A Posse of Princesses (13 page)

Rhis gave him a looked midway between
question and surprise; his expression was hard to interpret.
“Well—” She didn’t want to say anything about Iardith, about whom
her feelings were more mixed than negative. “It’s things I dislike,
more than people,” she said slowly, reaching for the right
words.

Dip, swap, turn under his arm. She liked his
scent. It was more astringent than Lios’s, but just as nice. Would
he find her own lavender scent as nice?

She gave her head a shake and said,
“Cruelty.” Remembering Vors, she added with even more feeling,
“Falseness. I really dislike that.”

“Falsity? As in . . .?” Dandiar prompted.

“As in pretending something one isn’t.” Rhis
remembered that awful last line on Vors’ note—about being her most
ardent admirer. It implied he was her only admirer, and he wasn’t
even an admirer! “I hate that,” she finished in a sharp voice.

Dandiar gave her a comical smile as they
dipped and turned again. This time she exchanged bows and turns
with the next fellow down, one of the ducal heirs who was usually
with Iardith’s crowd.

Rhis scarcely paid him any attention. She saw
that questioning look in Dandiar’s eyes, and waited impatiently
until they were together again.

Dandiar said, “False courtship, or false
guises?”

Rhis grinned. “I don’t mean masquerades. Or
plays. Those are fun, and everyone knows they are false faces, so
to speak. But to say a lot of things about admiration, and to
flirt, to a person’s face, but behind her back ask a lot of
questions about wealth and so forth—well, I hate that.”

“Isn’t that a part of position, though?”
Dandiar asked.

“Position?”

“Royalty can’t marry entirely to suit
oneself. There’s the kingdom to think of, and sometimes a
desperately empty treasury, and a wealthy spouse can bring about
needed reforms. For others, a marriage might be necessitated by a
treaty—the joining of two powerful families in order to prevent
war.”

Rhis peered past his shoulder as the dance
required them to turn. The lines of brilliantly dressed dancers
dipped, whirled, and swayed. “I know,” she said. “My brother
married to benefit both kingdoms. Well, and so did Elda. But
neither of them told lies to get the other to like them. Or at
least, I don’t actually know that—”

She paused. Dandiar handed her expertly under
his arm and they whirled back to back and then faced one another
again.

He said, “Go on.”

“I guess they might not have told me
everything. About their courtship, I mean. But neither of them is
the least romantic, and even my sister Sidal says that they
understood one another from the start. And neither is the type to
tell even the smallest fib, even the ‘I like your gown’ kind, if
they think the gown really ugly. Both would think it their
duty
to tell you your gown is ugly.”

Rhis peeked past Dandiar as they did
hands-across and twirled again. Lios was still almost directly
opposite, dancing gracefully next to the little golden-haired
princess from Ndai.

“No romance at all?” Dandiar asked.

Rhis grinned at the teasing tone of his
voice, her attention back on him. She laughed, secretly admiring
the way his velvet, plain as it was, moved so flatteringly across
his back, and outlined his arms. He had well-shaped arms. “None,”
she said, and aware of having gotten distracted, she forced her
mind back onto the subject. “It was Elda who drilled both Shera and
me with her favorite maxim, that a crown prince looks for dignity
and dedication to duty above all in a princess. And she believes it
to be true. But I wonder if it’s really true.”

“For some, I suspect.” Dandiar grinned. “But
others probably look for other things ‘above all.’”

Rhis returned his grin. “If there’s no real
feeling of romance, then I’d so much rather that the pretty words
of romance be left out. I’d respect a person who said, ‘Rhis, I
need to marry wealth, and you are wealthy.’ The pretence of, of,
liking, or romance, is what I hate—it’s too sickening when someone
glops on about flowers and hearts and how beautiful I am and how
smart, and so on, but not really meaning it. I guess that’s
because, well, if they lie to me when we are strangers, when does
the lying stop?”

“Some are not permitted the luxury of plain
speaking,” Dandiar said in a low voice. And, quickly, he
quoted,

“
They all see the mask upon my
face,

Some hear my voice despite disguise,

Who shall sense somber spirit ’neath its
merry façade?”

Rhis laughed silently in recognition.

“
Clouds mask the stars,

Then pass for those who are patient,

Leaving eternal sky, constant as my
spirit—”

she quoted in triumph. For a moment her mind
was no longer in Eskanda’s ballroom but back in her tower, looking
at a very worn, green-covered book—

“
Will you not look up,

And see them
?” Dandiar finished.

“Dandiar the poet-king!” she exclaimed.
“Traveled the world, his sister was the heir, she was killed in a
sea-battle, and so he became king!
That’s
who you are!”

Dandiar grinned. “Great joke, isn’t it? I
mean the name.” He gave a little laugh. A self-conscious one, the
first she’d ever heard. “I couldn’t resist, because of the shared
name. Does it sound high and mighty?”

Rhis said in surprise, “No—of course not.
Everyone here is pretending to be someone famous—” The dance ended
then, everyone bowed or curtseyed to their partners, and Dandiar
excused himself and moved on.

Rhis plied her fan, banishing her
disappointment that the dance had ended so fast. At least she had
Lios to look forward to! The dancers couldn’t pass fast enough,
until she got her turn. Her insides behind her fine bodice were
full of butterflies of anticipation.

The ordered couples dissolved into knots of
three and four or more, but most faces were turned toward him.
Expectant females smiled, some of them with nervous gestures, or
giggles that Rhis could hear across the room: so everyone else
remembered that Lios was going to dance with every girl at this
masquerade.

The party will be over in a few days
,
she thought.
We’ll be going home. How many were sent here, male
and female both, under orders like Iardith’s father gave
her?

Vors appeared next to her, and she made
herself smile and hold out her hand. At least the second dance was
lively, with frequent changes of partner. As he carried right on
with his campaign of compliments, she didn’t have to do much but
smile and flutter her fan as she danced.

Her next was with Glaen, a much preferable
partner—even if he kept craning his neck to see who Shera was
with.

After another pair of dances, with Sefan and
Halvic, she noticed that the dances calling for diamonds of four
couples were being alternated with the waltos and other
single-partner dances. When she paused between dances to rest,
catch her breath, and drink some of the spiced punch, Rhis observed
Lios working his way through the females a little faster by doing
the fours-dances, which meant he could dance with two girls in the
same dance.

She also noticed that there were quite a few
scribes dancing. All boys, and a few who had to be young men well
into their twenties. Dandiar was busy with a different partner
every time she glimpsed him. Rhis realized what she hadn’t before,
that girls far outnumbered boys at Lios’s great party. Lios had
gotten most of his male scribes to dress up, so that everyone who
wanted a partner had the opportunity.

At first she danced every dance—each time one
ended, she would turn around, and there was another partner
waiting. At first they were all partners she knew, but then came
boys she hadn’t met yet, including several of the scribes. Most
were a lot of fun. She actually managed to forget Lios for long
periods of time because she was enjoying herself so much.

Especially during the fours dances, when
there was plenty of joking and laughter. And yes, even flirting,
but somehow it was all right with Breggan and some of the others.
Their compliments didn’t feel like a . . . campaign.

During one lively eights dance Glaen and
Shera were again partners, and their continuous fire of insults
kept everyone in the group laughing—even the shy Breggan, who had
managed to get Taniva as his partner. Rhis was with one of the
scribes for the second time. She snickered so hard she had a stitch
in her side, and she felt damp and overly warm in her layered
costume when it ended.

“Oh,” she said, fanning herself. “I think I
need—”

Something to drink
never made it past
her dry lips. She turned around, and Lios was there, holding out
his hand in invitation. “Will you dance with me?”

Rhis sensed her friends stepping out of the
way, and she held out her own hand, damp and hot as it was.

Ought she to wipe it down her gown? Except
that would look so, well, grubby. Iardith would never do such a
thing! And anyway the musicians were now playing the introduction
to a waltos. So she just lightly touched his fingers, and when he
clasped her hand to hold it, she discovered that his hand was also
warm and damp.

Lightning sparked through her. She was
getting one of the couple dances, not a fours dance!
Pride—trepidation—apprehension—delight—a cloudburst of emotions
followed the lightning, almost making her dizzy.

Counterpoint to that was the movement of the
dance itself. Round, and round, step-two-three, step-two-three.
Lios was very good at it.

Breathe, she commanded herself. This was her
chance, probably her only chance. She was finally alone with Lios,
or as alone as she was ever going to be.

She peeked up. His dark eyes under their long
lashes flicked continuously from side to side as he watched
everywhere, steering them through the whirling couples. She was
intensely conscious of his hand gripping hers, damp as it was, and
the other resting correctly against her waist at the side. It was
only a dance, she wasn’t really in his arms, but still she felt as
shy—as stunned—as she had her very first evening.

Talk
, she commanded herself.
Don’t
be a bore!
Graceful conversation. So what ought she to say?

Her mother’s admonitory verse flitted through
her mind, quick as one of those invisible butterflies of flame:

“
Fall in love with heart, not
head,

to trouble you’re led.

Fall in love with heart and mind,

then true love you’ll find.”

She looked up, to meet a polite smile.

Just polite. Not ardent, or lingering.
Polite.

Lios was very tall—much taller than she was
used to—and as she tipped her head back to see him more clearly she
inadvertently found herself staring up his nose. She felt laughter
bubble inside, and she must have smiled, because he smiled down at
her, this time a real smile.

“Who is your favorite poet?” she asked, the
first question she could think of. “Someone in our language, or do
you find one of the foreign ones better?”

“Poet?” Lios repeated, and blinked once. He
smiled again, this time a quick, self-deprecating smile, before he
returned to his scanning. “Poetry isn’t much in my line, I’m
afraid. Do you like it?”

Well, how was one to answer that? His voice
was deep, and attractive, but the words were not the least
romantic.

“Yes,” Rhis said.

“Tell me about your favorites,” Lios asked.
His voice was so pleasant.

“I don’t want to be boring,” Rhis
replied.

Just then Lios’s breath whooshed past her
ear, and his grasp tightened, spinning them into a quick circle.
Rhis felt herself pressed against the glorious brocade of his
costume—he was being one of his most famous ancestors, no doubt, a
“krandfadder-kink”. A pair of unheeding couples spun past, almost
colliding.

Appreciation for Lios’s skill mixed with a
distinct awareness of the fact that Lios was much more damp than
she was. In fact, that clean herbal scent she’d sniffed earlier had
given over to the scent of damp fabric and plain, honest sweat.
Then he let her loose again, a gesture that underscored that he’d
pulled her close not out of a sudden, mad passion, but to keep her
from being knocked down by those couples galloping by, twirling as
fast as they could.

He whooshed out his breath again.
He will
dance with every one of you
, Dandiar had said that first night.
Until now, Rhis hadn’t understood what that meant. As the evening
had gotten later, she’d sat out for a couple of dances. Sometimes
friends had joined her. But Lios had been on his feet the entire
night.

She glanced up again—her neck cricking—and
saw him watching the other couples. For that moment his polite
smile had faded, leaving him looking distinctly damp and tired.

“Do you want to sit this one out?” she
asked.

Lios glanced down at her, his eyes startled.
Then his perfectly arched dark brows crimpled into worry. “Am I
stepping amiss?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” Rhis said. “Not at all. You’re
good—very good—but I was just thinking, there are a lot of us
females, and if you have to dance with every single one—well, maybe
at least one of us ought to be merciful and give you one chance to
sit for a while.”

Lios grinned, a big grin with beautiful, even
white teeth, and a flush under his brown skin. “That’s all right.
It’s—you know—a part of the duty, you might say. No worse than a
long day in the saddle.”

Rhis tried to smother a laugh, but was
unsuccessful. Being likened to a long day’s ride was not at all
romantic, but on the other hand, it was funny, and if she couldn’t
have romance, wasn’t a good laugh a decent enough trade?