To Darkness Fled (11 page)

But nothing could hide his sour expression. Such chagrin could be due to the fact he had been dressed like Esek, yet Vrell bet Lady Jaira Hamartano's presence was the likely cause. She stood with her mother, sister, and Lord Eli's wife at the bottom of the stairs.

Vrell paused beside Sir Gavin and frowned. Jaira's blue dress suspiciously matched Achan's ensemble. The gown clung to her every curve as if painted onto her skin. It had a wide, revealing neckline with little cap sleeves that dripped black beads down her slender arms. She wore black satin gloves to her elbows. The slender skirt fanned out from her knees like the tail of a fish. A silver chain draped around her narrow waist with a matching blue reticule attached.

Jaira's dozens of fine black braids were piled atop her head like an ebony crown, baring her long neck and shoulders. Shiny obsidian teardrops dangled from her ears. A third larger stone hung from a thin cord around her neck and plunged toward her low neckline. Her olive skin looked bronze under the flickering candelabras and sparkled as if she had bathed in mineral dust. Paint reddened her cheeks, outlined her eyes in black, and dusted each eyelid blue.

Vrell had never seen such repulsive beauty. She could hardly bear to see Jaira standing with Achan in such a way. Lord Eli had plotted these matching ensembles, she had no doubt. Vrell took a deep breath and tried to create a neutral expression, but a sudden thought stole her breath.
She
had been dressed to match Achan as well.

As his squire.

She turned her gaze upon the vestibule. Lord Eli left Achan to go to his wife, Lady Katiolakan. They wore matching ensembles of gold and green. He led his wife to Achan. Lady Mandzee and her mother walked behind them, themselves clothed beautifully. Appropriately. Mandzee wore violet and her mother wore peach. Neither was dressed as bait. Did these people think Achan a womanizing fool like Esek? Did they hope he might fall for Jaira's display?

Switch places with me, Sparrow? You be prince and I'll be squire.

Vrell jumped. Achan had just bloodvoiced her. Without knocking. Her shields were up, and still she sensed the open connection between them. How was he doing that? It had to be his power. She could not accomplish such a feat.

Sir Gavin inhaled through his nose. "Something smells sour," he said with a lilt to his voice. "What do you think of the colors blue and black tonight?"

Vrell wrinkled her nose. "They look like a bruise."

Sir Gavin laughed. "That they do, my lady. I quite agree."

* * *

Why didn't Sparrow answer? Perhaps Achan hadn't messaged correctly. He did forget to knock first, and he hadn't concentrated hard. Yet he'd managed to keep his connection open to Sir Caleb most the afternoon as Sir Caleb had groomed him. He had thought the same process might work for Sparrow. Apparently not.

Achan would have done anything to stand on the staircase with Sir Gavin and Sparrow. He hadn't moved since the women had entered. He wished everyone would pass him by. He made eye contact with Jaira when Lord Eli had brought the ladies over, but he didn't dare look in her direction again. Never had he seen a woman dressed so brazenly. He cursed his eyes for wanting to look back.

Sir Caleb, Sir Gavin, and Inko had been given matching white tunics with leather vests and brown trousers. Inko and Sir Caleb hadn't shaved. Getting started on their beards for Tsaftown, Achan supposed. He couldn't wait to be there.

Lord Eli led his wife before Achan and bowed low. "Your Highness, may I present my wife, Lady Katiolakan?" He held out his wife's hand as if passing her over for Achan to catch. She was pretty and plump with grey skin and sleek black hair. Achan lifted his hand instinctively, then lowered it. What did they expect him to do?

Take her hand and kiss it, Your Majesty,
Sir Caleb said.
Have you never seen such a greeting?

Kiss it?

You're the future king of Er'Rets and must act with dignity and respect in formal gatherings.

Hoping his expression was dignified, Achan reached out. His arm seemed to belong to someone else. He took Lady Katiolakan's dainty, gold-gloved hand and stared at it.

Try to look as if you know what you're doing, Your Highness,
Sir Caleb said.
Say something witty and kind, then softly kiss her hand and let go. You're not marrying her. It's not meant to be heartfelt.

Achan forced yet another smile from his lips. The act caused his freshly wounded cheek to throb. "It's an honor, my lady." He pressed his lips to the gold silk glove then released it.

Pig snout, he wanted to leave.

Lady Katiolikan rewarded his actions with a screeching giggle that took Achan back to the miserable days spent walking in Esek's procession. "The joy is being mine, Your Highness. I am being appalled to be discovering this treachery in Sitna. My heart is going out to all you have been suffering. The gods will be demanding retribution, I am being certain."

How should a prince respond to such? "Aye, it was an outrage, my lady."

Good. But next time say "yes" not "aye." You sound like a soldier.

Achan clenched his teeth.
Why is this evening necessary?

Because we need supplies if we're to make it to Tsaftown.

Tsaftown. Yes. Achan would focus on Tsaftown. He'd play this role for a chance to see Lady Tara again. A lady with charm. And obvious virtue.

Lord Eli gestured toward the other women. "May I also present to Your Highness my special guests from Jaelport. Queen Torrezia Hamartano and her daughters, Princess Mandzee and Princess Jaira."

Achan couldn't help his bulging eyes.
Princess of what?

Cela Duchy. Yes, I know the Hamartano women are vile creatures
,
but you must not sink to their standards. Dignity and respect, if you will.

The ladies each curtsied. Thankfully, none offered her hand. Achan bowed with rigid formality without making eye contact. "I'm honored."

Jaira surged forward and fell to her knees, seizing the legs of Achan's trousers. "My lord prince, I beg your forgiveness for my serpent tongue. The words I spoke when last we met were those of a spoiled child. I promise you, I have grown in wisdom and grace since then, and I pray you do not hold my behavior in Sitna against me."

Achan blinked at the pile of black braids pinned to the top of Jaira's head. It seemed an eternity before he could fathom how to respond, and when he did, he barely managed a whisper. "Not at all, my lady. Think on it no more and enjoy your evening. I've heard Lord Eli is a tremendous host. Please, rise and tell me if the rumor is true."

Sir Caleb's voice invaded his mind again.
Well said, Your Highness. You're your father's son after all.

His insides coiled, but he offered his hand. He was slightly humbled at how she'd humiliated herself, but he still didn't trust her a hair. Now, if she were to treat Sparrow kindly with no witnesses present, he might believe her claim of having grown.

Jaira slipped her black-gloved hand in his. It felt oily. She smelled strongly of a spice he couldn't recognize, as if she'd bathed in the scent. He tried to pull her up, but her skirt had tangled under her knees. She gathered the layers of blue fabric in one hand and tugged. With a yelp she went down again. Achan caught her waist and lifted her to her feet. She stood in his arms, looking up into his eyes, cheeks flushed maroon.

She did that on purpose, you know.

Achan released Jaira and glanced over her head to meet Sparrow's eyes. The boy stood at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, leaning against a fluted pillar. The smirk on his round face said it all.

You can hear me,
Achan said.
Why didn't you answer before?

She is such the actress. What performance will she give next? Perhaps the tale of the
princess
who wins the heart of the young prince.

Funny. I'd like to see you play my role. Sir Caleb put
oil
in my hair. This isn't exactly fun.

Oh, yes. It does look dreadful to have beautiful women literally throwing themselves at your feet. How ever do you manage?

Jaira pressed a hand over the black stone on her chest. "Thank you, Your Highness. The things a woman must wear to be beautiful. I'm afraid they can be a hindrance."

And now she fishes for compliments. Well? Go on then. You must oblige. It is only polite.

You're such a boil, Sparrow.
Achan forced a smile. "They're more than worth the trouble, my lady, I assure you." He met Sparrow's eyes one last time.
Happy?

Quite.

"We shall feast in my personal dining room," Lord Eli said. "It is more intimate than the great hall." He offered one arm to his wife, his other to
Queen
Hamartano, and led them through a set of painted doors as high as the vaulted ceiling. "Bring your men, Sir Gavin, Dinner is served."

Achan steeled himself and offered his arm to Mandzee, because she was older and Sir Gavin had taught him that was proper. Mandzee smiled and accepted his arm. Achan offered Jaira his other arm. She blinked her dark eyes slowly, then slid her fingers around his bicep.

He swallowed his angst and followed Lord Eli through a set of glass double doors into a narrow room, hoping he didn't trip on the gowns trailing alongside his boots.

Talking with Sparrow had lightened his mood a great deal.

A long table draped with white linen was set for twelve--five on each side and one on each end--with gold goblets, matching trenchers, bouquets of silk irises, and purple linen napkins. Two large candelabras hung from the ceiling. A painting of Lord Eli and Lady Katiolakan covered the right wall. Another set of double doors divided the left wall. A life-sized statue of Lord Eli stood behind the head of the table.

Lord Eli helped his wife sit at the end of the table and settled Queen Hamartano to her right. He moved to the head of the table and stood behind the chair, his own statue looming behind him like a shadow.

"My servants have set nameplates at the table," Lord Eli said. "Please take a moment to find your seat."

Achan released the ladies' arms. "Princess Mandzee Hamartano" was painted in purple ink on the small, white marble scroll to Lady Katiolakan's left. Next came Sir Gavin's name, Sir Caleb's, then Jaira's.

"Your Highness." Jaira stood before her nameplate. "Look, you're here beside me."

Heat coursed through Achan at the sound of her voice addressing him in such a way. Sir Caleb's hand on his back prodded him down the left side of the table. "Prince Gidon Hadar" painted in purple script marked his place to the right of Lord Eli and the left of
Princess
Jaira. Of course he'd be seated beside the host. Where else?

Sparrow stood dead center on the opposite side of the table. Good. At least Achan could make private jokes with his friend. He might not survive this evening without them.

Achan pulled out his chair and sat, ignoring Sir Caleb's glare, not caring whether decorum dictated he should wait until the women sat or pull out their chairs and fawn over them with flowery compliments. They could seat themselves.

A thin woman with sallow skin took the seat across from him. She wore a blood-red velvet robe over a black gown that bunched around her neck and up to her chin. Her gaunt face paled next to such vivid colors. Her cheeks caved in like she was sucking a lemon and her bloodshot eyes bulged in deep sockets ringed with dark circles.

A priest of Avenis with a stiff, ivory teardrop hat took the seat beside her. He wore an ivory robe with thick, rolled cuffs. At least ten gold chains in various girths and lengths hung around his fat neck. One long brown eyebrow stretched across his wide, flat forehead like a caterpillar. His eyes were small and fixed on Achan.

It had been days of dried meat and figs, and prison gruel for weeks before that, except for Sparrow's apples. His stomach growled at the idea of fresh, hot food.

Sir Caleb helped seat Jaira to Achan's left. Her spicy smell snaked up his nose, making his eyes water. She scooted closer to the table and her arm touched his. He froze a moment, then casually leaned away, reaching for his nameplate with his right hand. He pretended to examine it a moment, then put it back, careful to shift his weight so he no longer touched Jaira.