A Posse of Princesses

  Shera looked hurt. “I’m sorry.”

  Rhis hugged her arms tight against her. “It’s much better to know. Much better. Though it still hurts.” She drew in a breath, trying to steady her feelings. “Now. Tell me more about the play.” And this time she made herself listen.

  “Well, we haven’t decided yet. We’re all to try to find one we like, and meet the day after the Masquerade to pick among our favorites.”

  Rhis was glad she knew where the library was. “I know what I’ll look for,” she said. “Something romantic, not tragical, and not a war-play, because I don’t know anything about sword-fighting.”

  “That’s what all the boys will be seeking out,” Shera predicted. “We need to find one that has good parts for girls.” Thunder crashed again, and she ducked her head as the windows rattled. “I’m going to bed and bury myself under the covers,” she announced. “I hate thunder!” On those words, she flitted out the door to her own room.

  Rhis lay awake for a while longer, thinking. She rather liked thunder. It reminded her of the sudden storms at home.

  Besides, thunder suited her mood. So Vors had been flirting for a purpose that had nothing to do with her, despite all those compliments.

  I would be in love with Lios even if he wasn’t a prince, she thought firmly. She imagined his tall, handsome form in—well, a scribe’s clothes, and he looked just as tall and handsome.

  So there.

  She flung herself over, pulled the pillow round her head, and tried to go to sleep.

  oOo

  The next morning she was late to breakfast because her maid needed to fit her masquerade gown to her. Rhis was delighted to discover that she was going as Eranda Sky-Born, a fabled princess from another world who had come, as a formidable mage, to right any wrongs she saw.

  Rhis didn’t believe that Eranda—if she were even real—had been tall and skinny with plain brown locks, but she was more than happy with her gown, which was made of floating drapes with tiny beads winking here and there among the folds. It was a very old-fashioned style, and Rhis liked herself in it.

  After the fitting, she skipped down to breakfast, sitting with Carithe, Shera, Glaen, Breggo, and a growing group of friends, everyone talking at once.

  Lios appeared at the door. Rhis happened to look up, and when she saw him glance their way, she flushed.

  Silk rustled and Iardith walked by, her expensive scent drifting on the air. The red-haired Hanssa minced beside her, gemmed gown whispering.

  With supreme confidence the two walked up to Lios, slid their arms expertly through his, and led him firmly to their own exclusive table—a small one, deliberately chosen to keep down the number who could sit there.

  Then Iardith stopped short.

  Shera stopped talking, and watched in the same direction Rhis watched.

  At the exclusive table, two of the empty seats had been taken by Dandiar and one of the newest arrivals, a shy girl named Thirash, from one of the islands.

  Iardith stepped away from Lios, whom Hanssa walked with to the waterfall.

  Dandiar was talking to Thirash, wiggling his finger like sword fighting.

  “That’s my seat,” Iardith said, clear enough to be heard by the watchers.

  Dandiar and Thirash glanced up, clearly startled. “I—I did not know—it was empty—” Thirash said.

  “It’s my place,” Iardith repeated.

  “That’s all right. We’ll move.” Dandiar picked up his plate.

  Flushing, Thirash picked up hers, and they shifted to a table on the other side of the waterfall. Hanssa brought Lios smoothly back to Iardith, who had slid her arm through Jarvas’s. The four sat down.

  “Oom! It is the herded,” came a high voice just behind Rhis. “Herded? Grouped? Om! Too much pipples.”

  Rhis turned her head, to find Yuzhyu standing nearby, holding her plate. The princess’s brows wrinkled in perplexity as she looked at Lios’s table—now full. Two or three people passed her by, but no one spoke.

  Lios’s head was turned away—Iardith was talking to him—so he didn’t see his cousin.

  Rhis said, “Would you like to sit here?” She scooted her chair closer to Shera’s, to make space. “We can bring another chair.”

  The princess blinked at Rhis, who felt that anxious gaze searching her face, and then Yuzhyu gave a small, rather tentative smile.

  “You speak to I, mmm?”

  Rhis spotted an empty seat at the next table, and pulled it over. Yuzhyu sat down with quaint dignity, and broke her biscuit.

  Rhis cadged her mind for a suitable topic. “Isn’t your land full of mountains, too?”

  Yuzhyu looked up quickly, her lips moving.

  “Mountains?” Rhis repeated, shaping her hands into a peak.

  “We have mountains, too,” Shera said, speaking a little louder than usual.

  The expressive blond brows cleared over those round blue eyes. “Ah! Yiss! Um, we do, yiss. You too? I yam Yuzhyu.”

  “Rhis.” Rhis touched her bodice. “Nym, where I live, is nothing but mountains.” She made herself slow her speech just slightly, and was rewarded by close attention, and almost immediate comprehension. “If we had a flat place, we would probably build sideways.” Again, she mimed a building going to the side.

  Yuzhyu repeated “Sideways—” She looked at her hands, and then her face crinkled in mirth. Her laugh reminded Rhis of a lark.

  “Yiss! Us too. Windows, um, om, up!” Yuzhyu gestured toward the sky, still chuckling. “Door, down!”

  Rhis laughed with her. Shera turned back to Carithe, who wanted to talk about the play, leaving Rhis with the princess from Ndai.

  For the remainder of her breakfast they struggled through a conversation about mountains, and riding. Rhis wished Taniva was there to talk about riding, for she knew so little she was afraid she was boring, and in truth, it was difficult to make conversation, though obviously Yuzhyu was trying her very best. Then, some of the princess’s word choices were so funny that Rhis worked hard not to laugh, but she was quaking inwardly with suppressed giggles when at last Yuzhyu finished, stood up, and said, “I fine me tutor. Practice ze talk!” She touched her lips. Then a funny little nod, and a friendly look. “Zank you, Reez.”

  She walked away, casting one troubled glance toward Lios and Iardith’s table. The black-haired princess leaned with her chin on her fingers, a delicate pose, completely monopolizing the prince’s attention.

  Rhis sighed. She decided to find the library, which turned out to be a vast room lined all the way around with books. Shelves and shelves of books, the top row reaching just above her head. At the far end of the room, scribes were busy at work, just as she’d been told. She tiptoed along the wall, scanning the gold-etched titles on the bindings of the books. Some of them were histories; quite a number of the older ones referred to people and places of which she’d never heard.

  She kept walking, hoping she’d discover the plays, when she was startled by a voice.

  “May I help you find something, my lady?”

  A girl her own age, dressed in scribe garb, stood politely just behind her elbow.

  “I’m looking for plays,” Rhis said.

  “Across that way.” The girl pointed to the opposite side of the room.

  Rhis murmured a word of thanks as she looked down. The table was covered with sheets of creamy paper, book paper, and ink and good pens. Immediately in front of her lay a sheet neatly written over, and next to it a book with an unfamiliar script.

  “Will Prince Lios be reading these books once you translate them?” she asked.

  The girl smiled. “He’s already read them, my lady. It was he who chose them. We’re translating them for people here—now and in future.”

  How many languages did he speak? Rhis wondered. But she didn’t ask. It felt too much like gossip, and all the scribes were looking at her. Waiting in polite patience to get back to their task.

  “Thank you,” she said, and moved round the table
to where the plays were located.

  There again she was daunted by the vast number, so she picked three at random, and carried them out, intending to find a comfortable spot and read.

  She walked through the main gathering room, where everyone seemed in a subdued mood. Not that many had come downstairs. The people sat in small groups, either talking or eating as the rain thrummed against the long bank of windows. No one was on the terrace, not even Taniva.

  Where was Taniva? Rhis didn’t think the highland princess the sort to hole up in her room. Then she remembered something about sword fighting, and wondered if the more restless members of the company were all somewhere bashing and clashing steel together.

  A quiet laugh drew her attention. Two scribes sat with two girls Rhis had not yet met. One of the scribes was Dandiar, the other a fellow with long pale hair who seemed to be telling a story.

  Rhis passed them by, exchanged a quick smile with Dandiar, then continued on to her room, where she could curl up on her bed. She read until Shera banged on her door and demanded she get ready for dinner.

  Shera and Carithe bustled off to a corner, whispering and giggling. Mindful of Lios’s rule about dinner, Rhis sat down at a table with three new people. She soon discovered that the girl and boy with hair the color of mahogany were cousins. They had made friends recently with the other fellow, who had a head full of bright red curls. This boy sat at Rhis’s left.

  Though they welcomed Rhis with a friendly enough manner, it was soon evident that this was going to be a boring meal. All they talked about was horses. Raising, trading, types, costs, saddles, and racing. Rhis pretended to listen, keeping her attention on her plate. She did not want to be seen searching around for Lios, and she was glad not to have to see Vors.

  “Eugh, there she goes,” the dark-haired boy muttered.

  Four quick looks as Iardith crossed the room, her arm linked through Lios’. Rhis looked at that shining cape of black hair drifting against the princess’s skirts, and sighed. If she wore hers loose like that, it would tangle into unsightly knots and straggles in no time.

  Iardith sat down with Lios at one of the waterfall tables, and then—with perfect poise—beckoned to two of her particular crowd. Obviously she didn’t have to bother with the rule about mixing around.

  But just as Rhis was fighting against a sharp pang of envy at the Perfect Princess’s self-possession, the horse-mad girl said, “I wouldn’t be her for all the beauty in the world.”

  Rhis looked across the table, startled. Except for her rich mahogany curls like a cloud round her head, the horse-mad girl was not beautiful. She wrinkled her nose at Iardith and Lios.

  “Why?” Rhis asked.

  The girl blushed deeply.

  “There you go again, Moret,” her cousin muttered, rolling his eyes.

  “But it’s true,” Moret replied, crossing her arms. And to Rhis, “You don’t know the king of Arpalon, do you?”

  Rhis shook her head. She suspected it was one of those questions no one expects an answer to, but she said, hoping for more information, “My father has a quarrel on with him, so I know nothing about Arpalon.”

  “Everyone has a quarrel on with the king of Arpalon,” Moret said in a low, grim voice. “Or rather, he keeps the quarrels going. He’s had my mother exiled to our estate for nearly ten years. I really didn’t think I was going to get to come here at all.”

  “You aren’t here,” the cousin said, grinning. “You’re visiting me.”

  Moret laughed, patted his hand, and then said to Rhis, “Iardith might be the sourest pickle of a princess who ever walked this floor, but that’s because the court of Arpalon is pure vinegar. Her father made it very, very clear that if she doesn’t come back with a royal crown, she can’t come back at all.”

  Demo version limitation

  Demo version limitation

  CHAPTER NINE

  Rhis sensed her friends stepping out of the way, and she held out her own hand, damp and hot as it was.

  Ought she to wipe it down her gown? Except that would look so, well, grubby. Iardith would never do such a thing! And anyway the musicians were now playing the introduction to a waltos. So she just lightly touched his fingers, and when he clasped her hand to hold it, she discovered that his hand was also warm and damp.

  Lightning sparked through her. She was getting one of the couple dances, not a fours dance! Pride—trepidation—apprehension—delight—a cloudburst of emotions followed the lightning, almost making her dizzy.

  Counterpoint to that was the movement of the dance itself. Round, and round, step-two-three, step-two-three. Lios was very good at it.

  Breathe, she commanded herself. This was her chance, probably her only chance. She was finally alone with Lios, or as alone as she was ever going to be.

  She peeked up. His dark eyes under their long lashes flicked continuously from side to side as he watched everywhere, steering them through the whirling couples. She was intensely conscious of his hand gripping hers, damp as it was, and the other resting correctly against her waist at the side. It was only a dance, she wasn’t really in his arms, but still she felt as shy—as stunned—as she had her very first evening.

  Talk, she commanded herself. Don’t be a bore! Graceful conversation. So what ought she to say?

  Her mother’s admonitory verse flitted through her mind, quick as one of those invisible butterflies of flame:

  “Fall in love with heart, not head,

  to trouble you’re led.

  Fall in love with heart and mind,

  then true love you’ll find.”

  She looked up, to meet a polite smile.

  Just polite. Not ardent, or lingering. Polite.

  Lios was very tall—much taller than she was used to—and as she tipped her head back to see him more clearly she inadvertently found herself staring up his nose. She felt laughter bubble inside, and she must have smiled, because he smiled down at her, this time a real smile.

  “Who is your favorite poet?” she asked, the first question she could think of. “Someone in our language, or do you find one of the foreign ones better?”

  “Poet?” Lios repeated, and blinked once. He smiled again, this time a quick, self-deprecating smile, before he returned to his scanning. “Poetry isn’t much in my line, I’m afraid. Do you like it?”

  Well, how was one to answer that? His voice was deep, and attractive, but the words were not the least romantic.

  “Yes,” Rhis said.

  “Tell me about your favorites,” Lios asked. His voice was so pleasant.

  “I don’t want to be boring,” Rhis replied.

  Just then Lios’s breath whooshed past her ear, and his grasp tightened, spinning them into a quick circle. Rhis felt herself pressed against the glorious brocade of his costume—he was being one of his most famous ancestors, no doubt, a “krandfadder-kink”. A pair of unheeding couples spun past, almost colliding.

  Appreciation for Lios’s skill mixed with a distinct awareness of the fact that Lios was much more damp than she was. In fact, that clean herbal scent she’d sniffed earlier had given over to the scent of damp fabric and plain, honest sweat. Then he let her loose again, a gesture that underscored that he’d pulled her close not out of a sudden, mad passion, but to keep her from being knocked down by those couples galloping by, twirling as fast as they could.

  He whooshed out his breath again. He will dance with every one of you, Dandiar had said that first night. Until now, Rhis hadn’t understood what that meant. As the evening had gotten later, she’d sat out for a couple of dances. Sometimes friends had joined her. But Lios had been on his feet the entire night.

  She glanced up again—her neck cricking—and saw him watching the other couples. For that moment his polite smile had faded, leaving him looking distinctly damp and tired.

  “Do you want to sit this one out?” she asked.

  Lios glanced down at her, his eyes startled. Then his perfectly arched dark brows crimpled into worry. “
Am I stepping amiss?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” Rhis said. “Not at all. You’re good—very good—but I was just thinking, there are a lot of us females, and if you have to dance with every single one—well, maybe at least one of us ought to be merciful and give you one chance to sit for a while.”

  Lios grinned, a big grin with beautiful, even white teeth, and a flush under his brown skin. “That’s all right. It’s—you know—a part of the duty, you might say. No worse than a long day in the saddle.”

  Rhis tried to smother a laugh, but was unsuccessful. Being likened to a long day’s ride was not at all romantic, but on the other hand, it was funny, and if she couldn’t have romance, wasn’t a good laugh a decent enough trade?

  “So you like riding?” she asked.

  Another of those quick glances, slight worry quirking his brows. “Well, it’s also, you know, part of the duties, in a manner of speaking.”

  “True,” she said, feeling that this conversation was like laboring uphill back in Nym. Determinedly she added another boulder to her back, and toiled on. “What things do you like that aren’t part of duty?”

  Another quick grip, tight spin, and a collision averted. Rhis just glimpsed snowy white and black from beyond the curve of Lios’s shoulder. Iardith. Not trying to collide—she would never embarrass herself that way—but trying to listen?

  “Oh, I don’t know, I enjoy everything I do. I, you know, keep busy.” Lios blinked down at her, and must have seen something in her expression that she hadn’t known was there, because he added in a low voice, “Gaming. I like gaming. Not big stakes. It’s the chance, not the money. Horseracing, too. When there’s time, d’you see.”