Wren Journeymage (12 page)

Teressa shook her head. “If you were more polite to them, maybe that would change.”

Hawk glanced across the ballroom at Garian. Teressa followed his look. Garian was tall and thin. The red he loved made his gold-tinged skin look sallow. He had his mother’s sharp nose and his father’s spade chin. His partner, Darla Kilyan, was short and charmingly round, which called attention to his worst attributes so that he did resemble a rooster. He would never be handsome, but Teressa had come to like him. His smile was shy as Darla laughed teasingly up into his face.

“You mean to pretend Rhismordith isn’t a twit?” Hawk looked around. “Speaking of twits, I notice your hound isn’t here. Not high-born enough for an invite?”

“Tyron was invited, but had other things to do.” Teressa resolutely kept her voice even.

Tyron had written:
I
made
my
excuses
to
your
aunt
,
but
you
know
the
truth
:
until
you
can
hear
me
again
,
there’s
no
use
wasting
time
in
sitting around your palace
talking to the air. I’m
needed
here for far too many tasks
.

Teressa let some of her mounting irritation slip. “And that’s the last time I’ll listen to you calling him ‘the hound.’ I hate that. His name is Tyron. Use it.”

“Or what?” Hawk retorted, still smiling. “Challenge me to a duel here on the ballroom floor? Or out behind the barracks at dawn, where Garian and Nyl and Marit used to play at swords a few years ago? He’s always going to be ‘the hound’ to me.”

Teressa turned her back and walked away. She felt hot and cold at the same time, her ears pricking as she listened for his step, but she reached the refreshment table alone. With trembling fingers she poured a cup of the fruit punch, her attention assiduously on the magic-made ice floating like an island in the center of the punch bowl. She sipped, keeping her gaze on her cup as if her future lay written in the pleasant reddish liquid. Inwardly she braced for Hawk’s derisive voice, and mentally considered several possible retorts.

But when she finished the cup without hearing his voice she set it down and turned around, her fan languidly stirring the hot, stale air. Hawk had remained on the other side of the room, and not alone, either. He was talking to little Teressa Kaledd, the newest and prettiest girl in court—the one everyone was starting to call Robin, because she reminded them of a little red bird. Robin stood stiff and outraged, her face half-turned away. But she didn’t move.

Several other courtiers drifted near, obviously listening, even though they pretended not to—both male and female.

Teressa, for once alone, for once not the center of attention, watched how, without expending any effort whatsoever, Hawk commanded the attention of the entire room.

He said something. Robin shook her bright red ringlets. He spoke again—and suddenly she laughed.

And when the musicians began a brannel, and Hawk held out his hand, Robin—the most popular girl in court—placed the tips of her fingers daintily on his palm and stepped out, still laughing, to join the forming dance.

Teressa found her cousin Garian at her side, his flushed face clashing horribly with his beloved crimson.

“Shall we dance?” she asked brightly.

He bowed and held out his hand.

Tyron slipped out of the magic school before dawn. As he walked up the road toward the royal palace a hot, humid wind whipped at his tunic. Rain on the way. Good for the crops. He gave the low gray clouds a sour grin. And good if it settled in for the next three weeks and spoiled Teressa’s planned lake party.

Except she’d just hold it another day.

He hurried his steps as the first spatters of rain began to chuff on the dusty road. The rain was beginning in earnest when he reached the guard barracks behind the palace.

Early as it was, Garian awaited him, with fresh-baked rolls, buttered eggs, and pan-fried potatoes on a side table, along with a frosty-sided jug of berry punch. Garian was dressed in a deep blue velvet tunic studded with rubies and embroidered in gold, clothing entirely appropriate for a formal court affair, but inappropriate for a hot summer morning.

Unless it was meant to intimidate.

Tyron realized his own expression must have changed when Garian’s thin face reddened slightly. “This ridiculous getup is for a party later today, and I won’t have time to go back and change. Far too much to do.” He fought a sudden yawn, looking tired. “Sit down. Have some breakfast. If you’re as busy as I am, this might be the last chance to eat until tonight.”

Tyron sat down gratefully. “Thanks.”

As Tyron helped himself to the food, Garian said, “I wanted to report my plans, but maybe they won’t be needed.”

Tyron paused. “Why do you say that?”

“You weren’t there at my mother’s ball last night. You didn’t see Teressa ignore Hawk Rhiscarlan the entire evening. He spent the whole time dancing with everyone else—especially Robin, um, Teressa’s namesake.”

“I know who she is,” Tyron reminded him.

Garian’s brow puckered. “Maybe Teressa’s gotten sick of him?”

“Did she watch him?”

“Huh?”

Tyron smothered a sigh. Garian was Teressa’s own cousin. How could he not know her? “Did she spend the whole evening watching him?”

“I don’t know.” Garian frowned. “Well, yes, she did. At least when we were dancing. But she was glaring at him the whole time.”

Tyron shook his head. “Let’s not count on her being sick of him, then.”

Garian sighed, then leaned forward, more sure of himself. “All right. Then here’s what I’ve been doing. I have someone assigned to every one of Hawk’s so-called honor guard. Three of whom have been strolling around court asking friendly questions about garrisons in other cities, and how many warriors, and who trains them, and what sort of defensive plans they have in place. Most of the nobles don’t know those things.” Garian raised a cup in his ringed fingers and gave Tyron a sour smile. “I instructed the three who do know to lie like rugs. They all distrust Hawk, so I foresee no problem with their cooperation. He won’t get any information that we don’t want to give him.”

“And on two-moons’ night you’ll have the lake under guard in addition to your people watching Hawk’s men?”

“Yes. I have every single possible angle of attack covered. Mistress Bentla will have a band of archers in the trees before any of the servants even arrive to set up Teressa’s party. I’ll have people on watch in all the stables, and on the roads and paths in and out.”

Tyron nodded. “Good. As for the magic end, I’m going to pace the entire lake with four of our best and quietest third year students. We’ll have several wards laid before Hawk so much as sets foot in a boat. I’ll also have two mages and several trusted mage students in the trees with your archers, on the watch for magic trickery. And of course I and a couple of the mages will be on hand, supposedly just to provide the fireworks.”

Garian laughed. “We’ll have more defenders lurking in the trees than Teressa will have guests.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep her safe,” Tyron said.

“Yes, if that’s what it takes to keep her safe,” Garian repeated. Then he added, his smile gone, “If she hasn’t quarreled with him, just how long are we going to have to keep half the city on watch to guard her safety?”

“Until he leaves,” Tyron said.

Garian glared out the window. “It feels sneaky, I have to admit. This going behind Teressa’s back. You know she could have kept her grudge against us—my family, that is. Against me. But she never did.”

“She never liked your father, and seldom agreed with his views, but she trusted him to do exactly what he said he would,” Tyron said. “Trust and friendship don’t always go together.”

Garian looked uncertain again. “Oh, I think we’ve become fairly good friends.”

Tyron nodded. “Yes, you have. But I meant that comment about Hawk. I don’t trust him, but I don’t like him, either. So knowing how to treat with him is easy for me—I don’t want to trust him, I just want him out of my life. Easy. For Teressa, it’s not so simple. I hope she will begin to see that liking someone doesn’t make them worthy of trust.”

Garian grimaced. “You think she likes him?”

“I think she and half the court find him attractive. Why, I can’t tell you.”

“Mirlee used to go on about that,” Garian said. “I can sort of see it. She said it’s like trying to tame a wild horse, or an eagle.”

Tyron muttered, “Wren would say it’s like trying to tame a poisonous snake.”

He hadn’t meant to say it, but Garian burst out with a high crow of laughter, and then sobered instantly. “So you think it’s impossible that he can be trusted?”

“I don’t know,” Tyron admitted. “Teressa did point out once that I don’t trust him
because
I dislike him—that my argument cuts both ways. I’ll grant that much. But I want him to prove he can be trusted, as once he proved, right here in this palace, he could not be trusted.”

“But during the war he did aid our side.”

“He did it to score off King Andreus of Senna Lirwan. Told us so himself. Then later . . .” Tyron looked at the rain beating against the window. “Later he took an interest in Teressa.
I
think he took an interest in
Princess
Teressa—who was just about to become queen at a very young age, with no inconvenient father or mother around. When I dropped a hint about that, well, you can see how insulting Teressa would find it. Nobody wants to be liked just for their title. They want to be liked for themselves.”

“Oh, yes.” Garian rubbed his chin. “You’re right there, and don’t I know it! However, I’m not the one who needs convincing, and Teressa inherited King Verne’s stubbornness.”

Tyron was thinking,
I
never
would
have
believed
I’d
trust
Garian
Rhismordith
.
So
maybe
things
can
change after all
. Out loud he said, “The question becomes, what does he want from her?”

“The crown? But he seems to like her,” Garian said. “He was watching her last night, I dare swear as much as she watched him. I know because she danced with me three times, and every one of those times, I couldn’t look up without seeing him sneering at me.”

Tyron made an effort to keep his hands from ripping out his hair. “Maybe he wants a crown
and
Teressa.”

Garian’s brow furrowed, as if he was working his way through all the arguments Tyron had stayed up far too late wrestling with. “So . . . if he does want to marry her. And she wants to marry him. Then . . . should we be trying to stop them?”

“Yes,” Tyron said. “He’s courting her, but he doesn’t give a fig for the rest of us. And that includes the kingdom. I don’t think she sees that, because for her, caring for the kingdom is such an important thing . . . I think she assumes he cares, under all that sarcasm.”

Garian’s frown tightened his face, making him look a lot like his sour mother for a moment. But he did not scoff, or dismiss Tyron’s words. “In a way that’s a whole lot worse.”

“Yes,” Tyron agreed. “Teressa has been his champion all along while everyone stands against him. She might even see him as some kind of hero, because she’s always stood up for those she sees as powerless.”

Garian rolled his eyes. “Great. Just great. Meanwhile my mother is at the palace right now, helpfully making everything worse.”

“I must Speak, Teressa,” the Duchess said.

Teressa could hear that capital letter, and braced for yet another attack.

“No one else dares to. You’ve grown so very like your father, and we all knew that once he made up his mind, you might as well talk to the wall. He wouldn’t hear you any more than the marble carvings could.”

Teressa bit her lower lip firmly, and gazed out over the garden from the terrace where she usually had her breakfast. With its view of the hills and the distant Rhis Garden, the terrace was one of her favorite places in the entire palace. It was so peaceful, especially with the rain dashing down while she sat under the guest suite balcony.

That peace was gone now.

“Teressa.” Aunt Carlas’s voice sharpened. “It was also your father’s habit to sit in silence and not even answer a person with a single courteous word. One accepted that in a king of his prestige, but at your age, it is quite unbecoming.”

“My father always told me to stay true to my heart,” Teressa said, and when her aunt’s thin cheeks reddened in anger blotches, she added, “He always looked for the best in people. He would have understood Hawk Rhiscarlan’s coming here as an act of good will, in spite of everyone’s all-too-evident dislike.”

Aunt Carlas rose, her fingers pleating folds in her skirt. “Well. I can see that you have made up your mind, even if people with far more experience might see things differently. Just remember what I said. And remember those who are
really
loyal to you will be here even if—if there are consequences to unfortunate choices.” Aunt Carlas’s voice trembled at the end.

She stalked away before Teressa could frame a response. As the door onto the breakfast room shut with a decisive snick, Teressa turned her gaze to the garden. Despite the beauty of rain falling on grateful blossoms no peace lay there.

Teressa knew where the real conflict lay: in her own heart. She hated remembering that long, horrible evening, watching Hawk flirt with little Robin, and then with her friends. By the end of the evening they were all coming to ask him to dance. Even if it was only out of curiosity, or daring.

Teressa had danced with every single fellow at the ball, even the old, married ones. She’d laughed and flirted and pretended to be having a good time, but she suspected she’d fooled no one.