House of Shadows (24 page)

Miennes smiled as though he believed it. “I’m sure not. So. The pipes. I see. How
fitting
.” Then he frowned. “When
I
play mine?
You
will play them, of course.”

Taudde tipped his head slightly back in refusal. “You are the one who wants him dead. You play his death. I promise you, no
one will be able to charge you with it; the mages of Lonne know nothing of true sorcery.”

“I have said,
you
will do it,” the Lonne nobleman said, low and dangerous. “I am astonished you object—being what you are.”

He had no idea what Taudde was. “I will not,” Taudde answered. “Indeed, I cannot. You took the other set of twin pipes as a gift and they became yours. No one now can use them for their intended task but you. I have accommodated your desire. But I am not a murderer. I will not play the pipes myself.” Though, he thought bleakly, he had become sufficiently a murderer when he had
made
those pipes. It was a weak claim he made now. But he needed Miennes to believe it, and so he worked hard to at least half believe it himself, at least for this moment. He added a sharp and bitter truth to anchor his deception, “But you are correct: I have no love for the Dragon of Lirionne. If this blow strikes through
his
heart, that is very well.”

There was a brittle silence. Miennes broke it at last with a sharp laugh. “Well, if these pipes work as you say, I suppose you are murderer enough for me. But do not,” he said, his tone again affable, “mistake me for a man who will tolerate defiance.”

Taudde did not. He was certain Miennes was already considering ways in which he might punish his new tool’s insolence. He bowed his head and answered, this time with a far easier truth. “I do not want you as my enemy, my lord. I promise you, the pipes will do your will.”

This drew a smile of renewed confidence, a warm expression that went oddly with the cold note in the Lonne nobleman’s voice. “Well, if I am to choose my own moment… perhaps I may at least do so with purpose. Not tonight, then, I think. But in a day or two, when… circumstances align most favorably. What does one play, to make them do their work? A mourning dirge?”

“Any music will do, lord—a springtime melody as well as a dirge. Nor does the skill of the piper matter: Death resides in the pipes and not the player. Play them at your will, my lord. You may
play those pipes at any moment you desire.” Taudde set smooth confidence under his tone to encourage the other man’s confidence. “I will hope—” and he tried fiercely to hope it, “—to hear shortly that the Dragon of Lirionne is bereft of legitimate sons and all Lirionne in mourning.”

“Yes,” Miennes said, with a nod that combined both threat and dismissal, “I hope that, too, and for your sake as well as mine.”

CHAPTER 9

T
he striking success of Moonflower’s first appearance as a keiso annoyed some of the less-generous-hearted keiso. But it delighted Rue, pleased Mother, and—most satisfying of all—completely justified Leilis.

“I think perhaps it might be best to withdraw the child from the public view for a time,” Mother mused, studying a chart of tentative keiso engagements for the coming weeks. Some of the more popular keiso refused to commit to any specific engagement very far in advance, so keeping up the chart was a complicated task, as Leilis knew from personal experience.

Mother tapped a stylus on her desk and frowned. “Moonflower has received twelve invitations already. But sometimes fame grows best where it is not actively encouraged. Men desire most fiercely what is farthest from their reach.”

Leilis, who was carefully rearranging flowers in Mother’s collection of crystal vases, discarded a few that were on the verge of becoming overblown. She glanced sidelong toward Mother and murmured, “Some flowers are best in the bud; once fully opened, though still pleasing to the eye, they have already lost their special loveliness.”

Mother’s frown deepened. “Perhaps.” She set down her stylus and set the chart aside, lifting instead a roll of fine parchment with an embossed seal of saffron wax. After a moment of consideration, she offered this across the table to Leilis.

The letter did not require more than a glance. Leilis brushed the ball of her thumb lightly across the seal, set the letter back on the table, and murmured, “Cloisonné House is favored above all keiso Houses by the attention of the heir.”

“Of course,” agreed Mother, in a rather perfunctory tone. She was still frowning. “And profitably so. All of our keiso, not merely Moonflower, will receive many rich gifts if the heir and his companions become regular visitors.” That consideration was nothing to dismiss. Keiso Houses must always be extravagant, yet the continual generosity of their patrons could not be assured. In tense times, men hesitated to spend hard coin on luxuries and the entire candlelight district suffered, but the keiso Houses suffered worst because their daily expenses were highest, and hardest to reduce. The approaching spring would make this winter decidedly tense. “This will require careful management, however,” murmured Mother.

“Young people often prefer romance over practical sense,” Leilis said thoughtfully.

Mother half smiled, an expression that held more thought than humor. “So they do. And you?”

Leilis hesitated. Romance? Or practicality?

The girl might well fancy herself in love. But to send a keiso into a royal family was perilous. Prince Tepres had no true wife, yet. But soon enough he would, and eventually his wife would be queen. A queen was unlikely to be pleased to share her influence with a mere keimiso. She might object, strenuously. And a queen would have influence of her own, which did not depend on her lord husband. As the king would likely have married her for political advantage, even he might find her influence difficult to counter, lest he lose that advantage.

A queen who resented her lord’s flower wife might pursue a persistent feud against her. Possibly against all keiso. Such feuds had occurred before in Lonne’s long history. Sometimes they ended with the death of the king’s keimiso. Sometimes they ended with the entire destruction of one or more of the keiso Houses. That, too, had occurred before.

The pause lengthened as Leilis realized that she was setting concern for Karah’s personal happiness against the good of the House. How strange that she had become so sentimental! She said after a moment, “A keiso from Cloisonné House would be a very respectable keimiso for Prince Tepres, but the king may well wish his son to first take a wife and secure a right-born heir of his own for the succession, before getting children on the left. A wife whose child is the king’s eldest born might well be less offended by her lord’s taking a flower wife. Cloisonné House might best win the Dragon’s favor by slowing his heir’s rush—and Karah’s age provides every necessary reason to resist haste.”

“A gentle courtship,” murmured Narienneh. She tapped the letter with the tip of one finger. “Perhaps. We do not want the heir’s interest to wane, but your suggestion may be wise. Profit and prudence combined. A slow and gentle courtship… that may serve our purpose well. Write out an acceptance to this, Leilis, if you please. I think it best if Moonflower does not see the prince anywhere save within the protection of the House, but the prince is welcome to engage her company here. We will all be very respectable.”

Leilis bowed her head.

“You are quite correct,” added Mother. “We do not wish the bud to lose its fresh purity. If Rue is not available to accompany Moonflower, then someone else may chaperone her. No one who resents her. Bluefountain has sense. But I will want two women with her. Hmm. You may stay with her, perhaps.”

Leilis acknowledged this with a nod, though chaperoning young keiso was not ordinarily a part of her duties. But she did not dislike the idea, in this case. With Moonflower in the room, Leilis doubted that she herself would even be visible to the prince’s eye. And if the prince happened to bring with him the foreign lord, Lord Chontas… She did not permit herself to consider whether she either wanted or did not want a renewed acquaintance with that one. She had not described the prior encounter to anyone. It had seemed too complicated. She did not know how to frame it even to herself,
much less to anyone else, even if she’d been inclined to confide in anyone. Or had anyone in whom to confide.

Round white lanterns glowed in the slender branches of graceful trees along the river. The lanterns echoed the moon, which could be glimpsed now and then through long streamers of apricot and dusky-violet cloud.

With the lighting of the lanterns, the flower world itself came to life: Graceful keiso strolled along the riverside walks, accompanied by musicians and players of the candlelight district or by their patrons or keisonne. The musicians were often loud and the players flamboyant, but it was the keiso who drew the eye. It was neither their elegant overrobes nor their grace that produced this effect, or not wholly. It was that air of confidence they wore that proclaimed their quality as clearly as a herald might have announced it.

Leilis had had years to become resigned to the hopelessness of herself ever joining their privileged company. She no longer repined over the impossible. Now she stepped deliberately back into the intimate dining chamber and drew the curtains across the balcony entrance, shutting out the evening.

Prince Tepres had come alone to Cloisonné House. Well, as nearly alone as his father’s heir could manage. Only the dour Jeres Geliadde had accompanied him. Leilis did not allow herself to feel disappointment at the absence of the foreign lord.

Prince Tepres wore an understated dark overrobe that was almost as plain as his guard’s, with only a tracing of saffron and purple embroidery across his shoulders and on the cuffs of his sleeves. He had chosen well, Leilis admitted to herself. The severe plainness of his robe accented his pale hair and brought out his dark eyes. She suspected he knew it, too. Well, a king’s heir must learn such things, she supposed. A prince was surely as much on display as any keiso.

Moonflower wore a simple blue overrobe embroidered around the hem with leaves and dragonflies, and a jeweled dragonfly in her hair. Mother had, of course, chosen the robe and the jewel, and
very appropriately. Though Leilis privately thought it would have mattered very little to the prince whether the girl wore a keiso robe or drab servant’s brown.

This evening Prince Tepres had chosen to soften his image to suit his company: He had brought Moonflower a kitten, which he was just now releasing from its basket. The creature was a soft silver color, with ripples of smoke-dark stripes showing through the silver when it moved and eyes as green as willow leaves.

The kitten had been a clever choice. It instantly gave prince and keiso a common source of merriment. Moonflower exclaimed over its soft fur, then set it down on the floor and laughed with delight as it pounced on her toes. Leilis was certain its claws had been carefully blunted before the prince had presented it; she knew from personal experience how easily sharp claws would go right through light house slippers.

“What is her name?” Moonflower asked the prince, kneeling down and wiggling her fingers in invitation. The kitten, accepting this enticement, flung itself flat on its side and tried to wrestle the girl’s hand into submission. Moonflower laughed.

“Moonglow,” answered Prince Tepres, leaning his hip against the table and smiling down at this charming picture. “For she so delightfully captures the soft beauty of the moon.”

Moonflower glanced up to meet the prince’s eyes. If she’d been in doubt about his implied compliment, his smile banished that doubt. She blushed and laughed at the same time, scooping the kitten up into her arms as she rose. “She’s—” She paused, because any compliment she paid the kitten now would sound like vanity. “Thank you,” she finished simply. “Um—eminence.” She blushed again, most becomingly.

“We are not at all formal tonight,” the prince assured her. He moved to the head of the chamber’s small table and knelt on the cushion there, opening a hand in invitation for Moonflower to join him. His bodyguard took a place against the wall, effacing himself with a practiced air. Leilis, with deliberate humor, took a precisely similar place on the other side of the room.

Servants—Birre and Kaerih—brought in the first dishes of the evening: rounds of soft bread with a delicate mousse of smoked fish on sea-green plates, and mussels in saffron broth in small black bowls. Bluefountain slipped in after them, carrying her kinsana. She gave Prince Tepres a thoughtful glance and knelt on the floor by the door with only the sketchiest bow. He returned a slight nod, looking amused and, beneath the amusement, faintly annoyed.