Royal Airs (24 page)

She wondered how much of their conversation anyone else could hear. Surely Darien must not be close enough to catch their words, or he would have stepped in by now. Corene would be crowing with delight if she had managed to hear even half of it.

“I am polite to anyone who is polite to me,” she said. “But you haven’t been.”

“It is not rude to speak the truth,” he said.

“Sometimes it is.”

He sat back in his chair, curling his fingers around the carved armrests, and regarded her for a moment from those dark eyes. “I want you to sit beside me at the dinner,” he said suddenly.

She felt her eyes widen in dismay. “What? Why? I believe all your dinner companions have already been decided.”

“One of them can sit elsewhere. I want to talk to
you
,” he said.

She knew without asking what Darien would say to that, so she summoned a courteous smile. “Then, majesty, I will be happy to provide conversation.”

 • • • 

O
f course, it was another hour before the meal was served, and the Welchins spent that time gathering in small groups and comparing their first impressions of the visiting prince. Josetta wasn’t surprised to find that her mother had been won over by his regal bearing and air of entitlement.

“He’s very handsome,” Seterre observed. “And he holds himself like a king, did you notice? Vernon was always a bit too eager to have common men and women approve of him. I think this Ghyaneth will make a formidable ruler.”

“Did you flirt with him?” Josetta teased.

Seterre laughed and fanned herself with her hand. “Of course I didn’t! I might be his mother’s age! But I did compliment his taste in clothing and said that I had always had great admiration for Berringey’s culture, and he told me I was very kind.”

Corene’s assessment more closely tallied with Josetta’s. “What a slit-shafter,” she remarked.

The phrase was so vulgar that Josetta actually gasped. “
Where
did you learn such an ugly expression?” she demanded.

“Barlow said it that winter when we were traveling. He wouldn’t tell me what it meant, though, so I had to ask Calvin. He tells you anything.”

“If Darien hears you talking like that, he’ll—I don’t know what he’ll do. Drown you in the Marisi.”

“Like my father doesn’t say such things when he thinks we can’t hear him.”

“A princess is different.”

Someone came up behind them, resting one hand on Josetta’s shoulder, the other on Corene’s arm. “A princess is always different,” said Alys. She leaned over to kiss Corene on the cheek. “Hello, darling. Did you enjoy meeting the very surly prince of Berringey?”

Not attempting to be subtle about it, Josetta pushed between Alys and Corene, shoving her sister behind her back. “You know Darien doesn’t want you to talk to her,” she said bluntly.

Alys laughed, but her lovely face was bright with anger. “And I know I don’t require
Darien’s
permission to speak to my own daughter whenever I want,” she replied.

“Not here. Darien won’t allow it.”

Alys’s mouth set and her green eyes narrowed, but she still managed to smile. She had always been the most poisonous when she was pretending to be sweet. “You won’t get far in life, Josetta, if you allow other people to do your thinking for you,” she said. “Everyone pretends Darien is so wise, but he has fumbled so often, made so many mistakes. Do you really want to tie your fortunes to his? Shouldn’t you start thinking for yourself? I often wonder if you have more spirit than anyone realizes. But maybe you
are
just the scared little elay girl you always appeared to be.”

Behind her, Corene lifted a small, cold hand and pressed it between Josetta’s shoulder blades. It might have been Corene’s way of offering Josetta her own strength, but Josetta didn’t think so; it felt more like Corene begging her not to back down, not to give way.

“I would trust Darien’s counsel over yours on any day in any quintile you could name,” Josetta replied, not raising her voice in the slightest. “Why would I listen to you? You’re selfish and you’re cruel. If you want to talk to Corene, come by the house someday when Darien’s there.” She casually turned away, draping an arm over her sister’s shoulders. “They’re serving wine over by the fountain. Let’s get some.”

Alys grabbed Josetta’s arm, jerking her back. Her beautiful face flamed with fury. “I want to talk to Corene
now
,” Alys spat out in a low voice. “You’re too shy and nervous to let me cause a scene—on the very night the prince of Berringey arrives—when all of Welce wants to glitter and shine for him!”

“Just let her say whatever it is she wants,” Corene muttered.

Josetta still stood between the two of them, her body a bulwark for Corene, an obstacle for Alys. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Josetta said quietly. “I don’t care if you make a spectacle of yourself. I don’t care if everyone in the whole room starts pointing and staring. Things like that don’t bother me anymore. So throw a tantrum if you want. Corene and I are getting something to drink.” She turned away again and practically dragged Corene across the floor.

Her shoulders were hunched against the possibility of onslaught—she really thought Alys might start hurling objects or shrieking invective—but the queen didn’t try to stop them this time. Corene didn’t say a word until they had paused by the great basin of the fountain, where servants were serving glasses of wine and small tidbits of food.

It was so unusual for Corene to remain silent that Josetta thought maybe she’d handled the whole thing wrong. “I’m sorry if you
wanted
to talk to her,” she said finally, after sipping half of her glass.

Corene shook her head. Her eyes were cast downward, as if she was fascinated by the pale gold of the wine in her goblet. “I wonder what she wants, though.”

“To make you feel bad, probably,” Josetta said with some heat. “To embroil you in some scheme. To encourage you to flirt with some hideous old man because he’s rich.”

Corene smiled reluctantly. “She wasn’t always like that.”

Josetta took another sip and decided not to contradict that.

Corene sighed. “Or maybe she was. I always thought she was so beautiful. When she hugged me or told me she loved me, I thought I was beautiful, too.”

“You are. Much more than she is.”

“She used to tell me I would be queen. I mean, she must have started whispering it to me when I was in the cradle. I always believed it,
always
, even when I got old enough to realize that you were the oldest,
you
were the most likely heir. I even said that to her once, and she said, ‘Josetta will never wear the crown. She doesn’t have the heart for it.’”

“When did you start thinking she might be wrong?”

Corene laughed sharply. “When I was almost married off to the viceroy of Soeche-Tas. But my mother said it only proved she was right, since I
would
be ruling over a great nation, it just wouldn’t be Welce.”

Josetta studied her sister for a moment. Corene was deceptively delicate; behind the heart-shaped face, locked within that small frame, was a soul of unflinching fierceness. But Corene had been looking a lot less sturdy in the past few ninedays. “Do you still want to be queen? Of Welce? Of anywhere?”

“I want—” Corene hesitated a moment, and then plunged on. “I want to know where I’m supposed to belong. Odelia has replaced me and my mother doesn’t want me—”

“Of course she does. It’s just that—”

Corene went on, unheeding. “I’m not a prime, and I’m not an heiress from one of the Five Families, and I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to be
doing
. I feel like I’m—I feel like I’m flailing.”

Josetta had to swallow a laugh, because
flailing
was melodramatic, even by Corene’s standards. “You’re seventeen,” she said gently. “You have years to figure it out.”

Corene finally looked up, her face a study in protest. “I want to know
now
,” she said.

There was a shuffle and commotion up by the dais, and Darien spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry through the hall. “Dinner is being served,” he announced. “Please, would you all follow Prince Ghyaneth and me into the dining room?”

“You can figure it out some other time,” Josetta said. “What you need to do
now
is go eat dinner.”

 • • • 

H
onoring the prince’s wishes, Darien seated Josetta on Ghyaneth’s left at the circular table that sat on a raised platform in the middle of the dining hall. There were eight people at this table, of course, and eight at the five other tables arranged like spokes of a wheel around the central one. Josetta heard Darien explaining to Ghyaneth how the people of Welce arranged their lives by threes and fives and eights, a piece of information that seemed to strike a chord in him.

“In Berringey, the number twelve has mystical powers,” he replied. “But we do our best not to invoke it except under extreme circumstances. It can be destructive if it is not controlled.”

“Very interesting,” Darien said. “In Welce, we find our lives out of balance when they are not ruled by our propitious numbers.”

“Give me some examples,” Ghyaneth demanded, and Darien obliged with a few of the histories Welchin children learned in school.

This won’t be so bad if Darien does all the talking,
Josetta thought, glancing around at the rest of her tablemates. Romelle sat across from the prince in the seat of highest honor, as proxy for the heir, who had been put to bed an hour ago. All the other queens had been relegated to one of the lesser tables, even Elidon. The rest of the places at Ghyaneth’s table were taken up by Mirti Serlast, Kayle Dochenza, Taro Frothen, and Nelson Ardelay.

“Where’s Zoe?” asked Mirti, who was seated to Josetta’s left.

“Having a lovely time sitting next to Kurtis and his wife,” Josetta answered, “where
I
should have been.”

“That’s what I meant,” Mirti said impatiently. “Why are
you
here?”

“The prince requested my presence.”

Mirti looked intrigued. “You managed to charm him even during that brief introduction? I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

Josetta summoned a look of indignation. “I didn’t realize you thought I was
that
boring.”

Mirti grinned. “You’re delightful, naturally. But I would have thought he was a man not easily won over.”

They had to speak in low voices and in Welchin because, of course, the prince was sitting inches away. But he and Darien had moved on to another topic—agriculture, from what Josetta could overhear. She hoped she was not going to be asked to weigh in with observations about crops and livestock.

“No, I don’t think he is,” Josetta agreed. “He seemed to find me annoying more than appealing.”

“Some men like a challenge,” Mirti observed. “Like a bit of spice.”

“That doesn’t usually describe me.”

“No, but you’re a little wayward,” Mirti said. “People think they know what to expect from you, and they’re usually wrong.”

“I suppose everyone can surprise you from time to time.”

Mirti grinned again. “Not me. Hunti through and through. You always know what I’m thinking and what I’m going to do next, and I never suddenly turn into someone you don’t recognize.” She nodded in the direction of her nephew. “Darien’s the same.”

“I find it very comforting, sometimes, to have a few absolute certainties in my life,” Josetta said.

“This young man seems to
think
his life is full of certainties,” Mirti answered. “He seems very sure of himself.”

“Maybe his life hasn’t been as tumultuous as mine.”

Their private discussion was broken up by footmen climbing to the platform and serving the main course. Conversation was sporadic and general for the next half hour, as everyone tried the food and proclaimed it excellent—even the prince, who was unfamiliar with some of the selections.

“I like this very much,” he said after he’d sampled a sugared fruit compote. “What is it made of?”

Darien’s attention had been claimed by Nelson, so Josetta answered. “A kind of berry that grows only in our northern provinces,” she said. “It’s too tart to eat unless it’s prepared just right, but it’s very popular.”

“We have nothing like it in Berringey. Perhaps this is something we might trade for, your nation and mine.”

“I’m sure the regent would be happy to provide
crates
of berries for you to take back with you. I believe my sister owns acres of land devoted to just this one crop.”

“Your sister,” Ghyaneth repeated. “Princess Corene?”

Josetta smiled. “She’s one of my sisters, but I meant Zoe Lalindar. The coru prime, and the regent’s wife. She’s my sister, too.”

Ghyaneth shook his head, and the amethyst in his turban winked in the gaslight. “I can’t keep track of all your tangled bloodlines. There are too many sisters and half sisters and princesses and heirs. It’s very complicated.”

“It
is
complicated,” Josetta agreed. “I suppose things are much simpler in Berringey?”

“Drastically so,” Ghyaneth replied. “I have only one heir, my cousin Siacett. She is five years older than I am.”

“Doesn’t that make the people of Berringey a little nervous?” Josetta asked curiously. “In Welce, everyone worried when King Vernon only had one daughter, then only two. It’s the reason he took so many wives—they wanted him to have five children, or eight. In case something happened to me or Corene.”

Ghyaneth stared at her as if she were mad. “
More
heirs?” he demanded. “But didn’t he think that was dangerous?”

“What? Dangerous? How?”

“Every additional heir is another potential threat to the throne,” Ghyaneth said condescendingly, as if the fact were so obvious he couldn’t believe he had to explain it. “Factions arise. Loyalties divide. The only way to keep the kingdom united is to concentrate everyone’s attention on a single successor.”

“Now,
that
seems dangerous to me,” Josetta responded. “What if some fever swept through the palace, and you and your cousin both succumbed? Where would the kingdom be then?”