, his smile gone, “If she hasn’t quarreled with him, just how long are we going to have to keep half the city on watch to guard her safety?”
“Until he leaves,” Tyron said.
Garian glared out the window. “It feels sneaky, I have to admit. This going behind Teressa’s back. You know she could have kept her grudge against us—my family, that is. Against me. But she never did.”
“She never liked your father, and seldom agreed with his views, but she trusted him to do exactly what he said he would,” Tyron said. “Trust and friendship don’t always go together.”
Garian looked uncertain again. “Oh, I think we’ve become fairly good friends.”
Tyron nodded. “Yes, you have. But I meant that comment about Hawk. I don’t trust him, but I don’t like him, either. So knowing how to treat w
ith him is easy for me—I don’t want to trust him, I just want him out of my life. Easy. For Teressa, it’s not so simple. I hope she will begin to see that liking someone doesn’t make them worthy of trust.”
Garian grimaced. “You think she likes him?”
“I think she and half the court find him attractive. Why, I can’t tell you.”
“Mirlee used to go on about that,” Garian said. “I can sort of see it. She said it’s like trying to tame a wild horse, or an eagle.”
Tyron muttered, “Wren would say it’s like trying to tame a poisonous snake.”
He hadn’t meant to say it, but Garian burst out with a high crow of laughter, and then sobered instantly. “So you think it’s impossible that he can be trusted?”
“I don’t know,” Tyron admitted. “Teressa did point out once that I don’t trust him because I dislike him—that my argument cuts both ways. I’ll grant that much. But I want him to prove he can be trusted, as once he proved, right here in this palace, he could not be trusted.”
“But during the war he did aid our side.”
“He did it to score off King Andreus of Senna Lirwan. Told us so himself. Then later . . .” Tyron looked at the rain beating against the window. “Later he took an interest in Teressa. I think he took an interest in Princess Teressa—who was just about to become queen at a very young age, with no inconvenient father or mother around. When I dropped a hint about that, well, you can see how insulting Teressa would find it. Nobody wants to be liked just for their title. They want to be liked for themselves.”
“Oh, yes.” Garian rubbed his chin. “You’re right there, and don’t I know it! However, I’m not the one who needs convincing, and Teressa inherited King Verne’s stubbornness.”
Tyron was thinking, I never would have believed I’d trust Garian Rhismordith. So maybe things can change after all. Out loud he said, “The question becomes, what does he want from her?”
“The crown? But he seems to like her,” Garian said. “He was watching her last night, I dare swear as much as she watched him. I know because she danced with me three times, and every one of those times, I couldn’t look up without seeing him sneering at me.”
Wren Journeymage Page 9
