A Posse of Princesses (12 page)

“Not as much as you,” Rhis said truthfully.
“I’m afraid I’m a beanpole, and I’ll always be a beanpole.”

“So? Everyone likes beans,” Shera said.

“Beans. They are not romantic, no matter what
you say,” Rhis declared. “Don’t make game of me now. My stomach is
all butterflies.”

Shera put her head to one side. “But it’s the
truth. Beans aren’t like flowers, maybe, but they are good, and
wholesome, and welcome at every meal. Some flowers,” she added, her
voice sharpening, “look pretty, but are poison.”

Of course Rhis knew what she meant—and more
important, who—but the bells rang then, and there was no more time
for talk.

The girls walked down together, joining
others as they progressed down the hallways. A sharp crack of
laughter from ahead brought Rhis out of her worries about herself.
She recognized more nerves than humor in that laugh. In the faces
around her were the signs of apprehension and tension that she
felt—quick gestures, darting gazes, titters rather than real
laughter, the shimmering of fans plied just a little too fast.

So everyone else had expectations? Probably
not the same ones, Rhis thought. Or did every single girl love
Lios, too? She sighed inwardly, thinking that Iardith wouldn’t be
worrying about sweaty palms and stepping on her partner’s feet.

But then Rhis remembered what Moret had said
about Iardith, and her perspective swooped once more. Maybe Iardith
did
worry. She had perhaps greater stakes than anyone there.
Rhis knew that her own romantic wish that Lios would fall in love
with her in return was just that—romance—but if he didn’t, she
would go home feeling disappointment but no disaster. More
important, her parents would welcome her home with pleasure whether
or not anyone fell in love with her. Same with Shera, she was
certain. One might have a sour governess and the other a
sister-by-marriage waiting at home to scold her back into proper
behavior—but that was the worst of it.

Then she saw Iardith—or what had to be
Iardith. No one could have dared to wear that spectacular white
gown, pure in color as fresh snow; one tiny spill, one false step,
and it would turn grubby. Iardith’s black hair was bound with
pearls and diamonds; the only color in her costume was a great
amber stone in a fabulous setting round her neck, which brought out
the rich glints of her eyes behind their dainty white-feathered
mask.

Her slim hand rested lightly on the arm of a
tall figure with light hair that contrasted with the pure black of
his costume. Costume? It looked more like a military uniform than a
costume, right down to the high black cavalry boots. Rhis
recognized Jarvas’s pale hair in neat looped braids, his distinct
stride.

Audible gasps of breath surrounded the two as
they glided inside the ballroom, Rhis and Shera and a crowd of
others filed in unnoticed behind them. Iardith and Jarvas made a
striking contrast. Awareness rippled through the room in widening
circles, just like when one drops a stone into water.

Jarvas did not turn his head, but Iardith
scanned in quick motions—in anyone else, Rhis would have thought
her manner furtive. She was seeking Lios, of course. The formal
throne at the other end was still empty.

Rhis was impressed by the grand ballroom’s
white and rose marble, and the contrasting bluish marble flooring.
The musicians played in a gallery high above, just under the
ceiling, around the edge of which were sculpted and gilt interwoven
garlands of fantastical flowers. The gently domed ceiling had been
painted a deep blue with an unfamiliar constellation glowing softly
in the light of the thousands of honey-smelling beeswax
candles.

What a splendid ballroom! And it wasn’t even
in the capital. This ballroom belonged just to the prince, yet it
was many times grander than anything in Nym.

She sighed, wondering how she could possibly
be interesting to someone for whom this setting was familiar. No
wonder Lios had never come near her!

“Rhis! Excuse me. Eranda Sky-Born,” came a
familiar voice, ending with suppressed laughter.

Dandiar! Here was one friend, at least.

Dandiar was dressed in costume as well—a very
old fashioned long tunic of deep, forest green, embroidered with
silver and a blue so dark it was almost black. It fitted his slim
form quite well, making him look taller. His wide-set light brown
eyes behind his mask were observant as always, quirked slightly
with question.

Rhis glanced at his partner, and then
recognized the frizzy cloud of curls belonging to Yuzhyu.

“What a beautiful costume! Who are you?” Rhis
asked, admiring the Ndaian princess’s short crimson velvet jacket,
the lacy shirt beneath, and the full trousers below. A golden sash
round her waist, and shoes with slightly curled up toes added a
delightfully exotic touch. Yuzhyu was too small and thin to look
good in a ball dress, but this outfit was just right.

“Me, I be Todozh Yimba, ze Pirate-fighting
Queen from me—um, om, days-before—no, om—”

“History?” Rhis suggested tentatively.

Yuzhyu snapped her fingers. “History. Zat’s
it!”

“A ship-captain queen? What fun! You must
tell me her story.”

“Oom, I do zat!”

Shera, Glaen, and several others appeared
then, and there was general chatter. Shera and Carithe exclaimed
with delight over Yuzhyu’s costume, and insisted on hearing about
the pirate queen.

While that was going on, Dandiar motioned to
Rhis and they drew a little aside. “I knew I could count on you to
take her in,” he whispered. “She’s Lios’s cousin, you know. He
feels an obligation to see that she enjoys herself, but tonight he
can’t devote most of his time to her.”

“Of course she can stay with us,” Rhis
whispered back. “Are you strictly on duty, even though you’re in
costume?”

Dandiar shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”

Rhis bit her lip. “I was going to mention
that I no longer have a first partner, but if you have someone
else, or duty—”

“Well, no, the first dance isn’t assigned,”
Dandiar said with a quick grin. And he bowed. “Your obedient
servant to command.”

Rhis smothered her laughter, as pleasurable
expectation made her heart feel light as a cloud.

“But speaking of duty, I’d better get some of
it done now. I’ll be back on the strike of the promenade.”

He flicked his fingers to his heart in
salute, and then dodged neatly between two strolling couples in
their grand masks, and vanished.

Rhis discovered that the group had grown to
include nearly half of Lios’s guests. She recognized Moret and
several of the people who liked horse-racing. There was Taniva,
demonstrating some kind of sword-fighting technique to the shy
Breggan. Taniva looked spectacular in an outfit of black and
crimson and green, with real gold all over, in tiny round dangles,
chiming with an exotic
ching!
every move she made. The
crimson and green were mostly embroidery, great winged shapes in
stylized fashion on the front and back of her vest, which covered a
black silk shirt with wide sleeves, and petticoat-trousers tucked
into riding boots. Gold was also braided into her dark hair;
several of the more martial of the male guests were clustered round
her, trying to talk one another down as they made dueling
gestures.

“Zat is pulchritude body-cover, om, no?” a
voice murmured next to Rhis.

She felt a flutter of laughter inside at
Yuzhyu’s word choices. But she only nodded. “I love those golden
metal things. They make such a pretty sound,” she said.

“We have.” Yuzhyu nodded. “Oom. Vest? Pest?
Time of the pestibule?”

“Festivals?” Rhis guessed.

The golden-haired princess looked relieved.
“Yiss! Zat is word.”

Rhis sighed. “We don’t have any interesting
costumes in Nym. We used to wear clan colors, but we don’t any
more, because we had too many clan wars.”

“Oh. Is bad.” Yuzhyu nodded, her lips pursed.
“Us. Yiss. Same. Not clams. Clams? Clans? Families, not make ze
battle. Mages. Magic-wars, ship-makers, pirates.”

“I’d like to hear more about your kingdom,”
Rhis said.

Yuzhyu grinned. “Me! I tell bad. I find book
for you—”

The brassy peal of horns rang out then,
cutting through the voices like a knife through bread.

It was time for the promenade—the dancing was
about to begin!

Before Rhis had time to prepare, Lios had
appeared almost at her elbow. She glanced up, despite the blush
heating her face and neck. She could see the exact shade of his
dark eyes, which reminded her of the richest dark chocolate. Oh,
how handsome he was! She sniffed, smelling the herbal scent on his
magnificent costume: he wore a long blue robe embroidered with gold
and silver, with a sash round his narrow middle.

He nodded pleasantly to Rhis, then said to
Yuzhyu, “Ready, Cousin?”

“Yiss, ready-ready-ready,” Yuzhyu sang out
happily.

Lios crooked his arm, and Yuzhyu chuckled, a
merry sound, as she took it. “I like that outfit you have on.”

“I yourss. You old krandfadder-kink, yiss?”
And again the merry chuckle. “I come back?” she asked over her
shoulder to Rhis.

Rhis smiled in answer at Yuzhyu, who
disappeared with Lios into the crowd. Of course they had to lead
the line. But not far behind them, there was Vors, leading out the
Grand Duchess of Wilfen, who was sister to the heir. Wilfen, like
Nym, had veins of gemstones; the grand duchess wore so many on her
costume that she sparkled at every move.

Behind came a whisper, just a little too
loud, from one of the boys, “Pity Vors.”

“Maybe she bribed him,” came an answer, and
the boys moved away, laughing.

Rhis grimaced. So Iardith’s great friend
wasn’t quite as popular as Rhis had assumed.

Dandiar appeared at Rhis’s side. “Your royal
highness?”

“I’m a mage, remember?” Rhis corrected,
laughing. She knew her laugh sounded silly, but she couldn’t help
it. “And you are—who?”

“I’m a poet from three hundred years back.”
Dandiar made a very elaborate bow, then stepped to her right
side.

Anticipation fizzed inside of Rhis like
bubbles in a stream. Lios was tall and imposing on the other side
of the ballroom, at the head of the line. Supposedly no one else
was to go in rank, but as usual Iardith calmly pushed her way
through until she stood directly behind Lios. With a sauntering
step, Jarvas stopped at her side.

Iardith talked across poor, short Yuzhyu.
Lios responded with polite gestures. Jarvas stood with his arms
crossed.

The musicians played their third and last
warning chord. Rhis turned back to her partner, and felt a quick,
self-conscious pang when she saw that familiar quirk of humor in
Dandiar’s wide-set eyes. Brown eyes, like Lios had, but light in
shade, the color of honey-mead in sunlight. Amazing, Rhis thought,
how many shades of brown there were, and all of them
attractive.

She remembered her silly ballad, and all
those gemstone eyes she had been trying to foist onto her Perfect
Prince, and her neck and face felt hot.

Dandiar didn’t say anything embarrassing. The
music started, they lifted their outer hands, and Rhis placed hers
right atop his left in the correct mode. She wondered who his poet
was. Three hundred years back? Who was famous then? A tug at
memory—

“I like what you did with that play,” he
said.

“It was your idea, really,” she replied. “It
was that song you wrote. Singing it in that squeaky voice. It made
me laugh.”

“So with laughter you managed to level the
competition. A remarkable weapon,” Dandiar replied.

“But it isn’t a weapon,” she protested. “No
one was laughing at anyone.”

“No. I did not express myself adroitly.
Laughter used in competition is particularly cruel, but you
effected the opposite, enabling them to be willing to laugh at
themselves. It forced the social competition to cease. At least for
a little while. I wondered—did you intend that?”

Rhis’s thoughts tumbled between delight,
pride, and a little uncertainty. She wished she could say
Yes! I
did!
except it wouldn’t be true. So she shrugged, her face hot
again. “Well, no, all I remembered was your squeaky voice, and how
funny it was, and I thought if I could get an idea going that made
everyone laugh in the same way, they might go for my idea.”

They could not talk; she had to twirl under
his arm and then bow to the fellow on her right—Glaen, and who
grinned at her with his usual good humor—before circling round him
and then back.

“By the way, I appreciate your taking Yuzhyu
into your group. She knows that her conversation is difficult, poor
soul,” Dandiar said.

“Well, I don’t really have a group, but
Yuzhyu is certainly welcome. Truth is, I like her conversation,”
Rhis admitted. “She makes me laugh inside. Not at her. It’s the
words she chooses. Of course when I think of me being sent to some
land—well, I wish I’d do half so well.” She thought of something,
and asked in what she hoped was an offhand voice, as she looked
across the room at the couples circling gracefully around one
another, “I suppose there’s some kind of unofficial betrothal? With
Lios, I mean. Not announced?”

“No, nothing like that. Yuzhyu is the heir to
her kingdom. She has had to stay home. But she made Lios’s life in
the Isle of Ndai pleasant. She and her cousins. When he returned
for the last time—now the heir—she was invited here to broaden her
experience before she has to go home for good. This is her one
chance to travel.”

“Oh.” Rhis heard the laughter in Dandiar’s
voice—which really was a pleasant voice. She wondered if he sang
serious as well as silly songs. “Well. I do like her,” she
finished, feeling adrift.

“Tell me something. Is there anyone you don’t
like?”

His tone had changed.