The High Ground (21 page)

A few hours later another woman had knelt before her and also held Mercedes in an embrace. Those words she could remember. “Hello, Mer, I’m Agatha. I’m going to be your
madre
now.” In her confusion Mercedes had just nodded mutely when what she really wanted to do was kick and scream and run. Agatha hadn’t turned out to be much of a mother. She paid little attention to the three eldest girls except when it came time to discipline them.

Agatha hadn’t looked devastated when she had been set aside for Greta. Agatha had been furious, which suggested that perhaps Tanis’s unpleasant personality was due to more than just being a teenager.

Greta had actually tried to be a mother to all of them, but this time her father had only given the new bride one chance. A daughter had been born and she was out, replaced by Inez. To her credit Inez hadn’t tried to be a mother to any of them. A difficult pregnancy and having twins took a toll on her health and her happiness. Mercedes suspected she had been relieved when the Emperor’s roving eye had fallen upon Constanza, just recently come to Hissilek for the season.

Mercedes glanced up at her father and hoped his eye wouldn’t fall upon yet another young woman. Carisa was a nervous, high-strung child. Mercedes wasn’t certain the girl could be as sanguine about the mommy musical chairs as she had been.

Her father caught her look and misinterpreted it. He gave her hand a pat and said, “Duty complete. Go, dance, have fun.” He smiled fondly down at her.

Mercedes curtsied to him, and looked for Estella and Julieta. Her youngest sister was flushed, laughing in a circle of admiring young men. Sanjay was among them. Quelling the impulse to run over and snatch Julieta away, Mercedes searched for a distraction. Boho, tall, elegant and impossibly handsome, seemed to glow under the lights from one of the massive chandeliers.

The dark green eyes roamed the room. His gaze fell on her, and Boho smiled. The lights seemed suddenly dim.
Is that what people mean when they talk about charisma?
Mercedes wondered. He walked directly to her and bowed deeply.

“Mercedes, may I say that while I find you disturbingly alluring in your trousers, tonight you are exquisite.”

It was an odd sensation to have to look up to a man, but Boho’s extra inches made her actually feel feminine and delicate. She shook her head.

“First, eeew about the trousers, and wrong adjective, Boho. I’m far too tall to ever be considered exquisite.”

“Okay, stately, elegant, sumptuous… Better?”

She chuckled. “All except sumptuous. That makes me sound like an overly rich dinner.”

He dropped the lightest kiss, almost a mere breath, on the back of her gloved hand. “Frankly, you’re damn regal, Mer. You’re going to make one hell of an empress.”

“Oh bullshi—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh dear, we’re not at the academy. I better watch my language.”

“Very true or you’ll have the debs fainting, the matrons clucking and clutching their pearls and the dowagers scolding. May I have the first waltz?” He reached to his pocket where the edge of his dance card peeped out.

“Run and get my dance card and you may write in your name. Right now I need some supper or I’m going to perish from hunger.”

“I am yours to command, Your Highness,” he said with another bow, but the green eyes were dancing. She slapped him on the arm with her fan and he moved away.

She moved into the supper room, but before she could reach the buffet she had to negotiate the tables filled with friends, frenemies and actual enemies. Mercedes decided to engage the enemies first. She walked to the table where Mihalis and Arturo del Campo were seated with their brother Jose, dressed in clerical robes. Her two classmates flanked their brother and they were laughing, talking and nudging him. As for the priest, he was red faced but he looked rather pleased with himself.

They didn’t notice her approach so Mercedes was able to circle around behind them and eavesdrop.

“Ho, all hail the ecclesiastical stud. Bang and they’re pregnant,” chortled Arturo.

Mercedes dropped a hand onto Jose’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Jose. Sounds like you are earning that title of father.”

Jose went from rose to scarlet, and stuttered, “Really, Mer— Your Highness, it’s not appropriate for you to be part of this conversation.”

Mihalis, his eyes glittering, looked up and drawled, “Ah, but she’s not a lady any longer, Jose—she’s a soldier so it’s entirely appropriate.”

Arturo, ever the courtier, slid into the conversation like an otter into water. “We’re just happy that Jose can’t compete with us for an actual bride. Seven of the
Celestial Novias de Cristo
have picked Jose to sire their children.”

Mihalis didn’t follow his younger brother’s lead. Instead he turned back to Jose. “So do you have to do it clothed? That would put a damper on my pecker.” Even though he was talking to Jose he kept his focus on Mercedes.

She couldn’t control her blush, but she wasn’t going to retreat. She groped desperately for something to say that would prove Mihalis wasn’t intimidating or embarrassing her. Her mind remained stubbornly blank.

“Ah, the mystery of what’s beneath a nun’s habit,” Arturo said lightly and tried to change the subject. “So, Princess, what have you planned—”

“
Concha
,” Mihalis interrupted. “They’re no different than any other woman.”

“You are such a stellar example of manhood, Mihalis. A real poster child for the FFH,” Mercedes said, outraged at his use of the vulgar term for a woman’s private parts.

Her cousin stood and bowed. “Why thank you, Mercedes, and may I say, so are you. Manhood, I mean.”

The words cut, allowing all her insecurities over her height, her hawk nose, and her very lush figure to rise up and shake her. She turned away and headed blindly for the buffet. A gloved hand caught her elbow. It was Boho. He held her dance card in his free hand.

“You look upset. What happened?” Concern edged his words.

“Nothing. It’s… I shouldn’t have worn this dress, it’s…”

“What? Beautiful? Like you.”

“I’m not. Not like Estella or Julieta; she’s growing up to be—”

“A porcelain doll. You’re a woman, Mercedes. A beautiful one.”

She sniffed and Boho produced a handkerchief. “Thank you. I have one, but it’s with my clutch.” She dabbed at her nose and returned it. She lifted the dance card from his hand, and with the tiny mother-of-pearl pen that hung from her wrist wrote in his name for the first waltz. He did the same on her card.

“Let me carry your plate for you while you select your dinner,” Boho offered.

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

* * *

By lurking on the edges of the ballroom Tracy had made a surreptitious video capturing the dancers and the music, the lights drawing flashes of fire from the jewels adorning the women’s necks, hair, arms and fingers. The swirl of their skirts created a kaleidoscope of color.

Hugo twirled past with a diminutive girl dressed in an iridescent sari. His dancing wasn’t as polished as the scions of the more established families, but he clearly knew how to dance. Tracy spotted Mark dancing as well, and that sense of being the lonely outsider crashed down on him. He looked away from the dancers toward the wall lined by delicate chairs. A number of them were occupied by the less attractive young women. Several of them noticed his gaze, and straightened and smiled hopefully. A solicitous matron, who prowled the line of chairs like a guard dog, bustled toward him. When he had returned to the ballroom to watch Mercedes’ entrance another bossy matron had made certain he had a dance card and one of the tiny souvenir pens, but he had jammed both deep into a pocket and slipped away before she could lead him over to some unclaimed lady.

He did the same now, beating a hasty retreat out onto the balcony. He comforted himself with the thought that a girl was better off as a wallflower than suffering his awkward attempts to dance.

Outside the smell of flowers replaced the scents of perfume and aftershave and the less obvious smell of sweat. He keyed his ScoopRing and sent the video to his father. Leaning on the balustrade Tracy wondered how many more of these events he would be forced to attend. Probably not many. There would probably be some kind of hoopla for graduation, but that was almost three years away. If he could just get through tonight without embarrassing himself he could stay well away from the FFH for the remaining days of his leave.

The pressure of Clark Kunst’s hand in the small of her back wasn’t as steady and comforting as Boho’s had been. Maybe because Mercedes was eye to eye with the marqués and that made them awkward? Clark was a wonderful dancer and his grace as he swung into an elaborate allemande was unmatched, but Boho’s height and strength had made her feel as light as dandelion fluff. Clark’s fingers trailed the length of her arm, and caught her hand at just the right moment to pull her back into the circle of his arm, but she realized his focus wasn’t on her. He danced to show off his own abilities. She was just a prop.

Since Clark was clearly so inattentive Mercedes decided she could respond in kind. She allowed her eyes to leave his face and scan the ballroom. Tracy was nowhere to be seen, but she couldn’t imagine he would have been stupid and stiff-necked enough to avoid the event.

Yves Petek was seated on one of the chairs and watching Lord Estevan de Vaca and his husband Caballero Sasha Olsen. Sasha wore the shoulder ribbon and sash that indicated he was taking the lady’s part. They looked happy. Yves looked miserable.

Boho was dancing with Cipriana and they were laughing. Mercedes felt a flare of annoyance.

Mihalis was dancing with Estella
again. I wonder when Daddy’s going to put a stop to that?

She looked to her father. He was smiling that indulgent rather vague smile that she knew meant acute boredom. The man doing the talking was gesturing frantically and smiling far too broadly.
I wonder what he wants?
Someday she would be the one forced to listen to importuning conversations at what should be a social event. What techniques would she develop to stave off rudeness or outright violence?

The music ended. The dancers dutifully applauded the orchestra, and began to drift away like unmoored ships in search of their next berth. Mercedes looked at her dance card. It was a set dance and her partner was Yves. He appeared at her side.

“Yves, I really need to go to the powder room. If you wouldn’t mind…” Mercedes allowed her voice to trail away.

The hangdog look immediately left the young man’s face. Mercedes couldn’t help it. She giggled. “Well, you don’t have to look
quite
so happy about it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“Why don’t you ask Devon to dance?” she suggested, looking toward the young man who had been Yves’ particular friend all through childhood.

Yves shook his head. “My father would have a stroke. They,” he jerked his head toward the gay couple, “are third and fifth sons. They donate their sperm, pay the annual fine and are left the hell alone. Me…” He sighed. “I know my duty. Once I wash out I’m going to marry Selestina.”

“Being the heir sort of sucks, doesn’t it?” Mercedes said quietly.

“Yeah.”

They went in opposite directions. Mercedes considered Yves as a potential consort. He was well born from a family that seemed to be allergic to politics. Growing up in the same circles she knew they shared many interests—music, fashion, a love of animals. He was kind and gentle. He would never offer any challenge to her right to rule. In short he was… weak, she concluded. And that wouldn’t do either. She mentally scrubbed him off the list.

Mercedes found the ladies’, relieved herself, retouched her lipstick and powdered away the shine on her nose. Returning to the ballroom she suddenly found the colors too bright, and the air too heavy to abide. She ducked quickly out onto the balcony, hopefully before anyone spotted her return.

And found Tracy. He was leaning on the balustrade staring out across the city toward the ocean, its waves iridescent silver beneath the moons. He was a dark silhouette against the nebula’s glow.

At the sound of her footsteps he jerked erect and whirled with the air of a cornered animal. Mercedes held out a calming hand. “Relax. I’m not one of the mothers come to find you a partner.”

“How did you know?”

“This isn’t my first ball, you know.”

“Really?” he said in an elaborately incredulous tone. She laughed. He took a quick, jerky step toward her and held out his hand. “Look, Mercedes—Highness, I wanted to say… I wanted to apologize.”

“It’s all right. I should apologize too. I hadn’t realized just how condescending we all sound. You must get so tired of it.”

“But you were right.”

“And you were right to be angry.”

“Good thing we’re both so right all the time,” he said.

She laughed and joined him at the balustrade and they looked back to the ocean. “Not to sound like one of the matrons, but why aren’t you dancing?”

“I don’t really know how. Why make some poor girl suffer and make a fool of myself?”

“It’s easy. Dancing.”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

“Really. It’s just walking in time to music.” She held out her hands. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He backed off, hands up, warding her off. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m a klutz.”

“As Chief Begay would say, ‘Don’t douse me with horseshit and tell me it’s perfume.’”

Tracy primed his mouth and said, “I’m shocked, shocked, Your Highness, at your language.” But the grey eyes were dancing.

“Just quoting, and the point stands. You can’t fool me. I’ve seen you spar, and I watched you move in the game today. If you can dribble that silly ball with your feet you can avoid stepping on mine. Now come on.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“And don’t forget it,
amigo
,” she said as she stepped into the circle of his arms.

He did have the basics. His right hand cupped her waist, but with a butterfly’s touch. He kept his left hand open as if afraid to clasp hers. She firmly closed her fingers on his hand.