Covenants (21 page)

"Such a small, mountainous town.”

Looking more fully at him, I realized he was the same person I'd seen on the palace steps that morning.

Up close he appeared much as he had from a distance, of middling height and build. The candlelight picked out the silver in his hair and the splendor of his raiment. Jewels sparkled on his fingers and on the lapel of his coat, all in blazing contrast to the austerely dressed king. Then he turned his head to King Jusson, and I blinked, once more startled at his resemblance to Slevoic.

I hesitated for a heartbeat; then the thought came to me that as Jusson claimed me as cousin, I either equalled or outranked everyone else in the room, no matter how comfortable they felt about horning in on the king's conversation (the words sounded an awful lot like Suiden). I shrugged at the man. "You forget, gracious sir, that I come from an even more provincial place—a Border farm. To me, Freston is a big city, full of riotous living." I smiled. "And I like the mountains.”

The king laughed again. "No, not an idiot at all." His black eyes gleamed at me. "We will talk again, cousin." He nodded at Laurel. "As we will also, Ambassador. We have spoken with Chancellor Berle about our meeting and are looking forward to it."

Laurel bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty.”

"You're very welcome. But for tonight, please enjoy our hospitality." King Jusson nodded again and his attention shifted to the party behind us. Dismissed, we made our way back into the main reception hall.

"Well, we survived," Javes remarked. "Though for a moment it was close." He snagged a glass from a passing server's tray and took a sip. "Nice recovery, Rabbit.”

The server offered us glasses also and I took one, looking at the pale amber liquid with tiny bubbles floating up. "Ale?”

"No, sparkling wine," Suiden said. He gave me a cool look, and I knew that I'd hear later about woolgathering while in the presence of royalty.

Laurel took a cautious sip and delicately sneezed. "My goodness." He gave a discreet lick of his whiskers and took another, bigger sip.

"Careful, Ambassador," Javes said. "The bubbles make it light on the tongue but potent in the blood.” I took a sip myself and was startled at the effervescence. I allowed it to linger before swallowing and taking another mouthful. Javes smiled. "We'd better get some food in you both before you both become fall-down drunk, what?" He led us over to where long tables were set up against one wall, next to where the musicians were playing.

"Sirs, who was that man next to the king?" I asked, taking another sip.

Suiden waited until we reached the food tables. "Lord Gherat of Dru." His voice was barely audible over the music.

I lowered my glass. "Losan eso Dru's father?”

Javes picked up a plate, turning away from the crowded hall. "No. She's a distant cousin." He shrugged as he began to fill his plate. "Nepotism is alive and well, Rabbit. Gherat is Lord Treasurer and Chancellor of Financial Affairs and Revenue. All taxation, all domestic trade policies, all government accounting—except for the Royal Army—issue from, cross, or end up in his hands. He is a very powerful man.” He was also a man sure enough of himself to intrude into a king's conversation without invitation. And even more sure enough to denigrate someone whom the king welcomed with favor.

"Lieutenant Slevoic is Gherat's close kinsman," Suiden said, "as is Commander Loel of the Royal Garrison. They're all of the House of Dru.” I blinked at my captain, surprised. Then, remembering Gherat's startling likeness to Slevoic, I wasn't so surprised. They even had the same look of derision in the same blue eyes. Thinking on Slevoic's easy access to the throne, the gray apathy began to weigh down on me again, and I drank the rest of my wine, feeling it bubble down my throat.

"You've had a series of shocks, Lieutenant," Javes said in my ear, "but you better get over them fast.” I turned and stared at the captain. There wasn't anything silly about his expression.

"One blunder will be overlooked, no matter that it happened before the king. Especially since you made such a swift recovery. But if you want to stay reasonably whole, I suggest that you pay attention." His eyes shifted off to the side and snapped back to my face. "Your uncle, Lord Chause, has deigned to recognize you and is coming this way."

"It appears that your Flavan cousins have also decided to welcome you into the fold," Suiden said, facing another direction. He barely wetted his lips with his wine.

"And please forgive my presumption, Your Highness," Laurel said, "but is that your cousin the ambassador?”

"Nothing like a king's favor to work wonders for one's social life," Javes said. He thrust his full plate into my hand. "Here, try to soak up some of that wine you just guzzled.” I looked down. Stuffed eggs, stuffed mushrooms, stuffed grape leaves. Different cheeses. And fish eggs on crackers. With a wedge of lemon.

I popped a mushroom into my mouth and chewed, swallowing just as the Turalian ambassador reached us.

"Good evening, gracious sirs." The man bowed, an elaborate affair with arms and hands waving, his top-knotted braid's beads clicking together. "Your Highness.”

Suiden took another, bigger sip of his wine, and sighed. "Stow it, Kenalt.”

The grayness receded fast again, as there was nothing like a family row to enliven a gathering. Then I remembered what had happened earlier when Suiden was inclined to squabble, and eased a couple of steps away. But the Turalian ambassador came out of his bow grinning.

"Ah, cousin, it gladdens my heart to see that Freston hasn't dulled your wit." His brown eyes danced.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your companions?”

"Ambassador Laurel, Captain Javes, and Lieutenant Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan." Suiden waved a hand at his cousin. "The Amir of Tural's eldest son, Ambassador Sro Kenalt.” I bowed with the others, puzzled that the ambassador wasn't a prince.

"The royal line in Tural flows through the women, Lieutenant, mainly the amir's sisters' sons." Suiden took another gulp of wine.

It was Kenalt's turn to look briefly puzzled; then he shrugged. "Yes, as the wise man said, 'At least you know who the mother is.'" He grinned again, his clan markings crinkling in his dark face.

Though accused time and again of being a peacock, looking at Sro Kenalt I realized that I was an amateur. I took in his red and green silk runic echoing the crystal beads in his hair, his thin overcoat of black silk matching his black pants that stopped midcalf, the gold ankle chain above sandaled feet, and opened my mouth to ask who his tailor was.

"Grace to you, messirs." We turned at the voice coming over my shoulder.

I had expected my da's people to look like him, as my ma's family would look like her. And while there was a strong resemblance between Lord Maceal of Chause and his youngest brother, he must've looked exactly like his own father, my grandda, because, as I turned, I saw my mirror image, aged a few decades. His dark hair was streaked with gray, deep lines bracketed his aristocratic nose on his thin face and creased his high forehead, his brown eyes were as world-weary as (so everyone said) my own oozed naivete, his frame just a little thicker than mine. "Good evening, Rabbit." He looked over the rest of my group and bowed. "Your Highness, Ambassador Sro Kenalt—and, Captain Javes, is it?" A server walked by with a tray of sparkling wine and Lord Chause paused to take a glass, then a sip.

"Ambassador Laurel," he finally said with a nod.

I stopped midbow at the insult, but Laurel merely raised a brow, then beckoned the server over to him.

After taking a glass for himself, and then a sip, he nodded back. "Lord Chause." He smiled, showing his excellent teeth, and the people nearest us who had been leaning in to hear over the music, suddenly leaned back out again (a few musicians scooted their chairs away without missing a beat). Into the suddenly cleared space around us popped a couple, the man blond and the woman dark, and both as plump as Festival geese.

"I give you good evening, gracious sirs! Hello, Rabbit! I'm your cousin Teram and this is my lady wife, Isalde!” Suiden and I both had been reaching for a glass off the server's tray, but stopped and bowed to my Flavan cousins.

The server started to edge away and Suiden, still in his bow, moved to block him.

"Quite a little gathering here, eh?" Lord Teram continued. He grabbed two glasses of wine also, handing one to his wife who held it with a limp hand. 'Too bad our grandpapa isn't here to meet you, cousin, but he's in the country on a repairing lease—gout, you know. He refuses to give up his port!" Teram beamed at his grandda's excesses and took a large gulp of wine. "I must say that it's good to see you again, Javes.

I had heard that you were reassigned to Freston, of all places! I didn't quite believe it until tonight when I saw your uniform. It must be nice to get back to civilization!”

Javes did his silly ass smile. "Yes, what?" He indicated the Turalian ambassador and Suiden. "I'm sure you know Ambassador Sro Kenalt, but have you met Captain Prince Suiden?”

"Yes, but I was a little nipperkin and I daresay he doesn't remember me." Teram turned his beam on Suiden as he bowed. "Are you glad to be back in the City, Your Highness?”

Suiden murmured to the server to leave the rest of the wine on the food table. He then nodded at Lord Teram. "Yes, my lord. Coming to Iversly is always an adventure." He picked up a glass and drained about half.

"Though it's a little thin of company right now," Lord Teram said, casting his eyes over the packed hall.

"Hardly anybody's in town, isn't that right, Maceal?”

"Yes," Lord Chause said, curling an aristocratic lip at the crowds.

"Is your wife in residence?" Lord Teram asked.

"Our son is a little under the weather and she decided to stay home with him tonight," Lord Chause replied.

"I hope that he's all right!"

"Oh, yes. More female crotchets than anything else."

"Good, good! I will have Lady Isalde call on her then!” For the first time I understood clearly why my parents ran away. I caught Captain Suiden's eye and he shook his head very slightly, so I started thinking about asking Sro Kenalt to introduce me to his tailors.

"If you will excuse me, honored folk, I wish to speak with Chancellor Berle," Laurel rumbled. He gave a general bow, pressing his paws together, holding his staff in the crook of his arm.

"I will accompany you, Ambassador," Captain Javes said, while I placed my still full glass down on the table.

"You don't have to run off, do you, Rabbit?" Lord Teram asked.

Maybe I could get something to wear to the theater in Freston. "I'm sorry, uh, Teram. I am assigned as Ambassador Laurel Faena's liaison.”

"Oh! Well, perhaps you can come by tomorrow, eh? See the rest of the family!” Boots too, I thought, or some of the light footwear I'd seen around the city.

"Indeed, Rabbit, I was thinking to invite you to dine with us," Lord Maceal said. "As soon as my wife is persuaded to leave the nursing to the nursemaids.” On the other hand, both canvas shoes and sandals would be entirely impractical in Freston.

"Yes, my lords, though it's up to my captain when I'll be off duty.”

Laurel nodded his head once more and started walking away, Javes with him, and I bowed and hastened to join them. Captain Suiden made to follow but Sro Kenalt grabbed his arm. "Oh, no, cousin. We've a lot of catching up to do." The ambassador's grin was evil. "Besides, I've got all kinds of messages for you from Her Highness, your mother.”

I turned away from the look of panic, then resignation, on my captain's face. Laurel chuffed quietly as we walked along the path that magically appeared in the crowd. "I didn't think I'd ever see the honored captain so easily and thoroughly routed.” Javes gave an exaggerated shudder. "Mothers. I'm still terrified of mine."

I thought of how my own mother, with one eye slit and one brow raised, tore with frightening efficiency into the heart of any misbehavior. "Uhm, yes.”

Laurel chuffed again, though I noticed that his tail was tucked. He saw me looking at him. "To keep it out of the way, Lord Rabbit."

"Uh-huh.”

It was a kaleidoscope of people who, while not as colorful as Sro Kenalt, were dressed extravagantly with flowing dresses and elaborate coifs on the women, and formal coats and trousers or embroidered robes worn by the men. And everyone wore flowers, interwoven in hair, pinned on bodices, collars, lapels, and in chains looped around necks and wrists. The air was sweet with their perfume—and from the beeswax candles lighting the rooms. I caught the reflection of candle flames in mirrors and windows, off the polished marble floor, in the bright jewels worn by the guests as they moved in a dance of conversation and laughter—and I thought of the faeries' castles that floated over enchanted lakes.

We caught up with Foreign Chancellor Berle, who wore white roses against the russet of her hair and pinned to the gold of her gown, and she smiled as she bowed. "Grace to you, Ambassador Laurel, Lord Rabbit, and"—she knit her brows—"Captain Javes, right? Welcome to Ivers Palace." She did her wry smile. "I have promised the king that, however tempted I might be, I would not talk business tonight, but allow you to enjoy the reception.”

We plunged into the swirling colors, and were handed off to lord to advisor back to the chancellor, then to ladies (widows, Javes murmured, who didn't have husbands to tell them what ideas to have) and back to the chancellor again—who started us on a new round. Once, during our third circuit of the room, I saw Lord Gherat holding a mini-court, which included my newly introduced Cousin Teram and Uncle Maceal, and a man in uniform who Javes said was the Royal Garrison commander, Loel ibn Dru. Gherat looked up and met my eyes, then deliberately turned away. A moment later they all burst into laughter and I started to think about his mother, but Laurel whacked my shin with his staff.

Most of the people we were introduced to were fascinated by the mountain cat, some (once they were sure he wasn't going to bite) even running a hand over his fur. After the first couple of times, Laurel politely smiled and offered an arm or shoulder, and lords and ladies both would stroke fingers over it, their own smiles full of childlike wonder. Even those who eschewed petting him were transfixed by the picture he made: a large cat with beads, feathers, and staff in one hand, and a glass of sparkling wine in the other that he sipped from time to time.