Brine and Bone

by Kate Stradling

  And yet, she spoke a very small, “Yes.”

  He huffed a laugh and looked skyward. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re overthinking things, aren’t you?”

  “Probably.”

  He laughed again, with more sincerity this time. His charm thus renewed, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Magdalena stared, fascinated, as he held her gaze. A shiver raced up her spine, coupled with a vague regret that he had only kissed her fingers.

  “Oh. This is more promising than I thought,” said Finnian, as though he could read her mind. She, too perplexed to muddle through such teasing, tried to remove her hand, but he tightened his grip and pulled her into a proper kiss.

  A lovely, heart-fluttering kiss, one that shot delight through her, all the way to her toes. In its aftermath, Finnian pinned her with adoring eyes, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She couldn’t stop her own lips from curving upward.

  And a horribly unromantic thought occurred: where had he learned to kiss a girl with such finesse?

  He saw the change in her expression, because he drew back with a frown. Before she could speak a word, he said, “Magdalena, so help me, if you ask me whether I kiss all the ladies of the court—”

  “Do you?” she blurted. But she instantly held up her hands. “Don’t answer. I don’t want to know.”

  His charm turned wolfish. “Don’t you?” He stepped close again and snaked an arm around her waist before she could retreat. Her breath grew short—she dared not look away—but the predatory gleam in his eyes turned laughing. “Don’t be silly. I’d have a dozen scheming mamas at the palace doors demanding that I make their daughters an honest offer, and word would be all over the kingdom that I was a libertine. Which I’m not.”

  “Present evidence begs to differ,” she said, though a giddy light-heartedness tempted her to laugh.

  “Pining after one woman for years hardly a libertine makes,” he quipped, and he ducked his head to kiss her again, no less expert in this second execution.

  The scent of flowers and the dull roar of the ocean combined against her stubborn logic. She slid her arms around his neck and let the moment carry her away.

  “What now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes shut as though she might block the inevitable return to reality.

  He tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Now I try to resolve all the obstacles cluttering my life. You don’t mind these nighttime meetings, do you?”

  She looked up at last, a somber calm descending on her. “I don’t think they’re exactly appropriate.”

  He tipped his head to one side, considering. “Probably not. But I can’t see you during the day unless I’m carrying Lili, and that defeats the purpose.”

  How quickly such shimmering delight could fade. The communion of a scant minute ago dissolved. “There’s always lunch and supper,” she said cynically.

  “Where, I presume, my parents intend you to ensnare me with your feminine wiles.”

  “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

  He tightened his arms at her waist, preventing a retreat. Concern brimmed in his eyes. “What threat do they hang over you, Malena?”

  She curled her fingers around his lapel and absently studied its tailored edge. “It’s not… a threat, exactly. I have a duty to Ondile and to our alliance with Corenden.”

  In the darkness, he grew very still. “Are you here with me now out of duty to Ondile?”

  A spike of indignation lanced through her. She lifted flashing eyes to meet his gaze. “I’m here with you because you scandalously dragged me from my room in the middle of the night. And if you think I would let someone kiss me out of duty—”

  But he silenced the rest of this remark by engaging her mouth in that much more pleasant pastime. The fickle euphoria returned, though she did not trust it so completely this time.

  “Finnian—” she began as soon as she was able.

  “I only have to convince my parents to agree. All things considered, it shouldn’t take much.”

  “Agree?” she repeated, her mind dazed and her eyes clouded as she looked up at him.

  “To let me marry you.”

  A sardonic chuckle escaped her lips. “Oh.”

  “It’s not that they don’t approve, exactly. They just want me to wait a couple more years.”

  She fought amusement. “Well, they told me if I could lure you away from your foundling, I could have you.”

  He drew back to regard her with mock reproach. “And you didn’t even try.”

  The laugh escaped, though with a rueful twist. “The whole court already thinks I’m heartbroken because I’m on the verge of tears whenever she’s with you. I wasn’t about to add ‘desperate and pathetic’ to their list of charges.”

  He planted a matter-of-fact kiss upon her. “All right. I’ll fix it.”

  “Fix what?”

  “Everything. You will marry me, won’t you?”

  Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. “Yes, if you want me.”

  “I do. More than anything. And I must say, this courtship has gone infinitely better than I thought it would.”

  Too many emotions pressed upon her. Finnian swept her into a warm embrace, and the night breeze swirled its whispered approval around them.

  Chapter 11

  The banquet hall buzzed with conversation. Cutlery clinked against plates up and down the table, and laughter twittered from the far end. Magdalena focused on her lunch, hyperaware of the prince in the chair beside her and half wondering if she had dreamed everything the night before.

  Finnian had arrived behind his parents, with Lili snuggled up in his arms. After setting her on her cushion, he had taken his seat with little more than an encouraging smile to Magdalena.

  Doubts and misgivings fluttered through her. At any given moment, half a dozen court ladies whispered to one another as they glanced snidely at her. Too many of them considered her defeat a personal triumph. How would they feel if the prince actually followed through with the proposal he had made in the garden last night?

  She jumped when a tinkling note echoed through the room. Finnian tapped the handle of his knife against his cut crystal goblet and stood from his chair. Magdalena looked to him in alarm, but he only spared her a brief glance as he surveyed the company.

  His charming smile contrasted with the stricken hush that fell. “Everyone, I have an announcement to make.”

  At the head of the table, the king reached for the queen’s hand and gripped it tight. They both appeared as though the world was about to end, and their son seemed not to care one whit.

  Finnian raised his glass to make a toast. “It is my great pleasure to announce my engagement and upcoming marriage—” Devilish soul that he was, he paused on this word and savored the pall upon the room. Magdalena stared up at him in horror as he cheerfully met her gaze and finished, “—to Magdalena of Ondile.”

  Gasps punctured the air, followed by a smattering of applause.

  King Ronan, in a voice of mingled relief and reproof, said, “My son, should you not have told your own parents before announcing this joyful news to the whole court?”

  Finnian feigned bewilderment. “I did tell you, Father. I told you ages ago.”

  The king turned a ruddy hue. “Have you applied to the Grand Duke, then?”

  “He won’t object. At any rate, the news was much too happy to keep to myself.” Finnian resumed his seat. He caught one of Magdalena’s hands from her lap and raised it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. His gray eyes laughed.

  She could look nowhere else, too aware of the gaping nobles who, moments previous, believed her a jilted former favorite. The abruptness of the announcement, the lack of warning, all worked her heart into a tremored rhythm.

  The prince leaned close and said, “I told you I would fix everything.”

  Conscious of the many nobles who observed their private in
terchange, she whispered, “How does this fix things?”

  “It establishes what is real and what is not.”

  “But—” Pain lanced through her legs. She winced and looked to the wall. Finnian twisted toward to his silver-haired foundling.

  The exquisite creature stood beside her cushion, her speaking blue eyes enormous. Her haunted expression shot a pang of terror up Magdalena’s spine.

  “Lili,” the prince began, his voice tinged with charm.

  The foundling bobbed her head, as though offering congratulations, and like a frightened gazelle, she bounded from the room. Conversations stuttered to a halt. Magdalena gripped Finnian’s hand and curled in on herself until the fiery phantom blades ceased their assault. During this episode, the prince dragged his chair near and draped a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “My dear, are you quite all right?” Queen Orla asked across the table.

  Magdalena schooled her pain into something neutral. “Yes,” she said, and she exchanged a glance with her affianced. The warmth of his apologetic eyes bolstered her.

  Lunch ended soon afterward. When she attempted to return to her apprenticeship, the queen stood in her path. “So many plans and preparations to make. No, Finnian, we don’t need you. Your time might be better spent applying to the Grand Duke for the permission you only assume he will give.”

  Before the prince could reply, Queen Orla whisked her future daughter-in-law away from the banquet hall, and away from all the waiting nobles who hovered in hopes of ingratiating themselves to their future monarchs.

  “You managed things quite well,” the queen said when they achieved the solitude of her private parlor. “I’ll admit I didn’t expect such success, and certainly not so soon.”

  “Nor did I,” said Magdalena.

  Queen Orla studied her, but whatever she sought eluded her. “Well, I won’t ask how you did it. He’s announced before the court that he’ll have you for his bride, so it’s done. The wedding shouldn’t take more than a week to prepare.”

  Magdalena nearly choked. “So soon?”

  The queen glanced her over from head to toe. “When a bride and groom live under the same roof, even a roof as large as this one, sooner is better.” An enterprising gleam lit her eyes. “Unless you wish to return to Ondile for a visit before you marry…?”

  “No, but—”

  She waved aside the protest on Magdalena’s lips. “This gives your parents enough time to travel here. Were they not coming from so far, I would have everything ready in two days instead of the week. My dear, you must know we have an army of servants at our disposal. You will make a lovely bride.”

  She summoned her own dressmaker that very afternoon, and by sunset Magdalena had been measured and poked and plied for a dozen opinions on fabric, lace, flowers, and refreshments, until her head spun and doubts fluttered at the edge of her thoughts.

  After the dizzying session ended, she trudged through the marbled halls with every intention of holing up in her bedroom for the rest of the night. A throat cleared, and she looked to an adjoining corridor to find Captain Byrne waiting for her.

  “It’s almost suppertime, milady.”

  Magdalena’s heart plummeted. “What? No. I already did what they asked of me.” Indeed, when letting her go, Queen Orla hadn’t even hinted at seeing her again that evening.

  “As the prince’s future bride, your place is with the royal family,” the captain said. “Do you want to change first, or shall I escort you to the waiting area?”

  She looked down at the dark gray of her dress. “Change into what?” Everything in her trunk was roughly that same cut and color. All her pretty dresses remained in Ondile.

  Captain Byrne seemed to understand in an instant. “Come on,” he said, and gently he led her up the hallway. Her nerves rekindled as they went. Where had Finnian spent his afternoon? Where was the foundling? Had she gone back to the sea, or did she lurk in some shadowed corner of the palace?

  Or had she returned to the prince? Lili’s pleading eyes flashed before Magdalena, the heartbreak within them almost palpable. She pushed away the memory and its accompanying guilt.

  The waiting area, a sitting room lavishly furnished, had only dim lanterns for light. Captain Byrne ushered her inside and lengthened the wicks on those nearest the door. He was about to retreat, but he stiffened with suspicion.

  “Your Highness, are you already in here?”

  After a long, tense moment, a sigh issued from the depths of a wingback chair that faced the opposite direction. A pair of feet lowered to the floor. Finnian stood and turned a baleful glare upon his appointed chaperone.

  Captain Byrne dutifully positioned himself by the door.

  “It’s not necessary for you to stay, you know.”

  “It’s more necessary now than ever, your Highness.”

  Magdalena glanced between the pair, fighting the urge to laugh. Her affianced beckoned to her with wagging fingers. She joined him and took the hand he offered. He plopped back into his chair, dragging her with him.

  A protest bubbled from Magdalena’s throat, and embarrassment flooded her face. The chair, roomy enough for one person, did not so easily accommodate two. Finnian had her sprawled across his lap, his arm tight around her waist. She had instinctively placed hers around his neck to steady herself.

  “Your Highness, show some decorum, please,” said a long-suffering Captain Byrne, now out of sight by the door.

  “We’re engaged,” the prince said over his shoulder. His stare held Magdalena’s, and she could hardly breathe from the intimacy of it. “If you’re going to intrude on a pair of lovers, you don’t deserve decorum.”

  He kissed her then, a soft and captivating welcome.

  A shadow fell across them, and Magdalena glanced up and then away with a deep blush.

  “Yes, I was wondering about that,” said the captain. Far from being ruffled by their intimate position, he seemed not to notice. “You two are a lot closer than expected, given that I’ve chaperoned your every encounter. Except I haven’t, have I?”

  A chuckle vibrated in Finnian’s chest. “Go away. So help me, if ever you fall in love, I’m commanding an entire platoon to dog your steps.”

  Captain Byrne hummed, a cynical sound, but he did withdraw.

  “Malena, pretend he’s not here,” the prince whispered, mischief dancing in his eyes.

  “Your parents might arrive any minute now,” she said. “Do you really want them to find us like this?”

  He answered her with another kiss, clearly unconcerned with the king and queen’s impending advent.

  “Where’s Lili?” Magdalena asked, breathless.

  “Don’t know. Couldn’t find her.”

  “Do you think she’s gone back to the sea?”

  “I don’t know. This is for you.” He fished into his pocket and withdrew a small ring, which he slipped on the third finger of her left hand.

  She looked down at the pearl that gleamed within it. Tiny, glittering diamonds flanked either side.

  “It’s been in the family for generations,” said the prince. “It suits you.”

  Her heart swelled. She kissed his cheek. “It’s perfect.”

  The door latch clicked, suspending any further intimacy. With a sigh, Finnian shifted Magdalena from his lap. They both rose, hands clasped, as King Ronan and Queen Orla entered.

  “Oh!” The queen regarded the pair in surprise before her gaze shifted to her future daughter-in-law. “My dear, you did not dress for supper.”

  Finnian spoke before Magdalena could respond. “Why are women so concerned with their clothes? She always looks nice.” He led her to the opposite side of the room. Together they settled on a small sofa. The king and queen exchanged an uncertain glance, but they were too grateful for their son’s present choice of companion to make a fuss, lest he revert to the previous one.

  The atmosphere of the room, stiff and stuffy, broke with the tinkling of a dinner bell. Captain Byrne open
ed wide the doors and accompanied the royal entourage to the banquet hall, where the nobles of the court had already assembled. Magdalena, despite her dark dress and simple appearance, stiffened her posture and entered on the prince’s arm as though she were already queen.

  As the servants circled with the first course, the orchestra in the corner struck the notes of a lively tune.

  Phantom fire burst up Magdalena’s legs.

  Instinctively she clutched Finnian’s forearm, her fingers digging into the folds of his coat sleeve. He looked first to her and then to the line of dancers gliding into the hall. Long, silver hair fluttered from their midst. Finnian started to rise, as though to stop them, but Magdalena jerked him down. She bit the inside of her cheek and mutely shook her head.

  It would cause too much of a spectacle.

  Stricken, he clasped her hand and drew his chair a fraction closer.

  Every stabbing footstep Lili took raised bile in Magdalena’s throat, the pain so excruciating that she could hardly stand it. The foundling danced with the grace of a swan upon the waters. Her slender arms arched and fluttered, and her feet seemed not to touch the floor. The glamour, at its brightest, most vibrant state, shielded the awful, tattered truth from view with a dazzling façade.

  How the foundling managed, Magdalena could not understand. The rapture of the company, the lyrical highs of the music, faded in her ears. She curled her feet in her shoes and tried to focus on something—anything—besides the dancing girl, but every step beat like a drum against her, knives and swords shoving into her heels, shattering her bones until she could bear it no more.

  And Lili danced on as though her very life depended on it.

  The empathy magic expanded. Physical pain burst and flowered with heartache and grief and a precious something forever lost.

  “Such a moving performance,” said the nobleman on Magdalena’s left, his eyes never leaving the graceful foundling.

  “She really is the prettiest little thing,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper.

  Finnian pressed a handkerchief to her cheek. She turned to him in wonder and realized she was crying.

  “We can leave,” he uttered, too low for anyone else to overhear. “Out the side door. No one but Gil would notice us.”