Court Duel (21 page)

Ekirthi traditionally symbolized mystery, but I didn't think
an old meaning so bad a thing. I sent it the night following
Azmus's second visit. After wasting much paper and time in
fruitless endeavor to write a graceful note to accompany it, I
decided to simply send it in a tiny cedar box that my mother
had apparently brought from Erev-li-Erval and that I'd had all
my life.

There was no response the next morning, when I rose early,
which disappointed me just a little, but I shrugged off the
reaction and dressed swiftly. For I'd found out that Trishe was
having a riding party before breakfast, and I intended to
encounter it by accident.

Encountering a party by accident is a chancy business. You
can't just appear at the party's destination and affect
surprise to find everyone gathered there, not unless you want
to seriously discommode either the host or yourself. Probably
Savona or Tamara—or Flauvic—were expert at managing
such a thing gracefully, but I knew I wasn't.

So what I had to do was take a ride on my own, find their
path, and see to it that we fell in together. That was the easy
part.

The hard part was reacting with delight and no hint of
embarrassment when I did find them, for of course most of them
exclaimed in various kinds of surprise when they saw me,
especially Nee and Bran. A quick glance showed me that
Shevraeth was indeed with them, riding next to a young lady I
had never seen before.

I reined in my borrowed mount and reached forward to stroke
her braided mane, pretending not to notice Nee's confusion. On
the periphery of the group I saw the golden-haired hostess,
Lady Trishe. She smiled, but her eyes showed worry. I turned to
my brother. For once, I hoped, his disastrous habit of loudly
saying whatever he thought would be a boon.

"Bran! You're up already. What a surprise to find you out
here!" And of course for Bran it was a surprise. His usual
habit on days when he had no engagements was to sleep in, or if
he did rise betimes, he'd go with some of his cronies to the
gymnasium and take up the swords for a bout or two.

Bran looked at me now, saying in his clear voice, "Not as
surprising as finding you here, Mel. We take a morning ride
once a week, unless it rains. Trishe puts on a breakfast spread
in some nice grassy spot—"

And here I was able to cut in and say in an equally jovial
and penetrating voice, "'Tis true I haven't seen much of anyone
these mornings, but I've been locked up studying for a special
project. But I'm nearly done, and so I find myself free."

Then Trishe had her opportunity to come forward and request
that I join them, which I professed myself honored to do, and
the awkward moment passed. I urged my mount in on the other
side of Trishe's and, in the friendliest voice I could assume,
told her how they would all know about my secret project very
soon.

I didn't actually look at little red-haired Lady Arasa
Elbanek or her skinny, long-nosed brother, but I could sense
them both listening avidly. This meant, I thought happily as I
dropped back to ride next to Nee, that my confidential
conversation with Trishe would be all over Athanarel before the
bells for green-change rang.

So I congratulated myself on a fine, subtle social
save—until we reached Trishe's picnic site. In the chaos
of dismounting and tendering the horses to the waiting
servants, I happened to catch Shevraeth's gaze. Those gray
eyes, always so accursedly observant, were now narrowed with
humor, but his mouth was mock-solemn as he said, "I have the
honor to introduce to you Lady Elenet Kheraev of
Grumareth."

I curtsied, wondering where I'd heard that name before.
Elenet was a tall, slim young lady with a heart-shaped face and
wide-set gray-blue eyes. Her hair was fine and somewhat thin,
of a tint midway between blond and brown, but it had been
dressed by a master hand; and her gown, though of sober hues
that suited her subdued coloring, was as finely made as any of
Fialma's. She gave me a quiet smile, but there was no time for
conversation because Trishe beckoned and everyone had to follow
along a narrow path up a short hill, where we found blankets
and baskets spread out invitingly on the grass overlooking one
of the ponds.

A quick side-glance showed Trishe addressing a hurried
question to one of her servants, which was answered with a nod.
So they had enough cups and plates—probably carried
against breakage. Good. Then I wouldn't have to pretend I'd
already eaten.

Next transpired the sort of flutter of well-bred activity
attendant upon being seated and served with cups of gently
steaming hot chocolate and light, flaky little pan-breads
covered with fresh greenhouse berries. During the course of
this I got a chance to scan the company and assess positions
and attitudes. Not that I could believe everything I saw, I
knew. Most of them were probably dissembling as much as I and
probably more successfully. But, bent as I was on eradicating
negative gossip, I made myself wander from group to group,
chocolate cup in hand.

First to my hostess, who sat with Lady Renna, her husband,
and some of the other horse-mad people. We talked a little
about horses, and the coming races, and who was likely to bet
on—or against—whom. Then I passed on to Arasa,
sitting with Geral and the Turlee heir. On the outskirts of
this conversation hovered Arasa's sour, clapper-tongued brother
Lord Olervec, tolerated only because his sister was so
popular.

Arasa, whose blue silk gown flattered her attractive, plump
figure, seemed perfectly happy to share her two swains with me.
She greeted me with a smile and complimented me sunnily on my
gown. "Were you hinting about a special party?" she asked,
hugging herself. "Oooh, I do hope so!"

"I was," said I, watching Geral and Alcanad Hazhlee watch
her. I dropped some hints about costumes and mysteries, and she
giggled and shivered. I realized that I was very probably
talking to the present-day equivalent of my forebear Ardis. It
was hard not to laugh at the idea.

As I bowed to them and moved away, I wondered if she were in
fact as empty-headed as she seemed. Everyone liked her, but
with the sort of tolerant attitude one expresses when one
admits to a taste for spun sugar. Her name was coupled almost
constantly with this or that gentleman by those who liked that
kind of gossip. Such as, for instance, her brother.

Next was the foursome I had been bracing myself to face all
along: Tamara, Savona, the newly met Lady Elenet, and the
Marquis of Shevraeth. Very conscious of Olervec's pale eyes
following me, I forced myself to greet the Marquis first: "Good
morning," I said, as if we'd been talking just the day before.
"How much I wish to thank you for putting me in the way of
finding the proper books for my project."

Again that laughter was evident in his glance as he sketched
a bow. "If you have any further questions," he said, "it would
be my pleasure to accommodate you."

"I'd be honored." I curtsied, my hands making the fan
gesture of Unalloyed Gratitude. The shadow of humor in the
corners of his mouth deepened.

Then I turned to the others. Savona grinned at me, one hand
moving slightly in the fencer's salute of a good hit. I fought
the urge to blush as Tamara murmured, "You'll be in the race
tomorrow?"

"Of course," I said, lifting my hands. "I have to prove
whether my wins last time were luck, skill—or the
kindness of well-wishers."

Tamara smiled a little. "And once you've proved which it
is?"

"Why then I either celebrate, commiserate—or
fulminate!"

They all laughed at that, even the quiet Elenet, though her
laughter was so soft I scarcely heard it.

I turned to Shevraeth and said, "Will you be there?"

"I hope to be," he said.

"Riding your gray?"

"Is that a challenge?" he replied with a hint of a
smile.

I opened my mouth, then a stray memory brought back our
private wager before we reached Athanarel and nothing could
prevent the heat that burned up my neck into my face; so I
quickly bent over, making a business of ordering one of the
flounces on my gown. After I had straightened up I'd have an
excuse for a red face, or at least enough of one to pass the
notice of the three who (presumably) knew nothing of that
unpaid wager.

"I think," I said, retying a ribbon and patting it into
place, then unbending with what I hoped was an expression of
nonchalance, "I'd better find out if my luck is due to skill or
kindness before I make any pledges."

"Very well," he said. "A friendly race will suffice."

When the conversation came to a natural close, I retreated
to Nee's side and finished the rest of the picnic with her and
Bran.

The morning was chill and the sky steadily darkened. Trishe
gave a signal to the servants as soon as the last plate was
picked up; it was not a morning to linger.

Scattered drops of rain rustled the leaves overhead as we
pulled our gloves on and resettled our hats. Within moments the
sweetly chiming harness bells announced that the mounts waited
below, and very soon the company was in motion again. I rode
back with Nee and Bran, and despite the increasing cold and the
strengthening rain I had that inner glow of satisfaction that
comes with having attempted the right thing—and actually
managing to carry it off. When we returned to the Residence I
decided I had better make the most of my virtuous mood. I sat
down at my desk, drew forth the papers I had ordered, which
resembled age-yellowed paper from the past, and in my very best
writing, began my invitations. I would not insult my brother
and Nee by foisting the job off on a scribe.

The historical period I had selected for my party was five
hundred years before. The king, young and popular and handsome,
had married a lady from the house of Noarth, forebears of the
Chamadis family. Those two sterling historical personages would
do for Bran and Nee. The king, Jhussav, had had a sister, whose
guise I could adopt without causing any kind of political
repercussions. She had departed on a world tour not long after
she reached my age, and had settled somewhere else. It was a
quiet time in our history—no wars or great
changes—and there were no exceptionally villainous
members of any of the families whose names were prominent now,
nor were there any great fools. We could enjoy the masquerade,
dress like our ancestors, eat food that was fashionable then,
and everyone could find out the idiosyncrasies of their
forebears, without embarrassment, and come to the party to do
some playacting. I was thus congratulating myself on having
successfully routed Flauvic when a chilling thought made me
drop my pen and groan. Flauvic! What could have possessed me to
forget to look up the Merindars? I had checked on everyone else
except the forebears of the one who had given me the idea.

No use scolding myself,
I thought as I hurried out
into the hallway. As I'd done my reading, pausing to run
through names of friends, acquaintances, and neutral parties,
the Merindars had somehow stood outside of this group. They did
not spring naturally to mind, either, when I considered my
guest lists. But of course I had to invite Flauvic, and his
mother and sister if they returned.

Had
I read their names as I did my research? I
couldn't remember, which made me fear that something
distasteful had been done to them or by them, either of which
would be disastrous to call attention to now.

My friendly guise of the morning notwithstanding, I had no
wish to blunder into the memoir room if Shevraeth was working
there.
This time I will be more stealthy,
I
vowed....

The thought vanished when I happened to glance out one of
the many arched windows lining the long hallway and saw two
figures in one of the private courtyards.

The glass was old and wavery, but something about the tall
figure made me stumble to a halt and reach to unlatch the
window. As I did, my mind went back to another time when I
stood inside a building with distorted glass and stared out at
the Marquis of Shevraeth. And somehow he had sensed I was
there.

I opened the window just a crack, telling myself that they
could see me if they chanced to look up, so it wasn't really
spying. He was walking side by side with Lady Elenet, his head
bent, his hands clasped behind him. His manner was completely
absorbed. I could not hear her voice, but I could see urgency
in her long hands as she gestured, and intensity in the angle
of her head. Then she glanced up at him and smiled, just
briefly, but the expression in her face made me back away
without closing the window. I had seen that look before, in the
way Nee and Bran smiled at one another, and in the faces of
Lady Renna and her new husband. It was love.

Almost overwhelming was the sense that I had breached their
privacy, and instinctively I started back to my room until I
realized I was in retreat. Why? No one had seen me. And now I
knew I would not accidentally encounter Shevraeth in the alcove
where he kept the royal memoirs.

Still, it was with shaking hands and pattering heartbeat
that I raced back to the archive room and searched through the
appropriate years looking for mentions of the Merindars. In one
old, crumbling book there was a dull listing of everyone who
attended formal Court functions, and the Merindars showed up
there. The next book revealed the fact that the most prominent
of them five hundred years ago was an elderly man. This was
certainly innocuous enough.

I closed the book, carefully replaced it, and left.

The rain had turned the sky to slanting sheets of gray by
afternoon, a steady, pelting shower that kept the humans from
promenading the paths. Even the spring birds were quiet and
invisible.

As Bran had gone off in pursuit of some kind of pleasure,
Nee joined me in my room. I'd bade Mora to bring us hot
chocolate, which had arrived creamy and perfect as always. Nee
poured it out, then settled at my desk to read her letters. For
a time I stood at the window, toying with my cup and breathing
the gentle, aromatic steam rising up. For some reason the scent
of chocolate threw me back to my first taste of it—at the
Renselaeus palace. I looked out at the rain and thought about
my past.