“I’ve sent a message to the king,” Tayse said. “If he orders it, we can assemble the Riders and the guard sent to accompany Amalie, and escort the marlord back to his property.”
“He brought fifty men with him,” Justin spoke up. “We have twenty. The odds aren’t good.”
“The regent may lend us his troops,” Tayse said.
“Then who protects Amalie?” Kirra asked.
“She stays in Nocklyn with us till the guards return,” Senneth said. “How could Mayva protest? Surely we mystics can keep her safe inside these walls.”
Donnal shifted his weight. “I could get to Ghosenhall in a day,” he said. “The king could send more troops to escort Amalie home.”
Amalie? Not “the princess”?
Kirra thought. “I don’t think the king will see Halchon as the priority,” she said. “I think he’ll want the Riders to stay with Amalie. But he may want her to come home.”
“In the past we’ve all agreed that cutting short her journey would send the wrong signal,” Senneth said. “Do we still agree on that point? Or is now the time to cut our losses?”
Cammon spoke up. “What’s changed?” They all looked his way, Senneth and Kirra craning their heads to see him sitting behind them on the bed. He shrugged. “What’s changed? Halchon Gisseltess is here. Has he threatened her? No. Is she in danger from him? It seems like he’s only flouting the king, not trying to assassinate the princess. Why is she in any more danger now than she was before?”
Kirra and Senneth exchanged glances. “As always, Cammon’s right,” Kirra said.
“It just
feels
more dangerous,” Senneth grumbled.
Tayse said, “The next question is: Is Halchon Gisseltess continuing on to Rappengrass? Which is where we head next.”
“He wouldn’t have the nerve!” Kirra exclaimed. “Ariane Rappengrass would block him at the border.”
Tayse shrugged. “So then, we do not need to change our plans for him. We stay for the ball tonight. In the morning we leave for Rappengrass and the marlord goes back to his House. Unless the king gives us orders to act as the marlord’s escort, which we all doubt. He will want us beside Amalie no matter who else roams free.”
“Valri will want us to go back to Ghosenhall,” Cammon said. They all looked at him again. “She will! She’s afraid.”
Justin nudged him with his foot, still under the sheets and blankets. “She doesn’t think four mystics and four Riders and twenty of the king’s best soldiers can keep one princess safe?”
Cammon knit his eyebrows as he thought that over. “I don’t think she’s afraid for Amalie’s physical safety,” he said at last. “I think she’s afraid of something else.”
Now they all sent glances bouncing between each other. What in the silver hell did he mean by
that
? Tayse said gently, “Afraid of what?”
Cammon shook his head. “I don’t know. I find Valri impossible to read.” He sounded a little aggrieved. “Which is very strange. I can’t pick up any of her emotions, any of her thoughts, except fear.”
Now Senneth and Tayse were watching each other as if communicating without words. Senneth said, “Not so good, when the queen of the realm is afraid of—something.”
Kirra sighed and pushed herself to her feet. She needed a real bath now, a sink-to-her-neck immersion in a tub of soapy water. “Well, I don’t know what we can do about Valri,” she said. “I don’t know what we can do about Halchon. I don’t know that we can do anything, except dress for a ball tonight and go dancing.”
Tayse nodded and they all shuffled to their feet. The Rider said, “Everyone stay alert and everyone be careful. We don’t need complications of any kind from here on out.”
Kirra, already heading for the door, turned to look back at him. He was watching her.
He knows,
she thought.
DONNAL caught up with her as she was heading back to her own room. “Do you have to spend the entire day getting ready?” he asked, his voice wistful. “It doesn’t seem like a naturally beautiful woman would need more than a few minutes.”
She smiled at him, conscious of a complex surge of emotions. Delight, guilt, constraint, anger. Unexpected and unwelcome, all of them, since Donnal had always been her easiest companion. Why was it now suddenly so hard to settle back into the old familiar relationship? “Did you have a distraction in mind?” she asked.
He nodded, grinning. “Mayva Nocklyn’s husband has organized a hunt to bring in game for the dinner table. Any of the lords who’ve brought their own hounds along are welcome to add them to the pack.”
She felt illicit excitement skitter down her back, a smile of mischief light her face. “You mean to join the pack?”
He shrugged, an answering smile on his own dark face. “I thought it would be fun.”
“They say Nocklyn is good hunting country. Better than Danalustrous.”
“Nothing’s better than Danalustrous.”
“Let me just warn Melly that I’ll be gone all day.”
Half an hour later, they had joined the frenetic pack of dogs boiling in the courtyard of Nocklyn Towers, barely contained by the twenty or so noblemen on horseback. Kirra noticed that a few women were mounted as well—those who showed to advantage on horseback, or those who thought a little equestrian skill might make them appear more desirable to a marriage-minded lord. Mayva was not among them, though Lowell was leading the hunt.
Romar was not among the group, either, which Kirra thought was just as well. She would be mortified if he recognized her, depressed if he didn’t. And there was Donnal. No, better that the regent indulged in other pursuits this afternoon.
They set off, a maelstrom of paws and hooves, Kirra and Donnal racing with the other hounds toward the wilder lands that crept up on the eastern edge of Nocklyn Towers. The day was warm, the air was rich with the spices of summer, and Kirra felt fine. She was in motion, Donnal was beside her, and everyone else who knew her would be horrified by her behavior. This, for her, was almost the definition of a perfect day.
They were gone four hours, chasing down birds and rabbits, fetching the bloody carcasses back to the baggers and bounding off after newly spotted game. “That’s a damn good bitch,” she heard one of the baggers say to another. “She’s brought in more than any of the others.”
“That black mixed-breed—he’s a fine one, too,” his companion replied.
“Who do they belong to? They’re not Nocklyn dogs.”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen anyone call them.”
“Someone who doesn’t deserve dogs this good,” the first man groused. “I’d run them every day if they were mine.”
The other bagger snorted. “You couldn’t afford dogs like those.”
Kirra thought that was definitely true.
They were back at the Towers by mid-afternoon. The exercise and the excitement had combined to leave Kirra completely worn out, but in a relaxed and agreeable way. Surreptitiously changing shapes in the stairwell, she returned to her room yawning but pleased with herself. All her muscles felt like they had been stretched and readjusted; her mind was swept clean, her heart was at ease. She didn’t look as good as she felt, she realized, as she entered the room and saw Melly’s scandalized expression.
“I don’t think I even want to know what you’ve been doing,” the maid said finally.
Kirra caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed unrepentantly. Her dark hair was a tangle of knots, her plain dress was rumpled and grass-stained, and there was a drop of blood on one corner of her mouth. She wiped the red away with a finger.
“You probably don’t,” she replied. “I want to sleep for a while. Then I want a bath. How much time do I have before dinner?”
“Three hours, more or less. I need two hours to dress you.”
“Then let me sleep for an hour.”
Kirra had settled on the bed and covered herself with a light sheet when she realized Melly was still watching her, trouble on her plain face. “What?”
Melly shook her head. “You’ve been behaving oddly the past day or so. I don’t know what to make of you.”
Kirra closed her eyes. “I’ve been so circumspect up till now,” she said drowsily. “Anyone will tell you. This is the way I naturally am.”
THREE hours later—rested, bathed, and styled—Kirra slipped out her door and crossed the hall to join the others in Amalie’s room. “Aren’t we an elegant group,” she commented as she entered. As Casserah, of course, she was in deep red, her dark hair loose around her shoulders and twined with crimson ribbons. Amalie was all in gold; she actually sparkled in the candlelight. Valri wore her usual severe green, this time lightened with knots of gold embroidery worked into a pattern in the wide, smooth skirt. Senneth’s brilliant blue turned her eyes cobalt and her fine hair almost a milky white.
“You’re glowing,” Senneth remarked. “You must have spent the day doing something you shouldn’t have.”
Kirra laughed. The day. Last night. Possibly tonight. Her blood was sparkling in her veins. “It would be so dull to always be good,” she said demurely. “Are we all ready to go down to dinner?”
This meal was a little less dramatic than the one the night before. Halchon and Sabina Gisseltess were present again, but both Senneth and Kirra avoided them, so there was no need for tense conversations and forceful interventions by hulking Riders. Kirra had drawn as tablemates two of the lords who had joined the hunt that afternoon and were describing to their rather less enthusiastic dinner partners the various shots that had brought down particularly wily game. Kirra concentrated on eating the grouse that she may have actually fetched for a bagger and on not laughing out loud.
No one was inclined to linger at the meal. Everyone was eager to move on to the ballroom, and soon enough the entire company had disbanded and reassembled in the great, domed room. Mayva had tastefully decorated with the Nocklyn standard so that in the four corners stood huge ochre-colored vases filled with tall stands of wheat; curtains of the same two colors swathed all the windows. But she had added a pretty touch. Strands of shimmering artificial gems featuring all the colors of the Twelve Houses wound around window frames and pillars, then looped along the crown molding. Kirra paused a moment to count the jewels and found a disturbing addition. Along with the Fortunalt pearls, the Helven emeralds and the Brassenthwaite sapphires, Mayva had strung moonstones to honor the Pale Mother. The Twelve Houses were represented, but so was Lumanen Convent.
It was getting harder and harder to convince herself that Nocklyn Towers might be loyal to the king should it ever come down to war.
“Serra Casserah,” came a voice behind her, and Kirra felt herself turn to glitter and pulse. Romar Brendyn. “It is so early in the evening. Surely you have not given away all your dances already?”
She turned to smile at him, trying to hold on to some of Casserah’s coolness. The orchestra was still warming up, discordant but full of promise. “Why, no, my lord. I have just been standing here bemoaning my lack of partners,” she replied. “Do you have time to spare a dance or two for me?”
He bowed very deeply. “Merrenstow always has time for Danalustrous,” he replied.
She gave him her hand. “Then by all means let us express our politics with the polonaise.”
They laughed through the whole dance, though they said very little and their conversation was essentially meaningless. But they were so happy. They could not look at each other without grinning like fools, so they would turn their eyes away and make some inane comment on someone else’s dress or partner. Kirra thought that anyone watching them must think they were the Pale Mother’s own idiots, struck dumb by divinity or mischance and allowed to attend aristocratic balls out of someone’s misguided pity.
Just before the music ended, Romar’s hand tightened on Kirra’s, and his smiling face looked suddenly eager. “Can I see you tonight?” he asked. “Somewhere—anywhere?”
She felt herself flush from her toes to her hairline, but it was the heat of excitement, not embarrassment. “Maybe—I’m not sure how,” she murmured. “Every door in my hallway opens to the room of someone I know.”
“Mine, too,” he replied. “Rafe and Clera Storian on one side of me, Seth Stowfer on the other. But I am not opposed to moonlight and grass stains if you are not.”