FORBIDDEN TALENTS (19 page)

She gazed off to the side then back at him.
“
What about an amulet like the one Jorund had?
”

“
It’s possible,
”
he said. He didn’t try to make his tone convincing.

“
But you don’t believe it.
”

He turned away and braced an arm against a shelf. He wanted to believe it. By all the gods of Alfheim he wanted to believe it. But it was a hollow hope. He swallowed, hard. He refused to weep in front of Dahleven’s betrothed.

Celia moved behind him, then her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
“
Ragni?
”

He shook his head without looking at her. Grief pressed like a boulder on his chest. Some small part of him noted that even with her touch, he couldn’t sense Celia’s feelings at all now.
“
Perhaps you’d best find Dahl and tell him his secret is safe,
”
he managed in a strangled voice.
“
At least from that quarter.
”

*

Celia slipped into place beside Dahleven as the crowd of Jarls, Lords, and Tewakwe headed into the banquet. He was escorting Utta in Ragni’s absence. His expression was calm and attentive to Utta, but Celia could tell from the little muscle jumping in his jaw he wasn’t happy. She’d had time to compose herself while she dropped Wirmund’s loaned cloak with a servant and made her way through the maze of levels and corridors down to the Great Hall. He looked down at her and she managed to give him one of Gudrun’s patented smiles, the one that said,
“
I’ll explain everything later.
”

Utta glanced over at her from Dahleven’s other side. Her step was a bit too firm for someone at peace. Clearly, she wanted to know if Ragni meant to insult her with his absence.

Celia dredged up her most reassuring smile.
“
Ragni had a message from Father Wirmund that he had to attend to. One of the hazards of his position, I’m afraid. He sends his regrets that he couldn’t escort you himself. He’ll be along shortly, I expect.
”

Six months ago Celia would never have thought she’d be applying the calmness she’d learned as a 911 dispatcher in Tucson to telling bold-faced lies to her future sister-in-law. She wanted to grit her teeth, but maintained her smile instead.
It’s not a lie. Not exactly
.

Celia sat with Dahleven, the visiting Jarls, and the Tewakwe leaders on the dais. The other Lords and Tewakwe sat at long tables running the length of the rectangular room, perpendicular to the ends of the high table. Two hooded fire pits ran parallel to the lower tables, cutting the room in half lengthwise. Celia took her place on Dahleven’s right. Utta sat below with Kaidlin, Ingirid and Aenid, at a table that faced away from the dais, out toward the assembled Lords. Celia wondered if Utta felt as much on display as she had six months ago, that first night at the Althing.
She’s probably used to it
. Celia hoped so, because Ragni’s space beside her was still empty, and more than one set of eyes were noting his absence. Wirmund’s place on the dais remained empty as well.

Neven rose and welcomed his guests. He surprised Celia by not using his Talent for Presence. Normally he drew everyone’s attention to himself for his opening remarks. Celia looked at him more closely. His face looked drawn, especially around the eyes.
The negotiations with the Tewakwe must not be going well
.

Neven thanked their unseen hosts as tradition demanded. Given the trouble the Elves were causing, Celia wondered how genuine the sentiments were.

The servants brought in large trays piled high with venison, baked fruit, and roasted fowl. Celia served Dahleven and then herself. Preoccupied by Ragni and his loss, she wondered whether Wirmund had seen through Ragni’s attempt at disinterest.
Of course he saw. He’s an old hand at these games
.

Celia watched as Utta turned to listen to something Aenid said. A slight smile slipped onto her features and she nodded, but Celia couldn’t hear what was said.

“
What could Ragni be thinking, slighting Utta like this?
”
Dahleven growled.
“
Father is going to hang him by his toes for this—if Magnus doesn’t do it first.
”

Celia winced at Dahleven’s question.
“
About that—
”

He pierced her with a shrewd glance.
“
What is it?
”

She didn’t want to talk about Saeun here, but he had to know.
“
Wirmund trapped me into it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to get out of it.
”

Dahleven leaned close to Celia’s ear. Those watching would see it as affectionate nuzzling. She was glad she didn’t have to meet his eyes.

He spoke softly.
“
What? What did you do for Wirmund?
”
A spare second later he pulled back a little and answered his own question.
“
Freyr and Freya.
”
He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again.
“
You Found her.
”

Celia shook her head against Dahleven’s neck.
“
No.
”

“
What, troubles you then?
”

She nuzzled him back.
“
I couldn’t Find her,
”
she said softly.
“
She must be dead. And that bastard Wirmund couldn’t wait to tell Ragni. That’s why he’s not here.
”

“
Baldur’s Balls,
”
Dahleven whispered through tight lips.

“
Yeah.
”

They pulled back from each other. Celia forced herself to take a bite of roast venison, though the food had lost all flavor. She wondered if Dahleven felt the same guilty relief she did. Saeun could no longer implicate Dahleven in the use of her magic. Celia would never have wished Saeun’s death, but it did make things less complicated.

Ragni slipped in just as the servants were beginning to make the rounds to offer second helpings. From her vantage point on the dais, Celia watched a ripple of attention and comment go around the room. A servant bearing a tray heavy with roasted woodcocks stopped before Utta. Her posture remained rigid as she served Ragni.

As the meal progressed, the few smiles Utta offered Ragni didn’t reach her eyes, and her posture never softened.

“
He’s not having much success with her, is he?
”
Dahleven observed. Fruited pastries, artfully sculpted to resemble hawks and bears, fish and mountain cats, were brought in.

“
He’s not at his best—and he can’t exactly tell her why he was late, can he?
”
Celia asked.

Dahleven grunted agreement.
“
Let’s hope whatever excuse he’s offered doesn’t contradict the one you gave her.
”

“
Oh, no! I hadn’t thought of that!
”

Dahleven put his hand over hers and smiled.
“
Quietly, my dear.
”

More softly Celia added.
“
But I like Utta. I don’t want her to think she can’t trust me. I thought we might be friends.
”

Dahleven gave her an odd, measuring look.
“
Be careful where you bestow your friendship, Celia. It’s a rare thing for it to be returned in the same condition in which it’s given.
”

“
Do you know something about Utta?
”

Dahleven shook his head.
“
No. But she’s a fine woman, by all accounts. She is, however, the daughter of a powerful man and accustomed to the ways of power. As you are not. Yet.
”

Celia stared for a moment at Dahleven, then looked down at her plate. She’d taken much of Gudrun’s talk of caution rather lightly, even as she’d learned the techniques Dahleven’s mother had taught for keeping her thoughts and feelings from showing on her face. In her happy delirium of new love, she’d forgotten certain painful lessons Neven had taught her about being used. Wirmund had always been a bastard, and she expected him to use people, but now Dahleven was reminding her that the world she moved in was a dangerous one. How could she have forgotten? She couldn’t assume she was safe even in the bosom of her new family. People close to the seat of power often used others for their own agendas, pretending friendship to further their ends.

Sangor, the skald, came forward, made his introductory remarks, and began a traditional Nuvinland tale of valiant men and heroic deeds. Celia didn’t hear much of it.

She’d encountered people occasionally who wanted to take advantage of her position, but she’d mostly ignored them. She knew some of the women who’d attended her classes in CPR and self-defense had only done so to make the acquaintance of Neven’s future daughter-by-marriage, the betrothed of the future Jarl of Quartzholm. She hadn’t cared; she’d taught them anyway. But now the reality of it all came into sharp focus. This was power politics and it was played for keeps. The danger was real, and Saeun had died because of it.

*

Saeun sat on a raft of pillows at the far end of a long low table. Overhead, branches twined together so tightly they created a solid roof. All around her women and men as beautiful and handsome as any she’d ever seen were dressed in vivid clothing of the finest weaving, embroidered with borders of flowers, leaves, and vines. Gems of every color accented the embroidery, twinkling in the cool light from the glowing stones resting on golden pillars spaced down the table. Though the Elves had given her a garment as blue as midnight to wear, decorated with jewels like stars, Saeun still felt bedraggled by comparison.

She shook her head as a
gofle
, a short little creature with large drooping ears, proffered a silver tray of roasted peacock. The skin was beautifully browned and crispy looking, and the tail had been fanned out so broadly that the small servant had to peer through the feathers to see where he—or was it a she?—was going. The enticing aroma made Saeun’s mouth water and she swallowed stiffly as she refused, shaking her head.

“
That’s the fifth dish you’ve refused,
”
Treskin said from her right. He was even more handsome now that he’d changed from his leathers into black silk and gold.
“
You might as well have stayed outside the gates and frozen; it would have been quicker than starving, at least.
”

Saeun didn’t respond. She couldn’t eat the food. She didn’t think they’d bespelled her yet, but if she ate their food, she would surely be lost. Fey-marked.

“
Is the food not to your liking?
”
The silver-haired man at the other end of the table asked. The hum of conversation ceased. Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at her.

Saeun looked up to meet eyes as chillingly blue as a mountain lake. When Treskin had introduced her to the Praefect of this Elven Enclave, Lord Kaeron had been cooly courteous and had invited her to dine. He was beardless as all the men here were, but his strong square jaw needed no long beard to emphasize his authority and power. She looked away before she could drown in those cold eyes.

“
I—
”
Her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat.
“
It all looks delicious. The fault is with my appetite.
”

“
Then we have not sufficiently tempted your palate.
”
The Praefect gestured and another
gofle
came to her side, offering a crystal tray piled with sugared fruit. His four fingered hands trembled, making the small feathers that grew out around his nails quiver.

Valender, seated on her left, took a bunch of frosted grapes and lay them before her on her plate.
“
You must eat,
”
he murmured.
“
You have accepted the hospitality of a Praefect of the
Lios Alfar
. To refuse is to give insult. Surely that is not what you intend?
”

Saeun stared down at the plate in front of her and shook her head. The dish before her was of a porcelain so fine and delicate she could see the marquetry in the table through it. And where did the Elves find grapes in the midst of winter?
Grown with Fey magic, no doubt
.

What had she expected? That she could somehow live on air if only she didn’t freeze? Her stomach growled urgently. She wished Joori were here, with his open face and warm brown eyes, but apparently he wasn’t of high enough rank to be included at the table of the Praefect of this Elven outpost. It was a foolish wish. He was as much an Elf as any of the others.