Melly shrugged and began unpacking. “But nice,” she repeated.
Kirra let it go. She supposed that counted for something. Though in the coming days of conflict and opposition, she expected
niceness
to be trampled by ambition and greed. Mayva seemed too flimsy and fragile to survive.
There was no time to go exploring the house or the grounds; there was barely enough time to take a real bath and dress for dinner. Tonight’s gown had been chosen to showcase Casserah’s eyes, not her heritage, so she wore a velvet gown of deep blue that gave her face a whole different set of shadows and contours than the usual red.
“I like this,” Kirra said, turning her head back and forth and watching her cheekbones in the mirror. “Casserah should wear blue more often.”
“She prefers red. That’s what you’ll wear tomorrow night, of course, for the ball.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve made a little pocket for you,” were Melly’s next unexpected words. “I’ve been working on putting one in all your dresses. I can’t match the fabric perfectly, but the seam is so fine I don’t think anyone will notice.”
Kirra stared at her in the mirror. “A pocket?”
Melly nodded. “So you can carry that little carving. The one you like to have with you. The pocket’s deep enough that it won’t fall out.”
Kirra bit her lip and turned away from the mirror. She had never appreciated how much information a servant could gather about an individual, how much of the maid’s life had to be utterly dedicated to the whims and desires of the mistress. It would never have occurred to her that Melly would care about such a thing.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “I am most grateful. You’re right. I don’t like to be without it.”
At that, Melly handed her the little lioness figurine, having no doubt scooped it up from the drawer where Kirra had laid it. “It’s pretty,” the maid said. “But strange. Does it have something to do with magic?”
Kirra located the tiny slit in the left side of the dress and dropped the lioness into the soft pouch. “I’m not sure. Donnal and I found it in an old shrine that appeared to be dedicated to the Wild Mother. Who knows if the gods had magic?”
“I never heard of the Wild Mother,” Melly said.
“Most people haven’t. That doesn’t make her any less powerful.”
“Casserah doesn’t pay much attention to the gods,” Melly observed.
That’s because Casserah has Danalustrous,
Kirra wanted to say, but she didn’t. “Thank you for making the pockets,” she repeated. “I can’t think anyone could have a better maid.”
When her toilette was finally done, Kirra stepped into the corridor. Amalie and Senneth were in the room right across the hall. Justin stood before their door, face impassive, eyes alert, hand on his sword hilt. He saw her and gave an infinitesimal bow before he realized who she was. Then he cocked his head to one side and surveyed her.
“You look good,” he said. He sounded surprised.
Kirra laughed and did a little pirouette. “My sister spares no expense when it comes to clothes. She has a taste for luxury—and she’s a beautiful woman.”
Justin shrugged. “Not as beautiful as you are.”
She was astonished. “Justin! Did you just pay me a compliment?”
He grinned. “It’s not a compliment. It’s the truth. But there are plenty of worthless beautiful women.”
Now she was giggling. “Oh, please. Stop my world from reeling and tell me I’m one of those. I can’t get past the idea that you think I’m beautiful. I’ll be off balance all night.”
His smile was broader. “You have your uses, though it’s hard to remember them most of the time.”
“Try not to get injured anytime soon,” she advised him, knocking on the door. “Because I won’t come heal you.”
He nodded. “Thanks for the warning. I shall do my best to cleanly win any fight I may get into for the next few days.”
“Ever,” she said, and slipped inside Amalie’s room.
The others were already gathered there, all of them wearing darker colors this evening. Senneth was statuesque in bronze, Valri brooding in black. The princess wore a shiny metallic fabric that seemed to change colors from a glittering blue to a jewel-like green.
“Don’t we look sober,” Kirra observed.
“Everyone reserves their brightest colors for the ball,” Valri said. “So I’ve been told.”
“The night of gaiety.” Kirra nodded. “But tonight—people hold whispered conversations with their neighbors or discuss potential alliances. The dinner the night before the ball is a very important function.”
Senneth looked at the rest of them and sighed. “Oh, yes. Here we have a princess who has rarely left her castle, a serramarra who has not been to a ball for seventeen years, a queen who is ill at ease on the social circuit, and a woman pretending to be—” Senneth caught herself before finishing the sentence as she probably intended.
Pretending to be someone else.
“Pretending to be interested in anything except Danalustrous,” she ended lamely. “We are rather ill-equipped to make deals and carry on intrigue.”
Kirra and Amalie were laughing; even Valri was smiling. “I think we have all done very well despite our handicaps,” Valri said.
“I have had a wonderful time!” Amalie exclaimed.
“And surely tonight will be a simple enough event,” Senneth said. “Are we all ready? Let’s go downstairs.”
Servants in the foyer directed them to a large, pretty salon where most of the other guests had already gathered. Kirra thought there might be a hundred people in the room, which meant double that number would attend tomorrow’s ball. A coup for Mayva and a compliment to the princess.
Mayva and her husband, Lowell, were stationed just inside the room, awaiting the late arrivals. Tayse was standing in the hall, as impassive as Justin and looking even more menacing. Kirra had to wonder how all the other guests tonight had felt about stepping past him to enter the receiving room, enduring his cool, assessing gaze. It almost made her nervous, and she had nothing to fear from him.
Mayva nearly clapped her hands together when the royal party came through the door. “Oh, majesty, don’t you look lovely!” she exclaimed. “And the rest of you, as well. Serra Casserah, I don’t believe I said hello to you this afternoon when you arrived.”
“Hello,” Kirra responded coolly. She spotted Romar lurking nearby, obviously waiting for them as well, but he hung back while their host and hostess greeted them.
Mayva laid an impetuous hand on Amalie’s arm. “There are so many people here I want you to meet! Come with me quickly, before dinner is announced.”
Amalie obediently responded to the pressure of Mayva’s fingers. Valri stepped right after her, and Senneth made as if to follow. Lowell pushed himself forward to block her way. Again, Kirra felt a surge of dislike for his wary, watchful face.
He bent a little, for he was even taller than Senneth, and said, “There is someone else here who would like to meet you, serra Senneth. The princess will not set foot outside this room. You can safely leave her with my wife.”
Kirra swiftly looked at Romar, close enough to hear, and then flicked her eyes toward Amalie’s retreating figure. He nodded, and elbowed his way through the crowd to catch up with his niece. Senneth watched him go and turned her attention back to Lowell.
“Someone who wishes to speak to me?” Senneth repeated, very slightly accenting the last word. “I am not much sought after.”
A wintry smile on that calculating face. Kirra liked him less and less. “You undervalue yourself, serra,” he replied.
“I will meet whomever you like,” she said, and took his arm when he extended it.
Kirra, not about to be left behind, tripped along right after them. She was tempted to lapse into meaningless chatter, just to fill the unnerving silence that seemed to wrap around Lowell, but Casserah was not the type, so she followed them without saying a word.
He was leading them to a small knot of people, three men and two women, who were all somberly dressed and appeared to be deep in a serious discussion. The four whose faces she could see were all strangers to Kirra. The fifth one, a stockily built man with shoulder-length black hair, had his back to her. But something about his shape seemed unpleasantly familiar. Tendrils of dread were already uncurling through her blood before Senneth came to a dead halt a few feet away from the group.
“No,” Senneth said in a flat voice, and dropped her hand from Lowell’s arm. Kirra came up on her other side and was astounded when Senneth actually reached for her arm instead. She felt the heat of Senneth’s fingers through the thin material of her gown. “What is he doing here?”
The sound of her voice must have caught his attention, or maybe someone in his group was staring past him and he wanted to see what interesting sight lay behind him. But the dark-haired man turned to face them in one complete, graceful movement, and Kirra found herself staring at Halchon Gisseltess.
All sorts of thoughts chased themselves through her head in that first numb moment.
What was he doing here? How had he escaped the king’s guards deployed around Gissel Plain to contain him? How did Mayva Nocklyn have the nerve to invite him to her home, knowing he was interdicted? How had he gotten into this room without Tayse seeing him? Tayse would have said something, made some gesture, given them some kind of warning. How had he eluded the Rider?
But most important, of course, most terrifying:
Could he hurt Senneth?
She wanted to scream, to call Tayse into the room, but she could not bring herself to do anything so spectacular. They were here to set up diplomatic relations, not start brawls at every House they visited. Still, it was petrifying to be the only one besides Senneth to know that their greatest enemy was in the room, and smiling at them with a cold and feral satisfaction. She wished she had Cammon’s magical power of communicating without words and across distances. She wished she could alert the Riders, tell Donnal, that they did not have to watch for trouble creeping up to the Towers by stealth. Trouble was already inside the doors.
Halchon came a step closer, that smile still warming his square, intent face. For a moment, Kirra felt a faint wash of his strange energy, his odd ability to dampen or disarm magic. Around him, Senneth could not call fire. Around him, Senneth became mortal and powerless and weak. Even the palm of her hand seemed to cool on Kirra’s arm, though her fingers still clutched so tightly Kirra could feel a bruise forming.
“Senneth,” Halchon said, speaking with real pleasure. That was something else Kirra had forgotten: how beautiful his voice was, resonant and low-pitched. Hypnotic. As beautiful as his sister’s. “I am delighted to see you again.”
And he reached his hand out as if to take hers.
Senneth flinched and stepped back, pulling Kirra with her. “What are you doing here?” Senneth demanded in a hard voice. “You are under the king’s arrest and confined to your house.”
Halchon glanced first over one shoulder and then the other. “Apparently not,” he said. “I am free.”
“You skate very close to treason.”
Halchon laughed softly. “So close, my dear, that I call that country my own.”
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
He allowed his eyes to roam expressively around the room. “Meeting with my friends. Enjoying the social season,” he replied. “Isn’t that why you’re here as well? Though I did not expect to see the long-missing serramarra of Brassenthwaite in such lighthearted pursuits. You must be spending all your time renewing old acquaintances. Have you found that people missed you, Senneth? Have they welcomed you back in their midst?”
“I am not here to make friends,” Senneth replied. “I am here to lend my strength to the princess Amalie as she makes her public debut. But you knew that. You are not surprised to see me.”
“I am surprised to learn that
you
could be considered enough to protect her,” he said, almost purring the words. “For you are powerful indeed, in some circumstances. But I confess I have never found you—shall we say—impossible to overcome.”