Starcrossed (8 page)

“What about your parents?”

“I know they’ll say yes. They have to.”

“I have no training,” I warned.

“Don’t be silly. You know how to get dressed, and you’ve had a whole day’s practice being my companion already.”

I wasn’t sure whether the painful twist to my mouth was a smile or a grimace, but Merista gabbled on as she finished dressing me. I didn’t need the looking glass to tell me I looked a lot more polished than she did. As we were turning to leave, she caught my hand.

“Celyn, here.” She was holding out the silver bracelet.

Every dazed instinct in me froze up. “I don’t need that.” Of all the things to say! “I mean, you don’t need to do that.”

She gave me an odd little smile. “It’s a present. To seal our arrangement.” She held it out, looking so hopeful. Merciful gods — did I really look like a stray dog? But I took Merista Nemair’s silver, magic-binding bracelet, wondering what in Sar’s name I was getting into.

Downstairs, in the unnaturally tidy Favom courtyard, the entire household had spilled out to greet the returning dignitaries. I spotted Durrel beside his father, smiling easily as he spoke with Merista’s father. He turned and saw us, and lifted a hand to wave at Meri. She barely twitched her fingers in response.

Lady Nemair had her hands on Phandre’s shoulders, while a stocky woman in a satin kirtle pulled tight across her broad chest looked on disapprovingly. It took me a moment to realize it was Morva, all tarted up like a lady. Someone pushed or pulled Merista forward, and her parents bundled her to them in a fierce embrace. After a moment, she freed her arms and flung them about her mother’s neck, squeezing back just as earnestly.

I did not belong here.

I looked up past the courtyard wall. Tiboran’s moon was obscured by a brilliant autumn sunrise, and there was a hint of chill in the morning that we hadn’t felt in Gerse. The world felt huge and distant, and something was pressing in on my chest, making it hard to breathe. A lady’s maid! In some house somewhere I’d never even heard of? Stealing one of those fine Favom horses — even if it ate me — was looking better and better.

“Who’s this, then?” a deep, jovial voice rumbled. I’d been bustled to the front of the fold.

“Mother, Father, this is my new friend, Celyn. We met in the city.” Two days ago, but who was counting? Merista seemed to have lost her shyness; she pulled close to her mother and murmured something in her ear. Lady Nemair’s warm brown eyes sharpened slightly, and she looked me over.
What did Merista say to her?

I sank low in an affected curtsy. “Lord and Lady Nemair.”

“It’s good to meet you, Celyn,” Lady Nemair said in a voice as warm as her eyes. “We rarely hear about Merista’s friends.” She took my hands, and I had to stop myself from pulling them away.

“Mother, I want to bring her to Caerellis. As my maid.”

Lady Nemair looked from me to her daughter, then back again. “Well, daughter, you will be an adult soon, and you’ll need to start building your own household. What say you, milord?”

Lord Nemair regarded me solemnly, fists perched on his wide hips. “I say I know better than to argue with my womenfolk. Come, Lady Celyn, Phandre, Lady Merista, let’s all get reacquainted, shall we? Ragn!” The word flung out like a thunderclap. “Have you a feast of welcome prepared for your old friends, or what?”

There was a feast, and it lasted
all day
. It took ages to untangle the knot of welcome, but everyone finally settled into the Favom hall around noon. I was seated beside Merista, who couldn’t keep her rapt eyes off her parents, through course after course of food and drink — which at first was entertaining, but after a few hours of it, I got restless. I wasn’t used to sitting still this long. If something didn’t happen, I was going to have to kick somebody.

The conversation revolved around the Nemair, amusing stories from life at the Corles court, every thing they’d missed of their daughter’s last five years. After the story about Merista falling into the Favom duck pond when she was ten, and a detailed account of her learning to make eel soup, I let my mind wander. Occasionally Durrel would glance my way, catch my eye, and give me an encouraging nod, which I found completely unsettling.

“What do they say in Corlesanne, then?” Lord Decath asked. “Do things look as tense from afar as they seem here?”

Lady Nemair was solemn. “They are tense. Bardolph is aging, he’s sick, and if he doesn’t name an heir before he dies, there will be war. I don’t see how that can be avoided. And if there’s a war . . .”

“Astilan will be king,” Lord Decath finished. A heavy silence fell over the hall. This same conversation was held in every taproom in Gerse: Bardolph had no surviving children, and had refused to confirm one of his two nephews as his heir. His obvious favorite was Prince Astilan, an avowed Celyst with a cruel streak who’d served in the royal army and had the backing of the military and the support of the church. But the king had never made it official, and many discontented Llyvrins favored Wierolf, the younger prince, who from all accounts lacked his cousin’s convictions and connections. He’d earned the nickname “the Lazy Prince” from his habits of hunting and carousing while Astilan was training for battle.

From where I stood, they looked very much the same: no better and no worse than their uncle. And in the gap left by the quibbling heirs, the Inquisitor slipped right in and cozied up to the king, spreading his malice across Gerse and beyond. I twisted the silver bracelet on my wrist.

“All the same,” Lord Decath was saying, “Wierolf does have his supporters. I fear, though, that no matter how devoted they are, they’ll still be woefully unprepared. Astilan represents the current regime; he’ll have the support of Bardolph’s councilors
and
most of the noble houses.”

“Yours, milord?” Lady Nemair asked with a smile. Decath just raised his goblet to her and demurred.

“Does anyone even know what Wierolf is up to these days?” Durrel put in. “There are so many rumors, it’s hard to know what to believe.”

“That young man will have to settle down if he wants to be king,” Lord Nemair said. “Thirty-one years old and still can’t sit still long enough to attend a privy council.”

“Do let’s speak of something else,” Lady Amalle pleaded. “You must be looking forward to Lady Merista’s
kernja-velde
, although we’ll hate losing her. She’s been such a joy in our household.”

“Can’t be helped, Lady,” Lord Nemair said. “The girl must come home. We need a chance to coddle and spoil her for a few months, before some ambitious young nobleman steals her away again.”

Merista blushed furiously, but her eyes shone.

“I’m not sure Celyn understands what she’s signing on for,” Durrel said, grinning at me from across the hall. “I’ll imagine her own
kernja-velde
was not quite such an elaborate affair.”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” Phandre said to me, and actually managed to sound genuine. “It’s a house party — everyone comes and stays with the family, and all the marriage prospects are paraded before the girl and her parents.”

Lady Nemair cleared her throat. “While I suppose that’s a techni cally accurate depiction of events, I believe Lady Phandre ne glects the point. This is a time for seclusion and study for Lady Merista, when she learns the skills and duties of being a wife” — here Phandre snorted, to a black look from Lady Nemair, who continued — “and reflects upon the childhood she’s leaving behind. Your coming-of-age was not like this, Celyn?”

Here
I
snorted, but I covered it up better. “No, milady.” Mine had ended in a brawl, in which Tegen’s nose was broken.

“When will Caerellis be ready?” Lady Amalle was saying. “You must stay here while your staff prepares for your arrival.”

Lady Lyllace blotted her lips with an embroidered napkin. “We’re not returning to Caerellis,” she said. Her voice was like low, soft music. “His Majesty, in his infinite royal wisdom, has absorbed that property back into his own royal body.”

I tensed. Lady Amalle was confused too. “But where —”

“We’ve been restoring Bryn Shaer,” said Lord Nemair.

“Bryn
Shaer
?” Lady Amalle echoed. “In the Carskadons? That old fortress? Surely it’s not habitable, after — how long has it been?”

I looked to Merista for an explanation, but she was just staring, white-faced, at her parents.

“Forty-two years,” Nemair said, tearing into some bread. “But we’ve had our people working on it, off and on, for the last five or six. Cleaning up the place, building a new, modern lodge, fireplaces in all the bedrooms, that sort of thing. Spared no expense. It will be a . . . palace again.”

“It will be perfectly habitable. Merista, wait until you’ve seen the views! It’s incredible in the winter.” Lady Lyllace smiled at her daughter, who nodded automatically.

“Celyn, have you ever been to the mountains?”

“I — uh, no, milord.”

“You’re in for a treat, my girl. Bryn Shaer means ‘Bear’s Keep,’ and the place is aptly named. Silverback bears come right up to the walls, and —”

“Well, not in the winter, my lord husband.”

I didn’t hear the rest of the winter marvels Lord Antoch described. The
mountains
? Spend the winter in the Carskadon Mountains? “Doesn’t it snow there?” I heard myself ask, and everyone laughed.

“Only a little,” Lady Lyllace said, but something in her voice was too merry.

After that, conversation moved on to other topics, but Merista sagged a little beside me. I plied her for more information.

“I don’t really know,” she said quietly. “Bryn Shaer was closed by the king or something, many years ago. He gave it to my parents as a wedding gift.”

I did some swift thinking. The road to the Carskadons would take me halfway toward Yeris Volbann. If we left before winter set in, I could probably make the rest of the trip on foot, maybe hook up with a caravan on the road. . . . I had Merista’s silver bracelet, and Raffin’s money, and Chavel’s letters — it was a good start.

The meal dragged on, until I thought I’d go mad. Every time I was sure it was over, a swarm of servants appeared from the kitchens, laden with yet another course of food and wine. Finally I’d had it. I pulled into the background, keeping my mouth shut until everybody forgot about me, and then slipped out.

I found a door that led out onto the tower roof and stepped outside, crossing to the battlement to look down. Dusk had sped along, a band of pink low along the horizon, closing another day between me and Tegen. Tiboran’s moon was round and full, staring at me expectantly. I made a rude gesture at it.

Somewhere in the southern distance was Gerse. Would I be able to see it from up here? I climbed up onto the battlement to get a better look, and had to grip hard to the edge as the wind buffeted me like a banner, whipping strands of hair into my face.

“What in the name of all that is holy are you doing?”

Strong hands seized me about the waist. I tensed and kicked out instinctively, but these stupid nob shoes weren’t going to do any damage. I wheeled in the grasp — and saw that it was Durrel.

“Milord! I did not hear you approach.” That
sounded
dignified, at least.

“What —” He set me down. “What were you doing?”

I tried a smile. “Would you believe I was looking for a way to escape?”

Durrel looked down over the balcony walls. “I might, at that,” he said quietly. “I’ve contemplated the very thing myself, more than once.” Nodding into the sky, he added conversationally, “A liar’s moon.”

“What?” It came out sharp, my heart banging.

“Tiboran’s moon is full,” he said, his voice easy. “Isn’t that what they call it?”

I let out my breath in a slow hiss. “I don’t know, milord.”

“Why’d you leave? You missed Morva’s famous sloe plum aspic.”

“That wasn’t my place,” I said honestly.

“And climbing castle towers by moonslight?”

I had to grin. “My place.”

Durrel raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He leaned against the round rough battlement wall. A blast of wind howled round the tower and hit me squarely. Shivering, I wavered on my feet.

“Here.” Durrel doffed his doublet and draped it around my shoulders. It dwarfed me. Warm from his body, it still reeked of sour wine and river air, and a musky, salty scent that must have been Durrel’s own. I took a step away from him. It was too easy to stand here beside him, as if I’d known him for years. As if I were the girl I was pretending to be.