Song of the Beast (37 page)

As he had all afternoon, Davyn gazed at me with his soulful gray eyes. “Your boots are already gone with Tarwyl and will be dutifully awaiting you behind the cookshed in the lair. I'll confess that shoes have been our greatest dilemma. Mervil has none to fit you, and there's no time to get any made. Aidan has promised to come up with something.”

Aidan. “He's enjoying this, isn't he? Making me look ridiculous in this Senai finery.”

“Ah, Lara, when will you understand that you could never be ridiculous in his eyes?”

“Repulsive, then. Hideous.”

Davyn shook his head. “Do this for me. Watch his face as he sees you come down the stair tonight and judge how repulsive he finds you. As for now, we must practice your curtsy.”

“I will not.”

“You will be presented to the king of Aberthain. If you don't curtsy, you'll be arrested. Now do it.”

My leg did not enjoy curtsying. That gave me even more reason to curse the Senai, and the Elhim, and every male or sexless being that ever walked the earth.

Tarwyl staggered in at sunset with his left arm broken, his clothes in bloody shreds, and his face battered beyond recognition. As Davyn tended his injuries, Tarwyl kept trying to talk. “Have great care, Lara. They know you're here. They've guards everywhere, primed to kill. I did no more than look at a Rider, and they were on me. They said I smelled of vigar. I don't even know what that is.”

“The grease,” I said. “The fireproofing. Did they find—”

“Your armor is safely stowed. But you and Aidan must take care.”

“We'll be all right,” I said. “Now let Davyn take care of you.”

“Then I'll see you next at Cir Nakai,” he said. He smiled through the wreck of his face and let his eyelids sag.

“At the lake,” I said, though I did not believe it in the least. “Where is the blasted Senai?” I asked Davyn.

“Out procuring transport, I believe.” His kind face was grim and colorless as he dressed Tarwyl's wounds with soft cloths and herbs and ointments.

“The fool will be recognized.”

“He promised to be careful.”

Two hours after Tarwyl's return, when I was about ready to rip off the green silk gown, I heard a horse and carriage in the cobbled lane. From the window I watched them pull up just outside the tailor's shop. A light-haired man was driving, and a dark-haired one—MacAllister—jumped down from the box beside him and disappeared into the shop. Moments later Davyn burst through the door. “Time, Lara. The carriage is borrowed and may be wanted.”

The Elhim gave a last touch to my hair that he had piled up on the top of my head like a Florin pudding. I slapped his hand away. “Do you remember that I still have no shoes? I can't go. I look like a whore.”

“Aidan has them. Come, Lara, you are beautiful enough for any king.”

“Madness.” I grumbled and tried to think of some other reason not to go down. But eventually I gave it up and crept down the tailor's narrow stair, trying not to trip on my skirts. I hadn't worn skirts since I was thirteen. I felt naked. In the front the gown fell from a narrow band at my neck to a band at my waist, but it had no back at all. I had been ready to call off the whole thing when I saw it had no sleeves. My left arm was as scarred as my face and my legs, but Davyn had shown me the long silk arm coverings favored by Senai ladies. The sleeves, made separate from the dress and fastened tight about each arm with thirty tiny buttons, left only a narrow band of my shoulder bare, successfully hiding the telltales of fire.

When I turned the corner of the stair, I caught sight of Aidan head-to-head with Mervil. Good. I wouldn't have to see him laugh at my ridiculous clothes. But at the same time I couldn't help but notice how fine he looked, as natural in his dark jacket, waistcoat, and breeches, white ruffled shirt with a high collar, black hose, and low black boots, as he had been in the coarse shirts and breeches the Elhim had given him. He wore white gloves, and his dark hair was held back by a green ribbon. Tomorrow he would be dead. I could not imagine any woman in the world who would not walk into the fires of death alongside him.

“I can't do this,” I murmured and began backing up the stairs. He turned just then, and I closed my eyes quickly so I would not see.

“My lady, you are a vision indeed.” His voice was polite and even.

When I peeked again he was expressionless. Clearly he was forcing himself sober. Well done, though. If his lip had so much as quivered, I would have killed him. He held out his hand for mine, but I stuck out my foot instead. “Tell me, Lord Aidan, how many ladies of your acquaintance go shoeless to royal balls?”

“I've only now received the remedy from Master Mervil—and a wonder he's done with it. Please be seated.” This time I took his outstretched hand so I wouldn't rip the cursed skirt as I sat down on the stair. He knelt in front of me and lifted my foot onto his knee. I thought it was a necklace that he held, but he twined the simple band of pearls around my ankle and great toe. A narrow strand of fabric stretched beneath my bare foot to hold the loops together snugly, leaving all the pearls exposed on the top of my foot—the most elegant sandal one could imagine. I'd never worn anything so beautiful. His awkward hands rebelled at fastening the gold clasp on the side of my foot, but he set his jaw and accomplished it in only four tries. “This is a fashion that was popular in my mother's day,” he said as he worked at my other foot. “She would come to my room to tell me good night before going off to a ball, and she would show off her feet. She'd say, ‘Silly, is it not, that we scorn peasants for having holes in their boots, when ladies of fashion have decided it elegant to go dancing barefoot?' ”

“These are worth a city's ransom. Where in the name of sense did you get them?” I said.

He finished the second clasp and nodded in satisfaction. “When we were at Devonhill, I retrieved a few things of my mother's. One was a pearl necklace I'd sent her from Eskonia.”

“Your mother's pearls! I can't. Not on my feet.” I'd heard his voice when he spoke of his mother.

He shook his head. “She would think it a terrific adventure. This whole thing.” He stood up and offered me his arm. His dark eyes sparkled with the smile he knew better than to display. “She would be honored to have you wear them. As am I.”

I wanted to say something horrid, to break the spell he laid upon me with his voice and his manner and his teasing. If I could shock him enough, remind him of my origins, of my hatred ... But Mervil bustled over with a lightweight cloak of black, lined with green, while Aidan bounded up the stairs to see Tarwyl. The singer was back in time to hand me into the carriage. I spit on the ground when he offered a quiet suggestion on how to lift my skirt the proper way. Aidan shook hands with Mervil and embraced Davyn.

“Thank you, my true and honest friend,” he said to Davyn, whose eyes glistened in the torchlight. “Regret nothing, whatever comes.”

“The blessings of the One go with you, Aidan MacAllister, and the hopes of the world.”

MacAllister jumped into the carriage and rapped twice on the roof. We started off, rocking gently on the cobbles. The Senai sat opposite me. He propped an elbow on the window and leaned his chin on his hand. After a moment he spoke softly. “The hopes of the world ... It would be a great deal simpler if everyone believed as you do.”

“The only hopes you carry are those of three lunatic Elhim,” I said.

“Then why is everyone so devilish determined to get their hands on me?”

“And what do you do but walk right into their hands? There's proof of madness.”

He leaned his head back against the cushioned seat and laughed. “Ah, but what else would you be doing on this beautiful summer evening? We are elegantly dressed, riding in a duke's carriage, and on our way to a royal birthday party—an adventure to be sure for a woman who seems perfectly suited for adventure.”

“I can think of only a thousand things I'd rather be doing. Almost anything.”

As the carriage turned slowly out of the lane, we were passed by three horsemen riding furiously back the way we'd come. Even in the feeble light of our carriage lamps I recognized the leader. “Desmond!”

Aidan rapped once on the carriage roof, and we rolled to a stop. We crowded together to peer through the window back down the dark lane toward Mervil's shop. Torchlight blossomed in the quiet night. Loud hammering and shouts echoed in the lane, drawing curious heads from every window and door.

“I've got to go back,” said the Senai, his easy humor vanished.

He shifted to open the carriage door, but I moved quicker, shoving him back onto the seat and rapping twice on the roof. “We've left nothing behind to connect us to Mervil or the others. You'll do them no service by showing up at their door.” I fell into the seat opposite him as the carriage jogged forward again. “And Desmond will never think to look for me dressed in silk and riding in a Senai duke's carriage. Wherever did you come by such a thing?”

He kept glancing back uneasily, but I nagged at him until he paid attention to me. “I would rather not have done it,” he said, “but you can't just walk into a palace ball. So I remembered a man from Aberswyl who once told me he'd do any favor I asked. He's got no family to reap the consequences, and he happens to drive for the Duke of Tenzilan. He believes I'm a ghost.”

“What did you do for him to earn such a gift?”

MacAllister shook his head. “He owed me nothing. It is I ... I who owe everyone.” He sank into grim silence as we rode through the streets of Aberswyl.

All too soon the carriage slowed, then rolled to a stop, only to creep forward a few paces before stopping again. From the carriage windows I could see nothing but trees and blazing lights. There were voices ahead of us. Roadblock. I felt for the knife I had secured in the waistband of my gown and cursed the lack of a sword. “We need to get out before they search the carriage,” I said.

MacAllister shook off his preoccupation and laid a hand on my knee. “No, no. We're in the carriage line to be left off at the palace. Dougal will open the door when we reach the front portico.” He searched my face, his brow wrinkled with concern. “Are you all right with this? I'll tell you whatever you need to know.”

“I feel like a fool.”

He leaned over and took my hands in his, and in his dark eyes I saw the reflection of a woman I did not recognize. “You are the most beautiful, the most glorious fool I have ever laid my eyes on,” he said. He gave me my silver mask and donned his own, as the carriage door opened and a flood of music and light welcomed us to our doom.

Chapter 26

The royal palace of Aberthain made Aidan's guesthouse at Devonhill look as plain as a Ridemark tent. I never knew there was so much gold in the world or so many candles, or rooms so large a forest of marble was required to support the roof. I had never seen walls painted with scenes of dancers so like to life you felt the brush of their skirts or warriors so real you heard the clash of their swords.

Surely a thousand people crowded the room, all of them wearing diamonds and emeralds, silk, brocade, and satin, and every kind of mask: some simple like ours, some elaborate concoctions of paint and feathers, jewels or ivory. I would have stood gawking until the world ended had not Aidan taken me on his arm and propelled me through the mob. He spoke to the footman at the door, who passed along the whispering to a line of ten others in gold-crusted livery, ending with a haughty man in blue satin. The haughty man cried out, “Lord Fool and Lady Fire” as we descended a long flight of steps into the room.

“Lord Fool?” I scoffed, thinking I had mistaken MacAllister's ease in these surroundings for some small talent at intrigue. “You think no one will question such a ridiculous name?”

“Our masque names,” the Senai murmured as he led me through the crowd. “I gave my father's title as our true identity—it will appear on the Elyrian Peers' List when they check. But at a masque they'll not announce it, and by the time anyone makes the connection with me, we'll be gone.”

I felt like an ignorant beggar. I would rather have walked into a lair undefended than take one step into that ballroom. The air was thick with sickly perfumes and the smells of wine and roasting meat. The lamps—huge, garish things made of bits of glass—hung over our heads, blazing, brilliant, threatening to expose our true identities. People swarmed everywhere, bumping into us. Women glared at me through their masks. Men bowed and grinned, and glanced over their shoulders as we passed. What were they looking at? Everyone talked at once. Though they used the common speech, it might as well have been the tongue of frogs for all I could understand of it. Everything was light, noise, and danger. My stomach curled into a knot, and I thought I would suffocate.

But then an odd thing happened. I stepped on a sharp pebble tracked in on somebody's boots. I winced and kicked it away, but somehow when I felt only the cool marble beneath my bare feet, I was able to breathe again. It was a touch of reality, a steadiness beneath my feet in a strange and unreal place. Whether he knew it or not, MacAllister had done me a great service, leaving me shoeless.

At the far side of the room were two huge doors, flanked by tall trees that had every leaf and twig painted silver. Between us and the doors, a line of guests moved slowly. I couldn't see what they were doing, but Aidan steered me to the end of the line, murmuring in my ear. “Once we're received by Renald, the queen, and the princess, we'll be on our own. You must curtsy to each one, and for the king you stay down until he gestures you up. No need to say anything unless they speak to you. Take it slow and don't fall over, and you'll do fine.”