A Posse of Princesses

by Sherwood Smith

  “Well, I would think you didn’t have much time, what with duty, and all those translations in other languages. All that reading,” she added.

  He looked over to the side, his expression odd. Half laughing, half—worried? And who was he looking at?

  Rhis turned her head and just glimpsed Dandiar, dancing with Hanssa. Dandiar grinned at them both, and then vanished.

  “I think everyone is on the floor this round,” Lios added. “Crowded.”

  “So do you want some punch?” Rhis asked. “I know I could use some.”

  “You don’t mind?” he asked, and this time his relief was unmistakable.

  She shrugged, thinking: I still have your company, but somehow it wasn’t important any more. He was still handsome Lios, he was just as handsome up close as he’d been across the room, and he was nice—but somehow that boulder-on-the-head feeling was gone. In fact, she could say she was no longer in love. If that boulder-on-the-head feeling really was ‘being in love.’

  He guided them in a long, slow spiral toward the edge of the floor, and they ended up at the refreshment table. Again, everyone there gave way, and Rhis and Lios did not have to wait for a cup of the spiced punch.

  He gulped down one in the time it took her to take a sip, then reached for another. He’d drunk half of that before they were surrounded by people who did not give way.

  Iardith’s white gown was at Rhis’s right.

  “Your blue and his silver look quite well on the floor,” Iardith said to Rhis, smiling.

  “Thank you,” Rhis began.

  One of Iardith’s ducal heirs was talking to Lios.

  “Your gown is the most beaut—”

  “Will you just set this down there for me?” Iardith asked, handing Rhis a cup.

  Rhis turned aside to set the cup down, wondering why Iardith couldn’t herself, but of course there was that fabulous white gown. Which still looked as fresh as ever.

  When Rhis straightened around again, the perfect white shoulder had turned, and suddenly Iardith was standing between Lios and Rhis, leaving Rhis staring at the shining black waterfall of hair, and the back of the wonderful white gown.

  Iardith was busy talking to Lios, so quick and so smooth there would be no interrupting her. “ . . . and we thought that a picnic would be a splendid idea, in the afternoon, of course, after everyone has a chance to rest . . .”

  Rhis sighed, finished off her punch, and set down her cup down next to Iardith’s. No one noticed as she made her way back through the crowd to her friends.

  How late was it? Suddenly the millions of candles were too bright, her feet hurt from the marble floor, and she was tired of feeling hot and sticky from so many people pressed around her. The dance ended, and the musicians immediately began another. Rhis did not even turn around to see who Lios chose next.

  “There you are, Rhis! C’mon, Breggo wants desperately to be in that diamond with Taniva and old Thenstras, there,” Glaen said, emerging from the crowd and beckoning.

  Glaen’s pale hair hung in damp strings across his brow, and there was a splotch of punch on the side of his costume, but he grinned just as engagingly as ever, pulling Rhis forward.

  Poor shy, tall Breggan gave her a distinct look of relief, and Rhis felt some of her malaise of spirit fall away as the dance began. If she’d been in a mood to laugh, it might have amused her, the way Breggan glared at the red-haired Thenstras, the short, burly, and very self-confident son of a wealthy and powerful baroness, whom Shera had pointed out their second day. Thenstras talked nothing but fighting, in a voice better suited to the field, and there was no mistaking the interest Taniva took in his talk.

  As the four danced, Breggan glared, Rhis watched, and Taniva and the baroness’s heir exchanged knowledgeable talk on the benefits of different types of swords for infantry versus those for mounted fighting.

  Frequently Thenstras made Taniva laugh. It was a wonderful sound, and she looked like a warrior princess with her head thrown back and her wide, toothy grin.

  But every laugh seemed to make Breggan more miserable, until finally Rhis whispered, under cover of her hand as she passed by Breggan, “I happen to know that he’s twoing with someone at home.”

  Breggan’s face went crimson, but his glance seemed more grateful than strained.

  The dance ended a moment later—and Rhis soon saw that Lios and Shera were next. They danced in the middle of the floor, Shera chattering away with a bright smile. Of course Iardith was nearby—for once not with Jarvas, who watched, frowning, from the other side of the room. Iardith paid no heed to her partner, but kept her attention on Lios and Shera.

  Shera seemed completely oblivious to Iardith, or Jarvas, or anyone else but her partner. Rhis admired her poise, not really thinking past that until she caught sight of Glaen dancing nearby, his forehead tense as he jerked his head to twitch his long, wispy hair out of his eyes.

  Glaen, the joker, the one who never ever said anything serious, who sought Shera out just to exchange insults that kept everyone in earshot laughing, looked—well, he looked dismal. Forlorn.

  But a moment later he was laughing again, his back to the royal couple in the center of the ballroom, and then Rhis found herself surrounded by a group who wanted to make up a round for the circle dance.

  Glaen’s look was still on her mind when the blue light coming in the high windows drained the gold from the candlelight, and the shine from the rich fabrics of everyone’s clothes. Gradually the ballroom began to look dull, and everyone’s clothes, once so rich and glittering, now seemed wrinkled and wilted. In twos and threes, the guests began to drift toward the doors.

  Rhis had come to the masquerade with the idea of staying until the end, in case something magical happened with Lios. She had entertained in her secret mind visions of him coming back to her, and the two of them finishing out the night dancing—the way that Jarvas tried to maneuver Iardith into doing. Lios introducing her as his chosen as the sun came up, and they were surrounded by astonished, admiring eyes—

  Feh.

  Rhis blinked bleary eyes as Jarvas and Iardith stood in the middle of the floor, she with hands on hips, he talking, one hand making a quick, almost violent motion.

  “That’s one fellow who will never even do his duty,” she muttered, and then was taken by a sudden, vast yawn.

  “What’s that?” Shera murmured.

  Rhis blinked tiredly. “Oh. I didn’t know I’d spoken aloud. Jarvas. Won’t ever do his duty. Dance with the rest of us, d’you see? Lios did his duty.”

  Shera brushed a damp curl off her forehead. “Well, Jarvas would probably see as his only duty leading war-parties for Damatras’s glory.”

  She yawned fiercely as they trailed other tired guests through the doors and down the halls. When they reached their rooms, Shera followed Rhis into hers.

  “So what did you think of him?” Shera asked.

  “Who, Jarvas? Oh! Lios?” Rhis asked.

  Shera sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Who else? You’ve only been looking forward to tonight—last night—since we first arrived.”

  Rhis began to unfasten her hair, her fingers working steadily as her mind sorted through her emotions. “He’s nice. And handsome as handsome can be,” she said slowly. “But . . . whatever I was feeling, it wasn’t love. I think it was probably just—”

  “Attraction. And silly girls our age—and silly boys, too—mistake attraction for love every day. Twice a day.” Shera waved a hand. “I’ve heard that only a hundred times. A day. From my governess. When I first began to attend court.”

  Rhis grimaced. Why was Shera’s voice so sharp?

  “Well, my heart wants to be in love, but it’s with his looks, and his voice, and the way he rides, and so forth. But our minds—” Rhis shrugged. “I don’t know. Somehow all the, the tingle is gone. In me, I mean. He certainly never felt any toward me, he barely saw me. He’s handsome, and kind, but being with him—well, I could imagine kissing him, but not talking to him,
and if I can’t talk to him, I find I don’t really want to kiss him, either. Not any more.” She was so tired she didn’t even blush at the word kiss. “Does that make any sense?”

  Shera was, after all, more experienced. She’d been twoing with someone for eight months and seventeen days before she left for this palace party, while Rhis’s only experience had been a practice kiss or two with the cook’s nephew, who’d taught her some ballads. Rhis had learned two things: one, ballad-kissing was more exciting than kissing the cook’s nephew behind the flour barrels, and two, don’t lift your chin at the last moment, because his nose might bump into your upper lip and that hurt.

  “Of course it makes sense,” Shera said in a flat voice, her gaze on her gripped fingers. “The fire of attraction comes and goes, just like lightning.” She smiled a crooked sort of smile. “Our governesses don’t tell us that when they prate of duty, but the ballads tell us.”

  “Some ballads do,” Rhis acknowledged, eying Shera’s odd expression, which brought her mind back to Glaen, and that unguarded stricken look. Glaen without his own mask. “I just didn’t know what it meant. So how about you?” She sensed that something was very wrong. “Um, not just Lios, but what did you think of, well, the whole masquerade?”

  “It was—interesting,” Shera said, looking out the window.

  Rhis felt as if someone had poured cold water inside her head. Shera’s shoulders were hunched, she gripped her forearms across her front, and the corners of her smile turned down, not up. That was not the Shera she knew. Shera loved to laugh!

  “Interesting?” Rhis asked.

  To her surprise Shera’s eyes began to gleam in the candlelight, gleam and gather light. Just as Rhis’s confused, tired mind realized that that liquid glimmer along Shera’s eyelids was tears, Shera got up, turned her back, and started out.

  “We’re tired,” came her unsteady voice. “Good night.”

  Demo version limitation

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Shera sat very straight and stiff next to Rhis, her face rigid, her eyes wide open, her focus on the stage, but every so often a silent sob shook her frame.

  She tried to control them. Rhis could feel the effort Shera made. She could also feel Glaen’s gaze, two rows behind them. At the other end of the first row sat Yuzhyu, her round face troubled, her attention on her lap. No one, as usual, paid any attention to her, but Rhis avoided her because she did not know what to say.

  A kiss? Dandiar?

  It’s none of my business.

  She had assumed that Dandiar was the tutor the Ndaian princess had mentioned. What could be more natural? He spoke several languages, and he was a favorite with Lios. But kissing? Even cheek-kisses—

  None of her business! Except the image of those two heads together would not leave her alone, it made her feel sick inside. She was ashamed of herself for that reaction. What two people did while obviously wanting privacy was none of her business. And she couldn’t understand where the feeling had come from. But it was there.

  Rhis turned her head slightly, and strained her eyes to peer at Lios, who seemed to be the only one relaxed that evening. He lounged back in his chair, seated between two of the older countesses, both known for being betrothed. For once Iardith had not claimed her ‘rightful’ place at his side.

  When had that occurred? And why?

  Iardith was sitting four people down from Rhis, almost as rigid in posture as poor Shera. Next to her was Jarvas. Rhis could see his large, strong hand clenched on his knee. In front of them sat Taniva, who glanced back once, her brow low, her mouth grim, as she exchanged warlike glares with Jarvas.

  Then there was Vors, three people down on Shera’s side, and Rhis glimpsed his unhappy gaze, for just after dinner he’d come up and taken her arm, saying with a proprietary air, “Here I am, if you were looking for me. Let’s go find a good seat.”

  Rhis had felt her rare temper flare.

  “No, I wasn’t,” she snapped, and then immediately regretted it. But it was too late. Her mouth seemed to belong to someone else, for she heard herself add, “But I’ll leave you with a little hint: Lelsei Sanlas is three times as wealthy as I am. Why don’t you sit with her instead?”

  And she’d left him standing there, his mouth ajar.

  Was anyone listening to the singers?

  Her thoughts swooped heart-ward with a kind of hilarious despair. She knew she ought to be listening. Indeed, she was, for at least some portion of her mind registered that the singers were exquisitely good, and further, they were singing ballads—her favorite kind of music. They sang in counterpoint, in difficult chordal changes that altered the mood of each song, but she could not get her mind to concentrate on that music!

  Don’t think about a scribe and a princess . . .

  No. She wouldn’t think about Dandiar and Yuzhyu. What was the use? And anyway, she seemed to be surrounded by unhappy people no matter where she looked. Had the masquerade turned out to be some sort of disaster, or were all the grim moods the result of tiredness? She just hoped that she, and everyone else involved in the play, could get a real night of sleep, or their “entertainment” was going to be a disaster before they even began to rehearse.

  The only person missing was Dandiar. She’d noticed that right away. Not that she had the least desire to talk to him. But none of the scribes were about, so either they had other duties, or Lios had let them get some sleep at last.

  A song ended. Clapping startled Rhis, and she joined hastily, locking her jaw against a yawn until her face ached and her eyes stung.

  She blinked, sneaked a peek sideways—tears bounced off Shera’s bodice, like glimmering gems, and splashed onto her lap.

  Rhis bit her lip. No doubt the singers were glorious, but oh, would this evening ever end?

  It did, and the audience began to rise, some furtively stretching cramped muscles, some shaking out skirts or tunics, pushing hair back, sending sidelong glances here and there. The mood in the room, despite the echo of sweet music lingering, was both strange and strained.

  Shera slid her arm through Rhis’s, her grip tight enough for Rhis to feel the trembling through Shera’s frame. In silence they worked their way toward the door. Rhis felt a pang behind her eyes, the ache of tiredness, of lack of food—for she had not been able to eat—of too many emotions and no resolution.

  “Reez—”

  Rhis turned her head, gazing into wide blue-green eyes surrounded by bright corn-colored hair. Yuzhyu bit her lips, frowned as though trying to find words. Unheeding, Shera pushed on by, pulling Rhis, who followed without resisting.

  What can she say? Rhis thought. Oh, of course. She probably wants to make sure I won’t tell anyone. Anger flared through her, righteous anger. As if she would!

  Shera stifled a sob.

  A touch on Rhis’ other side. Quick look—

  “Vors.”

  His face went crimson. “Rhis, didn’t you remember you promised to sit next to me at the concert? As for—as for what else you said, I beg your pardon if I said anything to lead you to believe—”

  Rhis shook her head. Shera had paused, but Rhis could sense her looking the other way, occasionally dashing her cheek against her shoulder.

  Rhis forced a smile. “Never mind, Vors. I apologize, too. We’re all tired. Nobody is in a good temper. Let’s both forget it, shall we?”

  She stepped forward, Shera speeding her steps, and at last they were out the door.

  Rhis peered anxiously down the hallway. It was full of tired-looking guests, most of them heading toward the sleeping chambers.

  She and Shera were quiet all the way upstairs. When they reached their rooms, Rhis hesitated, wondering what to say, but Shera mumbled without looking up, “Good night.”

  So Rhis went alone into her room.

  And though she did not intend to, and could not have said why, she cried herself to sleep.

  And woke to the sound of thunder.

  Morning. Morning? The light coming through th
e window was eerie. Rhis got up to look out. Huge dark clouds rolled inexorably overhead, the edges greenish with threat. A break somewhere to the east caused the early morning sun to reflect light weirdly under the clouds, making them seem darker.

  But as Rhis watched the yellow glare vanished, swallowed by the forming storm. Again thunder rumbled, and Rhis opened her window, breathing deeply.

  She smelled that wonderful scent of wet grass, and rain-drenched blossoms, but underneath it was a peculiar metallic taste.

  Lightning arced over the sky, a violent purple, followed immediately by a thunderclap so loud she was almost deafened. She saw the sudden deluge before she heard it; as the thunder died away the hiss of rain abruptly became a roar. Rain sheeted down, a gray curtain.

  Like home, she thought. Where I’ll be going in a couple days.

  Now the lightning was blue-violet, and a sudden gust of wind nearly ripped the casement from her hand.

  Rhis swung the window shut with a worried glance up at the bird nest. There they were, snug in their carving-refuge. Lightning gleamed briefly in one bright round bird eye; the rain sheeted well beyond the stone carving without reaching the nest.

  Rhis turned away.

  What now? Breakfast. And the promised gathering in the library to begin on the play. Would it still be fun with so many people glaring at one another? She grimaced. What had seemed so good an idea before the masquerade seemed thoroughly dreary now.

  She’d just finished dressing, and Keris had taken away her nightdress, when she heard a soft knock. She went to the door she shared with Shera, but the knock came again—from behind.

  It was the door onto the hallway.

  Puzzled—her heart beginning to beat rapidly—she crossed the room and laid her hand on the latch. Then she said, “Who’s there?”

  She was not certain who she expected—or what she’d do if it were any of the males—but then she heard a familiar voice.

  “Yuzhyu. May I march wissim?”