Moth and Spark (18 page)

“Dispossess? You mean the room? Baron Arnet. It was no great loss to him.” He paused. She thought he looked tired, worried. He said, “Stay away from him, Tam. And his followers. They’re vicious.”

“Of course,” she said, though she did not know who they were. She put her hand on his arm. “Have I a chance at one more kiss?”

“A very good chance,” he said, and gave her a kiss even longer than the first one. It was different: she could taste the wine in his mouth, guess how his lips and tongue were going to move. She wanted him so badly. And he wanted her, that was apparent. She pushed her body harder against him.

It ended mutually. Tam took a few deep breaths. He laughed, put his arm around her shoulders, and said, “Time to get you back to the Hall of Deadly Sins.”

They parted in the antechamber, the guard a discreet distance away. Tam was uncertain what to say. He leaned over, kissed her softly on the cheek, and said, “Sleep well, my darling.”

She made the guard leave her at the entrance to the wing. When she went around the corner to her own hall, she saw Alina, Jenet, and Elyn sitting in the large open parlor at the other end of the corridor. That was to have been expected, although it was somewhat late even for them. They were drinking wine and had been through several bottles already, which was more unusual. The kiss felt as though it were blazing on her cheek.

Elyn came to meet her and said, “Oh do come, dearest Tam.” She put her arm around Tam’s waist. “We’re celebrating, Jenet has had such a marvelous evening. Count Darrin, the young one who is so handsome, he’s asked to escort her to the ball at week-end.”

“The ball?” she asked stupidly. A moment later she remembered. Cina had told her on the first day. “Of course.” She wondered why Corin had said nothing. Was it because she had not committed to openness, or because he did not think it her place to dance with him in
public? Was he already obligated to some other woman? The pang of apprehension she felt was strong enough to warn her that she was in more danger than she had supposed possible so soon. Firmly, she told herself not to make guesses about such things. He had other things on his mind, she had seen that and he had told her.

They had reached the others by this time, and Alina said, “You must be at the ball, Tam, you simply must. Everyone will be there. I suppose the prince will open now he’s back.”

Tam’s lips pressed together harder, but she controlled herself otherwise. That was the second comment of the evening about Corin, was the girl going to be silly enough to try for him?

Elyn giggled and said, “Then it will start late.”

Tam imagined what their faces would look like if she told them about her own Marvelous Evening. The smug pleasure she got just from thinking it shamed her a moment. Then she thought, They want me to play their damn game, I will play it, and they won’t even know. He is who he is and I have the right to enjoy it. “I expect I will come,” she said in her sweetest tone.

“With your gentleman of tonight?” Alina asked.

“Yes,” Tam said, with just a note of coyness. “Dancing is the first step to falling in love, after all.”

“It must have gone well. Tell us all about it, sweetheart. Is he witty?”

“Yes.”

“And good-looking?”

“Very,” she said, remembering the kisses. She felt color rise to her cheeks and hoped it was not noticed.

“And rich?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, he must have lands, does he have good lands?”

“Tremendous amounts, thousands of acres.”

Alina gave a little false excited clap and said, “Tell us who he is, do.”

“It’s a surprise.”

Jenet, who was more sober than the others, said, “She’s having you on, Alina. Don’t be so thick-headed.” It was easy to see why Darrin courted Jenet; she was pink and slender, golden-haired, round in all the right places. The neckline of all her dresses was exactly where it should be, neither a shade too high nor too low. Her income was probably comparable. She was twenty-two, but it was hard not to think of her as younger.

Alina continued, “Isn’t there something little that you can share?”

“He has two legs and two eyes,” she said, which brought a giggle from Jenet and a contemptuous look from Alina. He has wonderful hands. He has an amazing mouth. I wanted him to undress me. Oh, and a title, you didn’t ask about that.

Elyn splashed wine into a glass. “Here, Tam. Give us a hint.”

Tam took the glass but had no intention of drinking it. Even were it not likely to taste vile after what she had already drunk, she had had enough. She was feeling too giddy and reckless. It would be better to go to bed.

“Yes, do,” said Alina. “What is the first letter of his name?”

There was no way she was going to answer that with the truth. But if she protested too strongly that would only draw attention to it. “First or last?”

“First,” said Alina.

“Last,” said Elyn.

“‘M,’” she said.
My lord
. “I won’t say more.” She put down the wine, then turned her back to the others so she could use the window as a mirror to remove her hairpins. Her hair came easily down. She put the pins in her mouth for the moment. She wished she had done it earlier. It would have made her more comfortable, and Corin would have liked it. She wanted him to touch it, stroke it, wrap it around his hands.

“Where did your gentleman take you?” asked Alina, interrupting her reverie.

She felt herself closing up inside, defending. That was definitely prying of a sort she didn’t want. Not so much the question itself, which was innocuous and predictable. But answering it at all, truthfully or not, would invite more questions. And then more.

“Nowhere special,” she said around the pins. There were only a few left. She shook her hair out and ran her fingers through it a few times. It felt much better loose. She would have had to put it up again before she came back, it was completely scandalous to have it loose at night in the presence of a man. She took the pins out of her mouth and set them on the table beside her, and looked back at Alina. “Were you out yourself at all?”

“Oh no, just dinner with a few friends. Afterward there was a mesmerist. He was very entertaining.” Alina paused. “We had to change
plans rather at the last moment, or I should have asked you and your gentleman to join us.”

That might have been one of those polite lies of society, or it might have been meant to cut. Tam could not tell. She thought she was beginning to see a streak of selfish cruelty beneath the chattiness. “And will one of them escort you to the ball?”

“Not at the moment,” Alina said carelessly. “That leaves me free to dance with whomever I want. There are quite a lot of handsome men here.”

“They aren’t all rich,” Elyn said.

“Wealth isn’t everything,” said Alina.

No, it’s not, Tam thought, reassessing her. She was after power, and would try to find it in a man’s bed. That was a more dangerous quest than for money. Eventually she would reach too high and be pushed down.

“It’s a lot,” said Elyn.

“It doesn’t take anything particular to earn it these days,” Alina said, which Tam was sure was a reference to her father and brother.

“You wouldn’t say so if you didn’t have it,” Jenet said, surprising Tam. “Surely there’s someone you hope to dance with, Alina.”

“Nobody special.”

That was definitely intended to cut. Tam wondered why. Alina could hardly be jealous of her about Corin now. Some other time she might have sparred back, but she was tired. She gathered up the hairpins and stood. “I really do need to go to bed, I’ve a touch of headache. Good night.” Before any of them could say anything else, she walked away.

She lay in bed, wanting to sleep and unable to, wondering if her life had changed irrevocably or if this was just a dreamlike time that would pass by, wondering if she loved him already, wondering what she would do if she did. It was so entirely wrong. She had no expectations of anything lasting; in her experience, men were fickle creatures, falling in love with every fresh set of handsome eyes while expecting the women to be stalwarts of loyalty. It wasn’t true of all of them, she knew that from her father’s love of her mother, but it was true of all the rich young men she
met. Why shouldn’t this also be true of Corin, especially when he had only to raise a finger for any woman he wanted? But already she was hoping it was not so, that he was somehow different.

Like someone much younger, she thought, He kissed me! With that happy memory she rolled onto her side and went to sleep.

C
orin bent over and signed the paper, then straightened. “There,” he said to Teron. “That’s the lot. And before noon, too. The messages can wait until after I’ve had a bit of a respite.”

“I think you’d better see who they’re from, sir, before you decide that,” Teron replied in the tone that meant there was something potentially nasty waiting.

“Hand them over,” Corin said resignedly. He was at his clerk’s desk, not his own, because he had been unsuccessfully trying to leave for half an hour. He was late and hoped Tam had not given up on him. If anyone else came by with a request, any sort of request, he was going to have a tantrum. “But I’m not here. You can’t see me.” He went into as much shadow as he could to sort them.

One from his father. It couldn’t be too important or he would have had it earlier. He unfolded it—it was not even sealed—and saw it was just a note from the king’s clerk calling another council tomorrow morning. One with a woman’s handwriting. Not Seana’s, fortunately. There had been two yesterday, both of which he had ignored. They were polite, appropriate—she was not a woman to be vituperative or wheedling—but they still made him feel hunted. Half expecting it to be from her anyway, he opened the note and found only a dinner invitation from Ellid’s wife for next week. He supposed he would have to go. A request for a meeting from Guye of Dele. Damn it. What did he want? He would have to see him, but he could put it off for a day or two.

He heard footsteps come by the door, pause, move on. He finished the stack and gave it back to Teron.

“Did I hear someone?” he asked.

Teron nodded. “Brice.”

That would be one of Cade’s friends, yapping about the death, wanting something done. There was nothing to do. Gerod had already cleared Brice of the murder itself. The commander had delivered a thorough report that morning, which amounted to
Cade was a fool and we still
don’t know who killed him.
Corin had suspicions aplenty, but that was not enough to hang a man.

“How’d you get him to go away?”

Teron drew his finger across his throat. “I’m sure there will be a written message soon,” he said blandly.

“If he comes by again, send him to Gerod. I’ll be back in an hour, but I’m not seeing anyone.” There were exceptions to that, but Teron knew who they were. He had better add Tam to the group, though he doubted she would come. He had seen clearly that she was not going to take access to him for granted. It wasn’t respect for rank but respect for work. She knew what work was.

He managed to make it into the garden without being stopped, and he relaxed some when he was outside. The air was warm, which felt pleasant after the perpetual coolness of the palace. It was palace etiquette that anyone walking alone in the garden should not be disturbed without a good reason, so he was reasonably certain of privacy, though the scope of “good reasons” was broad when it came to him. He walked quickly through the garden toward one of the small ponds.

A large willow tree beside the pond had a plain iron bench next to it, and he sat down. The water was clear and still. A few damselflies darted about in gleaming greens and blues. A larger one, with golden wings more than a foot long, rested on a small rock. Seeing a goldwing was supposed to bring some kind of luck. He thought sourly that he could use it. The drooping fronds of the willow moved lightly back and forth, scattering the overhead sun. A pair of ducks paddled across the pond toward the small island in the middle. It was neat and orderly, civilized, miles and miles away from Sarians with fire weapons and war-lights. Miles from Liko’s wretched hovel and the stories that had got their claws into him.

He heard something on the path and looked. A suncock, trailing its red and gold feathers like flames. He stood up and shooed at it. “Go away, pompous and vainglorious bird,” he said. “Go on, go.” He waved his hands. It looked contemptuously at him, then sauntered back the way it had come.

“That’s not very princely,” someone said behind him. He jumped despite himself, turned.

“They bite,” he said succinctly. The expression on Tam’s face told
him that the remark had been entirely intentional. “Your impudence is going to get you into trouble some day.”

“It’s too late,” she said. “It already has.”

“I suppose so.” There was no one around. He risked a quick kiss. God, she was beautiful. Walking away from her last night had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. They both knew what was going to happen some time, even had there been no more than a mild personal liking, but it was more than liking, much more. He had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. Before they had even finished eating he had known he was hopelessly, entirely, in love. It was selfish of him; he should not compromise her honor by going any further even if she let him, or frustrate himself by courting where he could not wed. He did not have the will to stop it. Tai had told him once that when he finally fell in love he would fall hard, and how true a prediction that had been.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “I kept getting interrupted. Come sit.” He held her hand and drew her onto the bench with him.

They spent a moment looking at each other, the first time in outdoor light; her hair was less black and more brown where the sun struck it than it was inside. It was down, with a narrow braid in the center lying over the smooth fall. She looked younger. Her dress was blue and very simple, but it suited her perfectly. The light and shadows shifted on her with the movement of the leaves. “How old are you?” he asked curiously. For all the hours they had talked last night, there were so many things left to ask.

“Twenty.” She moved closer to him.

Tai’s age. “And no one has married you yet?” he asked, marveling at his own good fortune. As he heard his voice, he realized it was a terribly rude question.

“Afraid of my father,” she said darkly. For a heartbeat he believed her.

Then he laughed. But there was nothing he could say in response that would not make it sound as if the thought of marriage had crossed his own mind, even if only to be rejected, and he could not do that. It would be cruel to imply, even in jest, that things were not as they stood. She knew the rules that bound them as well as he did, there had been nothing to discuss. She was entirely unsuitable.

“Of course I would never disobey him,” she added.

“Really?” he asked slowly, ironically. “And what did he command?”

“Not to fall prey to any handsome young lords.”

He could not tell if she was making it up. “You don’t have to tell him. Besides, I’m not a lord.”

“Now you’re splitting hairs.”

“I’m sure he would prefer me to the old ugly lecherous ones.” He kissed her again, his tongue slowly and deeply probing her sweet mouth, his hand on her hip. She made no objections.

“Should I have done that?” he asked afterward, thinking too late that she might not want to be touched in public.

“I know how to say stop,” she said. “Even to the likes of you.”

“Oh? Let’s see.” A century or so later he realized they were rather too entangled for public view, even in a garden, and pulled away. He firmly removed her hand from his leg and his arm from her back. She smiled slyly and swung her head to straighten her hair. Neither of them said anything. Corin felt pleasantly transgressive as he had not for years. He had better be careful.

There was a nearby rose bush, and he drew his knife to cut one flower. It was white with a few yellow streaks. He trimmed the thorns off and worked it into her hair over her ear. “There,” he said. “How was it when you went back last night? Were there vultures waiting for you?”

Something about it amused her. “Yes. I teased them and they didn’t even notice. It’s terrible of me to enjoy it, but I do.”

“What did you say?” None of his palace lovers had ever been so scornful of the status seekers before. They had all been status seekers, for that matter. Tam was not the first commoner, but she was the first who had not come from old wealth and old land.

“I named no names but answered their questions with the truth,” she said, “and they thought I was being coy and exaggerating. People don’t expect truth much, do they?”

“They don’t,” he agreed, “which makes it powerful.” He had watched his father use truth as a weapon, leaving his opponents staring into the sun they had professed faith in while certain it was not there. His father. Not just his father. The king. The subject they had avoided all last night. He had never been so self-conscious of it before. It wouldn’t matter if he had no intent to have her as a lover for long, but it mattered with her. Everything mattered with her. He supposed he should get it over with, before she lost her chance to withdraw painlessly and privately.

“Do you care if my father knows?” he asked. “Or, I should say, do you
care how he finds out? He will. And so will everyone else. If you’re going to have second thoughts, best have them now. I would understand.” Understand, yes. But it would hurt.

She seemed unsurprised by the question. “I’m not going to change my mind. It’s not as though you sprung this on me. If it’s a choice between you and rumor telling him, I’d rather it be you. Will he interfere?”

“I doubt it.” The comment about Seana was the only thing Aram had said in the last seven years or so, even though Corin had not always made the best choice. Thinking about his father’s approval made him feel very young again. When he was fourteen, Aram had said to him about women,
Don’t get them with child, don’t do anything they’re unwilling to, and don’t promise anything you can’t give.
He wondered how well he was going to be able to keep to that last condition with Tam.

“What about the queen?”

It was harder to speak for his mother; arranging a marriage for him was her province, not his father’s. But she knew that he would only accept a marriage of state if he was not constrained to it. Talia was nearly as practical as Bron. She had been a lucky royal bride—his father loved her—and she was aware that was unusual. “She knows I’m a man,” he said. “Don’t do anything scandalous and she will ignore it.”

“Don’t do anything scandalous! Corin, we already have.”

“Outside of this,” he said, grinning. “Although kissing is hardly a scandal. No drunken brawls, or gambling all night with criminals, or dancing in a fountain. Or telling everyone what they should do.”

“In other words, stay in my place and be good.”

It sounded harsh. It was, he supposed, the truth. He ran his hand through the ends of her hair, lifted a lock to his face to smell it. Lavender and mint, clean, sharp. He said, “Act with honor, and the rest of it will take care of itself. I don’t mean a woman’s honor, all modesty and politeness, though I know you have it. I mean bravery and truth and conviction.”

She leaned her face against his shoulder. “There’s not one man in a hundred who would say that of a woman.”

And not one woman in a hundred who would say so to him. “I can afford to. I have enough power.”

She sat so still and quietly that a butterfly lighted briefly on the flower
in her hair. It was a deep fire-orange with red and yellow markings. It made him think of dragons. It hurt a little. He waited. He was good at waiting. A cricket chirped somewhere in the grass.

Her shoulders loosened, her face relaxed. “Thank you for not thinking I am a naïf.”

He asked her something he had never asked anyone. “And do you think less of me for saying such a thing?”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “No, Corin. Prince Corin. I know what I am getting with you.”

“Are you getting what you want?”

“I want you.” Another kiss, several of them, light and lightning on his skin. “I don’t care about the rest.”

He would never be able to explain to her the peculiar kind of ache her words roused in him. There had been other women who said that to him, but never with the honesty in their voices that was in hers. Regardless of the heat, he held her as tightly to him as he could until she said, “I can’t breathe.” When he released her, she tugged at her neckline and smoothed down her bodice. He let his eyes follow her hands. When he looked back up he knew she had been watching him.

He said hastily, “You know it’s not separable, though. You get the whole package. Especially if we are in public.”

“Such as the ball. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What ball?” he asked, bewildered.

For some reason that made her laugh. “The first ball of the season, of course. I’m told that you will open it. There was great excitement about being asked to dance beforetime.”

He remembered vaguely about it now. He did not pay attention to such things and was usually reminded by Teron or the chamberlain the day before. His mother no longer submitted him to the indignity of telling him herself, as though he were a wayward boy. But he had to be there. Even with one sister a hostage and the other in flight, ignorant of her husband’s fate. It was all the pretending he had said he would do.

She was staring at him.

“I forgot about it. I always do. Do you want me to take you?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Corin. You look—is there something wrong?”