Myrren's Gift (62 page)

“We can’t work magic here,” she tsk-tsked but she liked Fynch sufficiently well that she did not berate him. “All right, all right,” she said wearily. Flapping away his thanks, she gestured toward the goose and capons team in one of the corners of the kitchen. “Are we ready?” A chorus of “Yes!” responded.

“Then serve away, my lovelies. Make sure our royals get the special ones.” Valentyna had to admit that Celimus was more charming than she had expected and close up just as heart-fluttering in looks as he had seemed when they had met earlier. He really was physically the perfect man, as many of the dignitaries’ not so subtle, sometimes open-jawed stares attested. Everything about him was perfect… everything. A painter would give a limb to have him as a subject—best naked, she thought, imagining one of the friezes in the bathing chambers featuring the King. She stifled a smile at the notion as he turned toward her now. She gazed into the depths of his dark olive eyes and came up wanting. Why she - hoped she might find some warmth and softness there she was not sure. Valentyna wanted to dislike Celimus—and did so—but his persona tonight was hardly that of an avaricious, single-minded man capable of anything. So far he was how a palace courtier. Lady Jane Breck, described
him.: jaw-break charming.

Except right now. she realized, the chill of the thought cooling even her smile. His eyes were hard, calculating. In them she found nothing of comfort. His wide grin did not touch them. And she suspected this man would not hesitate to trample on anyone who stood in the way of getting what he wanted…including her. Briavel was in his sights and she was the obstacle.

Valentyna feared her grave misgivings over her guest were written all over her expression when his own clouded as he watched her. She composed herself quickly. “Ah, here we are, my lord,” she said brightly, relieved to see Cook’s famous roasted goose being trundled into the hall together with roasted capons.

“First course, fit for a King.”

Celimus’s gaze lingered a moment longer on her own, weighing her up. Then he smiled. “My favorite,” he said and the moment of transparency passed. He was all charm and frivolity again.

Valentyna had deliberately paraded a dozen courses worthy of a royal banquet. No Morgravian present would leave her tables unimpressed. The goose, duck, and other poultry were melt-in-the-mouth delicious. A broth of oxen was served before the beef, then venison. Red deer were presented on huge salvers carried in by a team of people who wore antlers, winning huge applause.

Celimus leaned across. “Magnificent spectacle,” he said.

She nodded and smiled. “In your honor, my lord.”

Mutton was next, served with fresh bread and a minted sauce, together with boars’ heads. Swan followed and the centerpiece, baked stork—its beak stuffed with vegetables and wings outstretched—brought the first series of dishes to an end. A second remove of dishes was composed of jelly, spiced wine, and an exquisite almond cream for which Celimus sent his compliments back to the kitchen. These dishes were followed by practically every bird in the sky including pheasants, partridges, plovers, gulls, pigeons, larks, and even tiny sparrows. Then came fish dishes: ling, coney, pike, salmon, haddock, bass, and lamprey. Once again a centerpiece was the highlight—this time it was stuffed and roasted porpoise and seal. The applause was rapturous. Tenderized lamb and goat completed the banquet before tarts, cakes, and cheeses were served to anyone who had the stamina to keep eating.

Celimus was further prevented from conversing with Valentyna by the seemingly endless line-up of entertainers and singers that filled every gap of the proceedings. It was hopeless to attempt intimate conversation with this woman, who he had to admit intrigued him. He had not expected to be in any way fascinated by her. Winning her agreement without resorting to war had been his sole intention. It had not occurred to him that he might actually like the woman who would hand him Briavel.

Briavel’s specialty, its honey from the famous Magurian bees, permeated many dishes, the most obvious being the syrupy, fabulously sweet poppycakes. Drenched in the aromatic honey, mixed with liquor and other herbs, the cakes were a rare treat for high occasions. The seed of the poppy that they contained helped along the happiness in the room and Valentyna noticed Celimus ate several.

“Sweet tooth, sire?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Wonderful. You must bring this recipe to Morgravia and introduce it to our people. Your fare is fit for the gods, Valentyna, not just royalty.”

She bowed her head gently at the high compliment he had already expressed in a stirring speech he had made to her guests in her honor. His words were polished and perfectly chosen to enamor the Briavellian nobility to his cause…not that they needed much prodding, she thought unhappily. Celimus had an undeniable presence—one could hear a pin drop, such was the eagerness to hang on his every word. If only they knew he had her father’s blood on his hands.

The tables were being cleared for dancing and the royal couple was invited to lead the people onto the floor. Valentyna loved to dance and was happy to be in the thick of it, and Romen was right—the first half of‘ the evening passed swiftly as a result. She stilled her amusement at the dances selected for the evening’s entertainment. Romen had planned everything, down to the music. The rousing jigs not only got everyone into high spirits—as well as thirsty, which meant they consumed plenty of intoxicating ales and wines—but left little opportunity for the men to hold the ladies’ hands for longer than a few seconds. It kept the King sufficiently distant.

She noticed Celimus was enjoying himself too and was very much the center of attention, with every female present—married or otherwise—vying for a few moments of his regard. He lapped it up, of course, and hardly noticed that no sedate dances had been arranged. In fact, as they clapped, cheered, and jigged loudly to the music, it seemed that Celimus was very much in his element, for he was an accomplished dancer with such suave grace to his movement that even Valentyna found him irresistible to watch.

So far so good, she thought on one of the rare moments she had to catch her breath.

Liryk was now calling for quiet. The chattering voices and laughter gradually dimmed.

“Your majesties, my lords and ladies. Please choose your headpieces for the masked bombero.” His words were greeted by cheers and squeals of delight as huge trays bearing an assortment of fabulous masks were brought in. As guests began to make their choices, a special pair of trays was walked to the dais by two servers.

“Your majesties.” they murmured, holding out their wares.

“It’s a local custom, my lord.” Valentyna said laughing. “The bombero is our most feisty yet sensual dance.”

“Of course, but you’ll have to teach me,” he said, grinning and reaching for his wolfs head mask.

Very apt. Valentyna decided, not daring to look up at the gallery, where she knew she would find Romen watching. She picked up her mask and wondered at the lack of caution in fashioning a dove’s head for her.

Their meaning was not lost on Celimus, who, sharp as ever, was quick to make a remark. “Someone in your retinue has a sense of humor, Valentyna.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, taking his hand and not giving him a chance to answer.

“We start in rows, sire, but it gets manic and complex. Just trust each of your partners… they’re all dying to touch you anyway,” she said, smiling beneath her mask.

The music began and Celimus had no further opportunity to say anything to her for he was quickly shunted down the fast-moving line of partners. The women at the front of the line affected a more complex dance step in a round, while women at the back twirled more sedately with their partners, awaiting their turn to move forward. Valentyna heard a familiar voice from the man opposite, wearing an enormous grinning horse mask.

“I love you,” he whispered before he vanished, leaving her breathless with the emotion he had provoked deep within her, yet laughing at his comical headpiece; again its meaning was not at all lost on her, for no one loved horses more than the Queen of Briavel.

Jessom, nearby, gave Celimus reassuring smiles that said
all in good time
. He could sense the King’s quiet frustration at not being able to get close to the Queen but this was diplomacy and the royal way.

Soon enough—tomorrow in fact—there would be time for them to converse more intimately. It was not as though those present did not understand why they were here. It was simply a case of moving through the required protocols. This was one of them and the tourney was another. Then they could get down to the business of making this young Queen realize that marriage was all that could save her realm from devastation. Morgravia would unify the south, one way or another. Marriage was certainly the less painful way.

Jessom could tell Valentyna was not entirely enamored with Celimus—who he had to admit was being utterly charming. He wondered why. In contrast he noticed that his King was more than a little interested in the Queen. Jessom could see why: intelligent, candid, unintimidated, modest in spite of having so much in her favor, young, regal, and gracious. She had style and presence. She was wealthy, sitting on the rich throne of an uncrowded, fertile realm. She could make Celimus a grand partner, perhaps even work with him to build the empire Celimus dreamed of. If she would relinquish her hold on Briavel, far bigger prizes awaited her.

He watched her closely. Her attentions were certainly not given over to any other male in the room, which he assumed indicated she had no former affiliations. After all, what lover would allow her to look as good as she did tonight and be wooed by a King? And yet she was decidedly distant. At no point had she been impolite or inattentive, as such; she was simply remote from Celimus, clearly sticking to safe ground, discussing the food, the music, tomorrow’s tourney, without venturing into the real reason this whole pantomime was being played out.

A lull occurred after the bombero and people were removing their masks to laugh with the partner they had ended up with. As the musicians re tuned their instruments and some couples got themselves into position for the next dance, the Queen excused herself and she saw the King also break from the dance formation to join her.

Valentyna knew she must be very gracious now. “I noticed your beautiful destrier, my lord. You obviously love to ride.” It was a weak statement, for she had heard much of his prowess, but it would have to do. She was surprised by his modest response.

“I do…although since taking the throne I don’t get any opportunity to ride alone any more. Now I have to take a cast of thousands behind me.” he exaggerated.

She nodded with sympathy. “Oh, yes, privacy is what I miss most.”

“I suspect you ride only the best horses too,” he said.

“Well. I’ve had plenty of practice. My father always bred excellent beasts and ever encouraged me to ride them.”

“Perhaps we can take that ride together as your Commander suggested?”

“Surely.” she said, regretting her polite answer the instant she said it.

“How about tomorrow, then? The tourney does not commence until midmorning and I am an early riser.

I can imagine your woodland is magnificent at sunrise.”

She was trapped. She was also stupid, she thought. How could she have left herself so open? It was everything they had contrived against.

He took her hand and the gazes of many around the room immediately picked up the affectionate gesture. He cared not for gossip or what people thought right now. He wanted time alone with this woman—away from Jessom or any other counselor. He would decide when and where. She would see him at his best. “It would mean a great deal to me if you would see fit to join me. Valentyna.” She hesitated.
Give no offense. It is only a ride, after all
. “Of course, Celimus. It would be lovely to share a sunrise on our horses. I’ll make the arrangements.” He smiled, clearly pleased.

She felt ill. “I shall look forward to it,” she said, bringing their conversation to an end. “Now, my lord, please excuse me, I must go and thank our dedicated people in the kitchen for their hard work tonight.

I’m sure you are tired after a very long day. Please don’t wait for me.” He bowed, a little surprised at her sudden change in manner. Still, he must be patient. “Until tomorrow, Valentyna.”

She curtsied and moved swiftly away wondering how she would explain this new turn of events to Romen.

She lay awake, despairing. Liryk had appointed two guards outside her suite of chambers and tripled the guard in the corridors and landings leading to her wing of the palace. The shuffling and soft voices of men outside her door helped to keep her awake. She felt inclined to pull on her robe and join them outside for a chat…better than lying here alone and so worried. She had not seen or heard from Romen since their clandestine moment during the dance. He was reckless taking such a chance…but she loved him for
it.

And he loves me
!

So now she counted the minutes in the dark, wanting tomorrow to be over but dreading the hint of dawn when she must face the King of Morgravia alone. Would he try to kiss her? She recoiled at the thought.

It was then she heard the soft sound of the secret door opening slowly. Why she thought it was Celimus arriving unexpectedly to make a proposal of marriage in the middle of the night she would never understand, but it was fortunate she took those few moments to consider the possibility before screaming, for they saved Romen Koreldy.

“It’s me. Valentyna!” he hissed, sensing her fright.

She felt her body relax at the familiar voice. “I thought you were
him”
she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t bear to be apart from you.” he admitted.

He began to pull off his boots and she pulled the sheets up higher. “What are you doing now?” Her voice sounded squeaky and terrified.

Wyl infused with love and that new sense of recklessness, suddenly had the confidence of Romen.