Maledicte (12 page)

“Your side? Your arm?” Gilly asked, stopping in his tracks. Since Maledicte’s injuries, Gilly had feared infection. The boy had not let him see to the wounds, instead had trusted his skin to Vornatti’s suturing.

“Sore,” Maledicte admitted.

“You’ll be lucky if the wounds don’t fester. Vornatti is no physician.”

“It heals, regardless,” Maledicte said.

Yes, Gilly thought, the knowledge assailing him again, a slap of frigid seawater, scouring and impossible to digest. Wasn’t healing one of Ani’s gifts? Something good turned to malign purpose; it was hard to stop a man immune to violence. But Maledicte had bled enough—

“Stop staring,” Maledicte said. “You promised me food.”

Gilly found them a table in the public rooms of the Glorious, the ice shop popular among the maidservants and merchants, secretaries, sailors, and laborers. It had once been a temple to Naga, the serpentine god of health and avarice, and the rooms still boasted elaborate murals of undulating waves and scale; the columns were Naga rising from the sea depths, fanged mouths gaping and holding coats.

In the midst of this they sat, eating tart lime ices and sugar pastries, drinking bitter coffee with sweet sludge at the bottom. Maledicte’s lips reddened with the cold kiss of the confection, his cheeks flushed by the steaming drink.

“Vornatti must have grown bored with his company,” Gilly said, looking at the carriage drawing up to a discreet storefront, marked only by three silver balls on a cord.

Following Gilly’s gaze, Maledicte turned his head. They watched Mirabile step out of the carriage, her dress loosely cloaked for anonymity, carrying a parcel. She disappeared into the dark recesses of the shop.

“A pawnshop?” Maledicte said, shifting to shelter behind Gilly, out of sight.

Gilly said, “She’s popping her valuables. Or more likely Westfall’s. I doubt she has anything left of value. But if she wed someone wealthy…”

Maledicte pushed his plate away. “She can’t think of anything else?”

“There’s nothing else for her to do,” Gilly said. “She’s an aristocrat, not trained to do anything. Or allowed to. Women in this society are ruined so easily.”

“You sound sorry for her.”

“No,” Gilly said. “She had a rich husband and killed him. You might keep that in mind when you speak with her.”

“I don’t have to,” Maledicte said, recovering his appetite, stealing the rest of Gilly’s pastry. “My tasks require swords. This one doesn’t. This task is yours.”

· 10 ·

M
IRABILE GLIMMERED
in shades of orange and flame that brought warmth to her icy perfection, and echoed the fire and gilt of Maledicte’s coat. At his entrance into the ballroom, she joined him as neatly as if they had planned it. Unusually, there was a faint tint of color in her cheeks; Maledicte, having heard the gossip, didn’t wonder at it.

A trill of laughter touched his ears. “No, really my dear, Westfall had to pay for his own silver-backed brushes. Can you imagine—” Lady Secret and her listeners fell silent as Maledicte and Mirabile passed, stifling their smiles.

Outside, Maledicte had heard much of the same, that Adam Westfall tired of his unwanted guest, and pressured his wife to be rid of her. Maledicte only wished the man would do it soon and spare him yet another series of encounters with her delicately acid tongue.

“Tell me, Maledicte, how fares Vornatti, that you missed the Lovesys’ ball? I thought you had meant to attend.”

“That’s the difficulty with bribing servant girls,” Maledicte said.. “They cost you coin and are unreliable.”

Mirabile laughed. “You do say such terrible things.” She leaned closer, offering a tantalizing glimpse of perfumed, powdered skin. “But you haven’t excused your absence, and to spurn a counselor’s ball requires an apology at least.”

“I, too, noted your absence. You sent no word.” The pleasant voice dropped Mirabile into a curtsy, Maledicte into a bow, as Aris joined them.

“Sire,” Maledicte said. “Vornatti was ailing and I felt my place was beside him.” It was as close as he would come to the truth, that after Gilly’s and his disobedience that day by the sea, they had been punished. Gilly had been sent to sleep in the stables for a week, and Maledicte—Vornatti had kept him so close he might have been wearing a leash.

Mirabile murmured, “Yes, I believe I’ve seen what Vornatti considers your place.” Maledicte felt a sudden crest of hatred for her tongue, for the fact that Mirabile, a favored visitor, had witnessed Vornatti’s dominance with laughing eyes.

“You’re pale tonight, lad. Do not let the idleness of town life cheat you of your health. You should dance more,” Aris said, frown easing. “Put color in those fair cheeks.”

“As I have been urging him to do,” Mirabile said, tapping Maledicte’s shoulder with her fan. “But will he dance? No, he will not.” She held out her hand with expectant grace as the musicians began opening measures to a country dance, as if all the days of watching Maledicte obey Vornatti’s whims made her wishes inviolate also.

Maledicte stepped out of reach without thinking. Mirabile’s perfect features etched a quick frown and smoothed again. “You see, sire?”

“Ill-done of you, lad,” Aris said. “We noblemen must never disappoint a charming and beautiful lady.”

Mirabile claimed Maledicte’s hand with a possessiveness that made his skin itch. “Yet you do not dance,” Maledicte said, irritation bleeding into his voice. Belatedly, he tried to mask it with flattery, as he would for Vornatti. “And to be bold, my king, you are far more a maiden’s dream than I.”

Aris laughed, flushing a little. He reached for Mirabile’s hand. “We will assay the floor together, Mirabile, and teach this pup some manners.”

Mirabile curtsied again, topazes winking in her ruddy hair. “You honor me, sire.”

“Come lad, find a partner,” Aris said, smiling. He held up a gloved hand; the musicians paused.

In the silence, Maledicte’s eyes slewed around. For a bare moment, they lit on Gilly, near hidden in the shadows of the balcony, before falling on a tiny, porcelain doll of a debutante whose chaperone had her head bent away in gossip. Maledicte took quick strides to her side. “Lady?”

The musicians surged into the involved patterns of the Labyrinthine. Maledicte and his partner moved neatly, with careful grace and the physical wariness of two people unacquainted. When Maledicte raised his eyes from the girl’s downturned face, he found Aris’s intelligent blue eyes fixed on him, and Maledicte stumbled.

Maledicte dropped into the final bow, brushed his lips over his partner’s hand. She faded away, rejoining her frowning chaperone.

Aris bent over Mirabile’s hand, and Maledicte took the moment to escape toward the balcony’s evening shadows. Gilly saw him coming, raised the flask from his coat pocket.

A hand on his arm halted Maledicte. He spun and swallowed his bile. “Sire.”

“Maledicte, come with me.” The king released his hold on Maledicte’s silk-covered arm, walked on, sure that Maledicte would follow. The scalloped balconies and quiet alcoves were popular enough that Aris had to search several doorways until he found a vacant one.

Aris sank down onto one of the carved marble benches that ran the perimeter of the balcony. On either side, tree roses shielded them from view. Below, the gardens smelled of damp moss and night flowers opening. Maledicte stood before him, hesitant and worried. He knew his temper was foul tonight, knew also that it led him into incautious behavior.

“You are new to my court and with Vornatti as your only guide, perhaps less informed than you should be of the social niceties.”

“I apologize for my reluctance to dance, sire. I will make amends and dance every set left this evening. If you will it,” Maledicte said, despite his aversion for such things. He did not care to stand so close to the other men, to hold women his height, fearing that it would only point out his slightness, risking his mask. Was that all—such a small thing to incur a king’s displeasure. Maledicte bit his lips, closed his eyes, wishing again that he could simply reclaim Janus without all this mummery.

“You may do as you please, but Mal—” Aris’s voice shifted as he assumed the intimacy of a friend. “Mal, a word of caution. While it is understood that certain young men find the company of other men preferable to the ladies, I would not have the lines of the dance ruined by such a pair. It requires discretion. Can you be discreet?”

“Do you find me so gauche as to expect such from me?” His tone was more insulted than concerned, but he was irritated out of reason that the king’s interest extended so far into his life.

“I find you—” Aris hesitated, pulling a rose from the tree beside him and breathing in its scent. Its petals were near blown and browning at the edge; they shed at the touch of his breath. “I find you hard to predict. A creature of impulse in a rigid court, and I would not see my brother set against you. He has more power than I would like….”

Maledicte paused, listening to the silence of what Aris had not mentioned—the effort it took Aris to tread the path between pleasing Vornatti, who held the purse strings of Antyre, and satisfying his ambitious brother.

Before Maledicte could speak, strains of music drifted outward, and Aris smiled. “The Labyrinthine again.” He rose.

“Shall I dance it?” Maledicte asked.

“Not until you rectify your steps,” Aris said.

Maledicte flushed, annoyed that Aris had seen him stumble.

“It’s not so hard,” Aris said, “But it takes some thought for one not brought up on it.” He held out his hand.

M
IRABILE, THWARTED IN HER PURSUIT
by Aris’s easy theft of her partner, stalked toward a balcony. She faltered when she saw it occupied, but then, with a sudden smile, came forward. “Such a moody creature, your master,” Mirabile said, joining Gilly in the shadowed alcove.

“Lady?” Gilly said, his eyes on Maledicte vanishing after the king.

“Don’t look so foolish,” Mirabile said. “Sweet Livia tells me you’re the man behind the scenes. Gilly, is it? Tell me about Maledicte.”

“What do you want to know that Livia can’t tell you?” Gilly said absently. Maledicte had seemed ordinary enough tonight, or as ordinary as he could be. Ani’s presence seemed more dreamlike now than in his nightmares.

“I want to know what all women want to know. How much he dotes on me.”

Gilly’s attention sharpened. “Shouldn’t you ask instead about his prospects? Or do you seek a marriage purely for love?”

“Purely for love?” Mirabile said, eyes flattening with wariness. “Maledicte has more to offer than love alone.”

“Not money,” Gilly said, leaning against a pillar. “Vornatti grants him an allowance, that’s all.” Her pleasant expression changed to one of slit-eyed anger.

“You lie. Livia says Maledicte has coin of his own.”

“Livia,” Gilly said, with a rush of anger, “is a
servant.
She thinks ten sols is a fortune. Instead of the overlace on your dress.”

Mirabile twitched, hands clawing at her long skirts as if she’d recoup the money spent on them. “But his future prospects…Vornatti will settle a yearly allowance on him, surely.”

“He prefers to keep Maledicte under his own roof. Should Maledicte wed, Vornatti will cease funding him, he’s that possessive.” Gilly’s tone soured, the very bitterness in it adding weight to his words. But a week spent ostracized from the house, spent worrying about his own position, left him a pessimist. Alone in the stable with only the dreams for company—dreams of Ani’s laughter, waking to find the horses kicking and thrashing as if they, too, felt Her.

“You know nothing,” Mirabile said, nearly spitting in her anger. “You’re just a servant.”

“The one behind the scenes,” Gilly retorted.

“Between the bedsheets. You’re nothing but Vornatti’s toy.”

Gilly flinched. “Nonetheless, what I tell you is true. Though Vornatti may be wealthy, he has no obligation to Maledicte. Indeed, he cut back his allowance a week ago.”

Mirabile’s face blanched, her green eyes closing. Her hands still twisted around each other. “Good night, Mirabile,” Gilly said.

She slapped him, curving her nails inward. He jerked back, saved himself from the worst of their sting, though his cheek burned.

“
Lady
Mirabile. If I have nothing else, I have that, and you are only a servant.”

Pushing past him, she hesitated in the ballroom doors, then, raising her head, returned to the court.

“L
IKE SO,”
A
RIS SAID,
as the tune came around, his hand clasping Maledicte’s. Maledicte took a breath, made the delicate feint inward, the retreat, then the elaborate pivot and bow, all the time aware of the king’s hand on his. He tripped, and Aris, patiently, said, “Again.”

“You’re quite the teacher,” Maledicte said.

Aris smiled. “I’ve always been thorough in my studies.”

“And I, apparently, shirked mine,” Maledicte said.

“You waltz splendidly,” the king said. “Your teacher should be commended.”

Maledicte hid a smile, remembering spinning Gilly in the waltz until he pled dizziness and shortness of breath.

In the ballroom, the measure came round again, and Aris held out his hand. “Once more?”

“Aris!” Last said, looming behind Aris, body blocking the glow of the ballroom.

“My brother, the hound,” Aris muttered.

Maledicte stepped away from Aris, and Last’s mouth, outlined by his pale beard, turned downward.

“Remember discretion,” Aris said, stepping aside to let Maledicte return to the ballroom.

Maledicte touched his sword hilt, stroked the feathers, considering Last’s presence, anger eating through his veins. The earl had taken Janus, had sent Kritos to recover him as if he were nothing more than a strayed possession—Wings fluttered in his chest, a heartbeat of rage and pain. To strike
now
and be done with it…

“Maledicte?” Aris’s brows drew downward as Maledicte stood, his hand locked on the sword hilt.

Maledicte’s hand flew from the sword. He was badly startled. How long had he gaped at Last like a rabid dog? He sketched a hasty bow, gave it an elaborate fillip to make Aris smile, and fled into the ballroom. Ani shrieked within him. A second time, to be so close, and not to strike…“Not yet,” he said, speaking to that heat in his blood.

Coming onto the floor, he saw Gilly peering through a doorway and detoured again. This time he reached the safety of Gilly’s side. “I need a drink.”

Gilly paused in his search for his pocket flask. “What did the king want?”

Maledicte shrugged, slung himself down onto a bench, laid his legs along the length of it, precluding Gilly’s joining him. “To teach me to dance. To lecture me on my behavior. Between him and Mirabile, my card is full.” Maledicte sulked, studying the toes of his polished boots.

“I’ve put a stop to Mirabile,” Gilly said. “And apparently she picked my pockets while I did so. No flask, Mal, I’m sorry.”

“Gilly!” Maledicte said. “What matters a flask when you’ve removed the huntress from my trail? Dare I ask how?”

“Simple truth made you unsuitable,” Gilly said, still touching his coat pockets with a faint frown on his face, as if trying to recall the exact moment the flask disappeared.

“Truth?” Maledicte said, coldness shifting in his belly like a snake. “What truth is that?”

“That Vornatti’s fortune is not your own.”

“To think a lack of a fortune could ever be beneficial.” His grim amusement faltered. He stepped closer, touched Gilly’s cheek. “What’s this?”

Gilly touched the scratch at the cheekbone. “She wasn’t best pleased with what I had to say.”

“Should I repay her for that?” Maledicte asked, his tamped-down rage resurfacing, redirecting. “Spill the fact that I won’t have her? If the duns are after her—”

“No,” Gilly said. “Leave her alone. She’s rat-vicious, best not cornered.”

Maledicte sighed. “Take me home. I’m bored with the wonders of the court, sick of the people in it; I can’t kill the ones I want to, so why stay?” He tugged Gilly’s hair, touched the red mark once more, wiping away a quick smear of blood from the thin scratch, and headed back into the ballroom and the main doors.