Nightspell (4 page)

castle, where there were no windows to let sunlight through and revelry could continue long into daylight.

She found a party in a smal sit ing room, where a group of young men were playing cards with a cluster of

ladies-in-waiting. Lady Velochier, the king’s first mistress, was floating above them and cal ing out hints about what each player held. The hints were mostly directed against the ladies-in-waiting. Lady Velochier had hated

the queen, who she believed had ordered her kil ed; but since the queen had died of natural causes and was

now beyond her reach, she directed her animosity at those who had once served her rival.

Cal ie smiled as she stepped into the room. She liked Lady Velochier, who was funny and sharp-tongued.

The merriment in the room was infectious, and she let it fil her along with the scent of wine, washing away

Darri’s demanding stares and Varis’s scorn and the memories of the bare windswept plains she had once cal ed

home. No one on the plains had the slightest idea how to have fun. They were probably suspicious of the very

concept.

But as she sat, the girl next to her turned and stopped giggling, her blue eyes going very wide. “Oh, Cal ie!

Whatever are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

“She’l be with them soon enough,” Lady Velochier cal ed out from above. She tilted her body downward

and ran one hand gently over the blue-eyed girl’s hair; the girl, Aznet e, was her daughter. “Leave her be,

sweetling. The poor thing has only a few more nights at court.”

“And then it’s back to the barren plains,” one of the men said. “Let us give you some fond memories to

remember us by.”

“I’l take charge of that!” laughed another, a handsome duke’s son named Ayad who was the biggest flirt at

court.

Cal ie smiled as if she was amused, wondering why she hadn’t expected this. The answer was easy: because

she hadn’t wanted to. “I’d be careful,” she told the duke’s son. “My departure isn’t as certain as al that.”

“No?” said Lady Velochier. “Don’t they want you?”

Another chorus of giggles, and Cal ie couldn’t hide a flush. Lady Velochier had never turned that sharp

tongue on her before. It no longer seemed so funny. “The king is a fan of the exotic, is he not?” she shot back.

“I think my sister may catch his eye. That would delay us as long as his at ention holds—so I would wager a

month?”

The giggles this time were somewhat tentative; no one was sure if she had gone too far. Neither was Cal ie.

She felt of -balance, and was trying not to show it.

Lady Velochier sank to the floor and became solid, so that she looked like just another lady-in-waiting. She

had been no older than most of them when she died, and she was stil extraordinarily beautiful, even if her

mouth sometimes pursed like an old woman’s. She set led next to her daughter and looped one arm around

her; Aznet e tilted her head onto her dead mother’s shoulder and smiled, closing her eyes.

“I would wager less,” Lady Velochier sneered. “Abject terror isn’t al that at ractive, even if your sister were

presentable to begin with. Every time one of us goes a shade translucent, she looks ready to faint.”

Cal ie felt a spurt of sympathy for her sister, something she had been trying to avoid since the moment Darri

strode into the throne room. She opened her mouth to defend Darri, and realized just in time what a mistake

that would be.

The silence in the room stretched too long as Cal ie struggled against the desire to do it anyhow. Lady

Velochier sniggered in victory and looked over the shoulder of the lady-in-waiting next to her. “Who taught

you to play, darling? With cards like those, you should have bowed out long ago.”

Aznet e giggled, the girl shrieked in protest, and the room erupted in shouts and laughter. Cal ie drew her

knees to her chest and sat silent, not participating, fighting the ridiculous urge to burst into tears.

You should have come years ago, Darri. It would have been dif erent then.

Now it was too late. Unfortunately, that was something Darri would never understand.

Chapter Three

Varis woke up early the next night and sat bolt upright. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was; the bed

beneath him was too soft, and he couldn’t hear the wind. Then he remembered, and relaxed his muscles one by

one. He swung himself onto the hard stone floor and reached for the tinderbox at the side of his bed.

His brain, which had spent the day insisting he wake up, was now insisting it was time to sleep. He shook

of his grogginess while he pul ed on some riding clothes.

His servant from the night before had said there would be a hunt tonight. If this court was anything like the

others he had visited, most of the important noblemen would be on the hunt, and Varis would get a chance to

either impress them or talk to them. Preferably both. Either way, it would help him figure out his next step.

He tucked a dagger into his boot, the weight of it reassuringly familiar, and made his way to the castle

courtyard. His steps quickened as the fog in his mind cleared, and he strode confidently through empty hal s

decorated with dreary tapestries. The passageways were dimly lit, but he had been paying at ention the night

before and knew which way to go. He was nearly at the kennels when someone stepped out of a half-open

doorway and stumbled into him.

Varis leaped away, whirled with his dagger already in his hand, and found himself looking at the most

beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Even her heavy makeup and overly ornate costume couldn’t detract from her beauty. She had a fine-featured

face, with blond hair that tumbled over slender shoulders, sculpted cheekbones, and unusual y large green eyes.

She smiled at him as he stared at her—a slow, sweet smile that told him she was used to this reaction, bored by

it even, but did not object to it from him.

She had to be dead. No one living could be this perfect. For a second, Varis didn’t even care. “My lady.”

“My name is Clarisse, Your Highness.”

Varis smiled. Women general y reacted wel to his smile. “And mine is Varis.”

“I know.” She looked up at him from beneath thick lashes, and Varis struggled to hold onto the smile.

Despite his usual confidence, he couldn’t believe she seemed to be reacting wel . “Are you here for the hunt?”

“Yes,” Varis said. “Are you?”

“Of course. I love to hunt.” She said it with a ferocity that made Varis’s heart pound. Then she dimpled at

him, suddenly a court lady again. “You plainspeople must hunt often?”

Varis didn’t like the disparaging tone in which she said “plainspeople,” but he was suf iciently fascinated to

pretend he didn’t notice. “Yes, of course. But we hunt during the day.”

“I can see how that would be easier.” The disparagement now bordered on contempt. Varis took a step

toward her, forcing her to tilt her head back and look up at him. “But it would hardly be polite to exclude half

the court, would it?”

“Half” was probably a wild exaggeration, and he knew she had said it only to see his reaction. He managed

not to step back, but suspected from the way her eyebrows lifted that he hadn’t control ed his expression.

“Hunting at night sounds like a chal enge,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“I suppose it does.”

“Exactly how I like to start my evenings.”

She smiled at him with pleased surprise. Varis played this particular game very wel ; he did not smile back.

Instead he lifted his eyebrows meaningful y, as if acknowledging a shared secret. Ignoring the inner voice that

was trying to remind him this wasn’t why he was here, he said, “It’s something to keep me busy, in any case,

while I take a break from conquering the world.”

Rael ian girls general y responded wel to the “conquering the world” line, but Clarisse gave him a look that

made him feel stupid. “Is that what you’re doing in this country? Taking a break?”

Varis shifted his balance, suddenly bat le ready. Her tone was stil light and mocking, but he didn’t believe

for a second that the question was innocent. “You have nothing to worry about. Ghostland is not conquerable;

I’m here to make an al iance with your people.”

“They’re not my people.”

He looked down at her more closely, and saw what he should have seen at once: the color on her skin,

unlike the waxy whiteness of the Ghostland women; the slightly dif erent shape of her eyes; the sharpness of

her features. She looked more like the traders from beyond the mountains than like anyone in this kingdom. “I

thought there were no foreigners here.”

“There aren’t supposed to be. I convinced them to make an exception in my case.” Clarisse grinned, eyes

gleaming in a way that made his heart speed up. “So you intend to al y yourselves with Ghostland . . . and

then? Wil you turn west and cross the Kierran Mountains?”

“Probably.”

She stepped back and looked him over more careful y. He couldn’t read her expression. “I’ve crossed the

mountains, and I know what they’re like. You couldn’t ride an army of horses through those passes.”

In Varis’s experience, foreigners had no idea what Rael ians could do with their horses. He folded his arms

across his chest. “Why do you care?”

across his chest. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Clarisse said, pressing her lips into a straight line. “I don’t care.” She turned abruptly, her golden hair swinging against her shoulders. “Fol ow me. The hunt wil be leaving shortly, and we wouldn’t want to

miss it.”

Darri awoke to complete darkness and to muf led sounds coming from outside her door. For a moment she

thought she had woken too early, and turned her face into her pil ow. Then she remembered: if there was no

light creeping in around the draperies, that meant it was night, and here, that meant it was day.

Darri groaned and buried her face in the silk pil ow. Her eyes were blurry, and every one of her limbs

protested the thought of moving. Yesterday the light creeping through the narrow spaces between drapes and

wal s had kept her tossing and turning for hours before she slept. And that had been after similarly fruitless

hours spent wandering the hal s looking for her sister.

Then someone knocked on her door, and Darri rol ed over and sat up instantly. “Cal ie?”

“It’s me, Your Highness,” a voice said. The door opened, let ing in the sounds of movement and conversation

from the hal outside. “Meandra, your maid? I was wondering if you might need assistance?”

Darri just looked at her, so long and intently that the maid flushed and stepped back, drawing her shoulders

together. She’s afraid of me, Darri recognized with astonishment, and felt a wave of relief. Surely the dead

didn’t feel fear.

“Of course,” she said, and the maid looked at her wide eyed. She was young and drab-looking, with a round

face and brown hair tied back in a bun. “I’m not accustomed to—that is, I can dress myself. But I may need

your assistance with other things.”

The girl’s eyes went even wider; clearly she suspected “other things” was code for something foreign,

dif icult, and immoral. But she crept into the room and closed the door behind her.

The room plunged back into darkness. A moment later the tinderbox near the door sparked into light. The

maid—Meandra—carried a candle around the room, solemnly lighting every one of the five lamps in it. When

she was done, the room was as bright as day.

They must go through barrels and barrels of oil. On the plains oil was scarce, and once the sun set people

worked in the dimmest light they could manage with—or, bet er yet, just went to sleep. Of course, that wasn’t

an option here.

The thought of home sent a wave of hope through her, almost painful in its intensity. For so long . . . for

weeks, or truly, years . . . she hadn’t thought of the plains as home. The stretches of long grass, the horse races, the hunts and the firelit feasts that fol owed, the quiet dark nights with the wind beating at her tent . . . every bit of happiness she’d felt had been tinged by guilt, because Cal ie wasn’t there to enjoy it with her.

Ever since her father had announced his new plan, she had been prepared to give it al up. To trade herself

for Cal ie and leave the plains behind, spend her life trapped in a nightmare so Cal ie could escape it. Until

last night, when she had found out that the prince was dead, that there was no reason for either of them to

stay. If she handled it right, she and Cal ie could ride out of here side by side. And once they were back on the plains, Darri would never let anyone take her sister away again.

Keeping her eyes on the floor, Meandra clasped her hands together and addressed the braided rug at the foot

of Darri’s bed. “I was instructed to ask whether Your Highness would be interested in joining tonight’s hunt.”

“Yes,” Darri said instantly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed before her mind caught up with her

mouth. “Instructed by whom?”

The girl dared a glance at her, then hastily returned her eyes to the rug. “Your Highness?”

“Who invited me along on the hunt?”

“The—the court, Your Highness.”

Darri forced herself to sound patient. “Which specific person instructed you to ask me?”

“M-mistress Annabel, Your Highness. The housekeeper.”

Right. No help there. Darri sighed and slid of the bed. As she started toward the clothes chests lined up

along the wal , she said, “Do you know if my sister was invited along?”

“I’m sure she was, Your Highness. But Lady Cal ie does not enjoy hunting.”