tales of the latter kingdom 08 - moon dance (10 page)

I didn’t quite hold my breath, but I couldn’t help releasing a relieved sigh as the maid shook her head, then said briskly, “Here, my ladies. I’ve brought the honey, Mistress Janessa, just as you like, and the milk for you, Mistress Iselda.”

Both Janessa and I thanked her, and she went out, saying that she would be back in a quarter-hour to help us with our hair and wardrobe. I thought it prudent to remain silent as I stirred milk into my tea, for none of the thoughts currently racing through my mind were ones I wished to share with my companion.

So we drank tea in blessed quiet. If Janessa was surprised by my taciturn behavior, she did not show it. I thought it quite possible that she was wearied enough from her activities of the evening before that she did not have the energy to expend on idle conversation. To tell the truth, I was more tired than I had thought I would be, and also enjoyed those moments of peace and quiet while we finished our tea. That peace could not possibly last, for I knew the frenzied cleaning of the castle in preparation for Adalynn’s wedding was about to intensify, and after today we could expect to see the first guests arriving.

The prospect of having so many additional people sleeping under our roof made me wonder if the mage who summoned my cousins would be able to cast all our guests into a deep sleep so the girls’ departure would still be kept secret, or whether perhaps he would abandon his game, at least until the celebrations were over and everyone had departed to their respective homes. Also, what would he do with Adalynn gone? Did it matter how many young women he called forth to do that strange moonlit dance? For of course Adalynn would leave here and become a great lady, the mistress of her own castle, with a title and husband, and a place at court, if her new husband was so inclined.

Far too many questions, and I feared I did not have answers to any of them. Although the day was fresh and new, I found myself wishing for the return of night, so I might venture forth again and attempt to learn more of the strange spell at work here.

And see more of that silver-eyed stranger,
my mind jibed at me. I wanted to tell myself that was ridiculous, and yet….

Something about the strange young man had captured my imagination. I had never before seen anyone who looked anything like him — and I was not some provincial girl with no knowledge of the greater world. I had been born in Bodenskell, my homeland’s capital, and lived there until I was thirteen years old. On the streets of that city I had seen dark-visaged men from Keshiaar, and fair-haired Southern Eredorians, and the handsome black-haired folk from the great empire of Sirlende…but I had never caught even a glimpse of someone with silver-pale hair and eyes to match.

His accents bespoke a man of Purth, a countryman of mine, although I supposed the accent was something he could have learned. Even so, he had to have come from someplace, but where?

Tarly reappeared then, and I was forced to put aside my musings as she helped us into our gowns and brushed our hair. Janessa looked on with envy as our maid took my gleaming strands of golden hair and twined them around her finger so they might fall in perfect spirals down my back.

“It truly is not fair that you should have hair like that,” she said with a disparaging glance downward at her own mid-brown locks.

“I am not sure ‘fair’ has anything to do with it,” I replied. “I was told my great-grandmother had hair like this, and so it came to me. But that was only luck, nothing else.”

She heaved a sigh, and looked as if she intended to say more. But then Tarly finished working on my hair and said, “Mistress Janessa, your own hair is lovely — so thick and glossy. I am quite sure there is no reason for you to be jealous of Mistress Iselda’s.”

This unexpected compliment brought a flush of pink to Janessa’s cheeks, and she sat quietly enough as Tarly brushed her long brown tresses until they gleamed, then twisted them into elegant coils and braids and held them in place with pins of silver and garnet. Once our maid was satisfied with her work, she went to retrieve Janessa’s slippers — and made a shocked sound.

“What on earth has happened to your slippers, mistress?”

Janessa got up from where she sat at the dressing table and looked down at the pair of shoes Tarly held. In the bright daylight flooding in through the windows, the damage I had noted earlier was even more obvious.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “What in the world could have happened to them?”

“I do not know,” Tarly said. “For I am quite sure they were not in this sort of condition when you wore them last.”

“No, they were not.” Janessa did look truly dismayed; one hand went to her mouth, even as she shook her head. “And oh, those are the slippers my father sent as part of my birthday present. He will be so annoyed with me when he finds out what has happened to them.”

Unfortunately, I thought he probably would be upset with her, even though the condition of those shoes was certainly not her fault. I had only met Janessa’s father once, for after he had left her with my aunt and uncle, he showed no particular inclination to spend any more time with his daughter. The loss of his wife had hurt him, I believed, but he wanted to be alone with his hurt, rather than see his wife’s features mirrored in his daughter’s face. I knew that Janessa resembled her mother greatly, for she always wore a silver locket with a miniature of her mother’s likeness contained within, and had shown it to me on more than one occasion. Even on that brief acquaintance, he seemed short-tempered and moody, and easily irritated. Moreover, their family was not overburdened with wealth. The cost of a pair of slippers did not mean that much to my aunt and uncle, but it was a far different matter for Master Marleton.

“Not if you explain that it was not your fault,” I said gently. “Something is going on, that is for certain, because my cousins’ slippers have also been damaged.”

“That is true,” Janessa said, looking a little more cheerful. “I wonder what could be ruining them in such a way.”

“I am sure there must be a logical explanation,” I told her, even as I thought,
Although I dare not give you the real reason. Even if I told you the truth, I do not think you would believe me.

As I spoke, there was some commotion across the corridor. In the next instant, Adalynn stood in the doorway, another pair of tattered slippers in her hands and rage in her eyes. “What did I just hear? Janessa’s shoes are ruined as well?”

“I would not say ruined, precisely,” Janessa responded, although her voice was not completely steady. She would never admit such a thing out loud, but I knew that Adalynn intimidated her somewhat, and she would go out of her way to avoid a confrontation with the eldest daughter of the house. “But certainly they do not look new anymore.”

Adalynn glared down at the shoes Tarly still held. “They look ruined to me,” she said with a sniff. “I have been thinking on it, and it must be Daisy who is doing this.”

Daisy was my aunt’s little dog, a sweet creature who never even ventured upstairs, as far as I could tell. She spent most of her time sleeping on a soft down-filled bed in my aunt’s chambers, and was her shadow when she did manage to venture out into the castle. At any rate, even if I had not known for certain that Daisy was innocent of any wrongdoing, I would have still argued that she could not possibly be responsible. Some dogs might enjoy chewing on slippers and the legs of chairs and anything else that came into their orbit, but Daisy was certainly not one of them.

“I don’t think so,” I said at once. “She is a good dog, and has never shown that kind of behavior before.”

“Well, perhaps something has changed,” Adalynn retorted. “Perhaps she does not like the heat, or perhaps she is upset by the preparations for the wedding. After all, she is a dog. One cannot apply logic to a creature like that.”

I thought privately that Daisy showed more good sense than some people I had met, but I knew better than to say such a thing to Adalynn. The ruin of another pair of slippers had clearly incensed her, and I could also tell that the night’s activities seemed to have worn more on her than Janessa, or Carella and Theranne, who had appeared a moment after their sister and were peering through the doorway, watching the goings-on. But Adalynn’s eyes were shadowed, and there was a pallor to her face that I did not like. Had the spell fallen more heavily on her for some reason?

I did not know. I could not even make an educated guess, for I knew very little about magic and its effects. But I did make sure that I chose my next words carefully, as I had a feeling that Adalynn’s temper, always somewhat short, was even more on edge this morning.

“Perhaps we should ask your mother,” I said. “For Daisy sleeps in her chamber, and so she would know better than anyone else whether the dog had gotten out in the night.”

If this suggestion did not precisely mollify her, it did make Adalynn at least nod and say, “Yes, I think that is a good idea. It is time to go down for breakfast anyway.”

As it was. The group of us trooped down the stairs and on into the smaller chamber we used for less formal meals. I say “less formal,” but the room was still much larger — and grander — than the dining room in the house where I had grown up. My aunt and uncle were already there, drinking their own morning tea. Larinda, one of the downstairs maids, had just set out platters of fresh fruit and several of my favorite, the breakfast pie made with cheese and eggs and bacon.

“Mama,” Adalynn said without preamble as she entered the chamber, “Mama, another pair of my slippers has been ruined, and Janessa’s as well. We think it must be Daisy, worrying at them in the middle of the night while we are asleep.”

Looking rather startled, my aunt set down her teacup. “Another pair of slippers?”

“
All
our slippers,” Theranne put in. “Only I had been wearing my older ones, and so I am not quite so put out as Adalynn. But still, Mama, I think it very bad of Daisy to treat them so.”

“What on earth is this nonsense about Daisy?” my uncle demanded. “That dog was asleep in her bed when I closed my eyes last night, and she was still there when I awoke. The door to our suite was closed. So how, pray, do you think the dog got out at all, let alone went upstairs — where she never goes, because the staircase frightens her — and chewed on your slippers?”

My cousins all looked at one another, none of them apparently that eager to respond. Uncle Danly was a kindly man, but he did not appreciate a commotion at his breakfast table.

But then Adalynn said, “I do not know. I just cannot think of any other explanation for our shoes becoming so terribly damaged night after night.”

For a few seconds, no one said anything. My aunt glanced over at me, then asked, “And what of you, Iselda?”

“I?” I responded, startled. I had been hanging back, watching but wanting to stay out of the conversation.

“Yes, you. I cannot help but notice that you do not claim to have suffered the same kind of losses as your cousins. What about your slippers? Have you found them in the same regrettable state?”

“No, Aunt Lyselle. They do not seem to have been harmed.”

“Well, that’s rather extraordinary, don’t you think?”

I had to admit to myself that it was, although not for the reasons she might think. Perhaps very soon there would come a time when I was forced to admit everything to her, but at the moment I only wanted to steer the conversation away from me. How could I tell my aunt — and everyone else present — that I was more or less unscathed because the spell that had summoned the rest of the girls out to the nighttime forest had not touched me?

Either they would think I was mad, or, worse, they would summon one of the witch-finders from Bodenskell to investigate further. True, King Harlin had a far more relaxed stance about magic and mages than his crazed father, but even so, he had not abolished that investigative body, either. The last thing I wanted was for the witch-finders to track down the strange young man I had met in the woods the night before. He had sworn that my cousins would be fine, and they were — perhaps somewhat weary, but certainly healthy and whole.

I doubted very much that the witch-finders would take such a fact into their consideration.

All I could do was lift my shoulders. “Perhaps. But if it is Daisy who is doing these things, perhaps she does not like the odor of my feet.”

Theranne and Carella both giggled, and even my uncle’s mouth quirked.

“I do not think it is Daisy,” Aunt Lyselle said. “It seems we have a mystery on our hands, but we will not solve it here. Do sit down, girls — having you stand there in the doorway like that is giving me a headache.”

Everyone dutifully went to take their seats, and I sat as well. As my cousins occupied themselves with filling their plates, some of the tension went out of the room.

But I saw my aunt watching me closely, speculation in her eyes, and I knew I would have to be careful. She was right — there was a mystery, and so far she had not solved it.

I just feared she would do her best to unravel the puzzle before I had sufficient time to do so myself.

CHAPTER 6

Because of the hubbub in the castle — and because I thought it best if my path did not accidentally cross with that of Lord Mayson — I stayed in my room for most of the day, saying that I was rather tired and wished to read. This excuse for my isolation was met with a few raised eyebrows, but no one tried to stop me. By that point I had a well-earned reputation for being bookish, and so no one saw anything particularly odd in my wanting to spend the day with my nose in a tome of legends from days gone by, a gift Aunt Lyselle had gotten for me during her last visit to Bodenskell.

However, I did not use the whole time for reading. I sat by the window and let the warm breeze flow in, and gazed off to the north and east, to the dark blur of Daleskeld Forest. Immediately north, the land swelled into foothills and then real mountains, where my uncle’s mining operations were located. But they were not what drew my interest. From this distance, and in the bright daylight, the forest did not appear all that intimidating. It did not look like a place which hid such mysteries as I had stumbled across the night before.