Smoke and Rain (24 page)

“I think this journey has provided me with more interesting stories.” He glanced down at his hand, flexing the fingers. “So much has changed, I expect to wake up from a bizarre dream.”

She watched him a moment, the smile fading from her face, but not leaving her eyes. He had grown into his role without protest. The youthful energy leftover from boyhood was becoming the diligence of a man.
And the fire of a Rakos.
She thought of the heat radiating from him when he crashed to the ship just before the storm. She tilted her head. “I rather miss the quiet of the forest and the tales you told to pass the time.”

“I do too. My tales seem stale and colorless when we sleep under the dome of Ceir Athrolan’s palace.”

She ran a hand along the spine of her book. “They could never seem stale to me.” Her voice softened. “Whenever I was scared or lost, I’d tell them over to myself. It wasn’t the same, but it was comforting. You spoke the words so factually that is was no small stretch to think them true.”

“I had just become the guard to the Dhoah’ Laen. What could be myth after that?” He held up his hand. “I discovered something, right before the storm. My hands turned to smoke.”

Alea’s brows rose, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Another thing to study while we’re here.”

Girre’s knock interrupted Alea’s answer. “My lady, we should ready you for the ball.”

Alea called for her to enter and rose to put her book away.

The maid stepped in, a box under one arm. Seeing Arman, she flushed and looked away. “Apologies, I did not know you had a guest.” She curtsied. “Good evening, my lord.”

Arman made for the door. “And to you.” He glanced at Alea, “I’ll see you shortly.”

When he was gone, Girre let out the breath she had held. “Forgive me, but he makes me nervous.”

Alea frowned as she stepped behind the dressing screen. “Truly? He’s a kind man.”

“That may be, but the look in his eyes—he would kill if someone stepped the wrong way about you.” She helped Alea out of her dress and into the several layers of under dresses and petticoats that would go under her gown. “You are lucky to have him.”

“I know.” Seeing the corset Girre was lacing, she exclaimed in dismay. The Sunamen women never wore corsets, but Alea had certainly seen them. The prospect was daunting. Her modest curves would barely fill out the beautiful gown without the tightly laced undergarment. She turned to find Girre watching her with humor.

The maid wrapped the stiff fabric around Alea’s waist and instructed her to breath in and hold.

Alea yelped and squeezed her eyes shut. “I take back everything wonderful I said about your city!” She growled the words, and Girre laughed.

“Now turn about.” She tugged the overdress into place and fastened the buttons. “Now sit, I’ll do your hair and face paint.”

“Do you think I’ll look the part?”

Girre smiled. “Milady, they are not blind.”

Φ

The bells shook the towers when they tolled three hours past sundown. Arman straightened his white tunic for the hundredth time and fussed with his curls again, before stepping into the hall to meet Bren.

The former lieutenant glanced at him wryly. “Toar, we wash-off well!”

Arman mock-scowled. “I did well, but that orange makes you look like a right prat.” He indicated the deep vermillion of Bren’s tunic. They were dressed similarly in breeches—Bren’s a deep burgundy, Arman’s white—with loose shirts under their embroidered tunics. Arman fiddled with the wrist of his green shirt nervously. “Has she come out yet?”

Bren shook his head. “Women take forever with their face-paint and baubles. We should get to the foyer before they announce us.”

“They won’t without her.” Arman cast a last glance at Alea’s door, then followed her brother down the hall. They met Raven and Eras just outside the throne-room door. Raven wore his sword and was dressed as they were, in pale grays and turquoise. The latter did not become him.

Eras' calf-length sarafan was made of blue-green silk and split in the back and front, as if for riding. Underneath she wore a bloused white shirt and breeches. She grinned and Arman was surprised to note she was attractive under the hard exterior. “Once Her Majesty arrives, we will be announced. Arman will have Dhoah’ Lyne’alea’s arm, and Brentemir, you will have mine.” She glanced at Raven, “Monareka will join us shortly, you may escort her.”

Bren leaned back against the wall to wait. Reka arrived a moment later, dressed like Eras, but in saffron and brown, accompanied by a striking woman.

Arman glanced at them, then froze. His gaze inched over Reka’s companion. Alea was dressed in brilliant silver. Every inch of the silver silk, from the thin straps to the lace hems of the skirt was embroidered. ribbons gathered the bloused sleeves of her black underdress. The upper half of her dark hair was braided back and held under a blue and black net. Her kohl-rimmed eyes met his and her nervous smile broke the spell.

“You look nice.” He smiled. “I hardly recognize my road-partner.”

She wrinkled her nose, “I’d rather be able to breathe!” He frowned, but she waved the comment away. “Never mind, I’m just nervous.”

The doors opened suddenly and a path cleared as the heralds called for order. Alea could see the brilliant colors and lights just beyond and her excitement erased her nerves. “Give me your arm!” She gripped Arman’s forearm as she whispered at him. “We almost fit in here, with all the nobles.”

He jostled her with his elbow lightly.

She was about to retort, but the words were forgotten as they stepped through into the throne room. Wooden panels were folded back to show the expanse of the ballroom behind the dais. It was decorated in Athrolan’s colors. A network of gold-washed chains held chandeliers across the bottom of the dome. A cleared circle surrounded the area where the queen awaited them. She wore lavender as before, but now it was deeper and trimmed in blue.

Alea curtseyed, tugging Arman into a bow. “We are honored to be here, Your Majesty.”

Tzatia beckoned them over, “Dhoah’ Laen, let me introduce you to my court.” The silent nobles around her craned to catch a glimpse of the legendary guest.

Alea moved to stand beside the queen, Arman a step behind. The music began and the chatter renewed. Arman’s gaze followed Bren enviously as the lieutenant disappeared with the military members of their group.

“Only four of Athrolan’s seven provinces are represented officially tonight,” Tzatia explained. A tall, elder man approached at her gesture. “This is lord Tevon, Duke of Pardelan. His son, Geladai, is one of our naval commodores.”

Alea bowed her head. “Well met, my lord.”

“I saw your sister, Lord Tevon,” Tzatia noted. “If you would, tell her I wish to introduce her to Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”

Tevon smiled. “Of course.” He bowed. “If you excuse me, I’ll sample the newest fare of your kitchens.”

Tzatia laughed and waved him away. “We grew up together,” she confided. Over the next few minutes she had quietly introduced Alea and Arman to the Earl of Ceir Felden and the Duke of Ceir Tetran. As the latter moved off, Eras called the queen away.

Alea put a hand to her brow. The corset and press of people made her dizzy. “This is complicated.”

“I just hope there will not be an examination where we must remember every name.” Arman glanced over at the small clusters of dancing. “Even a waltz would be better than sitting through this procession of nobles.”

“Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.” A well-dressed man in blue suddenly filled Tzatia’s place. “I’m Sir Daymir of Ceir Athrolan, Her Majesty’s nephew.” Even without the mention, his dark hair and brown eyes spoke to the relation. Daymir glanced at Arman. “You must get weary of this. I certainly did when I was new to court.” He ignored Arman’s narrowed eyes and turned back to Alea. “My aunt suggested I give you a dance.”

Alea glanced at the extended hand. “I’d be delighted.”

Φ

Daymir’s brows rose at Alea’s steps. “You know many Athrolani dances?”

She smiled. “A very few. We learned the traditional ones from surrounding lands. Lately I’ve been practicing the less formal steps, however.” The current music was a quick, four pair dance. Alea enjoyed the brief introductions as they exchanged partners with several other nobles. When the dance ended she was breathless and her eyes bright.

“Shall we find a quieter corner of the room?” Daymir pressed a glass of lemon water into her hand and found a small alcove across the room.

She took a seat on the cushioned bench across from the nobleman. She observed him over the rim of her glass. He was over ten years her senior, but his eyes and energy were youthful.

“What do you think of our city?”

“She is beautiful.”

“If you have the chance, you should see the surrounding hills. I’d be happy to ride with you, if you’d like.”

Alea smiled, but she felt her guard rise. “Perhaps. I know Arman expressed an interest.”

“Your guard?” Daymir glanced across the room. “Is he truly Rakos?”

“Yes. He is learning himself, though, like I am. He will be incredibly powerful.” She took another sip of water. “You bear the title ‘sir.’ Are you a gallant?”

“I am, but my duties differ.” His gaze traced the dome above them. “Athrolan is not as beautiful as she once was. I hope you might brighten her a bit.”

“All legends fade.” She followed his gaze, thinking of An’thoriend. “She has faded with grace, if you insist she has at all.”

“The legend of you did not fade.” His thin face was intent.

Her gaze flicked to him, but she did not answer. There was interest in his eyes. Not the usual lust, but something calculating and curious. He was powerful and intelligent. Moreover, he knew it.

Φ

Arman took a deep sip from his goblet of mead. “Uncomfortable clothes aside—a man could get used to this.” He enjoyed the swirling colors and music, but only from a distance.

Reka’s lips thinned. “I need the quiet—this many people in one room makes my skin crawl.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

Reka nodded to where Bren sat close to a pretty young woman whose name Arman could not remember from their introductions. “I think
he
wants to get used to this life!”

“These people are not like those he’s accustomed to. The nobles play to keep, especially with the power he could have.”

Reka shrugged, “You people are too preoccupied with power. Besides, he says he doesn’t want it.”

“He may get it, either way. I think Her Majesty wants him to take up Mirik and be an ally.” Catching Alea’s brother’s eye, Arman waved him over.

The former lieutenant maneuvered his way through the crowd, leaning against the wall beside them. “How is your evening?” He grabbed two pastries from a passing page.

“Not as entertaining as yours, apparently.” The Bordermen had the unnerving habit of never smiling, which made it hard to tell joke from truth.

Seeing the crinkles at the corner of her eyes, Bren laughed and waved her words away. “It’s harmless flirting.”

Arman snorted. “Careful. Nobles are a different breed.”

Bren ignored him, scanning the crowd for Alea. She danced with Daymir again. “Lady Fariel mentioned that the queen’s nephew—with Alea—is next in line for the throne.” He offered Reka his hand. “Dance?” When Reka glanced up in surprise, he grabbed her hand.

“I suppose you’re the only one who might tread on my feet as often as I do yours. I might actually look good in comparison.” She followed him out, and they pranced around. Bren laughed at their clumsiness and wrong moves and at the sometimes good-natured and sometimes haughty looks they received.

Breathless, Alea appeared beside Arman at the refreshment table. “I forgot how many muscles dancing involves! You think hand-to-hand fighting takes strength? Try a three-step! I’m glad that woman pulled Daymir into conversation or I’d never have gotten free. ”

Arman laughed. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“You’re not much for dancing?” She found a hand-plate and piled it high with candied fruit. “Have you tried anything? Is it good?”

Arman hid a grin at her barrage of questions. “Try the brown things. They’re filled with cream. You’ll enjoy it—it’s too sweet for my tastes.” He gestured to a free bench along the wall. “As for dancing—I never was very good. I hate making a fool of myself, especially in front of people I know little. I’ve always been a bit proud.”

“Hence why you ended up fighting through half your boyhood?”

He shot her a glance, one brow raised. “I thought you weren’t going to mention that story.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone else that you were acting like a paving cobble for several hours. I said nothing about reminding you that you’re human.” She lost herself for a moment as she tried the small pastry Arman had indicated.

“Only part of me.” He grinned broadly, displaying his teeth.

She wiggled her fingers, marbling her skin black in response. “Look at us, dueling powers for fun in the corner of a ball because we lack the socializing needed to mingle.”

“I thought you liked dancing with the heir to the throne.”