Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (55 page)

To the king’s left sat the emissary of High
King Orkrash Maul, a lean man with slick black hair who Scarlett
recognized immediately. The sight of him chilled her bones.

“That must be him,” Aamor said. “He does
look strange, doesn’t he?”

Scarlett’s mind filled with unwelcome
memories as she took in the unforgettable face of Ustus Rapere.

“I hear they call him the Ivy of Edhen,”
Aamor whispered. “But I don’t know why.”

Next to Ustus sat Demulier Congrave, the
wild-eyed woman who had accompanied him that day in the market
plaza of Perth. She was as chilling then as she was now, with green
catlike eyes that never seemed to blink, and a lithe frame that
exuded sensuality and power. Scarlett remembered her like they had
met yesterday, and she trembled with the memory of Demulier and
Ustus dragging her sister away into the dark hallways of a brothel.
Scarlett was sold to Prince Taggart that day, a day that had
changed her life.

“Oh, my Lord Tristian!” Aamor exclaimed.

Scarlett was surprised that she hadn’t
noticed the prince sooner. He stood just to her left dressed in his
royal best, a long navy coat made of velvet with gold trim that
shimmered in the light. His long black hair had been pulled away
from his handsome face and ran down to the nape of his neck.

“I’m glad you both could make it this
evening,” he said, leaning on a cane to support his deformed leg.
In his free hand he swirled a silver chalice of wine. He took a sip
and then regarded the cup with satisfaction. “Father has pulled out
the good stuff tonight.” He looked down at Scarlett. “Are you all
right, Red?”

The sight of Ustus must have shaken her more
than she realized. Scarlett swallowed back the uneasiness in her
stomach and gave Tristian a nod.

“I’ve never seen this many people here
before,” Aamor said, stepping closer to Tristian.

“Nor I,” he said, “which makes me suspect
that many of them were paid to attend.”

Or threatened
, Scarlett thought.

Aamor playfully swatted him on the arm.
“Careful what you say, my lord.”

He finished his wine and passed the chalice
to a nearby manservant. “Or what? Do you think my father would have
me hanged?”

No, but Catherina would
.

Aamor looked aghast. “I certainly hope not!
I only fear one of the guests might overhear you.”

Tristian sighed. “You’re right, as usual. It
would be a shame if one of these arrogant nobles groveling at my
family’s table were found to be insincere.”

Aamor stifled a giggle and tried to hide her
reddening face.

Tristian chuckled. “And now I’ve embarrassed
you.”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t mind, but you
know I snort when I get to laughing.”

With a chuckle, Tristian said, “I rather
think a little snorting could liven up this affair, don’t you?”

Some nobles at a nearby table turned and
cast annoyed glances toward the prince.

Aamor started tittering and covered her
mouth.

Scarlett smiled while she watched them.
Seeing them both so close together sent her imagination running.
She pretended there was no propriety between them, that they were
common peasants, perhaps owners of a humble cottage on the
outskirts of the kingdom. He wasn’t a prince, and she wasn’t a
servant. They were even, perhaps, in love.

Scarlett reached out, took their hands and
clasped them together. She imagined, for a moment, that they were
husband and wife, and that she was perhaps their—

Tristian jerked his hand away and wheeled on
Scarlett. “What are you doing?” He lowered his voice when some of
the guests took notice. “Red, you shouldn’t have done that. What’s
wrong with you?”

Aamor stepped back, looking embarrassed. “My
lord, she was simply being silly. Weren’t you, love? No harm
done.”

“That was inappropriate.” He glared at
Scarlett. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Tristian’s anger surprised her.

“I think she’s just at that age when a young
girl’s thoughts turn to romantic things,” Aamor said. “Yes. Isn’t
that right?”

Scarlett nodded, though she still wasn’t
sure what she had done wrong.

Tristian composed himself, smoothing out the
front of his coat. “Well, let me give you both a piece of advice.
Leave all your romantic notions at the borders of the kingdom.
There is no place for softness in Tay, or love.” He wagged a finger
at them both. “Don’t ever get married, at least not to anyone from
this place. There are no good men here.”

The look of heartbreak on Aamor’s face went
unnoticed by Tristian, but not Scarlett.

“You’re a good man, my lord,” Aamor
said.

“No, I’m not.” Tristian looked away, his
face saddened by some distant secret. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He ambled away with the help of his cane.

Aamor slipped down the corridor to the left
and vanished around the corner.

Looking first toward Tristian, and then in
the direction of Aamor, Scarlett felt suddenly lost. She wondered
if what she had done was truly so bad. Tristian and Aamor were in
love. She knew it. She saw it almost every day. People in love were
supposed to be together. It seemed so simple.

She took a deep breath and sighed away her
confusion. Adults. She would never understand them.

Scarlett made her way into the crowd. She
walked between the rows of tables packed with chattering noblemen
clad in refined coats and leather, many flirting with freshly
powdered noblewomen indulging in pointless gossip.

She worked her way to the middle of the room
to watch the people dance. She liked the women in their beautiful
dresses, the billowing skirts that flared out when they
twirled.

“My lady,” came a voice behind Scarlett. She
turned to see a tall man with a regal chin and charming blue eyes
smiling down at her. He had the gray hair of a gentleman past the
prime of his life, but the build of a man who could still handle a
sword. “My name is Sir Dunmore Waters, and I’ve been told that you
are quite the little dancer.” He extended an arm to her. “Might you
give me a dance or two?”

Scarlett beamed and dipped her head toward
him.

“Wonderful!”

She stepped up to the old knight, put one
hand in his and set the other high atop his shoulder where she
could hardly reach.

And then they were off, their feet stomping
across the tile floor. Sir Dunmore was a good dancer, keeping the
time and leading her in twirls to the right and to the left.

“Lord Tristian told me you enjoy your dance
lessons very much,” Sir Dunmore said. “It makes him happy, I think.
Without the use of his feet it delights him to see you use
yours.”

The song ended, but Scarlett was just
getting warmed up. When a fiddler began a bouncing tune she grabbed
Sir Dunmore and started again. The crowd parted, making way for the
tall knight and the springy little girl twirling and stepping as
though they were the only ones in the room.

“We have an audience,” Sir Dunmore said, as
he dipped Scarlett over his arm. “Make me look good.”

Hand in hand they danced a straight line to
one end of the floor, then back toward the stage. She caught a
glimpse of Tristian smiling down at her from his father’s table,
which gave her a thrill, a thrill that died the moment she saw the
sour expression of Queen Catherina. She did not look amused.

The song finished and the people clapped.
Sir Dunmore bowed. Scarlett curtsied, and they retreated from the
dance floor.

A young woman glided up to Sir Dunmore and
kissed him on the cheek. From her powdered cheeks, glossy lips, and
long dark hair, to her deep décolletage, slim waist, and
extravagant gown, she glimmered with a promiscuous beauty. “Who is
she?” she asked, looking at Scarlett.

“Korah, this little one is the young lady I
was telling you about,” Dunmore answered. “The prince’s young
friend, and a wonderful dancer.” He took Scarlett’s hand. “Well
done, miss.” He gave her knuckles a kiss.

“And did you have fun, my darling?” Korah
asked.

Sir Dunmore released a deep satisfied
breath. “Korah, my dear, that was a fine dance.”

“Should I be jealous?” Korah asked.

“Nonsense. You’ll get your turn to dance.”
He grabbed her around the bottom, pulled her against his hip, and
added, “In my room later tonight.”

Korah giggled, a sweet and inviting
sound.

She looked at Scarlett. “Do you live here in
Tay, child?”

She nodded.

Korah’s eyes brightened at the admission.
“Oh, very good! Then perhaps you could tell me why the castle
appears to be white when viewed at a distance. A very dear friend
of mine who loves history and facts about the kingdoms made me
promise to find out for her. Is it because of a magic spell, or is
it a trick of the light?”

Before Scarlett could answer, Sir Dunmore
tossed his head back and guffawed. “Silly girl. There is a simple
scientific explanation for the castle’s appearance, and it has
nothing to do with spells or trickery. It’s caused by the salt that
blows in off the ocean, paints the castle in a fine white dust, you
see.”

Korah ran a finger through the knight’s gray
beard. “Seems they were right about you, Sir Dunmore. You know a
lot about many things.”

They walked off together, rubbing noses,
hands groping.

Scarlett shook her head, amazed by the
things people claimed to know and chose to believe. Had she a voice
she would’ve explained that the castle’s white appearance had
nothing to do with salt, or magic and light. The stone used to
build the castle was rich with white lime. When hit just right by
the sun it appeared to shimmer white, though only for a brief
period each day, and only when the skies were clear.

Scarlett noticed a series of quick colorful
movements in front of the king’s table atop the dais. When she got
clear of the crowd she saw a trio of acrobats and jugglers leaping
and spinning onto the stage. Among them was Buttonhead, Tay’s most
renowned jester. He wore a bright blue and red uniform with bells
and trailing feathers, but his most distinguishing feature was his
white button mask. The royal family of Tay, and a few others, knew
him as Robert Kerr, a stage actor in the city’s amphitheater,
famous for his dramatic portrayals of Tay’s historic leaders.

Scarlett noticed that the king’s table was
empty.

Glancing around the room she saw Tristian
limping through the door behind the king and queen. She followed
after him, intending to ask him about her living arrangements. She
didn’t care what the queen said. She didn’t want to be forced out
of Tristian’s bedchambers and she was certain he would plead her
case before Catherina.

She caught up to him in the corridor outside
the State Hall, at the entrance to a private meeting room known as
the King’s Cagair. Scarlett had never been allowed inside. In fact,
few were. The King’s Cagair was reserved for confidential
government and judicial matters.

Scarlett tugged on Tristian’s
shirtsleeve.

“Red,” he greeted, “it was wonderful to see
you dance tonight. You’ll have to excuse me for a little while. The
high king’s emissary has requested a private conference with my
family.”

Demulier Gongrave brushed past Scarlett, her
wild green eyes giving her the chills. “What a lovely young girl,”
the woman purred.

“Red, this is Demulier Congrave,” Tristian
said. “She is a high ranking advisor to the high king.”

Scarlett didn’t need or want an
introduction. She remembered Demulier all too well. She offered a
polite bow nonetheless.

“Charming,” Demulier said before slipping
into the meeting room.

“I’ll be out shortly,” Tristian said.

Scarlett huffed once the heavy wood door to
the King’s Cagair had closed. A guard stationed himself in front of
the entrance that, when sealed, was soundproof. He glared at
Scarlett with a stern gaze that suggested she find somewhere else
to be.

She veered south and made her way along the
corridors that circled around the King’s Cagair. She didn’t like
not knowing what was being discussed. She didn’t like that woman,
or the high king’s emissary.

They may have locked her out, but she knew
of other ways inside.

Scarlett took a stool from a broom cupboard
in the rear wing of the castle, and carried it to the corridor that
circled around the back of the secret meeting room. Against the
wall there was a notch with a small vent high above the floor. The
vent was small and cold. Scarlett knew that in a few years she
would be too big to fit through it, but for now she could shimmy on
her elbows and knees to the metal grate overlooking the inside of
the King’s Cagair.

A half dozen lanterns illuminated the room.
The dark stone walls were bare minus a large silver and gold coat
of arms that hung behind the king’s chair. Dagart, Catherina, and
their two sons sat around a broad wooden table alongside two of
Dagart’s closest advisors, Balgair Kinloch and Dolmhart Gloinson.
Princess Arrahbella sat next to Tristian, with a look of faint
trepidation on her porcelain face.

Demulier stood on the outskirts of the room,
her eyes intent on Ustus as he circled the table in the middle of a
speech. He appeared calm and dignified, even if Scarlett did think
his face was creepy.

“Do not think the loyalty of the Elles has
gone unnoticed by his majesty,” Ustus said. “He is extremely
grateful for your support, and is prepared to reward you.” He
thrust a finger into the air. “But not in material gain. The wealth
of Tay is widely known throughout the realm, and his majesty knows
you are not in want, and so what he is prepared to offer is a
wealth not of this world.”

King Dagart looked puzzled. “What kind of
wealth?”

“Wealth in power.”

This seemed to please the king who smiled,
as did his wife.