A Posse of Princesses (16 page)

Then she recognized them: Dandiar and
Yuzhyu.

As Rhis watched in blank amazement, Dandiar
took both Yuzhyu’s hands, pressed hers between his palms, and
leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

Her low, infectious chuckle sounded above the
patter and spat of rain on the leaves overhead, then she looked up,
and went still, her mouth an O of surprise.

Dandiar’s head turned. Quick, sharp.

For a long, agonizing moment Rhis stared down
into his stricken brown eyes, and then she turned away, and
stumbled up the hill.

“Rhis!”

Why should she stop? Why should she feel as
if she’d been betrayed, and not the two who obviously wanted
privacy?

She couldn’t answer anything—or anyone.

She swept up her skirts and ran.

Shera sat very straight and stiff next to
Rhis, her face rigid, her eyes wide open, her focus on the stage,
but every so often a silent sob shook her frame.

She tried to control them. Rhis could feel
the effort Shera made. She could also feel Glaen’s gaze, two rows
behind them. At the other end of the first row sat Yuzhyu, her
round face troubled, her attention on her lap. No one, as usual,
paid any attention to her, but Rhis avoided her because she did not
know what to say.

A kiss? Dandiar?

It’s none of my business
.

She had assumed that Dandiar was the tutor
the Ndaian princess had mentioned. What could be more natural? He
spoke several languages, and he was a favorite with Lios. But
kissing? Even cheek-kisses—

None
of her business! Except the image
of those two heads together would not leave her alone, it made her
feel sick inside. She was ashamed of herself for that reaction.
What two people did while obviously wanting privacy was none of her
business. And she couldn’t understand where the feeling had come
from. But it was there.

Rhis turned her head slightly, and strained
her eyes to peer at Lios, who seemed to be the only one relaxed
that evening. He lounged back in his chair, seated between two of
the older countesses, both known for being betrothed. For once
Iardith had not claimed her ‘rightful’ place at his side.

When had that occurred? And why?

Iardith was sitting four people down from
Rhis, almost as rigid in posture as poor Shera. Next to her was
Jarvas. Rhis could see his large, strong hand clenched on his knee.
In front of them sat Taniva, who glanced back once, her brow low,
her mouth grim, as she exchanged warlike glares with Jarvas.

Then there was Vors, three people down on
Shera’s side, and Rhis glimpsed
his
unhappy gaze, for just
after dinner he’d come up and taken her arm, saying with a
proprietary air, “Here I am, if you were looking for me. Let’s go
find a good seat.”

Rhis had felt her rare temper flare.

“No, I wasn’t,” she snapped, and then
immediately regretted it. But it was too late. Her mouth seemed to
belong to someone else, for she heard herself add, “But I’ll leave
you with a little hint: Lelsei Sanlas is three times as wealthy as
I am. Why don’t you sit with her instead?”

And she’d left him standing there, his mouth
ajar.

Was
anyone
listening to the
singers?

Her thoughts swooped heart-ward with a kind
of hilarious despair. She knew she ought to be listening. Indeed,
she was, for at least some portion of her mind registered that the
singers were exquisitely good, and further, they were singing
ballads—her favorite kind of music. They sang in counterpoint, in
difficult chordal changes that altered the mood of each song, but
she could not get her mind to concentrate on that music!

Don’t think about a scribe and a princess .
. .

No. She wouldn’t think about Dandiar and
Yuzhyu. What was the use? And anyway, she seemed to be surrounded
by unhappy people no matter where she looked. Had the masquerade
turned out to be some sort of disaster, or were all the grim moods
the result of tiredness? She just hoped that she, and everyone else
involved in the play, could get a real night of sleep, or their
“entertainment” was going to be a disaster before they even began
to rehearse.

The only person missing was Dandiar. She’d
noticed that right away. Not that she had the least desire to talk
to him. But none of the scribes were about, so either they had
other duties, or Lios had let them get some sleep at last.

A song ended. Clapping startled Rhis, and she
joined hastily, locking her jaw against a yawn until her face ached
and her eyes stung.

She blinked, sneaked a peek sideways—tears
bounced off Shera’s bodice, like glimmering gems, and splashed onto
her lap.

Rhis bit her lip. No doubt the singers were
glorious, but oh, would this evening ever end?

It did, and the audience began to rise, some
furtively stretching cramped muscles, some shaking out skirts or
tunics, pushing hair back, sending sidelong glances here and there.
The mood in the room, despite the echo of sweet music lingering,
was both strange and strained.

Shera slid her arm through Rhis’s, her grip
tight enough for Rhis to feel the trembling through Shera’s frame.
In silence they worked their way toward the door. Rhis felt a pang
behind her eyes, the ache of tiredness, of lack of food—for she had
not been able to eat—of too many emotions and no resolution.

“Reez—”

Rhis turned her head, gazing into wide
blue-green eyes surrounded by bright corn-colored hair. Yuzhyu bit
her lips, frowned as though trying to find words. Unheeding, Shera
pushed on by, pulling Rhis, who followed without resisting.

What can she say? Rhis thought. Oh, of
course. She probably wants to make sure I won’t tell anyone. Anger
flared through her, righteous anger. As if she would!

Shera stifled a sob.

A touch on Rhis’ other side. Quick look—

“Vors.”

His face went crimson. “Rhis, didn’t you
remember you promised to sit next to me at the concert? As for—as
for what else you said, I beg your pardon if I said anything to
lead you to believe—”

Rhis shook her head. Shera had paused, but
Rhis could sense her looking the other way, occasionally dashing
her cheek against her shoulder.

Rhis forced a smile. “Never mind, Vors. I
apologize, too. We’re all tired. Nobody is in a good temper. Let’s
both forget it, shall we?”

She stepped forward, Shera speeding her
steps, and
at last
they were out the door.

Rhis peered anxiously down the hallway. It
was full of tired-looking guests, most of them heading toward the
sleeping chambers.

She and Shera were quiet all the way
upstairs. When they reached their rooms, Rhis hesitated, wondering
what to say, but Shera mumbled without looking up, “Good
night.”

So Rhis went alone into her room.

And though she did not intend to, and could
not have said why, she cried herself to sleep.

And woke to the sound of thunder.

Morning. Morning? The light coming through
the window was eerie. Rhis got up to look out. Huge dark clouds
rolled inexorably overhead, the edges greenish with threat. A break
somewhere to the east caused the early morning sun to reflect light
weirdly under the clouds, making them seem darker.

But as Rhis watched the yellow glare
vanished, swallowed by the forming storm. Again thunder rumbled,
and Rhis opened her window, breathing deeply.

She smelled that wonderful scent of wet
grass, and rain-drenched blossoms, but underneath it was a peculiar
metallic taste.

Lightning arced over the sky, a violent
purple, followed immediately by a thunderclap so loud she was
almost deafened. She saw the sudden deluge before she heard it; as
the thunder died away the hiss of rain abruptly became a roar. Rain
sheeted down, a gray curtain.

Like home, she thought. Where I’ll be going
in a couple days.

Now the lightning was blue-violet, and a
sudden gust of wind nearly ripped the casement from her hand.

Rhis swung the window shut with a worried
glance up at the bird nest. There they were, snug in their
carving-refuge. Lightning gleamed briefly in one bright round bird
eye; the rain sheeted well beyond the stone carving without
reaching the nest.

Rhis turned away.

What now? Breakfast. And the promised
gathering in the library to begin on the play. Would it still be
fun with so many people glaring at one another? She grimaced. What
had seemed so good an idea before the masquerade seemed thoroughly
dreary now.

She’d just finished dressing, and Keris had
taken away her nightdress, when she heard a soft knock. She went to
the door she shared with Shera, but the knock came again—from
behind.

It was the door onto the hallway.

Puzzled—her heart beginning to beat
rapidly—she crossed the room and laid her hand on the latch. Then
she said, “Who’s there?”

She was not certain who she expected—or what
she’d do if it were
any
of the males—but then she heard a
familiar voice.

“Yuzhyu. May I march wissim?”

Wissim? Within. Laughter fluttered inside
Rhis, but only for a moment. She remembered what she’d seen the day
before, and winced, then smoothed her expression as best she could
before opening the door.

“Come in,” she said.

Keris appeared at the servant’s door. “Would
you care for refreshments, your highness?”

Rhis looked at Yuzhyu, whose lips moved, then
she gave her head a quick shake.

“No thank you,” Rhis said.

The door closed soundlessly, leaving Rhis
alone with her guest.

“Want to sit down?” Rhis asked, feeling
horribly awkward.

Yuzhyu ignored the question. Her small hands
were pressed together, her fingers twisting, as she enunciated
carefully, “I explain. I am alone in Vesarja. Dandiar, he iss kind.
Like brosser. Me like sister.”

She stopped, and smiled, her brows quirked
with hope.

Rhis realized the poor thing had probably
worked out her speech and memorized it. Why? “It doesn’t matter,”
she said slowly. “It’s none of my concern. And I won’t tell anyone
what I saw, if that is your worry.”

Yuzhyu’s wide gaze went diffuse, and Rhis saw
her lips move as she translated to herself.

But before she could frame a reply the
side-door opened, and Shera stood there, looking surprised. Yuzhyu
backed up, her expression one of blank dismay.

“We were just about to go down to breakfast,”
Rhis said hastily. “Yuzhyu stopped by here on the way.”

Lightning caused all three to look at the
windows. Thunder smashed overhead, making the windows rattle, and
the downpour intensified to an impossible din.

Shera said loudly, “I guess we can all go
together, then?”

Rhis agreed, still feeling uncomfortable and
awkward. Her relief gave way to a kind of chagrin as Shera
chattered about the rain, and thunder, all the way down the hall.
Her remarks were addressed to poor Yuzhyu, who obviously did not
understand the half. Rhis came in only for the occasional bright,
false smile, and Rhis wondered if Shera was glad that a third had
appeared, preventing any kind of real talk.

Hurt and annoyance were her first reactions,
but as they walked into the breakfast room and Rhis fought to
control her almost overpowering urge to look around to see who was
there, she looked at Shera instead. Shera, who usually entered a
room eager to find her friends, was studying her toes like her
future was written on her slippers.

Shera was acting guilty.

Yuzhyu touched Rhis on the hand, smiled, and
then sped away, her embroidered skirts swinging. Rhis turned her
back; she did not want to see who Yuzhyu was joining. Lios or
Dandiar, it was none of her concern.

She spotted Taniva standing with Moret and
her cousin, grouped with some of the riders. They were ranged along
the window, looking out.

The rain had turned to hail. Rhis hoped the
garden would not be spoiled. The grass outside the terrace looked
like a small lake with tiny white hailstones floating in it. Rain
dappled the gray surface. Then lightning flared, the light
mirroring back into the sky.

“No picnics today,” Moret commented in a wry
voice, with a meaningful glance at her cousin.

“Well, that was settled last night,” he
returned in a low voice.

“I know what you heard.” Moret made a face.
“I just don’t believe it.”

The rain outside was loud, and the thunder
rolled almost continuously. Did the cousins think they were not
overheard? Rhis was unsure whether to move or not, for if she did,
she’d draw attention to herself.

“Oh, he was definite. As definite as he can
be. At least, she thought so. She looked as sick as a fish out of
water . . .”

Thunder blasted again. The tall cousin bent
to hear something Moret said. As both backs were turned, she eased
away, wondering who the ‘he’ was. Moret’s sour tone made her think
of Iardith. Lios, maybe?

Rhis sighed. What had happened to everybody?
Next time someone invites me to a masquerade, I ought to run and
hide in a cave
, she thought as she got something to eat.

Only where to sit? Shera was over there,
Glaen at her side. The two of them were conversing in low, fierce
voices. Shera’s back was stiff, her arms tense. No one sat near
them; it was obvious they wanted to be alone.

From behind came Lios’ familiar voice, easy,
friendly as always—and with it, Dandiar’s quick laugh, followed by
the chatter of a growing crowd.

Rhis’s cheeks burned. She was surprised at
how her entire body was poised to turn, to search the crowd until
she caught Dandiar’s eye, to exchange the smile she had somehow
become accustomed to. Looked forward to.

No. She would not, not,
not
turn
around.