When the dance ended, Shevraeth bowed and handed me to
Savona, and once again I danced, relieved that I had somehow
managed to get through the first one without any awkwardness at
all.
It's the music,
I thought happily as I spun and
stepped;
music is truly like magic.
At the end of that dance I was surrounded by potential
partners, and so it went for the rest of the night. I scarcely
remembered any of the introductions, but it didn't seem to
matter. A succession of smiling, handsome partners and a
continual flow of compliments formed a background to the music,
which filled me with the light air that makes clouds and
rendered it impossible not to dance.
It wasn't until the night was nearly over that I discovered
I was thirsty. It was my first quiet moment. Standing near one
of the potted shrubs that isolated the food and drink, I sipped
at the punch and started picking out individual voices from the
chatter around me, and individual dancers from the mass.
I overheard a conversation from the other side of the shrub.
"... see Tamara? That's the third time she's gotten him."
Curious, I looked at the dancers and easily found Lady
Tamara—dancing with Shevraeth. They made a very handsome
couple, her pale blue gown and dark hair, his colors the
opposite. Her eyes gleamed through her famous lashes as she
smiled up into his face; she then spoke, though the words were
inaudible. He, of course, was exactly as unreadable as
always.
"Tsk tsk." A new voice joined in, drawling with sardonic
amusement, "I suppose it's inevitable. She's always gotten what
she's wanted; and beware whoever gets in her way."
"Everything?" the first voice said with a tinkly sort of
laugh. "Compassing marriage to either of the cousins?"
"Come now, she's dropped the lesser prospect. Why settle for
a duke when there's a king in reach?"
"Perhaps she's been dropped" was the answer. "Or else the
glare while Savona danced with the little Tlanth countess was a
sham to provide entertainment for our speculation."
Laughing, the speakers moved away. I stood where I was,
watching Lady Tamara happily whirling about the room in
Shevraeth's grasp, and I realized that he hadn't been near me
since the beginning of the evening. Uncomfortable emotions
began eroding my enjoyment. I tried to banish them, and also
what I'd heard.
It's nothing to do with me,
I told
myself firmly, hoping there wasn't some like conversation
taking place elsewhere in the room—only with me as its
subject.
I
didn't do anything wrong.
Still, it was hard during the remaining dances to recapture
the earlier joy, and at the end I was glad to follow Bran and
Nee back upstairs to our rooms, Nee yawning all the way. My
feet were tired, but I buoyed myself with the reminder that my
Name Day came with dawn.
What has Branaric
planned?
He gave me no hints as he bade me a good night outside my
rooms.
The windows were bright with sunlight when I woke, and
though I could have slept longer, the prospect of my Name Day
got me up and dressed.
My first thought was to go to Nee's rooms. She would be a
part of anything Bran planned.
I bustled down the hall. As I stretched out my hand to knock
outside her tapestry, I heard Bran's genial voice booming from
inside: "Enstaeus and Trishe went to kidnap him. We're to meet
them at the stable."
And Nee said, "Then we'd better go before Meliara wakens.
It'll be easier than trying to explain that she wouldn't enjoy
this ride—"
My hand froze. Shock, dismay, and question all kept me from
moving, even though I knew I ought to
retreat—fast—to my room. Even in the rudest house
among the most ignorant people, children grow up knowing that
tapestry manners require you to make a noise as soon as you
reach someone's room. You don't stand and listen.
Holding my hands straight at my sides so my skirts wouldn't
rustle, I backed up one step, two—then Nee's tapestry
lifted, and there were the three of us, face-to-face.
Bran snorted a laugh—of course. "Life, sister, you
gave me a start!
Nee's entire face went crimson, though the fault was mine
for being there without warning. "Good morning," she said,
looking unhappy.
I did my best to assume a sublimely indifferent Court mask.
"I just stopped to tell you I was going to the library." And I
walked away quickly.
Not enjoy a ride?
I thought, and then I remembered
that this was Court, and people didn't always say what they
thought. Apparently even Nee.
They want to spend some time
alone, of course,
I realized, and guilt overwhelmed me. I
had monopolized Nee ever since the night in our palace when she
offered to show me Court ways.
Well, I was at Court now, and I had made it through a grand
ball without causing any disasters or making a complete fool of
myself.
So now it is only fair to leave her some time alone
with my brother,
I told myself firmly. After all, wasn't
that a part of courtship, wanting to be alone with your
intended, however much you liked the rest of his family?
I hurried down the silent halls toward the library as if I
could outrun my emotions, forming a resolve to start making my
own way, leaving Nee to get on with her life.
As I neared the State Wing, my heart thumped, and despite
the Princess's kind invitation, I hoped I wouldn't encounter
any of the Renselaeuses. But no one was about except silent
footmen and occasional equerries passing to and fro. When I
reached the library, the waiting footmen opened the doors for
me, and I passed into the huge room and found myself alone.
I strolled slowly along the shelves, looking at titles
without really comprehending them, wondering where I ought to
begin. Remembering my conversation with Princess Elestra, I
realized what I
really
wanted to see were the
originals, the papers written by kings and queens in their own
hands. Were they all in the Heraldry Archives, or were some of
them here?
My gaze fell on a plain door-tapestry at the other end of
the room.
A service access?
I turned and saw a narrow,
discreet outline of a door tucked in the corner between two
bookshelves; that was the service door, then. Might I find some
kind of archive beyond that tapestry?
I crossed the room, heard no noise beyond, so I lifted the
tapestry.
The room was small, filled with light. It was a corner room,
with two entrances, floor-to-ceiling windows in two walls, and
bookshelves everywhere else. In the slanting rays of the
morning sun I saw a writing table angled between the
windows—and kneeling at the table, dressed in riding
clothes, was the Marquis of Shevraeth.
He put down his pen and looked up inquiringly.
Feeling that to run back out would be cowardly, I said,
"Your mother invited me to use the library. I thought this
might be an archive."
"It is," he said. "Memoirs from kings and queens addressed
specifically to heirs. Most are about laws. A few are diaries
of Court life. Look around." He picked up the pen again and
waved it toward the shelves. "Over there you'll find the book
of laws by Turic the Third, he of the twelve thousand
proclamations. Next to it is his daughter's, rescinding most of
them." He pushed a pile of papers in my direction. "Or if you'd
like to peruse something more recent, here are Galdran's
expenditure lists and so forth. They give a fairly
comprehensive overview of his policies."
I stepped into the room and bent down to lift up two or
three of the papers. Some were proposals for increases in taxes
for certain nobles; the fourth was a list of people "to be
watched."
I looked at him in surprise. "You found these just lying
around?"
"Yes," he said, sitting back on his cushion. The morning
light highlighted the smudges of tiredness under his eyes. "He
did not expect to be defeated. Your brother and I rode back
here in haste, as soon as we could, in order to prevent
looting; but such was Galdran's hold on the place that, even
though the news had preceded us by two days, I found his rooms
completely undisturbed. I don't think anyone believed he was
really dead—they expected one of his ugly little ploys to
catch out 'traitors.'"
I whistled, turning over another paper. "Wish I could have
been there," I said.
"You could have been."
This brought me back to reality with a jolt. Of course I
could have been there—but I had left without warning,
without saying good-bye even to my own brother, in my haste to
retreat to home and sanity. And memory.
I glanced at him just in time to see him wince slightly and
shake his head. Was that regret? For his words—or for my
actions that day?
"What you said last night," I demanded, "about battles and
me being used to them. What did you mean by that?"
"It was merely an attempt to make you laugh."
"I did laugh," I admitted, then frowned. "But did you
really
intend some kind of courtly double meaning?
Hinting that I'm used to battles in the sense that I lost every
one I was in? Or merely that I get into quarrels?"
"Neither." His tone was flat. "Forgive my
maladroitness."
"Well, I
don't
get into quarrels," I said, suddenly
desperate to explain, to accuse. "Except with—"
There came a tap outside the opposite doorway then.
I shut my mouth; and for a moment, there we were, in
silence, me wishing I could run but feeling I ought not to.
There was—something—I had to do, or say, though I
had no idea what.
So I watched him rise, move the few steps to the other
tapestry, and lift it. I did not see whoever was
outside—I realized he was shielding me from sight. I
could not hear the voice beyond, but I heard his: "Please
inform Lady Trishe I will be along shortly. Thank you." He
dropped the tapestry back into place and stood with his back to
it, looking at me across the width of the room. "It seems," he
said, "that seeking your opinion will not cease to embroil us
in argument, whatever the cause. I apologize. I also realize
trying to convince you of my good intentions is a fruitless
effort, but my own conscience demanded that I make the
attempt."
I couldn't think of any reply to make to that, so I whirled
around and retreated into the library, my insides boiling with
a nasty mixture of embarrassment and anger. Why did I always
have to bring up that war—and pick a fight? What kind of
answer was I looking for?
All I do is repeat the humiliations of last year. As if
I haven't had enough of those,
I thought grimly. And the
worst thing was, I wouldn't dare to go near that room again,
despite his offer at the beginning of the encounter—an
encounter which was thoroughly my own fault.
Well, I'd have to console myself with the big room. Stopping
along the row of biographies, I selected the histories of three
well-hated tyrants, figuring they'd be good company for me, and
I retreated to my rooms.
It was a while before my mind was quiet enough for reading.
The conversation with Shevraeth I was determined not to think
about. What was the use? It was over, and it was clear it
wasn't going to be repeated.
Recalling the name he'd mentioned, Lady Trishe—one of
the names Bran had spoken earlier that morning—I realized
it was Shevraeth they were planning to go riding with.
She
wouldn't enjoy this ride
was what Nee had said, meaning
that I wouldn't enjoy it because Shevraeth would be along. What
it probably also meant, I realized glumly, was that
they
wouldn't enjoy having
me
along if I
glared at Shevraeth and started squabbling.
I grabbed up a book and flung myself down on my nest of
pillows. At frequent intervals I set the book aside and
listened, expecting to hear the noise of their return. But the
sun marched across the sky without their reappearance, and just
after sunset Nee knocked to ask if I was ready to go to a
concert officially scheduled for the ambassadors.
I changed hastily, expecting my brother to appear. But what
happened was that we went to the concert.
Bran—indifferent to music—had gone off elsewhere
with other friends. The choir was wonderful, and the songs from
over the sea were beautiful, though I heard them through a damp
veil of self-pity.
I finally had to admit to myself that my brother had
forgotten all about my Name Day, and Nee had no idea. Before
the revolt, my brother and I had been close. Obviously, more
had changed since Galdran's defeat than I'd realized.
The main person in his life now is Nee—as it
should be,
I told myself as she and I walked across the
flagged courtyard to the Residence Wing. But my mood stayed
sober as I contemplated how life would change when we all
returned to Tlanth.
I'm not oath-sworn as a countess, not
until we gather before the new monarch when he or she is
crowned; and Bran is the legal heir. And a county can't have
two countesses...
When we reached our hall, Nee offered to share hot chocolate
with me. Shaking my head, I pleaded tiredness—true
enough—and retreated to my rooms.
And discovered something lying on the little table in the
parlor where letters and invitations were supposed to be
put.
Moving slowly across the room, I looked down at an exquisite
porcelain sphere. It was dark blue, with silver stars all over
it, and so cunningly painted that when I looked closer it gave
the illusion of depth—as if I stared deeply into the
sky.
Lifting it with reverent care, I opened it and saw, sitting
on a white silk nest, a lovely sapphire ring. Trying it on my
fingers, I found to my delight it fit my longest one.
Why couldn't Bran give me this in person? There were times
when I found my brother incomprehensible, but I knew he thought
the same of me.