The Four Forges

by Jenna Rhodes

  “It is, m’lady Highness.”

  “Be about your business, then. I wish to speak with Rivergrace while you do.”

  Arms full, Nutmeg scurried to get the package and join Hosmer, who awaited her in the hallway.

  “Does he know who sent it?”

  “I don’t think he’ll name them, or the ones to whom he delivered it. He can only betray so much.”

  “It won’t matter,” Sevryn told Lariel. “We’ll find only common Calcorts that way. The sender will have veiled him or herself quite effectively.”

  “True.”

  “Cancel your appearance.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Jeredon, a wry expression on her face. “Oh, you do hate dressing up, don’t you?”

  His mouth curled in a brief snarl.

  “Highness.”

  Her eyes softened as Sevryn caught her attention.

  “What are your wishes?”

  “We go. We take all caution. Our hope that Azel d’Stan- the might be the only prey for the Kobrir is wasted, but we can’t let them know that, or that we’ll be intimidated. And, if at all possible, we enjoy ourselves. Tonight is the highlight of the summer.” Her eyes of cobalt blue with glints of gold and silver rested on Rivergrace thoughtfully. “And you and your sister shall come with us.”

  “Lariel.”

  “Why not, Jeredon? This is a celebration, after all, and any defense I have planned will be well-hidden by their presence.”

  “We’ve no clothes grand enough, or manners, or . . .” protested Rivergrace, glad for once that Nutmeg had abandoned her, for she’d have gotten a stout elbow in the ribs for her remark.

  “Feh! Anyone who could steal a ticket will be here tonight, and the others who couldn’t will be dancing in the quad outside. As for clothes,” and Lariel circled her slowly. “I have something that will do quite well. I would have worn it tonight, myself, but I fell in love with your mother’s weaving. Sevryn, get Tiiva and see if you can’t find something that will fit our shorter guest.”

  Sevryn let go of Grace with a certain reluctance, and it wasn’t till then that she realized how comforting his hand on her arm had been. When Nutmeg puffed back upstairs, the proper package lying across her wrists, her little mouth curved in a breathless O as Lariel commanded her attendance at the gala. She did not, however, protest in any way.

  The two of them had put Lariel to rights when Sevryn appeared, carrying a bar with a dress displayed upon it, his hand at arm’s length as if unsure of the whole matter of women and dance gowns. “She says this may do,” and he laid it across the back of a chair. He paused, his gaze sweeping over Lariel, and he bowed. “My queen, you look astonishingly beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jeredon sniffed. “She’ll need a dart to the head to deflate it before she sleeps tonight.”

  Nutmeg and Rivergrace fastened the last clever clasp on the armored bodice. “A gown should only magnify the beauty that is already there. Too many women forget that,” Nutmeg told them matter-of-factly, as she pulled a strand of Lariel’s hair into place. “There.” She stood back, a smile of satisfaction breaking out on her face as she breathed out at the sight before her.

  The blue fabric hung in clinging, shimmering waves from Lariel’s slender form, its faint pattern of golden stars and moons and silvery lightnings an echo of her eyes and hair. The armor only cinched her waist that much tighter the cloth, flaring slightly over her hips, a tier of silvery chains with golden bells ringing about it. Rivergrace thought she’d never seen anyone so magnificent.

  After a moment, Jeredon coughed. “And, to think, she can put a sword blade through your heart just as quickly.”

  “Indeed.” Sevryn’s shoulder twitched.

  Lariel’s face flushed prettily at the reaction. “Now, you two.”

  “That is our signal to retreat,” Jeredon said to Sevryn, and left the room towing him after. Faint sounds of scuffing followed but the door closed firmly.

  Grace turned to her sister as she stepped into her garment. Nutmeg’s borrowed dress of soft golden-yellow with belled sleeves and a gathered skirt brought out the sunny highlights of her hair and she squealed in delight as she twirled about in it. The hem swept the floor a little too generously, but the length couldn’t be helped. “I shall just have to step higher and stand taller,” Nutmeg declared. “I wish Mom could see me!”

  “She knows, doesn’t she?”

  “I sent Walther in all haste to the mayor’s, and then he’s to return the cart to her.”

  “I’ll see she’s told. Not to worry.” Lariel’s voice faded as she leaned into a solid, ornate wardrobe, its doors flung open, practically engulfing the queen entirely as she searched through it. Garments murmured and rustled as she moved items back and forth. She emerged in triumph. “This one.”

  Neither silver nor sea-green, the fabric cascaded from her hands in a length of soothing color. Long sleeves flowed into lacy cuffs, ivory foam off an ocean’s shore. The waist was dropped, and the skirt only slightly flared, so that it would pool about the ankles and feet. Rivergrace blinked to see something so grand handed to her as Lariel held it forth. “Try this on.” One hand held out, she ducked her head back inside, with more rattles of searching. “My cup is missing. I can’t think where I saw it, I know Tiiva packed it.” The wardrobe muffled her words.

  Nutmeg climbed onto a chair, taking the gown and gathering it carefully in her hands, as Rivergrace stripped down to her smallclothes and then stood under Nutmeg’s arms as she dropped it down over her and then laced the back up quickly.

  “Ahhh.” Queen Lariel smiled as she emerged from the armoire, her mouth moving in soft curves of pleasure, watching.

  Rivergrace turned to look in the silvered glass that hung inside the wardrobe door. She did not recognize herself at all, a tall, willowy figure embraced by a gown that spoke of seas and rivers and their mysterious ways.

  “Grace!” Nutmeg put both hands over her mouth.

  “What?” She spun about in alarm.

  “You look . . . you look . . .”

  “I know,” Lariel said to Nutmeg. “She does, doesn’t she?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t look at all like my sister,” Nutmeg answered solemnly. “Although I’m sure I’ll recognize you the first time you trip over your hem.”

  Rivergrace put her foot out and hooked her slippered toes about the rung of the chair Nutmeg stood upon, pushing it sharply.

  Nutmeg hopped down, laughing.

  Jeredon and Sevryn returned warily to find the three of them putting cosmetics and perfume on each other, brushing the last strands of each other’s hair into a feminine order that made no sense at all to the men, but in relief it seemed they were at least ready to leave for the gala. Lariel put a hand up to Jeredon, frowning slightly. “Send word to Tiiva to find my drinking cup, my tankard, if she can? I know we brought it, I just seem to have misplaced it.”

  “I will.” He stepped out long enough to crook a finger, bringing a guard running, and then came back in and stood to wait, back to the wall. Sevryn seemed to find the window shutters fascinating, examining them and their view minutely as the women fussed with the last of their preparations. Nutmeg clapped her hands as she led her sister out, her cheerful dress sweeping the floor as she glided through the door.

  Jeredon hung back to accompany Lara last as they left the suites. “Why,” he asked her quietly, his eyes on the backs of the two guests.

  “Because,” Lara told him, “my best defense is in their underestimating me, as they have done before. Will I look formidable with young maids on my arms? I think not. And, because, sometimes it does a soul good to look through the eyes of childlike wonder.” She smiled as Nutmeg did a little hop-skip and swung about, her gown billowing around her, before she began her trip down the staircases, her voice gaily ringing through the hallway. “Wait until Hosmer and everyone else sees me in this!”

  Lily let Adeena and Goodie out, weariness
in every fiber of her being, and closed the door on their heels. She could drive Bumblebee back and that was a blessing in itself, for she wasn’t all that sure she felt like walking. The past handful of days had been more difficult than harvesting before a driving storm was due to hit, far harder than anything she’d anticipated. Perhaps, she thought, she was growing just a bit older than she’d given herself credit for. She cleaned up the last scraps, wondering if she would have the time or energy to think of quilting for the winter weather that would come, surely, in a season although the heat baking through the shop now made that seem improbable.

  The carters and warehouses had all been paid, and the girls as well, and she even had a small coin or two set aside to give to Nutmeg and Rivergrace, besides what she and Tolby needed. Yet, for all their work, and blisters and sore backs and cramping necks, she could not see her way through another season. Perhaps she’d worked too hard at it. It had been like trying to learn swimming in high flood tide and forgetting that a wade and a short soak in a summer-heated cove could be very pleasant.

  She opened her secret drawer and took out the sheet of paper that did not help with her worries. Should she mention it to Robin Greathouse at all, or burn it and forget it? A brisk but singular knock at the back door interrupted the last of the closing. She paused, shoving her hands and letter in her apron, then made the decision to answer it. She did not see the paper go astray yet again, as if it had a mind of its own, and drift under the worktable instead of settling in her apron pocket.

  Daravan inclined his head in gratitude in the doorway. “Mistress Farbranch. I thank you for granting me access at such a late hour.”

  “It’s not that late,” she said, and opened it wider for him. He slipped through quietly.

  “Late enough that the front door is shut, and if one hopes to go to the festivities tonight, he might be out of luck. Have you my suit for me?”

  “I do. Walther has tried several times to deliver it.”

  “I’ve not been in the city. Unexpectedly, but profitably.”

  “No more time to waste, then! Let me fetch it for you, m’lord.” Lily found a spring to her step as she went after it.

  Daravan ran an eye about the shop, and then noticed something out of place. He leaned down and picked up a piece of paper nearly wedged under the foot of the desk. He opened it, scanned it, then snapped it shut quickly, placing it inside his vest. He’d returned to lounging against the counter when Lily came out and put his outfit in his arms.

  He pressed a gold crown bit in her palm. “Many thanks, Mistress Farbranch.”

  She looked flustered. “You’ve paid already, and handsomely.”

  “And you asked far too little for your efforts.” He smiled. “I shall look respectable and perhaps even handsome among my peers.” With a sketchy bow, he slipped back out the door before she could give a proper protest, or the coin back.

  Fortune, Daravan thought, often laughed at him. He’d gone east for intelligence and come home empty-handed to find it sitting on the floor of a tailor’s shop, among fallen threads and fabric scraps.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  THEY MOUNTED A GRAND carriage, Jeredon sitting with the driver, and Sevryn sitting with Nutmeg across from Rivergrace and Lariel. The conveyance had a leather top folded down, and carved ebony posts that held lamps, and pulls on the door that looked as if they might be gold. Grace glanced at her folded hands. There were tiny nicks from needle pricks and newly healing blisters from handling the fabric shears, and the delicate lace hanging exquisitely from her wrists seemed to emphasize hands which did not go with the gown. A worker’s hands. She made a note to herself to take care not to snag the garment with her rough fingers, or scuff the fine-grained leather seats of the carriage by touching them.

  Hosmer closed the door on them with a wry grin and a tweak of his sister’s ear, saying, “I’ll be along when the inn is emptied, but I’ll be stationed on the front steps again!”

  Nutmeg leaned out of the door, yelling back, “I’ll save you some pastries!” as the carriage horses trotted away before Sevryn hauled her inside, muttering something about manners befitting the Warrior Queen. Unfazed, Nutmeg smoothed her skirts over her knees, and cocked her head at her companions.

  “What do we do?”

  “Dance, eat, drink. Not too much drink, I hope.” Lariel had been looking over the carriage door at the streets where a steady stream of people seemed to also be making their way to the Great Hall on foot.

  “I mean when someone tries to kill you.”

  “Hopefully,” and she smiled faintly as Sevryn smothered a noise. “No one will, but if they do, stay out of the way and let my men handle it.”

  “There’s only two of them!”

  Lariel kept smiling at Nutmeg. “There are others, mingled throughout the crowd, and there are those who work for the safety of all the Vaelinars attending this Conference who may come to my aid. It’ll be fine, and you shouldn’t worry.”

  “It’s just that I’m a little short to be a good shield.”

  Sevryn put his hand over his mouth and swiveled his head to the side, steadfastly finding something outside the carriage to fasten his attention upon. Rivergrace examined his profile, finding it handsome enough as Lariel reached out and touched Nutmeg’s knee.

  “You were not invited to shield me, but to have a good time and to share it with me. Those who have me marked will be bolder and more careless if they think I’m unaware. And, though I hate to ruin your anticipation, it could happen any time, even more likely not tonight.”

  “Why do you think so?” Grace asked, prying her attention from Sevryn who seemed totally unaware of her.

  “The size of the crowd within and without will make it difficult to move quickly and unknown. I can almost guarantee my assassin will be a man known as the Kobrir.” Lariel leaned forward then, as a shout came from outside, and she waved at the growing throng.

  Nutmeg nibbled on her lip briefly, then ventured, “It sounds as if you’re used to it.”

  “In a way. We’re a very competitive people, and some of us have positions that are very unpopular with others. Our Accords were written for a reason. Nor shall any of the Suldarran take arms against one another, or harbor any who would do so, in war or private offense, under penalty of their own life and the reputation of their House,” she quoted.

  “We don’t fight anymore,” Nutmeg told her. “Not since the Magi.”

  “I know. You’re a very commendable people.”

  “Thank you,” accepted Nutmeg gravely, and she settled back into the carriage, becoming uncharacteristically silent, although she watched the parade avidly, for—with traffic growing and other carriages before and after—they had indeed fallen into a parade.

  The carriage slowed, the horses pulled from a high-stepping trot into a sedate walk, their necks bowed with impatience, their strides collected and elegant. Jeredon leaned down. “We’ll be parked shortly.” He wore green and gold, setting off his dark-brown hair which the sun had streaked with its touch, just as it had tanned his skin, and amber flecks marked his dark green eyes. He had the lines at the corner of his mouth that those with frequent, self-mocking smiles often carried, but his expression now seemed very somber.

  Sevryn, on the other hand, wore dark blue which looked quietly elegant on him, neither setting off his features nor dimming them. Grace would not have said blue was his color, but she doubted he intended to display himself as the other Vaelinars seemed inclined to do, his dark bronzed hair tied back, and his eyes of light, stormy gray watching the crowds intently, never still, always searching. The aura of power the others carried seemed muted about him, and she considered the idea that, although he did not have the eyes of the Vaelinars, power might yet run in his body, though very deep and still, in the way of rivers.

  She turned her face to find Lariel watching her. “Your brother doesn’t resemble you,” she said, caught.

  “No, he doesn’t. He is my younger brother, my father�
��s son, but not from my mother. He has the Eladar looks, I think.” She paused briefly. “Just as you don’t look much like Nutmeg.”

  “There’s a story in that, Your Highness.”

  “One I would hear one day.” The carriage bumped to a stop and rocked as Jeredon jumped down and tugged at the door.

  “Miladies,” he said, as he handed Nutmeg out and reached for Rivergrace. “Follow the queen in. We’ll be right behind all of you.”

  Nutmeg took Rivergrace’s hand and Grace felt her sister tremble a little in unusual shyness. She gripped back.

  Columns that seemed to reach nearly sky-high held the copper domed roof of the Great Hall. She tried to look up at it and found herself leaning so far back that Sevryn caught her. The quad in front of the hall filled with people and small booths as if a Spring fair had sprung up since the morning, and dance music tinkled faintly to her, two celebrations here, one inside and one without. A byway had been left for the coaches, but they were surrounded by dancers and gaiety, and the horses tossed their heads and pranced as if showing off.

  A wall of noise went up as Lariel descended from the carriage. Rivergrace held her breath to listen, hearing cries of welcome and hatred mingled, sending a shocked surprise through her.

  “Warrior Queen! Go home and stay there!”

  “Most beautiful of the Strangers! Queen Lariel!”

  A waving hand and bounding form jostled through the crowd. “Queen Lariel, a blessing here! Look upon us!”

  Others shoved close to the carriage. “Hssst. War-bringer!”

  Jeredon and Sevryn propelled them into the building quickly, the shouts fading behind them, but never ceasing.

  “They don’t know, Lariel,” Jeredon said to her.

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “They never do.” She pulled her corset into a slightly more comfortable position at her waist. “I’m ready.”

  With a nod, he took them to the herald at a pair of immense double doors pulled back, with music swelling beyond them, and hammered gold-and-bronze tiles on the walls, alternating with lilies of lapis lazuli on white jade and green jade stems, and banners hanging down that were woven of the finest embroidered brocade. Vases of flowers filled the hall, and cut glasses sent the illumination from the many sconces shimmering about the walls. Rivergrace could not imagine any place on Kerith more grand. The lamps burned scented oil, the overhead windows let the sun blaze down in slanted glory, and the dancers swirled in colors that dazzled the eye. Rivergrace thought she heard a trumpet as the herald shouted out Lariel’s name to the celebrants in the massive room. Heads turned as he did.