Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (29 page)

The large hall in which the wedding was to be held was a solid stone-walled room without any of the sorcerous embellishments that graced the Sphere Chamber in Revelation Point Castle. Nor were the stone walls warmed by tapestries as might have been expected. King Tedric had confided to Allister that Sir Dirkin Eastbranch had insisted on stripping away anything beneath which an assassin might hide.

Steward Silver had used holly and ivy, the former bright with scarlet berries, to soften the bare stone, but even so the long room held nothing that could match the magical trapped-within-a-pearl mood of the Sphere Chamber.

Perhaps all for the good
, Allister reflected.
There is a security and comfort in solid stone
.

Shortly before the ceremony began, the guests filed in. Each had been checked for weapons. Not even the most highly ranked had been permitted attendants. Therefore the mood was tense with suppressed indignation and excitement.

When the orchestra began to play a stately march, the musicians didn't sound as polished as they should. King Allister knew that this was because their membership was heavily salted with soldiers loyal to the king. Last night's musicians had been—at least early on—professionals, but at that occasion the waiters and serving maids had been drawn from Hawk Haven's military.

King Tedric wasn't taking any more chances than he must.

When Sapphire processed in, following the long train of her attendants, the bride proved lovely. She wore a dress that had been given to her by her grandmother the duchess and that some whispered had belonged to Queen Zorana the Great.

The groom wore his second-best naval uniform.

And despite all the preparations and worries—or perhaps because of them—the wedding proceeded without incident. This time the amulet bag was sewn shut without disturbance, the witnesses cried their acclaim without any scream of horror breaking the joyful accord.

Prince Shad and Princess Sapphire were wed before representatives of their assembled peoples.

And now
, thought King Allister,
I hope and pray that they will indeed live happily ever after
—
both for their own sakes and for the peace they can bring to our kingdoms
.

D
erian felt distinctly out of place at the wedding reception—all the more so when he saw Ox standing solemn guard at one of the doorways, Valet circulating with smooth grace offering wine to the guests, Race puffing away on his flute in the second row of the orchestra.

That's where I belong
, he thought,
with the trusted servants, guarding and supporting, but not out here pretending to be a person in my own right. I wish I could run off like Firekeeper did
.

He felt terribly awkward when Lady Elise came gliding toward him in her beautiful gown, but the anxious expression in her wide sea-green eyes set him paradoxically at his ease.

"Derian," she said in hurried tones so soft as to be almost a whisper, "I must… I need… Can we talk?"

For a horrible moment, Derian thought that as once before Elise had suffered an enchantment that restricted her ability to speak freely. The young woman must have intuited his concern, for she managed a wry smile.

"No, I
can
talk—I'm just… well… worried and I'm not sure that this is the place to talk, but I need…" She grabbed him on one forearm. "Come and walk with me in the garden. It will be cold outside, but no one should miss me for a few minutes."

Derian grinned. "And no one will be looking for me at all."

Elise looked embarrassed.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said indignantly. "Simply put, your parents aren't here wanting you to dance with this important person or say something flattering to that important person."

Derian opened a door that—from last summer's sojourn in the castle—he knew led into a side garden.

The man guarding that particular door looked surprised that anyone would want to go out into the chilly afternoon, but he schooled his expression to polite neutrality. His job was to keep intruders out, not to monitor the guests' behavior, unless that behavior seemed to promise violence.

"No," Derian said to Elise as they stepped out into the late-autumn sunlight. "My parents are at home
hoping
that I'm talking to this important person and asking that important person to dance—but it's all right if I leave the party since I'm with you. They count you in the list of those who are pretty important."

Elise laughed, relieved to be teased.

"Walk with me. We can pretend to be looking at frost-frozen roses or ornamental kale or something."

Obediently, Derian took her arm. Elise was shivering slightly, but that might be from nerves. The fabric of her dress, as he knew from inspecting Firekeeper's similar garment, was quite heavy.

"Last night…"

Elise began her tale without further prologue and with a conciseness that was not typical of her. She told Derian how Baron Endbrook had slipped a note to Lady Melina, how Lady Melina had responded, about Elise's own suspicions.

"The worst thing of all," Elise concluded, "is that I don't know if I'm simply unwilling to trust the woman, and so I am spinning shawls out of fog and moon dust. It's just that after what we learned last autumn…"

Derian nodded his comprehension.

"We know that Lady Melina is capable of inflicting both pain and humiliation to achieve her ends," he said bluntly. "Next to that, what's a little political game-playing? The Isles aren't actually our enemies, really, just less than perfectly friendly neighbors."

Elise sighed.

"What should we do?" she asked, steering him back toward the door.

Derian frowned. "Off the cuff, I'd say we should see where both Lady Melina and Baron Endbrook go when the festivities are over. That won't be easy, but it won't be impossible. Almost everyone is stabling something or other with my parents' stable—or through people we've contracted with. I can use that for checking. And you can talk to Citrine—cautiously, of course."

"Citrine?" Elise was puzzled, clearly wondering why he would suggest involving an eight-year-old.

"Rumor says," Derian smiled a touch slyly, "that Ruby and Opal are going to winter at Revelation Point Castle but that Citrine is not. Presumably, she is staying with her mother and so will have an idea of Lady Melina's plans."

Elise showed her astonishment.

"How could you know that already? It was only announced yesterday afternoon!"

"Jet Shield looked into having a family sled reupholstered—or more specifically, he sent a servant to do so," Derian replied a trace smugly. "The servant explained that the young ladies were going south for the winter, but that their mother wanted them to have their own light flyer for attending parties and such."

"Amazing!"

The guard held the door for them. Elise smiled her thanks. Derian nodded and, when he was almost past, winked slyly at the man. After all, the obvious reason for going walking with a pretty girl
wasn't
to discuss intrigue and conspiracy.

Derian escorted Elise to the hall where Baron Archer was—without making it too obvious—clearly looking for his daughter.

"You're wanted," Derian said, releasing his light hold on Elise's arm. "I see that dance cards are coming out. Doubtless your father wishes you to make yourself available to dance with some of those important people you mentioned."

Elise looked as if she was tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but all she said in parting was:

"Tell Doc. He's smart and…"

And
, Derian thought without rancor as he watched Elise take her father's arm and give him a winning smile,
you like him in a way you don't like me, but that's just fine. I'm happy to have you as a friend
.

He felt infinitely cheered, no longer out of place—not because, he realized to his amazement, someone had given him a job, but because Elise had reminded him that he was at this function because some people valued him for himself.

Whistling would have been out of place, but Derian nearly did so as he strolled along the edge of what would become a dance floor but was now thronged with the mingling guests.

Here and there women were fluttering elegantly printed dance cards threaded on satin ribbons. To be invited to this wedding at all, one needed to have some political or social connections, but being noble-born didn't make all women pretty or young or popular. Many of those would be worried that their cards would remain empty, but for a token dance from some generous relative.

Derian liked to dance and he had no lady or patron to flatter. After watching the ebb and flow for a moment, he checked his own card for the names of some of the earlier dances. Then he walked up to a rather plain woman in Merlin colors and bowed deeply.

"If I could have the honor, Lady," he said, "I was hoping you might have the Prancing Dapple open on your card. My name is Derian Carter. I have the honor to be a counselor to King Tedric."

The woman looked pleased to have been noticed, but she colored slightly. Derian had noted similar responses in much more humble settings. He guessed that her card was completely empty and that she was embarrassed to have him see that he was the first to ask her to dance.

He glanced away, signaled a waiter, and accepted two cups of punch. Taking this reprieve, the woman looked up from marking his name on her discreetly shielded card.

Handing her one of the punch cups, Derian pulled his own card from the pocket of his waistcoat.

"If I might have the honor of your name…"

He sketched it in—she proved to be a lesser scion of House Merlin, much as Doc was of House Kestrel. Then Derian bowed and thanked the woman in advance for the promised pleasure. Now that the preliminaries had started, Derian began enjoying himself.

As he cast around for another suitable partner, Derian felt a fleeting sorrow for Firekeeper. The wolf-woman did love to dance and here she was missing another ball. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy and at least reasonably warm.

The rest of the reception flew by on—for him quite literally—dancing feet. He found that many ladies of title and prestige, including to his astonishment the elderly Duchess Kestrel and a giggling Princess Anemone, were quite pleased to hint that they would like a dance with him. Apparently his reputation as a dancer had proceeded him, quite possibly from the Bridgeton Ball that had provided the opening skirmishes of King Allister's War.

Derian was glad when Earl Kestrel offered him a ride home on the box of the Kestrel carriage. His feet were so tired that he would have limped if he had made the long walk home alone—not that the drivers of any of the dozen or more carriages hired from his parents' stables would have let him do so.

After a long afternoon that had begun with the wedding, moved into the reception, the first set of dances, a light supper, and then a second set of dancing, Derian was astonished upon arriving home to realize that the hour was not unduly late. Winter darkness combined with physical weariness had conspired to fool him into believing it at least midnight.

Coming into the house, he found his parents and Damita awake, playing cards by lanternlight.

"Tell us," Dami demanded, setting down what was clearly a winning hand, "all about it."

And he did, talking even while he eased off his boots and put his feet in the shallow pan of warm water that miraculously appeared. He was aware of Cook and the housemaid listening from the shadowy kitchen door, that old Toad, who had retired from driving and now helped with the household's heavier chores and around the stables, had emerged from his attic room and was listening at the top of the stairs.

Cook brought out hot peachy and thin wafer cookies to prompt Derian when he flagged and Vernita invited the servants to join the family circle. Brock woke about then and curled sleepily on the hearth rug, waking only fully to ask yet another question.

Derian did his best not to leave anything out, to describe the gowns, the uniforms, the jewels. He told of every dainty served, answered questions about the wines (very good, but not excellent) and whether the gentlemen had worn swords (no). He listed every dance he'd danced and with whom, and by the end of his recital, his throat was hoarse but his tiredness had vanished, replaced by a curious light-headness.

The only thing he didn't share was what Elise had confided in him, but no one would have expected that from him—not even Cook, who was the most accomplished gossip in the marketplace.

When Derian finished, the hour was truly late, for the telling had taken nearly as long as the doing. Derian padded up to his room in his stocking feet and was just undressed and under the covers when there was a tap on his door, and Vernita entered. She sat on the edge of his bed as if for all the world he was still Brock's age.

"I just wanted you to know, Derian, that if running a stable or breeding blood horses is what you want, well that's fine with me and your father. We spoke seriously to you the other day about the possibilities open for your future, but never think we'd disown you or be disappointed if you chose another way."

She bent and kissed his forehead.

"We're proud of you, son."

For a moment, Derian didn't trust himself to speak. When he found his voice, he said a bit rustily, "I love you, too, Mother."

He thought about asking her about what Heather had said, about the baker and about lost romances, but by the time his tired brain could frame the questions, he had fallen sound asleep.

W
hen the glade filled once again with the graceful and impressive figures of the Royal Beasts, the sky still held faint light, but the interwoven branches of the overarching trees sufficiently dampened the reddish glow so that it was as if shadows rather than substance kept company therein.

The first to pick up the tale was a Beast that Firekeeper had not noticed earlier in the day, a boar raccoon so burly and powerful that he might have been taken for a small bear. In the direct fashion of the Beasts, he did not waste breath on preamble, but took up the account precisely where the vixen had left off.