Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “I do, Julian. This is Imogen, she is the Kirkellan ambassador to Tremontane, and I think you can see why I brought her to you.”

  “I can’t tell you how honored I am at your trust in me. She will be the greatest challenge of my career.” Julian circled Imogen, muttering things she couldn’t hear, until she became annoyed.

  “I am not a statue,” she said, “and I do not want to stand in one place for you to look at.” She wasn’t sure what the man meant by “challenge,” but she bristled at the thought that he saw her body as strange and difficult.

  “My dear young woman—Imogen, is it?—forgive me, but I simply want to examine your form.”

  “I am not strange.”

  Julian blinked up at her. “Good heaven, who said you were strange? You are unusual, which is far more interesting. I must understand how you are built before I design your gown. It must flatter your shape without making you look bulky, accentuate your height, keep that lovely bustline from being overshadowed by the rest of you…as I said, the greatest challenge of my career.”

  “Gowns, Julian, gowns plural,” Alison corrected him. “The ambassador will have a great many social obligations and I’m sure you understand what that means.”

  The man raised his eyes to heaven. “A wonderful gift indeed. Now.” He clapped his hands sharply, and a man and two women emerged from the back room and ranged themselves in front of him. “David, the samples book. Etta, bring my stool. The tall one. Sylvia, refreshments for our guests. We have a great deal of work to do.”

  It was nothing like Imogen’s previous experience with being measured. The woman in Ranstjad had taken many notes and asked questions about Imogen’s preferred colors, then sent her away and delivered the dresses three days later. Julian, by contrast, made no notes, and his measuring tape whipped around her so rapidly it dizzied her. “Yes,” he said, “a bustle would be ridiculous, look at what heaven has already gifted you with,” and “Proportions, it’s all about proportions,” and “No, milady Consort, I feel I must direct you away from the thicker fabrics; I know they’re lovely, but we want them to drape.” Imogen understood about two-thirds of what he said. She stood in the center of the flying tape, then sat and ate something called a cream puff and had to follow it with six more, they were divine and sweet and cold all at once, and stood again to be measured. Alison flipped through a thick book with David at her elbow, pointing at fabrics of all colors and textures. Imogen stopped her once and put her finger on an eight-inch square of red silk. “This is for wearing on the outside?” she asked in astonishment, and when David assured her it was, added, “Then I want this.”

  Julian detached the square from the book and held it up against her skin. “Yes, I think so,” he said, and tossed it at Etta. “See if we have this in back. You’ll have to get more sun, my dear, I can tell it’s been a long winter for you.”

  Julian’s assurances that the first of Imogen’s dresses would be ready in two days followed them out of the shop. Imogen sat down heavily in the carriage and said, “Clothing is tiring.”

  “It’s time for dinner,” Alison said, pulling a round silver Device out of her trouser pocket and looking at it. “I know cook will be annoyed, but I don’t feel like waiting for dinner at the palace. We’ll go to a restaurant.”

  Imogen was amazed all over again that there were places in Aurilien where you could sit down without being expected and have food brought to you. That they could afford to take the chance the food might go uneaten astonished her. Clothes made with no one particular in mind. Food cooked for people who might not show up. A whole carriage-load of boxes only for her, more than Victory could ever dream of carrying. She looked down at her lap.

  “Don’t you like the chicken, Imogen?” Alison said.

  “I do not think I belong here,” she said quietly. “It is not that I fear losing myself. It is that I do not know what Tremontane wants from us that is not horses and warriors.”

  Alison sipped her cup of tea. “It is because we want more from you than horses and warriors that you belong here,” she said. “I imagine our countries could have arranged a treaty of mutual aid, only meeting when danger threatened, but I believe Jeffrey felt that was a rather cold kind of relationship, and I’m sure Mairen agreed. We’ve had diplomatic ties to Veribold and Eskandel for years, but I don’t think it occurred to anyone to look for a similar connection to the Kirkellan until Hrovald’s aggression made it necessary. And how…again, the word ‘cold’ comes to mind…how cold to simply ask for your help and then behave as though you didn’t exist.”

  “I am not sure I understand all of that. Tremontane wishes to be friends and not just allies?”

  “There, you put it into the words I kept flailing around to find. You’re already a better diplomat than I am.” Alison smiled and took another drink. “You might ask that question of Jeffrey, if you can catch him when he isn’t running around putting out fires. I mean, solving problems,” she said, when Imogen’s brow furrowed at the unfamiliar expression. “He’s the one who made the treaty, after all.”

  “Thank you for telling me. And thank you for helping me stay myself. I like you very much.”

  “I like you too, Imogen. Shall we have dessert?”

  They returned to the embassy in the early afternoon, carrying boxes and bundles from the carriage—“I see no reason to summon a servant when we both have two perfectly good hands,” Alison said—and entered only for Imogen to drop parts of her burden when Elspeth leaped on her, crying, “I’m so sorry I said those things! It was terrible of me! Can you forgive me?”

  “You can first forgive me for being stubborn,” Imogen said, setting down the rest of her parcels to embrace Elspeth. “I am ready now to be ambassador.”

  “I’m so glad. Oh, Mother! What are you doing here?”

  “We have been shopping.” Alison set down her armload of packages.

  “Without me? Unfair! You know I like it better than you do. Imogen, what did you get? Oh, I love this shirt. Did she take you to Julian? You are going to love—”

  “Elspeth, love, take a breath. You really do need to learn to contain yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. I do love getting new clothes. How many gowns did you buy?”

  Imogen looked sharply at Alison. “You did not say buy.”

  “How else did you expect we would get all of this?”

  “But I do not have money.”

  “You do, actually. The embassy has a line of credit thanks to Tremontane’s purchase of a large number of Kirkellan horses. You should probably outfit your tiermatha. They’ll attend diplomatic events with you and will need proper attire, though I should think one or two items of formal wear will be enough.”

  “Oh! I’ll go with you all!” Elspeth exclaimed.

  “I am…overwhelmed,” said Imogen.

  Alison took her hand. “Don’t be,” she said. “You’ll find people are the same wherever you go, even if society changes. Wait until you see the other ambassadors, and you’ll understand when I tell you whatever small mistake you make will be overlooked. People want to meet you, Imogen, they want to know you for who you are. I predict you won’t have any difficulty remaining yourself.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll leave you to Elspeth. Elspeth, Imogen won’t want to do any more shopping today, so don’t tease her. Imogen, I’ll see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

  “Why will you see me then?”

  Alison smiled mischievously. “Well, you’ll need to learn how to dance.”

  The Kirkellan danced. There were dances for weddings and dances for the celebration of a good hunt, dances that told stories and even dances to remember the ones who had passed on. They were wild, lively dances with a strong beat, accompanied by the sonorous deep belling of the kurkara, the light birdlike whistling of the balaeri. They were not stilted, formal things in which you had to remember where your feet went all the time and where the music dragged you along, beat by beat, as if it too wished it were somewhere else. Imogen
clasped Elspeth’s hand and counted silently. She hoped this time they wouldn’t run into the chairs that had been shoved back against the wall to make room for the dancers.

  “…one two three, one two back, no, back, not forward,” Elspeth said. “Mother, I don’t think this is working. I keep forgetting I’m supposed to be the man.”

  “I do not understand why it is the man and the woman have different steps.”

  “Because if they both did the same steps, they would either walk away from each other or walk into each other,” Alison explained. She pushed the large brass button that shut off the Device playing the dance music. Imogen regarded it with suspicion. Maybe Tremontanan dances were more exciting with live music, as Elspeth assured her there was. “Let’s take a rest for a bit.”

  The four other Kirkellan couples relaxed and stepped away from each other. “This is much more difficult than hitting a target at speed,” Dorenna said, massaging her foot where Kallum had stepped on it.

  “If you didn’t insist on taking the lead, this would go more smoothly,” he replied.

  Revalan, who’d sat out this round of dancing because there were only four women in the tiermatha, said, “I like it. It’s smooth and flowing. Pity we won’t do any dancing. Can you imagine trying to ask a woman to dance, or be asked, when all you can do is grunt and gesture?”

  “Maybe we need to learn the words for ‘Will you dance with me?’ Saevonna said. She, like Revalan, had taken to dancing quickly. “One of you others needs to take a turn with me. Kalain, you’ve been sitting for far too long.”

  Imogen said, “At least you get to dance with a man. I don’t think Elspeth is teaching me properly.”

  “I can understand your language, Imogen.”

  “I know. I wanted you to hear that.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jeffrey said from the doorway, “but I did clear my schedule to have dinner with you and none of you seem to be ready for it. I’m not sure the King is supposed to have to track his family down.”

  “Oh, Jeffrey, just in time,” Alison said. “Come here and dance with Imogen. Elspeth simply can’t keep up with her.”

  “And you already know the man’s part,” Elspeth said.

  Alison pointed at Imogen. “Back to the center, Imogen, and let’s try this one more time.”

  Jeffrey looked at Imogen. “I’m not a very good dancer,” he said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a perfectly good dancer. You just don’t like to do it,” Alison said.

  Imogen joined Jeffrey at the center of the room, and held out her hand stiffly. He took it and turned it over, examining it. “You should at least act as if you’re pleased to dance with your partner,” he said with a grin. Around them, the other couples formed up.

  “I am tired and this is not enjoyable. But I am thankful you will help.”

  “It’s just one dance, right, Mother?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, making her laugh. “There, that’s better already.”

  “Hands on waists, right hands clasped, keep your elbow up, Imogen, and—” The tinny music started up again, and Imogen and Jeffrey both moved at once and bumped up against each other, then laughed together.

  “Let’s try that again,” he said, “and this time do it backwards from what Elspeth incorrectly taught you.”

  “As if you could have done better, Jeffrey.”

  “At least I wouldn’t have taught her the man’s part, tiny.” This time, they swung gracefully into the music, and after the first few steps Imogen stopped looking at her feet and could look at Jeffrey’s blue eyes smiling back at her. “Much better,” he said.

  “It is more fun this way,” Imogen said, and he laughed.

  “I’ve never danced with anyone as tall as me before,” he said. “It’s interesting. In a good way, you understand.”

  “I do because I was dancing with Elspeth and she is tiny as you say.”

  “Hey! It’s not my fault you’re both giants. Everyone around me is a giant. Except Mother.”

  “Your father never complained about dancing with me,” Alison said.

  Because Imogen was looking at Jeffrey’s face, she saw the shadow pass quickly across it before his smile reasserted itself. “Did I step wrong?” she asked.

  “No, it was just a passing thought, nothing to do with you. You look very nice in your new clothes, by the way. Very much like a Tremontanan lady.”

  Imogen flushed. “How did I look before?” she demanded.

  Jeffrey said, “Ah…also very nice?”

  “I did not look nice. I looked like a warrior.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Which suited you very well, as I recall.”

  His tone of voice, warm and admiring, made her flush even hotter. Alison said, “Jeffrey, stop implying Imogen’s Kirkellan clothing made her look like a savage and pay attention. Imogen, keep your elbow up.”

  “I did not think you looked like a savage,” Jeffrey assured Imogen, smiling at her more naturally now. “All right, you end by turning away, then coming back together—no, farther away, let’s try that again—right.” She turned and came face to face with those blue eyes again. They crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I think you’ve got it.”

  “I think I should not dance with a shorter partner,” Imogen said with a laugh.

  “Then I’ll have to dance it with you,” he said. “I’d dance with the Veriboldan and Eskandelic ambassadors too, but they’re both male and the ambassador from Eskandel has a very jealous harem.”

  “I do not know what harem means.”

  “Mother will explain it to you.” He hesitated, then asked, “I don’t suppose you’d like to join us for dinner? I’d like to hear what you think of Aurilien.”

  “I…one moment please.” She turned to her tiermatha, who’d gathered around Saevonna to watch her demonstrate a complicated step. “Do you mind if I go to dinner at the palace?”

  “Why not?” Revalan said. “You’re the ambassador. It’s probably an ambassador thing to do.”

  Areli and Dorenna exchanged knowing glances. “What?” Imogen said.

  “Nothing,” said Dorenna, giving her a look that said volumes.

  “What?”

  They exchanged glances again. “You and the King looked very good dancing together,” Dorenna said in a low voice so Elspeth wouldn’t hear. “Very attractive couple you made.”

  Imogen blushed. “Dorenna, stop trying to embarrass me.”

  “It’s working, isn’t it?”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “I don’t know,” Areli mused, “he does sort of get this light in his eyes when he looks at you.”

  “He does not. And you’re out of your mind too. I’m going to dinner now with three people I consider friends, and I don’t want to hear any more innuendo.”

  Areli and Dorenna looked at one another again. “Trust me, you won’t hear any more,” Areli said, grinning, and Imogen threw up her arms and turned away.

  “Why don’t you meet us behind the palace for sparring after your meal?” Kionnal said. “We can bring Victory along for you to ride back.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Imogen said, relieved to hear the end of suggestive comments about her and Jeffrey. Out of their minds. “I’ll meet you in the training yard.”

  “You should bring clothes to change into if you’re going to spar,” Elspeth said in Tremontanese when Imogen joined them.

  “I will get them if you will wait,” Imogen said, and ran to her room to get her Kirkellan clothing. When she returned, Alison was saying, “And I hope Bixhenta isn’t too overwhelming.”

  “I don’t want to think about Bixhenta before I eat,” Jeffrey said. “It ruins the whole meal.”

  “Who is Bixhenta?” Imogen asked.

  “The Veriboldan ambassador. He’s…a little difficult.”

  “You’ll meet him at the reception,” said Elspeth. “You’ll meet all the ambassadors and most of the provincial rulers and all sorts of less
er nobles and gentry. Just be sure to save time for dancing.”

  “Elspeth, you make it to be an enjoyable thing, dancing, and I am not sure I feel the same.”

  “Depends on the partner,” Elspeth said with a twinkle in her eye, and in Kirkellish added, “and the short woman is right, you do look awfully good dancing with my brother.”

  “Elspeth!”

  “All right, I’m sorry, I’m just teasing. You really don’t have to dance often…oh, and did I explain about the two-dance rule? You only dance once with a man, because if you dance twice with him, it’s like saying you’re courting. And if you dance two in a row, that’s a declaration of love.”

  “I’m not likely to dance two dances at all, let alone with the same man.”

  “Unless it’s my brother!”

  “Imogen,” Jeffrey said, “what did Elspeth say to deserve being hit by you?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The red silk gown flowed over the contours of her body, draping across her breasts and hips, fitting her at the waist but sweeping down from there into a skirt full enough to swish when she turned. Imogen turned now, craning over her shoulder to see her back. Her curvy backside still looked curvy, but didn’t stand out the way it had in those Ruskalder dresses. She turned again just to hear the skirt swish. She’d never worn silk on the outside before and it made her feel uncomfortably conspicuous, as if everyone would be able to see through it to her skin. With her hair pinned high on her head, leaving her neck bare, she felt even more uncomfortable, as if she’d revealed it as a target for her enemies. She turned to look at herself full-front again and smoothed out some wrinkles over her belly. Even in her Ruskalder dresses, she’d looked like a warrior. Now, she looked like…what did she look like? A lady? A Tremontanan woman? She traced a faint scar that ran from the side of her throat to underneath her gown’s neckline. No Tremontanan woman would have the scars of a warrior.