The Keeper of the Mist (11 page)

After that, it seemed only natural to look for Tassel, and to find her near at hand—she must have come forward without Keri noticing, or else Keri had taken several steps herself without noticing, it was impossible now to guess which. But she put her hand out, grasped Tassel's graceful hand, and said aloud, “This is my Bookkeeper, who notes down all that comes and goes in Nimmira, and records all the joyous births and sad deaths and the names of everyone between birth and death.”

Tassel blushed. Keri squeezed her hand and patted her arm before letting her go, though for whose comfort she was not sure. Her other hand and quite a lot of her weight still rested on Cort's arm, but the weariness seemed to be passing now. She blinked hard and looked once more out at the gathering.

Osman the Younger was watching her steadily, his black eyes sharp and wary. Domeric was scowling impartially on everyone. On the other side, Magister Eroniel had turned his head and was gazing thoughtfully at the empty air, as though Keri were not important enough to hold his attention and so he watched something else only he could see. Brann…Brann was looking blandly scornful. Keri saw him turn and murmur a few words to Magister Eroniel, and the sorcerer glanced at him, then looked at Keri and smiled a thin, amused smile.

Keri blinked with the effort of not looking away. She took a deep breath. Then she said clearly, “We of Nimmira welcome our guests. We bid Osman Tor the Younger and the people of Tor Carron welcome. We welcome Eroniel Kaskarian of Eschalion, and greet all our guests with goodwill, and look forward to friendship between our peoples.”

Lord Osman inclined his head, an acknowledgment more than an assurance, Keri thought, but acknowledgment was enough if it meant he and his men would be polite. And the Wyvern sorcerer might lift his eyebrows, but he gave her a tiny nod that was more or less courteous as well. So there was no indication, yet, that any of the strangers had realized how great a bluff Keri was attempting.

And all through the crowd, her own people were nodding and smiling in relief, because now they knew Keri really was the new and proper Lady of Nimmira, and because they, too, believed Keri's story about opening the boundary on purpose. Keri felt terrible for lying to everyone, and hesitated, but there were all those strangers still. So she could say nothing.

She said instead, to her own people, the townsfolk and craftspeople and farmers and everyone, “Thank you for coming to witness my ascension. I never looked for it, but it landed upon me, and so we must all trust that Nimmira knows what it wants. So I will hope…I will hope for your support and confidence, and I promise you”—one bit of truth, at least—“I promise that I will serve you and Nimmira as well as ever I can.” Finished, Keri bowed her head. She only hoped she could fulfill her promise…but at least she had promised only to do what she could.

“Well said!” cried Lucas, and applauded with enthusiasm. Keri blushed, wanting to slap Lucas, but conscious that really she should thank him. A ripple of laughter and approval ran through the crowd, and here and there someone else took up the applause, and then others, until the town square rang with…not approbation, but at least hope. Nothing of that acclaim sounded hostile. Questioning, maybe, but Keri thought that actually seemed perfectly reasonable.

“You must greet Lord Osman of Tor Carron and Magister Eroniel of Eschalion in twenty minutes precisely,” the Timekeeper informed Keri as soon as she had retreated into the House from the portico.

“Twenty minutes!” Keri had already turned toward the stairs, thinking she would go back to her new apartment, which had already come to seem more like hers in even these few days, now that there was so little of her father's left in it. Tassel had come to her side, Cort followed, and Lucas trailed behind them both. But Keri hadn't realized the Timekeeper had followed as well, until his voice pulled her around. She said again, trying not to sound plaintive, “Twenty minutes?”

“They were promised, Lady, that you would greet them in person after your ascension.”

“Yes, I remember that part!” Keri snapped. “It's not that I don't remember! But why does everything have to be so crowded together, as though there aren't more than a thousand minutes in a day?”

“Fourteen hundred and—” the Timekeeper began.

“However many! What am I supposed to
say
to them?” But Keri rubbed her face and took a breath, because she actually knew she had to persuade the foreigners that she'd opened Nimmira on purpose. That she'd invited them in herself, not just found herself unable to keep them out.

She could make them believe that. She had to do it, so she would do it. She just didn't feel at all prepared to do it
now.

But…it was true she didn't think she would have felt more prepared tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. A few minutes of planning, snatched right here in the great hall, wasn't what she'd had in mind at all. She caught her friend's hand and drew the other girl a few steps aside. “Tassel, maybe I can just let you do the talking, do you think? You'd be good at it!”

“No, Keri, you'll be fine, you can do this,” Tassel assured her. “Think of it like flirting with boys—like a cross between flirting with boys and coaxing passersby to purchase your biggest, most expensive cake. It'll help that there are two of them. Who wants someone else to get the best cake, right?”

Cort drew himself up. “It's hardly right for the Lady of Nimmira to
flirt
with foreigners.”

Tassel gave him an innocent look. “But, Cort, why else would a new young Lady of Nimmira have opened up her borders to foreign lands, except if she's looking for a strong husband to rule Nimmira for her? Flirting is exactly what Keri needs to do. Let them court her and try to win her. That young Bear Lord will certainly believe it; he's that type. I bet girls have melted at his feet all his life, you can see it in his eyes. But even Eroniel Kaskarian will believe it. I mean, he's scary. But he's still a man, even if he's also a sorcerer.” She turned earnestly to Keri. “Don't look like that, Keri. This will work. You know how men are always willing to believe a helpless girl needs them to take over all the hard decisions. Foreign or not, they'll both be happy to believe you want to just hand Nimmira to one or the other of them without the least trouble. Oh, they'll
detest
each other!” She bounced a little, cheerfully.

Keri didn't know whether to laugh or scream. “I knew you'd have ideas. But—”

“No, it's a clever ploy,” Lucas put in before Keri could quite frame her protest. He was regarding Tassel with great approval. “I wondered about putting them in the same room for anything, but if they're to be rivals, well, there you go. It'll certainly keep them nicely occupied and give them little time and less reason to think of conquest by force. I wish I'd thought of it. I'm sure I would have, if I'd had just another moment.”

Tassel tossed her head. “You would not. You're not a girl.
Keri
would have, in another moment.”

“If I were desperate enough, maybe,” Keri muttered, though she knew she wouldn't have. “How do I look?”

“All grown up,” Tassel assured her. “You need to wear your hair just like that from now on, Keri. It's perfect for you.”

Keri touched her hair, then shook her head. “I don't know
how
to play the flirt, Tassel! I'm not like you. I don't know how to say pretty things and—and trifle with men's affections—”

“You don't?” said Lucas in mock astonishment, putting his hand to his heart to mime heartbreak. “And yet you might so easily trifle with mine, dear sister, if only consanguinity were just a bit less of a concern!”

He was appalling, but he made Keri laugh.

“It's
ridiculous,
” Cort snapped. “Keri, this is not dignified!”

Keri gave him a look. “You have a different idea? Because this would be the moment to explain it to everyone.”

Cort hesitated, plainly torn between insisting he was right and admitting he did not in fact have any other ideas.

The Timekeeper lifted his watch, inspected it, paused for a tick or two of time, and then tucked it away again. “You have precisely twelve and one-half minutes to reach the Grand Salon, Lady.”

“Twelve and—” Keri's voice rose involuntarily. “Can't you tell them I'll be late?”

“Late?” repeated the Timekeeper, with a kind of blank astonishment.

“Of course not,” Keri said. “Of course not.” She suddenly wanted to laugh. It was better than wanting to burst into tears. Or run away and hide in her room. Or in her bakery.

“I don't know why these
foreigners
should get to dictate the measures of our dance,” Cort snapped, scowling.

“Because we can't lock them out and close Nimmira against them!” said Keri. “So we have to do something else, don't we?”

Cort's head went back as though she had slapped him. “Indeed, we cannot,” he said grimly. “So I suppose we must sacrifice our pride.”

Keri wanted to explain that she didn't blame him for losing the mist, but she couldn't think of any way to say so that he would believe. She rubbed her face hard with her fingertips. Puppeteers could juggle half a dozen balls in the air at once. How did they ever keep
track
? She shook her head and said, “Domeric's supposed to watch the Bear soldiers, which I suppose he will, but…” She hesitated, glancing sidelong at Lucas.

Lucas struck a pose and declaimed obligingly, “Sister dear, none of us really want Domeric to be the only one keeping an eye on the Bear soldiers. What an impression they must be getting of us!”

“Exactly,” Keri said to Cort. “Magister Eroniel you've already met. I thought you might be able to take a look at those soldiers from Tor Carron, too. In case it might make it easier for you to notice if they, you know”—she lifted her hands—“start anything. Do anything. Try any door they shouldn't, break any lock, find any road—”

Cort's eyebrows rose. Then he gave her an abrupt nod. “Any door in the House. Any door in Nimmira. If they open it or close it, I'll know.”

“Good. All right.” Keri was relieved that he seemed to agree this was a good idea. She had thought so. But it was hard to be sure about anything she was doing. She rubbed her face again. “Tassel, Lucas, I hope you'll both come with me. And help with, I don't know, everything.” Though if Tassel demonstrated her flirtation techniques, probably both Osman Tor the Younger and the scary Eroniel Kaskarian would fall in love with her and lose interest in Keri. Would that make things easier or more difficult?

“Of course!” declared Lucas. “Anything for my dear sister. Besides, I should be dismayed to miss it.”

Tassel rolled her eyes at him, but she nodded firmly. “We'll both help, Keri, but you'll be
fine.
”

Keri took a deep breath and turned to the Timekeeper. “Very well. Where is the Grand Salon?”

Inscrutable as always, the Timekeeper stepped back and gave her a neat, small bow, indicating the great sweeping stairway.

The Grand Salon was big enough to swallow Keri's mother's shop whole, plus another just like it. Keri hated it instantly. The floor was all black-and-white tile, the walls swirled with black-and-white mosaics, the couches were all black leather or white satin, the tables were all carved of some kind of black wood inlaid with pearl. A black harpsichord stood against one wall, white keys gleaming, and a massive black harp taller than she was, with silver strings and pearl inlay down its face, stood in a corner.

Lacquered bowls of red flowers glowed on every table, paintings of red flowers occupied every wall, and black cushions embroidered with red flowers rested on every couch. A decanter of wine and a dozen crystal goblets stood on the largest table, and the wine was red, red, red. The Grand Salon was beautiful, striking, and the most artificial-looking room Keri had ever seen. There were no windows at all, which added to the artificiality; lamplight never looked quite like real daylight, and in the Grand Salon, all the lamps were tucked behind translucent shades of red glass.

On the far side of the room, Osman the Younger lounged on one of the white couches, his foot resting on the edge of a black table, his fingers laced together across his drawn-up knee. His black eyes and the garnet drop in his left ear were exactly suited to this room. The earring did look just as though it had been made of blood. Keri wondered if it really was a sorcerous implement. There were jewels like that in plays: garnets or rubies that turned out to let the villain see through illusion or summon monsters or whatever. But those were children's plays; those weren't
real.

Though if the young Bear Lord held a little magic in his jewel, that might explain his attitude of perfect unconcern.

But Keri suspected that he was just like that. He actually looked as though he belonged here. He looked, in fact, the very image of a proper Lord.

On this side of the room, standing with his hands clasped gently behind his back and pretending he was the only one present, Eroniel Kaskarian gravely studied one of the paintings. His cool, polite expression suggested that the painting—of red peonies in a crystalline vase on a table draped in red satin—was a nice effort for the sort of barbarian artists who must work in a backward little land such as Nimmira. Or maybe Keri was being unfair. She had to admit that she did not feel much like being fair to the Wyvern sorcerer.

Unlike the other man, the sorcerer had retained his cloak, which was a pale silvery gray almost exactly the same color as his long, perfectly straight hair and only a shade or two lighter than his opaque pewter eyes. The red lamps tinted his cloak and hair an unsettling bloody rose-gray. It probably wasn't fair to think of blood when she looked at him. He hadn't furnished this room or chosen those lamps. But Keri already had tales of magic and mystery in her mind and couldn't help it.

Both of Magister Eroniel's ears were pierced; three tiny crystals set in silver glittered in his left ear and two in his right. Keri couldn't remember whether the Wyvern sorcerers of Eschalion used jewels to work their sorcery, the way tales claimed they did in Tor Carron. The old tales she could think of all seemed to suggest that the sorcerers of Eschalion were born with magic in their blood, or that they could pull magic out of the air and out of sunlight. She couldn't remember. Either way, though, those crystal earrings looked very elegant. A fine silver chain had been braided into the hair on the left side of Magister Eroniel's face. A wyvern carved of jet or obsidian or something swayed at the tip of that braid, another crystal gripped in its claws.

Despite his elegance, Eroniel Kaskarian didn't look like he belonged in this room. He didn't look like he belonged in any mortal house at all, no matter how sophisticated. He looked much more as though he had stepped out of some misty twilight realm where neither the sun nor the stars ever shone. With his broad forehead and wide-set eyes, his straight, narrow nose and thin mouth, he was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful man Keri had ever seen, certainly more beautiful than the sharp-featured Bear Lord. But his delicate beauty did not seem quite human.