A Posse of Princesses (14 page)

“So you like riding?” she asked.

Another of those quick glances, slight worry
quirking his brows. “Well, it’s also, you know, part of the duties,
in a manner of speaking.”

“True,” she said, feeling that this
conversation was like laboring uphill back in Nym. Determinedly she
added another boulder to her back, and toiled on. “What things do
you like that
aren’t
part of duty?”

Another quick grip, tight spin, and a
collision averted. Rhis just glimpsed snowy white and black from
beyond the curve of Lios’s shoulder. Iardith. Not trying to
collide—she would never embarrass herself that way—but trying to
listen?

“Oh, I don’t know, I enjoy everything I do.
I, you know, keep busy.” Lios blinked down at her, and must have
seen something in her expression that she hadn’t known was there,
because he added in a low voice, “Gaming. I like gaming. Not big
stakes. It’s the chance, not the money. Horseracing, too. When
there’s time, d’you see.”

“Well, I would think you didn’t have much
time, what with duty, and all those translations in other
languages. All that reading,” she added.

He looked over to the side, his expression
odd. Half laughing, half—worried? And who was he looking at?

Rhis turned her head and just glimpsed
Dandiar, dancing with Hanssa. Dandiar grinned at them both, and
then vanished.

“I think everyone is on the floor this
round,” Lios added. “Crowded.”

“So do you want some punch?” Rhis asked. “I
know I could use some.”

“You don’t mind?” he asked, and this time his
relief was unmistakable.

She shrugged, thinking
: I still have your
company
, but somehow it wasn’t important any more. He was still
handsome Lios, he was just as handsome up close as he’d been across
the room, and he was nice—but somehow that boulder-on-the-head
feeling was gone. In fact, she could say she was no longer in love.
If that boulder-on-the-head feeling really was ‘being in love.’

He guided them in a long, slow spiral toward
the edge of the floor, and they ended up at the refreshment table.
Again, everyone there gave way, and Rhis and Lios did not have to
wait for a cup of the spiced punch.

He gulped down one in the time it took her to
take a sip, then reached for another. He’d drunk half of that
before they were surrounded by people who did not give way.

Iardith’s white gown was at Rhis’s right.

“Your blue and his silver look quite well on
the floor,” Iardith said to Rhis, smiling.

“Thank you,” Rhis began.

One of Iardith’s ducal heirs was talking to
Lios.

“Your gown is the most beaut—”

“Will you just set this down there for me?”
Iardith asked, handing Rhis a cup.

Rhis turned aside to set the cup down,
wondering why Iardith couldn’t herself, but of course there was
that fabulous white gown. Which still looked as fresh as ever.

When Rhis straightened around again, the
perfect white shoulder had turned, and suddenly Iardith was
standing between Lios and Rhis, leaving Rhis staring at the shining
black waterfall of hair, and the back of the wonderful white
gown.

Iardith was busy talking to Lios, so quick
and so smooth there would be no interrupting her. “ . . . and we
thought that a picnic would be a splendid idea, in the afternoon,
of course, after everyone has a chance to rest . . .”

Rhis sighed, finished off her punch, and set
down her cup down next to Iardith’s. No one noticed as she made her
way back through the crowd to her friends.

How late was it? Suddenly the millions of
candles were too bright, her feet hurt from the marble floor, and
she was tired of feeling hot and sticky from so many people pressed
around her. The dance ended, and the musicians immediately began
another. Rhis did not even turn around to see who Lios chose
next.

“There you are, Rhis! C’mon, Breggo wants
desperately to be in that diamond with Taniva and old Thenstras,
there,” Glaen said, emerging from the crowd and beckoning.

Glaen’s pale hair hung in damp strings across
his brow, and there was a splotch of punch on the side of his
costume, but he grinned just as engagingly as ever, pulling Rhis
forward.

Poor shy, tall Breggan gave her a distinct
look of relief, and Rhis felt some of her malaise of spirit fall
away as the dance began. If she’d been in a mood to laugh, it might
have amused her, the way Breggan glared at the red-haired
Thenstras, the short, burly, and very self-confident son of a
wealthy and powerful baroness, whom Shera had pointed out their
second day. Thenstras talked nothing but fighting, in a voice
better suited to the field, and there was no mistaking the interest
Taniva took in his talk.

As the four danced, Breggan glared, Rhis
watched, and Taniva and the baroness’s heir exchanged knowledgeable
talk on the benefits of different types of swords for infantry
versus those for mounted fighting.

Frequently Thenstras made Taniva laugh. It
was a wonderful sound, and she looked like a warrior princess with
her head thrown back and her wide, toothy grin.

But every laugh seemed to make Breggan more
miserable, until finally Rhis whispered, under cover of her hand as
she passed by Breggan, “I happen to know that he’s twoing with
someone at home.”

Breggan’s face went crimson, but his glance
seemed more grateful than strained.

The dance ended a moment later—and Rhis soon
saw that Lios and Shera were next. They danced in the middle of the
floor, Shera chattering away with a bright smile. Of course Iardith
was nearby—for once not with Jarvas, who watched, frowning, from
the other side of the room. Iardith paid no heed to her partner,
but kept her attention on Lios and Shera.

Shera seemed completely oblivious to Iardith,
or Jarvas, or anyone else but her partner. Rhis admired her poise,
not really thinking past that until she caught sight of Glaen
dancing nearby, his forehead tense as he jerked his head to twitch
his long, wispy hair out of his eyes.

Glaen, the joker, the one who never ever said
anything serious, who sought Shera out just to exchange insults
that kept everyone in earshot laughing, looked—well, he looked
dismal.
Forlorn
.

But a moment later he was laughing again, his
back to the royal couple in the center of the ballroom, and then
Rhis found herself surrounded by a group who wanted to make up a
round for the circle dance.

Glaen’s look was still on her mind when the
blue light coming in the high windows drained the gold from the
candlelight, and the shine from the rich fabrics of everyone’s
clothes. Gradually the ballroom began to look dull, and everyone’s
clothes, once so rich and glittering, now seemed wrinkled and
wilted. In twos and threes, the guests began to drift toward the
doors.

Rhis had come to the masquerade with the idea
of staying until the end, in case something magical happened with
Lios. She had entertained in her secret mind visions of him coming
back to her, and the two of them finishing out the night
dancing—the way that Jarvas tried to maneuver Iardith into doing.
Lios introducing her as his chosen as the sun came up, and they
were surrounded by astonished, admiring eyes—

Feh.

Rhis blinked bleary eyes as Jarvas and
Iardith stood in the middle of the floor, she with hands on hips,
he talking, one hand making a quick, almost violent motion.

“That’s one fellow who will never even do his
duty,” she muttered, and then was taken by a sudden, vast yawn.

“What’s that?” Shera murmured.

Rhis blinked tiredly. “Oh. I didn’t know I’d
spoken aloud. Jarvas. Won’t ever do his duty. Dance with the rest
of us, d’you see? Lios did his duty.”

Shera brushed a damp curl off her forehead.
“Well, Jarvas would probably see as his only duty leading
war-parties for Damatras’s glory.”

She yawned fiercely as they trailed other
tired guests through the doors and down the halls. When they
reached their rooms, Shera followed Rhis into hers.

“So what did you think of him?” Shera
asked.

“Who, Jarvas? Oh! Lios?” Rhis asked.

Shera sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Who else?
You’ve only been looking forward to tonight—last night—since we
first arrived.”

Rhis began to unfasten her hair, her fingers
working steadily as her mind sorted through her emotions. “He’s
nice. And handsome as handsome can be,” she said slowly. “But . . .
whatever I was feeling, it wasn’t love. I think it was probably
just—”

“Attraction. And silly girls our age—and
silly boys, too—mistake attraction for love every day. Twice a
day.” Shera waved a hand. “I’ve heard that only a hundred times. A
day. From my governess. When I first began to attend court.”

Rhis grimaced. Why was Shera’s voice so
sharp?

“Well, my heart wants to be in love, but it’s
with his looks, and his voice, and the way he rides, and so forth.
But our minds—” Rhis shrugged. “I don’t know. Somehow all the, the
tingle is gone. In me, I mean. He certainly never felt any toward
me, he barely
saw
me. He’s handsome, and kind, but being
with him—well, I could imagine kissing him, but not talking to him,
and if I can’t talk to him, I find I don’t really want to kiss him,
either. Not any more.” She was so tired she didn’t even blush at
the word
kiss
. “Does that make any sense?”

Shera was, after all, more experienced. She’d
been twoing with someone for eight months and seventeen days before
she left for this palace party, while Rhis’s only experience had
been a practice kiss or two with the cook’s nephew, who’d taught
her some ballads. Rhis had learned two things: one, ballad-kissing
was more exciting than kissing the cook’s nephew behind the flour
barrels, and two, don’t lift your chin at the last moment, because
his nose might bump into your upper lip and that
hurt
.

“Of course it makes sense,” Shera said in a
flat voice, her gaze on her gripped fingers. “The fire of
attraction comes and goes, just like lightning.” She smiled a
crooked sort of smile. “Our governesses don’t tell us that when
they prate of duty, but the ballads tell us.”

“Some ballads do,” Rhis acknowledged, eying
Shera’s odd expression, which brought her mind back to Glaen, and
that unguarded stricken look. Glaen without his own mask. “I just
didn’t know what it meant. So how about you?” She sensed that
something was very wrong. “Um, not just Lios, but what did you
think of, well, the whole masquerade?”

“It was—interesting,” Shera said, looking out
the window.

Rhis felt as if someone had poured cold water
inside her head. Shera’s shoulders were hunched, she gripped her
forearms across her front, and the corners of her smile turned
down, not up. That was not the Shera she knew. Shera loved to
laugh!

“Interesting?” Rhis asked.

To her surprise Shera’s eyes began to gleam
in the candlelight, gleam and gather light. Just as Rhis’s
confused, tired mind realized that that liquid glimmer along
Shera’s eyelids was tears, Shera got up, turned her back, and
started out.

“We’re tired,” came her unsteady voice. “Good
night.”

Rhis woke up to the sound of a pair of birds
squabbling musically right outside her window. She got up, her
limbs feeling heavy but her head light, and knew she had not been
asleep very long at all.

She glanced outside. A bird’s nest was wedged
neatly into some of the golden stone carving just above the arched
window, little beaks just visible beyond the twigs and bits of duff
forming the edge of the nest. A parent bird plunged its beak down
toward the babies, giving them food.

A quick shadow flitted across the other side
of the window. The other parent bird darted at a third bird,
larger, with bright red and yellow feathers. Again and again it
darted, warbling a loud, excited fall of notes, until the strange
bird flew off, skimming over the treetops.

Rhis drew her knees up, put her chin on them,
and watched the birds for a time. The one in the nest flitted out
of sight, then returned with more food. The other bird then took
off, and it, too, returned with food. They took turns; the one not
feeding defended the nest.

Birds, nest, mates. No, don’t think about
that now.

Rhis felt a kind of tired pleasure weighing
on her mind, a little like a comfy quilt in winter. There was a lot
of winter on Nym’s heights. In Damatras, too, apparently. She’d
heard people complaining how this was the worst spring they’d ever
seen, but Rhis found the weather quite pleasant.

Like . . . sunshine. That’s what she was
seeing!

She scrambled up. She could always sleep
later. A bath, and breakfast, and a walk outside were what she
needed now.

Especially as she did not really want to be
alone with her thoughts, at least not yet. Somewhere under that
comfortable blanket of tiredness was hurt. It had been made obvious
last night that her dreams about Lios were just that, dreams, that
she had probably shared with more than half the girls present at
this great party.

And why shouldn’t they? Rhis decided as she
slid into the bath. Short girls, tall girls, skinny, plump, some
with talents at this, others good at that. Each is the heroine of
her own ballad, Rhis recognized as she used her favorite
lavender-scented soap on her hair. How many had wished that Lios
would abandon all the dances after hers, and devote himself to her
alone? And make that dawn announcement,
This is the one I’ve
chosen—

How many times did he hear
What poets do
you like?

Rhis groaned, and ducked under the water,
wishing she could rinse away her regrets as well as she could rinse
away the stickiness from her night of dancing.

Well
, she thought as she emerged,
at least if I was silly, I was just one of many, and he probably
never remembered my babble past the time we parted. I was part of
his duty last night, same as a long day in the saddle
.