Song of the Beast (38 page)

“But ...” Before I could ask him what kind of gesture the king might make or what in the world to say if he did speak to me, MacAllister started talking to a man wearing a bird mask. It sounded as if he knew the man. Aidan was making some idiot's joke about “did we not fly together at the Duke of Folwys's hunt last year?” How could he be so stupid as to speak to someone he knew? I tried to pull him away, but he wouldn't budge.

The bird man laughed and presented his wife, who wore a mask of swan feathers and diamonds. “Countess Cygne,” he said.

“Lady Fire,” said Aidan as he bowed, tugging slightly at my elbow to remind me to dip my knee at the swan countess. The lady looked down her nose and nodded so slightly, you'd think she believed her head would break off if she moved it. The line crept forward like a snake. Aidan kept talking about nothing, and I listened to the others near us in the line. They all talked like that, as if they knew each other even when they didn't.

The princess was a cold-eyed, dull-looking girl of ten or twelve, her plump child's body stuffed into a silver gown that was much too tight for her. Little rolls of pink fat peeped out around the armholes of her gown, above her long sleeves. The queen was tall and slender and wore a ruby-studded gold mask that curled into her dark hair like a devil's horns. She was too proud to notice us, but greeted the swan countess over our heads and began talking about “the princess's fine health.” Aidan bowed gracefully, but I wobbled a bit on my curtsy, saved from falling by his hand under my elbow.

“Lord Fool and Lady Fire,” announced another man in blue satin who stood just behind the dark-haired, heavyjowled man of thirty-some years—King Renald of Aberthain.

The king wore no mask and scowled impatiently at the room while speaking to someone over his shoulder. The aide standing behind him was also unmasked, dressed more for war than a ball. “They know we'll fight,” said the king. “They don't have to ensure our alliance by trumping up some story about murdering madmen. Clear them out of here. I don't care what they say. I don't want them ruining Raniella's birthday.”

“They refuse, sire,” said the aide. “They'll not leave without bloodshed.”

MacAllister sank to one knee and pulled me down beside him. It boiled my blood to do it. A daughter of the Ridemark making obeisance to a Senai king—it was humiliating, obscene. I tried to make it as brief as possible, but Aidan dug a finger into my arm so hard I almost struck him. The king dismissed his aide, then waggled a finger, which must have been the “gesture,” for the singer finally allowed me to get up.

“Is that you, Gaelen?” The king cocked his head at MacAllister as he actually looked at us for the first time. “I've not seen you since winter.”

“No, Your Majesty, the good Earl of Sennat does not lurk behind this Fool's mask. And it is a very long time indeed since I was fortunate enough to visit Aberswyl. It was your late father—all honor to his memory—who last received me here.”

“Ah, well, then.” The king lost interest and shifted his attention to the bird-masked man.

We had to greet fifty other nameless people in the line, all of them soft and proud and garbed with outlandish extravagance. Only then were we able to pass through the double doors into an even larger hall. Musicians were playing all sorts of harps and flutes and horns. Long tables were piled with food enough for a small city. I couldn't even say what most of it was. A few guests were dancing, and some were drinking and making loud, boisterous conversation. But more of them were standing about in small groups, speaking in furtive voices with sidelong glances. Perhaps that had something to do with the soldiers who stood alert at every doorway, and the proud strangers clad in red and black who stood with them.

“Clansmen!” I said. “We've—”

Aidan quickly swept me around to face him and stuffed a pastry in my mouth before I could say anything more. “Don't notice them,” he said, smiling. “Pretend they are furniture.” He guided me through the crowd and between the silent watchers onto a flagstone terrace.

Tall poles at every corner of the terrace were hung with garlands and topped with flaming torches. Fountains splashed, and flowering shrubs grew right out of the paving. Only a few people stood on the terrace, so it wasn't a good place for us to hide. I tried to drag Aidan back toward the ballroom, but he placed his left arm behind my shoulders, catching my left hand in his, then clasped my right hand with his right, just in front of us. I growled and tried to pull away, but there was steel beneath his soft manner. I could not get loose without drawing attention. “We need to be dancing,” he said. “Too many curious eyes about tonight. Follow my steps, and we'll practice.” He moved me forward three steps, then stepped behind me, coming out on the other side. Forward three steps more.

“I don't need—”

He spun me about until we were facing each other, then bowed and caught my hands again. “This is a rondelle ... the most romantic of dances. Hear the rhythm: one, two, three, one, two. One, two, three, one two. One ...” As he had when he led me across Fandine, he tapped the rhythm with his fingers and willed my feet to move in harmony with his. I fretted about my bare toes and his mother's pearls, about tripping over his feet and falling into the fountains, or tumbling into the beds of roses and entangling us with mud and thorns. But after my first stumbling steps, I felt the music flowing through him and into me, a clumsy warrior who had never lifted a foot to dance. The torchlight blurred. The other people disappeared. For one moment Aidan took me away from that place, made me into something I never thought I could be. All I saw was the torchlight and the spinning garden and the white ruffle of his shirt in front of my nose, and all I heard and all I felt was music....

“Are you sure you've never done this, Lady Fire?” came the question from above my head.

Startled, I stumbled. He caught me, never missing a step. But the world came back into focus, and I yanked my arm away, unable to contain myself. Anger, I called it. Humiliation. “A curse on you and your Senai ways. No oath can make me do this.”

He smiled his infuriating smile beneath the silver mask. “Then don't do it. I'll walk you to the door, we'll call for the carriage, and Dougal will take you anywhere you like. I'd like nothing better than for you to walk out of here safely.” I started to answer him, but he laid his white-gloved finger on my lips. “You believe I'll die anyway, so what use is there for you to take these risks?” He took my hands again, and we drifted with the music. The scent of flowers lay heavy on the garden air. “Shall I tell you—since we are masked and not ourselves at all, Lord Fool can speak as a fool at last—shall I tell you what Aidan MacAllister would wish to be the reason that you stay?”

“No.” My answer came out weakly. Not at all as I wanted. “You should not tell me anything.”

“Should not. Mmm ... not enough to prevent a fool. He—this Aidan who is the greatest of fools, a mad fool—would wish that perhaps you did not want him to die. And if his death were to be the result of his madness, then at least he would have spent his last hour in your company, regretting nothing ... nothing ... that had brought him to it.”

For that single moment, everything I never knew I wanted lay in my hand. All I had to do was pretend that the past had never happened and the future was unknown. The music soared. The lights shimmered. The night whispered a promise of joy. But I could not do it. I had abandoned the teachings of my people, betrayed every tradition, every code, every rule, but I would not permit my desire to destroy the remnants of my honor.

Yet neither did I do what I ought. I needed to tell him he was wrong, that I despised him, that I would be happy to let him die in a dragon's fire or in the torment of Mazadine. I wanted to say that only my oath would force me to go into Aberthain Lair with him and aid his futile purpose. But I could not do that either. I held mute, and Aidan laughed with delight. We danced through the glass doors into the whirling crowd, and I would have slain the gods themselves to make time stop.

“My lords and ladies!” A trumpet fanfare and a shouting fat man in blue satin brought me back to my senses. The music fell silent, and a hush fell over the crowd. “His Majesty King Renald welcomes all to this joyous celebration of Her Royal Highness Princess Raniella's natal day. May King Renald reign in glory, and Aberthain ever triumph o'er all that seek her downfall. Let the gates be opened so that all may witness the power of Aberthain!”

The trumpets shrilled again, and Aidan's arm urged me toward the glass-paned doors at the farthest end of the ballroom and the iron gates just beyond. I refused to move. Two Ridemark warriors had moved swiftly into position beside each of the three doorways. “Vanir's fire, do you see who's in command?” I whispered, nodding to the tall warrior who stood to the side watching all three doors. “It's Duren Driscoll, the high commander's adjutant. He saw you in Cor Neuill.”

MacAllister paled beneath his mask. “This way,” he said, and he began to work us sideways through the press. I could not see our objective above the heads of the crowd, until we came upon the man in the bird mask and his swan wife.

“Countess Cygne,” said Aidan, bowing and sidling up close to the lady. “I had a delightful story from King Devlin when last I saw him. One could hardly believe it true. I've never known him a great joker. Before I pass the story along, I thought I should confirm it with someone who knows His Majesty better than I. What do you think?”

The simpering countess hung herself on Aidan's arm as if he had offered her the Elyrian crown, and the bird count took my arm as the crowd flowed toward the doors and the Ridemark commander. At Driscoll's direction, the warriors in red and black were forcing some of the guests to remove their masks or ... curse it all ... their gloves. Surely MacAllister could not see what was happening or he'd never be prattling so calmly.

A sudden silence from beside me made me realize that the count was waiting for me to answer him.

“What? Pardon, my lord, I didn't hear you. The noise ...”

“What think you of the ball, my lady?” He spoke as if taking care that his words did not fall so low as the floor.

Aidan had smoothly arranged himself between the count and his wife so there was no possibility of getting his attention. How did these people talk?

“Delightful, a delightful ball”—only two people remaining between the warriors and us—“except for these ruffians. What business have Ridemark scum at King Renald's palace?”

“Intolerable, I agree,” said the count, his lip curling and his eyes glittering fiercely through his ivory and feathers. “They're pretending to hunt a criminal. Likely they only want to spy on their betters. Barbarians.”

I dearly wanted to pull my dagger on the sneering count and introduce him to a barbarian.

A red-cloaked young man in front of us was commanded to remove his mask and gloves, and he put up a great fuss. Aidan was still babbling with the countess. I fingered the knife hidden at my waist. I would not allow Aidan to be taken.

“How dare they touch King Renald's guests?” I said to the count, slowing my steps. “I'll scream if their foul hands come near me.”

Driscoll—cold and hateful as I knew him—addressed the young nobleman's complaint by stuffing the gloves in his mouth and twisting his arm behind him as if to break it. Heads turned away, choosing not to see as the choking guest was dragged to the side.

The young clansman just ahead of us forced another man to remove his gloves before allowing him to pass through the doors. Then it was our turn. Aidan was laughing, his head close together with the countess, their arms entwined. I clung to the count and shrank from the clansman, while using my left hand to ready my knife.

The warrior motioned to Aidan. “Show your hands before you pass. Take off those gloves.”

But before Aidan could turn his head, the count laid his hand on the jeweled hilt of his sword. “Touch anyone in my party, and I will remove your nose and ears.”

“I have orders—”

“You have no orders that pertain to the Count de'Journay. I will pass here as I choose, or we will settle it with blood. However skilled you may deem yourself, consider that I have forty years' experience in my arm. You will not prevail.”

The warrior looked helplessly at Driscoll's averted back, but the commander was still occupied with the rebellious young nobleman. Evidently the count's name carried weight, for the Rider gritted his teeth and jerked his head toward the gate. “Pass. I'll inform my commander of your refusal.”

“Tell your mongrel commander that my challenge extends to him also, beast rider.”

The count escorted me and his wife and Aidan, who had scarcely paused in his chatter, through the iron gates. We came onto a broad terrace that hung out over the night like a dead limb of the brightly lit palace. Servants passed through the crowd with trays of wineglasses, and Aidan carefully handed them around. He lifted his own in a toast to the count and his lady. “Though it is proper to toast Aberthain and its king when on this terrace, I will offer my first to the noble and gallant Count de'Journay, the hero who turned back the barbarians at Desmarniers as well as in this latest minor skirmish, and to his ravishing wife—may you continue to grace Aberthain and Elyria with honor and beauty.”

The count nodded an acknowledgment, then responded with a toast to the king. I only pretended to drink. I needed all of my wit to keep the fool of a Senai alive.

The swan countess put her hand on Aidan's arm. “Tell us your identity, Lord Fool. I'm sure I know you, such a charming young gentleman. Your voice is so familiar.”