Sacha raised her chin stubbornly, still refusing to look at the chancellor.
“I know you to be a quick study, Highness.” Kesh took one step closer and lowered his voice even more. “I know it as few do.”
Sacha shifted slightly, perhaps to hear his words better.
“Even so, there are too many people that have interacted with Sloane that you couldn’t possibly have met yet,” Kesh continued. “Too many moments that have passed that could be recalled in a casual conversation. You have to be able to play your role convincingly, and I am skilled at helping people see what I wish them to.” He smiled as she glanced at him with eyes that cut like knives, but they both knew that he was correct. “I can be your shield, my lady. Let me bear the darts that you might protect the life of your child.”
“Damn you,” she said at that last and bowed her head. When she turned to face him, the knives had dulled, but he knew that he must be careful, lest she find new reason to use them again.
Sacha glided to the settee across from Kesh and sat. Her dexterous hands moved gracefully to smooth the folds in her gown. “I suppose I cannot deny your logic, even if I despise you.” She looked up with frost rimming her blue eyes.
A chill ran down Kesh’s spine, but his smile was easy and unforced. “Perhaps someday you will hear me out and come to understand why I did what I did concerning Kinsey and Erik. Until that day, however, I’m glad you agree that we must use the utmost caution.” He took a step toward Sacha and offered his arm. “Shall we go?”
Sacha kept her seat, eyeing his arm as if it were covered in sores. “Tell me where we are going first.”
“Very well.” Kesh lowered his arm. “You are familiar with the Feast of Corin?”
She nodded. “As is everyone.”
“Of course. Well, we are attending a meeting with the Council of Ladies that will be responsible for managing it.”
“Are you mad?” Sacha asked, impatience and incredulity layered in her tone. “It’s the better part of year from now!”
“Yes, but the nobility like to get started early—”
“I should say,” Sacha interrupted. “I had expected a more convincing guise for us to hide behind. This meeting sounds like a cover for something else.”
Kesh cleared his throat again. “Actually, it is.”
Sacha gave him a flat look.
“Oh, not for the meeting with your mentor,” Kesh replied quickly. “Though it does give us the pretext with which to do so. The ladies of the nobility want to meet you. You see, other than the wedding, there have been precious few opportunities for Princess Sloane to mingle with the court at large. They want to know you, know who is going to be ruling them.”
The princess paled suddenly and brought a hand to her neck. “I don’t think I’m ready—”
“There is no need to worry.” Kesh lifted his hands placatingly and spoke over her protests. “We will keep the occasion brief, and I will help fill in the gaps of your, or more appropriately, Sloane’s ‘foggy’ memory.”
Sacha was still shaking her head in dismay but asked, “What do you mean ‘foggy’ memory?”
Kesh pulled a chair over and sat, leaning forward as he warmed to his subject. “You see, the day you took your sister’s place, the Rohdaekhann returned to the aviary without Sloane or Rouke.”
“I was a bit shaken that day,” Sacha said. “I don’t remember most of it.”
“Exactly, and understandably so. The birds returning alone gave me an idea how we might cover for your justifiable lack of insight into Sloane’s life these recent months. I convinced Rouke to claim that the two of you were attacked by a grahl. The incident forced you both to land and trek back on foot while the Rohdaekhann drew off the attacking beast.”
“A grahl? Hunting this far from the mountains?” Sacha asked, raising one fine, dark brow. “Is that plausible?”
“It is not common, to be sure,” Kesh admitted. “But it has happened. I have heard no one question the story so far, and most people have taken to lobbying the council to hunt the beast down so that their children might walk the streets without fear.” Kesh let a little bit of smug satisfaction show. “The streets have become much more civil with the mothers of the city keeping their broods safely under wing.”
Sacha’s look of skepticism turned to one of thoughtfulness and understanding. Her cheeks flushed in what looked like embarrassment, but she nodded as she spoke. “I’ve been distraught about my sister’s abduction, and a near-death attack would only cause more undue stress.” She tilted her head in assent. “I can work with that. Quite clever, Chancellor.”
Kesh beamed. “Please, call me Kesh.”
“No.”
Kesh’s smile waned. “Ah, well.” He stood and offered his arm once again. “Shall we go, then?”
Sacha ignored his arm and rose smoothly to her feet. “Yes, we should.”
Kesh scurried to catch up to the princess as she opened the door to the apartments and stepped into the hall. Tully and Joshua fell into step behind them, clanking and rattling fiercely as their plated feet struck the floor in measured cadence.
Kesh looked neither right nor left as he began to speak, taking care that his voice could only be heard by Sacha. “Your sister was familiar with Lady Barrelon. They became close after your… abduction.”
“And the others that will be attending?” Sacha asked, mimicking his tone and keeping her eyes fixed at a point firmly in front of them. “Did my sister know any of them?”
Kesh almost missed a step, impressed in spite of himself. He had believed what he had said about her abilities—the journey from her home at Stone Mountain had taught him as much. Even so, he had not expected her to so readily adopt such subtle behavior given the direct and savage nature of her father and people. Her beauty would sway most of the men in the Basinian court, but it was her quick wit and political savvy that would disarm the women of the nobility. “Only in passing,” he managed to say. “Cora Barrelon is the only one with whom you need play the friend.”
As they walked, Kesh answered her terse, pointed questions about what and who they were likely to find, and he found himself growing more confident in her role with every step they took. Too soon, they found themselves on the dais looking out over the chaos that had befallen the grand ballroom.
The massive hall was actually a series of rooms that were situated along the southern side of the great tree, Terrandal. Each gallery could be sectioned off with a pair of large doors that were currently opened wide. Straight ahead, flanked by tall casement windows almost twenty feet tall, were two enormous carved doors that were also wide open. They led to the gardens and outdoor sitting areas, where wagons, tents and simple gatherings of people milled about, singing, sleeping or engaged in other sundry tasks of life.
Directly below them, the alternating patches of dark and light wood of the main dance floor were almost entirely obscured by the masses of people that surrounded a giant table. More than a dozen noblewomen directed swarms of servants and hopeful vendors with equal authority at the center of the mayhem. The shifting mob around the table was framed by a pair of white stone stairs that glittered in the morning sun. They led from the dais in graceful arcs that hugged the wooden walls formed by Terrandal itself.
Beyond the table, located almost all the way to the exterior doors, was the lone form of a Sharakaran. At almost forty feet, the festival pole was still well short of the vaulted ceiling that reared overhead. Long colored streamers had been affixed to the top and now drifted in the wake of passersby. During the celebration, dancers would use the streamers as a part of their performance, plaiting and weaving the streamers together to create a colorful patchwork that was as varied and frenetic as the dance itself.
Music drifted from different corners of the chamber, filling the air with incoherent melodies. Jugglers, fire breathers, dancers, and a variety of other entertainers littered the hall, contributing to the noise and chaos that swirled and surged throughout the hall.
“Shouldn’t the queen be here?” Sacha murmured as they began to make their way down one of the stone arms leading away from the dais.
“Yes, normally,” Kesh replied as he scanned the faces of the women crowding the table. “But the king’s illness has prevented her from attending all but the most important of gatherings.”
The queen might not have been present, but many of the powerful families and clans were. Each woman had made certain to wear clothes that befitted her station while not being so ornate as to prevent her from being able to work and move. Slim skirts took the place of elaborate gowns. Leather boots and close-fitting jackets stood in the place of slippers and corsets. Not all their trappings of style had been abandoned, however. Each woman present had silver and gold chains threaded through her hair in representation of the most current style. The finer the chain and the more elaborate the weave, the more powerful the bearer—generally speaking. Neither Lady Barrelon nor Sacha bore the adornment despite being the two most powerful women present.
Kesh wondered at Cora. Sacha could be forgiven as an outsider, but Cora’s refusal to wear the chains could be seen as either a condemnation of the current style or a departure from it in a new direction.
The chancellor smiled as they gained the floor. “This should go smoothly, Princess.”
Sacha focused on the women in front of her, not looking at Kesh. “We shall see.”
“Give me a moment, Princess,” Kesh said to Sacha, squaring his shoulders and shoving his way into the crowd. He took care to jostle several people on his way to the harried-looking soldier who stood next to Lady Barrelon, ensuring that their attention would be on him. The soldier was currently shouting at a small man who was red-faced and waving a handful of wooden swords as if they were true steel. Kesh only listened to their back-and-forth cursing for a second. He had to act while he still had the attention of the onlookers. “My Lady Barrelon!” he announced. “The Princess Sloane has arrived.” He flourished an arm toward Sacha and bowed.
Lady Barrelon turned with a frown that quickly bled away as the older woman found Sacha waiting on the fringe of the hustling throng. She held a hand up, forestalling an entertainer who clung to an oddly shaped instrument, and dropped into a curtsey, perfectly respectful and graceful despite her age and station. As if she had rung some sort of bell, the people surrounding her started in place, swiveling eyes to find the reason for Cora’s obeisance. A wave of bowing and curtseying people rippled from her like rings in a pond. The princess blinked in surprise as she found herself the sole standing person in a sea of hundreds. Within the span of a few moments, the entire room had quieted, with the exception of an occasional shuffle.
“Continue,” Sacha said, her voice echoing with strength throughout the hall.
At her command, the room once again exploded into jumbled action and noise. Lady Barrelon rose and waved away the musician. He bowed and tucked his instrument into a carved wooden case that appeared to be lined with colored sheep’s wool.
Cora’s smile deepened as she strode quickly to Sacha and took the princess’s hands in hers. “I’m glad to see you well, Princess. When that soldier came back with you, telling of the grahl’s attack… well, we feared the worst.” She gestured to the noblewomen who surrounded the table.
“Thank you. I feel much better now,” Sacha replied. “Though I would say I am still far from my old self.”
Kesh stifled his urge to chuckle at that and watched the faces of the women as Sacha spoke. He found their reactions as varied as their heights. Most of the women still stood but had turned at least a part of their attention back to their work. Some wore genuine looks of concern, but others had skepticism reined behind hard eyes and tight lips. The most interesting women, though, were the ones that let small smiles grace their lips while envy and disdain leaked from slightly narrowed eyes.
Children, he scoffed, watching their struggle to hide treacherous thoughts. Most of the women who directed cutting glances at Sacha were no surprise to him, of course. Mainly they were former candidates for the position of wife-to-the-prince that Sloane had taken and Sacha now held. How delightful their impotent fury would be if they actually suspected the truth: that they were not just once defeated in their quest for power but twice. A few of the others were notable for their prejudice against Pelos, and could be safely categorized as marginal threats. Regarding two or three of the women, though, he could discern no reason for their animosity. These would be the most dangerous. These women of the Basinian nobility could have reasons of their own that ranged as far as the night sky.
“Understandable,” Lady Barrelon said, drawing Sacha along and offering a place at the table next to her. “Time heals all things, though. In the meantime, please, join us. As you can see, there is much to be done.”
“We cannot stay for long, my lady,” Kesh interjected.
“Yes, of course, Chancellor,” Lady Barrelon said, dismissively. “I did not miss your note from earlier this morning.”
Kesh swallowed the retort that came to mind and stepped back, bowing gracefully. Standing back from the table did give him a better vantage point, but the woman’s tone had grated.
Sacha stepped up to the table beside Lady Barrelon and gazed around at the various projects at hand. “I have to admit, I am a little confused. Is this truly necessary?”
“Ah, you wouldn’t know, being from Pelos,” Lady Barrelon said. “The gathering you see here has become as much a tradition as any of our festivals.” She pointed to the numerous groups of men and women who were obviously merchants not entertainers. “Each of the festivals throughout the year is also a merchants’ bazaar, with the Feast of Corin being the capstone and culmination of them all. That particular celebration is one of the very few times the elves and dwarves leave their lands to trade. The success of each event is important to the economy of Basinia and thus is important to us.”
“I see,” Sacha replied, soaking in all the information and implications. “Pelos doesn’t have much trade with the dwarves. And none with the elves.” A touch of sadness lay lightly on her tone with the last words, and Kesh wondered if she was thinking of that idiot, Erik.
“I should say,” said Yandy Tilson in a haughty tone.
Kesh was momentarily surprised. It was his experience that the enormously plump young woman would not say a word without a nod from her patron, Malum Dominas. Malum made it a habit to take on young women of the nobility and train them beyond the education they could receive in their own families. Well, she educated them to the extent she could while using them to accomplish her own ends, anyway.
Malum herself was sitting in a chair with her arms folded, making no pretense of paying attention to the lists that lay scattered in front of her. Her dark-brown eyes flicked back and forth between Sacha and Yandy. Ah, he thought, a pawn enters the fray.
Yandy turned to face Sacha fully. Her glossy red-gold hair was a source of pride for her. Many women had spoken of a desire to own such a mane, and Yandy knew it. She had chosen today to stack it in a tower that gave her an additional ten inches of height. Sadly, it was unsteady and followed behind her head with a drunken lurch at each nod or tilt. Yandy would be crushed if she knew the hair she was obviously so proud of resembled nothing so much as the stem on a piece of fruit. “Given your inherent lack of propriety, I shouldn’t think that you would have anything of the sort in Pelos. The barbaric way your people treat those who might better your life…” Yandy paused as if the thought were simply too much to bear. “Well, I’m certain the craftsmanship of the dwarves and elves far exceeds anything found in your homeland, Princess.”
Kesh goggled at Yandy. Surely this was a joke. No one could take such a clumsy salvo seriously, most especially not from the likes of this young turnip of a woman and her dangerously swaying head of hair. The chatter that had begun again at Sacha’s command died away into an awkward silence.
Sacha tilted her head slightly and looked across the table at Yandy, who drew hersel
f up and glared back with a supercilious air. If Sacha had taken offense at the blunt insult, she hid it well. Not a flicker of irritation clouded the innocent and confused expression on her fine features. “Of what impropriety do you speak, madam?”
“Come now, child,” Belen Tilson blurted, entering the field with her daughter. Kesh glanced at Malum, but her expression did not change. Either she had expected Belen’s interjection or was unworried by it.
“Surely you know your own father. The man is not known for his charm or his manners.” Belen paused to consider and then nodded. “Well, not for his genteel manners, at any rate.” The older woman was just as plump as her daughter, but fine lines spread from her eyes as she smiled humorlessly before continuing, “And if it is about your own impropriety you are confused, well, there is your well-known defense of the criminals who are no doubt responsible for the abduction of the sister for whom you so assiduously ‘search.’”
Kesh clenched his teeth. He hadn’t expected such an assault, nor so quickly. It was not unusual for a new addition to the ranks of the nobility to be measured and tested, but this…This was a gauntlet to the face. Yandy’s assault had been laughable. She had no basis for her claims other than hearsay and rumor, and it was likely she wouldn’t have even that much correctly remembered. Belen, though, was pushing pieces into play that were too close to the truth. He had no qualms about seeing Kinsey and Erik hanged, but Sloane had been vocal in her support for their innocence. Like it or not, he had to help Sacha defend the pair if for no other reason than to solidify the charade.
Kesh opened his mouth to respond, but Sacha spoke before he could. “Are these the only ‘improprieties’ you hold against me?”
Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3) Page 4
