She looked away, gulping her wine, her fingers clenching on the crystal. The chilled fluid was a balm on her thick, dry tongue. She forced a smile back onto her lips, her mind scrabbling to fend off the feeling of panic, the feeling of being buried alive with no hope for escape.
“Are you unwell, Dazien?”
The steward had escaped Havasti, and his stiff posture as he addressed her indicated that he knew very well how he’d been manipulated.
“A bit warm is all, Corven. Perhaps you might ask Prouda Verin and Preili Isel to join me? I should not like to impose any longer on Ueles Prensik.” She turned to her gloating suitor, his moist hand still clutching her elbow, knowing he could read her fear and hating him for it. “Kaj Prensik—”
Whatever she was going to say was chopped off by the sudden, shrieking cry of a wild bird. At the sound, every conversation ground to an abrupt halt, and every guest turned searching gazes to the Grand Foyer from which the cry had emanated.
A long minute ticked by. And another. The assembly began to rustle and murmur, and then silence rippled from the foyer like a cold ocean wave rolling up onto a rocky shingle. Standing on the dais, Emelovi had a clear view as Reisiltark descended the last few steps of the Grand Staircase. The people about her stood back as if she were contaminated, and Emelovi felt anger hardening her expression. Her father would not have permitted this ostracization of any
ahalad-kaaslane
. He would have left Reisiltark to the Lady’s justice, if she needed any. Emelovi flashed a hopeful look at Aare, who only watched Reisiltark thoughtfully. The men gathered around him wore faces of contempt, fury, suspicion and downright malice. Even the
ahalad-kaaslane
.
Reisiltark walked to the center of the Foyer and stopped at the bottom of the Blessed Lady’s image, dropping to one knee and bowing her head. She stayed there for a full minute, unmindful of those staring at her, then rose and walked neatly around the Lady’s figure and up into the Great Hall.
Her stride was regal and leisurely, but she radiated a wild energy like that of the storm outside. The gold vining on her face glowed in the many candles, emphasizing her difference and threat. She paused on the threshold. Her eyes raked across the silent, taut gathering. On her shoulder perched her goshawk, the bird’s beak glowing a matching pattern to that on Reisiltark’s face. The goshawk opened her beak in a silent scream and raised her wings. Reisiltark lifted a hand and stroked the angry bird’s back.
Then she stepped into the room. As she did, the stillness around her shattered as people averted their eyes and turned their backs.
Something stirred deep inside Emelovi. She struggled against it, knowing what the consequences must be. Emelovi glanced at Aare, saw cunning malevolence flickering across his expression. Fear clutched at her heart, and she remembered the limp, broken body of her puppy. She looked back to Reisiltark. No one greeted her. Not even one of her fellow
ahalad-kaaslane
.
The thing stirring in Emelovi bucked and twisted, and she heeded it at last. She stepped forward. Deep inside she heard that child of eleven scream. Her heart pounded, her skin turning cold at what she was doing. Another step. Emelovi did not look at Aare, did not look at Prensik. She descended from the dais and walked out to welcome Reisiltark.
The silence of unwelcome was dreadful. Sodur struggled to move, to walk to Reisil. But instead he stood frozen, like a fly wrapped in spider silk waiting to die. Lume nuzzled his hand anxiously and he stroked the lynx’s square head, feeling his
ahalad-kaaslane
’s pleasure at his touch like an extra sense, as if he stroked his own head. Beneath it, he felt Lume’s worry, hunger and discomfort at the heat. He couldn’t shut them out. The lynx’s raw emotions and instincts seeped through constantly, like water through a failing dam. They overwhelmed him with smothering intensity, and he struggled to stand apart, to retain himself whole. But more and more often, he reacted with Lume’s animal sensibilities rather than his own.
He rubbed his forehead with shaking fingers. What
was
this?
He could not suppress his fear. It grew like bindweed, tangling in his mind and immobilizing him. And beyond—
Beyond he could feel something gnawing at the edges of his mind, like a horde of rats, chewing and chewing. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he went still, as a lynx might when spotting prey. His nose twitched and his fingers curled into themselves.
The Vertina was moving down off her dais to meet Reisil. The rustling murmurs that had erupted as Reisil journeyed into the room hushed and silence swallowed the room again. The two women stopped opposite each other and Emelovi reached out a hand. She spoke in a clear, ringing voice. “Bright evening, Reisiltark. Be welcome in my home.”
It wasn’t a traditional greeting, but though Emelovi’s face was white and strained, her voice was strong and steady.
“Thank you, Dazien. May the Lady’s smile shine upon you,” Reisil replied, taking her hand. Emelovi waved a steward to bring them fresh wine.
Sodur smiled. The Vertina’s father would have been proud. He glanced at Verit Aare, and a bolt of apprehension shot through him. The Verit’s face had turned black and cruel. A gush of protective fury spurted through Sodur. Sodur felt a snarl curl his lips, and he bared his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Beside him, Lume did the same. Both women were his to protect and no one, even the son of his oldest friend, would he permit to harm them.
Chapter 21
“
I
do not know what to say to you,” the Vertina said, the silence stretching. “You have already said more than I could have hoped for,” Reisil replied gratefully.
The Vertina’s breath hissed between her lips. “It should not be so. You are
ahalad-kaaslane
. You should be welcomed in every house and hovel in Kodu Riik.”
The Vertina saw Reisil’s surprise, the noblewoman’s cheeks flaming as she looked away. Reisil took the moment to study her. The Vertina’s features were softer than her brother’s, though equally patrician. Her nose was straight, her cheeks high boned and her chin narrow. Her lips were wide and slightly thin, and her gray eyes were fringed by dark lashes. Above them, her brows arched elegantly along the delicate bone. Though younger than Reisil by several years, she carried herself with the assurance and aplomb of someone much older.
“My father believed that—I remember him saying that he was relieved to have you on our side. That he wouldn’t have to worry about the wizards anymore.”
Reisil nodded, giving the Vertina an encouraging smile that was more like a grimace.
And
. . .
“He never blamed you,” the other woman said in a rush. “I know there was a lot of talk after mother died. That you could have saved her. But father knew how she was.
“Mother went frantic whenever she heard your name. She had such nightmares. . . . I don’t think she truly thought you would hurt her or the baby. But she
was
afraid of the wizards. She was sure they’d come hunting you for revenge, and she feared what might happen to whoever was standing too close to you when they did.”
Reisil thought of Kebonsat. If the crossbolt had struck him in the heart, she could have done nothing for him. Her expression hardened.
“I apologize. It was not your fault,” the Vertina said quickly. “And you saved my baby brother. No other tark could have done that.”
Reisil swallowed, remembering. She had lurked outside the Mesilasema’s chambers throughout the day and night of her shrieking labor. Reisil remembered how the bustling maids became restive and tense, how the air turned turgid with the weight of fear, how the Mesilasema’s voice grew fainter and fainter. And then one of her ladies-in-waiting had burst out the door and dragged Reisil back inside, where the baby still fluttered within the cocoon of his mother’s dead body.
Somehow she had harnessed her power and saved the boy. Still she couldn’t meet the Iisand’s eyes when she handed him his son. He had taken her hand, tears rolling unashamedly down his ashen cheeks. His voice had been rough as gravel, gentle as snow.
“You must not blame yourself, Reisiltark. My wife was very troubled. But what she wouldn’t do for herself, she did for our son. When she felt her life slipping away, she asked for you.”
“Your father was very kind to me,” Reisil said to the Vertina, her throat tightening at the memory.
“I know my father would hate the way you have been treated here,” the Vertina said fervently. “If only—He took my mother’s death very hard.”
Reisil’s stomach constricted, and she opened her mouth. Everything in her wanted to tell the Vertina about her father’s true condition. She deserved to know. But somehow the words wouldn’t come. What if the sorcerers really could cure the Iisand? The Vertina would have her father back, and he could tell her what he wanted. Besides, he had asked to be locked up, not telling his children what was happening to him. Reisil could respect his decision, if not Sodur’s plotting. She turned her attention to the assembly, her gaze flicking from person to person, wondering which were part of Sodur’s secret company.
“I hope our guests put in an appearance soon. I shouldn’t like to imagine the frenzy if the court is forced to be patient much longer.”
The bite in the Vertina’s voice prompted a grin from Reisil. “Terrifying,” she said.
The Vertina’s lips quirked. “Better they gawk at the sorcerers than you?”
“Better anyone than me.”
The Vertina chuckled, raising her hand to cover it. “Every so often a school of sharks finds its way into the harbor. Everywhere you look, there will be fins skurling through the water. Always someone has the idea of throwing food into the water—the entrails of a hog or sometimes even a bit of fresh beef or goat. It’s a carnival. The entire city abandons its work to gather on the bluff and watch. . . .” She looked up at Reisil, eyes glinting. “I think perhaps the sharks have nothing to teach the court.”
Before Reisil could respond, the round-waisted Majordomo at the entry pounded his silver-butted staff on the floor.
“His Lordship, Kaj Kebonsat cas Vadonis of Patverseme, Knight of the Order of Ellini of the Flame, Werad of Esemlies. He is accompanied by Kaj Dumen cas Ogal, Knight of the Order of Ellini of the Flame, Evral of Ogal. Also accompanying Kaj Kebonsat is Kaj Ledus cas Eyan, Knight of the Order of Parien da pe Clure, Evral of Eyan,” he intoned in a sonorous voice. He stepped aside with a stiff bow as Kebonsat entered, flanked by the two Evrals.
Reisil felt a thrill of pride at his appearance, so elegant, graceful and aristocratic. He was dressed in the colors of his house, his family crest embroidered over his heart in red: two red lions leaping at each other, a three-pronged coronet beneath, and a sword of gold thrust through the scarlet crown, indicating Kebonsat’s status as heir to the House Vadonis. A single flame in orange and gold thread rose around the juncture of sword and crown. He wore his lohar on his hip. His expression was carefully neutral, and he carried himself with relaxed calm.
~He really belongs in this world, doesn’t he?
~He was born to it,
Saljane replied.
He would have made a good mate,
Saljane added, her head cocking to the side. Pain surged in Reisil. Saljane nipped her ear.
~At least she has courage. He’ll like that.
Reisil glanced at the Vertina, whose expression had turned bland.
~You grieve.
Reisil nodded.
~I do. I wish—
What did she wish? That she and Kebonsat could have married? Had children together? She couldn’t imagine it.
~I wish we’d had more time
, she said at last.
Her stomach gurgled loudly. Reisil flushed, glancing at the Vertina. Her blush deepened as the other woman smiled teasingly.
“There will be dinner soon, if it is not overcooked and spoiled,” the Vertina said. “Blame the Scallacians if it is. At least my suitor has arrived.” The disapproval in her voice was evident, her gaze sharpening as Kebonsat maneuvered toward the clump of men surrounding Verit Aare.
“He
is
stubborn and often rude,” Reisil said.
“Not the highest recommendation. But I had forgotten you know him.”
“He is what he is. On the other hand, he is also dependable, honorable and loyal, and I would trust him with my life. With Saljane’s life.” The Vertina’s head jerked around. Reisil steadfastly refused to look at her.
The younger woman at last turned away. “Curious. I will keep your words in mind.”
Reisil felt a rush of anxiety. What did she mean? Reisil hoped she had not sabotaged Kebonsat’s chances.
“Forgive me, Dazien. Would you care to join us?” A stout Preili stood at the Vertina’s elbow, her mouth pinched, ignoring Reisil altogether. The Vertina nodded. Reisil bowed awkwardly and backed away. As she departed, a swarm of ladies descended like vultures on the Vertina.
“Dazien, are you not well? Do you need to retire a few moments? Perhaps something to eat . . . You must be faint or feverish—”
Reisil herself was feeling faint and feverish and foolish. She slunk away from the effusive barrage of solicitations, wandering through the assembly. Yet despite her embarrassment and the frowning suspicion slewing around her, her step was unexpectedly light. The Vertina’s kindness was an unexpected miracle. And if one miracle could happen, why not more?
Chapter 22
R
eisil wandered up the crowded room. Someone stepped in front of her, and she stumbled against him. When she recovered her balance, she found herself staring into Metyein cas Vare’s brown eyes.
“Pardon my clumsiness,” he said, bowing slightly. He appeared fit and strong, though his face was haggard as if he hadn’t slept in the last few days. He cast a striking figure, wearing a long coat of dark blue fabric, showing parchment-yellow silk at his cuffs and collar. He didn’t wait for her to reply but spoke quickly in an undertone. “My life is yours. I am at your service. Do not hesitate to call on me at any time. Nor fear that I will reveal your secrets to my father.” He stared at her, his cheeks flushed.