Nightshade (13 page)

Darry turned at the disturbance and smiled as Jessa slid in a rush onto the terrace in her bare feet and robe.

“Jessa,” Darry said as her eyes followed the fall of dark hair to where Jessa’s robe fell open between her breasts. The garment was tied loosely about her waist. Darry raised her eyes quickly at the stirring within her, her attention caught yet again by the silken fall of Jessa’s hair.
At least a dozen—

“Where have you been?” Jessa’s hands played with the tie of her robe. “Are you all right?” She took hold of Darry’s right hand and caressed the fading cut on her palm, the slight wound but a pink line of irritation.

“All is well,” Darry said, suddenly very content as Jessa’s touch warmed her blood. “I wanted to see you.”

“Yes.” Jessa smiled as Darry’s fingers curled about her own. “Yes, you as well.”

“I know you’re getting ready, but I’ll—”

“Where have you
been
?”

“I rode north to bring a friend home for the fête tonight, and for the Solstice celebrations to come.”

“A friend?” Jessa asked. “An escort?”

“No,” Darry answered, curious as to the spark within Jessa’s eyes. “Emmalyn’s betrothed, Royce Greyson. He was stationed in Marban. His family holds lands along the Lanark River and he was detained by orders from the Commander there to make maps, but our Longshanks is of a higher rank.”

“I hadn’t known Emmalyn was to be married.”

“They wait to make the announcement until after Jacob and Alisha’s ceremony. Emmalyn has no wish to steal from Alisha’s joy. You will keep their secret?”

“Of course,” Jessa said.

“She doesn’t want the fanfare again either, I suppose.”

“Again?”

“Again?” Darry asked, smiling.

Jessa laughed softly. “You said ‘again.’”

“Ah, yes.” Darry tried to keep her mind from drifting. Jessa had fewer braids than she had first thought, and she paused to collect her words. “Emmalyn is a widow.” She stepped closer, smelling the scent of jasmine and finding it most pleasant and yet more subtle than she remembered. “Her first husband was killed when he fell from a horse. It was a terrible accident that took him soon after they were wed. They were married during the summer festivities, like the ones that fast approach. It can be a sad time for her.”

“So you sent for him.”

Darry shifted her parcels, looking sheepish. “Well, sort of. It’s not really my place, but I had something that Longshanks wanted badly enough in exchange for his help in bringing Royce home. A horse named Dragon.”

Jessa stared at her for several heartbeats, then laughed with pleasure. “You traded your horse so your sister could be with her beloved?”

Darry looked at the stones between them, enjoying the sight of Jessa’s toes. She shrugged. “He is named so for a reason. He’s a most ornery animal and his breath is very hot before he tries to bite you.”

“A good bargain then,” Jessa said softly, liking the way Darry looked when she was uncertain. Her brow would come down and a shyness would steal into her posture, so much strength and force of will made almost quiet.

“Yes.” Darry shifted her packages once again and stepped back. “Your hair is so very beautiful, Jessa.” Then she murmured, “Bloody hell,” as if her words had leapt forth before she could think better of it.

Jessa lifted her hand to her braids, thanking the gods for them since Darry admired them. “Thank you.”

“I should let you finish getting ready.”

“Yes, I suppose…and you as well? Your hair?”

“Bentley shall have to help me with it.”

“Lord
Greeves
?”

“For certain. He likes to, actually, though don’t tell him I told you. He wouldn’t speak to me again, I think, should that secret get out.”

Jessa tried not to laugh. “I will say nothing.”

Darry backed up another step. “I thought of you while I was away…and I missed seeing your face. It is nice to have a new friend.”

“Yes,” Jessa said.
I missed your face as well, Darry. I missed…I missed so many things about you.

“Do not be nervous tonight, with so many people. It’s only a party, yes?”

“I know. I shall try not to be. I will look for you.”

“Then I shall look forward to being seen,” Darry said. “Princess,” she bid, and bowed her head.

Darry turned and walked away. Jessa gazed across her strong shoulders and down the center of Darry’s back, then drifted lower still. A hard wave of pleasure turned within her stomach and bled downward, lighting within her thighs. She swallowed awkwardly and let out a rough breath.
The way you walk, Princess
.
Like the panther you are named for.

“Will you stand for all the world to see?” Radha said from the door as Jessa jumped in surprise. “Without your veil? In your robe and naked toes?”

Jessa laughed, hurrying back into the room and hugging her. Radha slapped at her arms and Jessa kissed her cheek. “Finish my dress!” she said, though she had no anger in her voice.

Radha pushed from the embrace with a flutter of shawls and black fabric. “Next time ask who it might be that is knocking at your door.”

Jessa shut the door and flopped onto her back.
You make me feel so alive, Darry.
She smiled slowly, feeling the heat on her cheeks. She tipped her face away from the room, not trusting her feelings to Radha.
I am awake now.

Her blood moved with excitement and her thoughts raced, tumbling this way and that. Her skin tingled with expectation, her hands still wanting to touch Darry just a little, just a bit. When she did so, Jessa could feel Darry’s strength, could feel it invade her own body and her flesh react, becoming stronger in return, becoming more of what it should be.

She felt like a woman in Darry’s presence.
A woman.
Not a piece of chattel to be wagered like coins on a table.
She felt her body like never before, and each movement she made had a purpose somehow, as if she were meeting a need she had never known was there.

She had no idea what Darry would say next, none at all. And she would respond without her normal care, which was wonderful. It was so astonishing to speak her mind without censure or caution. Anything she said would be acceptable, somehow. No matter what passed her lips, Darry could be trusted with it.

And the way your eyes fill with warmth
.
You always look so pleased by what you find, even though it’s only me. And I like it when your tongue is nervous for want of the right word, Darry. I like it so very much.

Cecilia surveyed the great hall of Blackstone Keep and considered the evening to come with a strict eye for details.

The hall was filled to capacity. The entire Court of Arravan had turned out for the formal fête to welcome the Lyonese Prince and the woman who might marry the heir to Arravan’s throne. The doors to the two minor halls that bordered the vast chamber had been thrown open to allow for their numbers, and the white stone solar as well. The gardens beyond were lit with hanging lamps to ward off the darkness.

The dais at the north end of the room was occupied by a troupe of Greymear musicians, lute players and more than one bodhran, the largest of the skin drums standing as tall as the man who wielded the batons. Arravan flutes and fiddles of varying sizes were evident, and a hurdy-gurdy as well, the instrument known mostly within the walled city of Sha-Kiram on display and ready to produce its unique sound.

Along the north and east walls, long tables stood end to end, their surfaces covered with platters and bowls of food, everything from spiced meat delicacies to colorful displays of sliced fruits and sweet breads.

The massive tapestries that hung upon the walls had been cleaned and brushed, depicting everything from the Durand family tree to the battle of the Ishlere Plains. Ornate poles extended from the balcony, the platform bracing the chamber upon its southern end. Flags hung down and swayed gently, the Lewellyn crest of Cecelia’s family and the Durand shield bold and colorful as they flanked the silver, black, and blue banner of Arravan.

The guests had been arriving by coach for nearly an hour, passing through the main gates in a steady stream. The guard set upon the main gate was Longshanks’s own staff, their dress blacks offset by swords and baldrics.

Within the palace the Blooded society of Arravan was fast turning out. Lords in their finest clothing or the uniforms of their chosen service. Swords were worn and daggers as well, many ornate and purely for show, though all of them were the thin rapiers of gentlemen.

The women held to the arms of their escorts and traveled about the room with a purpose, clearly leading their men in a dance of casual mingling. Their dresses were of the finest materials, many of the skirts wide and sweeping, some bearing short trains of lace that fluttered above the polished floor. Every neck was adorned in some way, either by jewels so precious they had been passed down for generations or by subtle tokens purchased for the occasion. Hair was curled and held with pins or delicate ribbons, or straight and falling in lustrous waves, some ladies revealing their locks in their full length, more than one head of hair cascading well below the waist.

Serving men circulated about the room offering pewter chalices of wine—a delicate spring red that was light in its flavor—and narrow tankards of ale both light and dark. As the night reached the appointed hour the musicians began to play, a simple composition that introduced each instrument’s song into the air fast becoming crowded with conversation and perfume.

Cecelia moved along the wall behind the dais, her hair pinned loosely behind her neck and falling between her shoulders, her dress of ivory and blue whisking about her legs. She spied Margery Tuanna, the Queen’s lady, and lifted her chin with a smile.

“Have you seen Darry?”

“No, my Lady,” Margery said. “I’m told she rode in earlier today, though, looking as if she were wearing the road from here to the Green Hills. And she did not come alone. She brought Lord Greyson home, my Lady.”

Cecelia laughed. “Damn her to all seven hells, why didn’t I think of that? I shall have to apologize to Grissom Longshanks now, I should think. He must have had a hand in that one, for all he sat there and didn’t say a word while I carved him a new ear.”

“There’s Emmalyn now,” Margery said as the music gained in volume. Emmalyn entered on the arm of Lord Royce Greyson. “I must see to the kitchens, mum.”

“Thank you, Margery,” Cecelia said, her heart giving a delicate tug at the joy on Emmalyn’s face as she held to Royce’s arm.

Emmalyn’s dress was dyed the deepest emerald and all the more beautiful for its simple lines. Her hair was piled atop her head and spilled in curls down her neck in flames of rich color. Royce stood beside her as if he were the happiest man in Arravan. His black trousers and suit of silk were offset by his simple white tunic and the silver-studded belt and scabbard that held his sword. Cecelia recognized the outfit as belonging to her son, and he wore it almost as well as Wyatt did.

“Wyatt,” she whispered. She would speak to Owen about bringing him home. He was scheduled to arrive for Jacob and Alisha’s wedding, but a week or two early seemed like a splendid idea.

Amongst a cluster of men near the throne room upon the opposite side of the dais, Owen and Armistad Greyson greeted Emmalyn and Royce. Cecelia found Malcolm near the main arch, his First Councilor Marteen Salish by his side. They were both in their dress uniforms of black, though Malcolm’s vest was a deep blue silk. He stood among his peers and their ladies, Marteen’s sister Melora and her husband among them. Lord Boris Greeves was there with his wife Serina, yet another of the infamous Greeves men making an appearance. Cecelia knew that if she were to look about she would find nearly every child of Lord Silas Greeves present.

The Lord Serabee El-Khan stood off to the side in his black clothes, his shaved head shining in the lamplight and his dark eyes prowling about the room.

Prince Trey-Jak Joaquin stood within Malcolm’s close-knit crowd as if he were an intimate confidant. The Princess Jessa-Sirrah stood beside her brother and Cecelia let out a breath of admiration at her beauty.

Jessa’s dress was a unique mixture of both Lyonese and Arravan fashions. Cecelia was impressed at the beauty of it and wondered if Jessa had made it herself, for it was a style she had never seen. A rich, cream-colored silk, dyed in its fabric was an ocean of glorious blues that spilled down her shoulders and poured over the bodice. From the top of the neckline it was very much in the style of the saris she was wont to wear, but as it moved down her body it changed in an understated manner into a fuller skirt of Arravan’s latest fashion.

Cecelia noticed then the way Jessa kept her eyes to the floor, only raising them when she was spoken to. Lord El-Khan stood very close to her at all times, his eyes falling occasionally to her hair and the tanned skin of her neck, a curious look passing over his face when he did so. Everything about his close attention bordered on offensive, yet he never crossed that line. It seemingly made Jessa uncomfortable, though she accepted his presence with the same quiet grace she displayed in everything.

Always so tentative, Princess.
Cecelia tried not to stare.
And you do not look very happy to be here, a lamb among jackals, trapped in a conversation that interests you not a whit, no doubt. And within arm’s length of the man who will be King of Arravan and perhaps your husband, at that
.