Through Wolf's Eyes (51 page)

"Having fun?"
she whistled.

"Not much,"
Firekeeper admitted.
"I wish that humans solved their problems as wolves do. A quick fight must be better than all this blather."

"Human fights,"
Elation said seriously,
"are
not always quick. They do not always know when to surrender or how to
accept surrender when it is offered. Believe me, once you have seen
humans at war, you will understand why this blathering—as you name
it—has its place."

"Hush!"

Even through the mingled drone of music and
conversation, Firekeeper had heard someone approaching from behind. The
step was not one she knew, and the wind was from the wrong direction to
carry scent, so she wheeled to confront Prince Newell Shield while he
was still a good number of paces away.

"You're like a cat, Lady Blysse," he said with a friendly smile. "Or should I say like a wolf?"

"Wolf," she replied stubbornly, though she knew no answer was expected.

"Mind if I join you?"

She started to shrug, remembered her promise to Derian that she would do her best to be a lady, and said instead:

"That would be kind of you."

Prince Newell leaned his elbows against the stone
rampart and stared down at the water. After a cautious moment,
Firekeeper returned to her previous attitude. Below, hidden in the
darkness, Elation kept her silence.

"Where is your wolf? I thought you went nowhere without her."

"Him. He is outside. This place is close and crowded.
He would not like it." She left out mentioning that many of the people
would also not like him. Prince Newell didn't need to know that she
would moderate her actions for anyone's comfort.

"I believe I sympathize with your wolf," the prince
said after a moment. "For a sailor like me, parties like this are very
trying."

Firekeeper remembered not to ask why and instead
smiled politely. Prince Newell continued, offering the answer she
hadn't asked for:

"I suppose it's the chatter, but that can't be it. On an oceangoing vessel we're packed more closely. Sometimes
dinner
at the captain's table—especially when the wine has gone around a few
times—gets quite noisy. No, I expect that it's the tension. Everyone
here wants something and dreads that someone else will get it. That's
why I was so surprised to see you over here. I thought you'd be
checking out the young men from Bright Bay."

The word escaped her lips before she could school her puzzlement.

"Why?"

Prince Newell chuckled heartily, his manner the same,
she realized, as she had seen him use with little Citrine during the
falconry party.

"Why because young men are interesting to young ladies— and these two more than most—they could be a secure way to the throne."

"Oh," she replied, understanding, "like Elise and Jet."

"That's right. I'm certain that Baron Archer is
wishing he could sever that engagement ever more the longer the king
spends talking to Allister Seagleam's family. Doubtless my sister,
Melina, feels the same way. But they've made their beds and their
children must lie in them."

His laughter this time was somewhat coarse.
Firekeeper wondered how many times the bottle had gone 'round the table
for him this evening. From her point of view, the betrothal between
Elise and Jet was a problem—largely because Elise did not seem happy.
It had not escaped Firekeeper how often Doc found excuses to talk with
Elise. Nor had she overlooked that Elise seemed much more cheerful when
Doc was about.

Turning from the rampart, she glanced over the
gathering until she located Elise. Yes. There she was, Jet close at her
elbow, talking in quite a lively fashion to several important guild
representatives. They looked delighted, but Jet seemed bored, his gaze
frequently wandering to where the Oyster twins were now venturing into
tentative conversation with his sister Opal and his cousin Nydia
Trueheart.

Prince Newell followed the direction of her gaze without difficulty.

"Yes, there is our young Jet, rearing against the lead
rope—despite
the fact that little Minnow and Anemone are something like eleven years
old. Lady Archer has her betrothed firmly in hand though. He cannot
leave her side without giving grave insult to her family—an insult
which King Tedric cannot fail to perceive. Tell me, Lady Blysse, who
are you sweet on?"

His tone was playful, but she had learned when
someone was fishing for information. She had been asked this question
or some variation on it by everyone from the queen to Sapphire's maid.
Only the queen seemed genuinely interested.

"No one," she said. But her thoughts, as they often did, flitted to Blind Seer. "There is no man I think sweet."

"Yet you are a young lady, surrounded by men. Surely
it is time Earl Kestrel got you a maid. That strapping redhead might
have done when you were just a . . . at first, that is, but now it must
raise questions of propriety."

What she wanted to ask the prince was why should he
care what people thought of her, but Firekeeper had learned something
of manners. She replied courteously:

"True. Today Lady Elise was kind and came to help me gown and do my hair. Ninette, too. I shall need a maid soon."

"Perhaps," he said in avuncular tones, "I can help. I
still know many reliable servants from the days when my late wife and I
maintained an estate. These days, alas, I am much the wandering
bachelor."

Firekeeper knew that this was a cue to flirt with
him. It was as obvious as the song of a cock robin in the early spring
or the sparring of two young bucks with the velvet barely off their
antlers. Yet she could not bring herself to play this game. Wolves mate
for life, usually only after blood has been spilled and great battles
fought. Courtship was too serious a matter to play at with a man she
was quite certain she didn't even like.

Therefore, she was greatly relieved when she noticed
Doc casting about, having noticed at last that she was missing. She
lightly waved her hand to show where she was and made a quick curtsy to
the prince.

"Forgive me. Sir Jared is seeking me, perhaps for Earl Kestrel."

She used titles and honors as protection against her
flight being halted. The prince did not stay her retreat but only
looked after her, the look of quizzical amusement on his face changing
to one of calculation as he returned to staring into the river. He
might have thought no one could see him, but the falcon Elation watched
from the darkness below and whistled softly as she beat her wings in
retreat.

The reception did not extend past Firekeeper's level
of endurance. The guilds of Hope and Good Crossing had made their
point. No one would forget to calculate their wealth into the coming
negotiations. Representatives of the various contending forces had met
and now knew each other as more than tantalizing names. Old rivals had
re-met, new rivalries perhaps had begun. All in all, it had been an
interesting, if not precisely enjoyable, evening.

Only Doc seemed pleased with the outcome of the
night's entertainment. As they walked back to their camp, Firekeeper
noticed with some amusement that he was humming.

E
XHAUSTED AFTER THE EVENTS
of the previous day—discovering the truth of Melina's sorcery would
have been enough without the strain of visiting with her at the
reception the night before—Elise had trouble sleeping. At last she gave
into Ninette's pleading and joined her in a cup of tea doctored with an
infusion of herbs which dragged her restless mind below the threshold
of nightmare.

Consequently, Elise slept into late morning and woke
with a muzzy head. Ninette was still asleep and Elise decided to wait
upon her for once. The other woman had been as shocked as she had been
and was far more terrified. Unlike Elise, Ninette was not a baronial
heir and clearly felt that while Melina might withhold her hand from
Elise, she might well make an example of her servant.

Both Ivon Archer and Aurella Wellward held that any noble
who
could not perform at least the basic tasks of cooking, sewing, and the
like was dependent on her servants and so would become a slave to them.
Therefore, Elise, had no difficulty tending to her own needs.

Her father's valet had left a kettle to one side of
the cook fire so there was warm water for washing. Elise set another
above the coals to heat water for tea, then stoked the fire until a
cheerful blaze crackled beneath. Once again, the late-summer day
promised to become quite hot. The air here near the river was already
thick and humid. It didn't promise well for tempers when the
conferences began.

Gowning herself in a light muslin dress with long
sleeves of the same material that should help protect her skin from
insect bites, Elise wished that there were a way for her to attend
those conferences. Rumor and report were no substitutes for actually
seeing the expressions on people's faces or hearing their intonations
as they spoke.

Doubtless she was not the only one who felt that way
and doubtless King Tedric would refuse anyone he could in order to be
able to refuse those he genuinely did not wish to attend. She supposed
this must be an advantage of monarchy over the odd, oligarchical system
used in Stonehold or the plutocracy of Waterland. Right now, however,
she would give much for something like New Kelvin's parliamentary
monarchy, where the reigning monarch—always a king, an odd concept—must
answer to someone other than himself.

When Ninette awakened, Elise had porridge and tea
ready. Over the other woman's protests, she insisted on waiting on her.
By the time Ninette had finished eating and dressing, there was color
in her cheeks and the tendency to blanch whenever she heard one of the
Shields' voices, carrying over from their not too distant pitch, had
vanished.

"Last night," Ninette admitted, sweetening her tea
with pale gold clover honey, "I couldn't stay here alone. The baron's
man had gone to play at dice with some other retainers, you see.
Usually, I'd find some of the other lady's maids, but I couldn't bear
the company of that creaky-voiced old crone who attends on Lady Melina.
She's always hinting about her mistress's powers, especially to us
younger ones
when she thinks we're getting above ourselves."

Elise, who had been terrorized by the same old woman
when she was a child, nodded sympathetically. She knew that it would
make no difference to that one that Ninette was well-born, her only
fault that she was the daughter of a younger son with a tendency to
gamble.

Encouraged by Elise's sympathetic murmurs, Ninette
continued, "I went over to Earl Kestrel's camp. I hope you don't think
it improper of me, given that they are all men, but the earl's valet is
very polite—even courtly—and Derian Carter may be brash, but he never
oversteps himself."

"Were they the only ones there?" Elise asked.

"Yes. Ox had gone with Earl Kestrel, as you recall.
He couldn't attend the reception, of course, but he waited with the
horses. The other man, the scout . . ."

"Race."

"That's right—Race Forester—wasn't there. I think he
spends much of his time with his fellow scouts. He may even have been
on duty."

"Doesn't Sir Jared have a manservant?"

"Not that I have seen, my lady. I don't think that, for all his honors, he is very wealthy."

"No," Elise agreed. "That is probably true. He
mentioned that his family grew grapes somewhere in Kestrel lands.
That's hardly the basis of a fortune."

"Then you don't mind that I went out?"

"I think it was the smartest thing you could have done," Elise assured her. "The question is, what should we do next?"

"Next?"

"Yes." Elise thought for a time, sipping her tea.

She had decided not to tell Ninette about the curious
pain she had felt when she had impulsively tried to tell Firekeeper and
Derian about what she had witnessed. The woman was terrified enough
without wondering if she herself was cursed.

Touching the carved piece of jet that hung around her
neck, Elise wondered if she might have been particularly susceptible
because of her link—however slight—to Jet. What if they
had
become lovers as he had pressed? Would
taking his body into hers have increased the power his mother might hold over her?

She shuddered, feeling again that curious mixture of
guilt and relief when she realized that Melina's curse served, evil as
it was, to protect her from Jet's advances. Last night had been the
first he had not tried to convince her to go for a walk in the woods or
to duck into his tent. Either the curse had dulled his desires as well
as his ability to act on them or he had feared that she would notice
the difference in how his body expressed its ardor.

She felt a stranger to herself as she realized again
how much had changed in her feelings toward Jet. At first she had only
kept him at a distance out of a sense of propriety and—she honestly
admitted to herself—a desire to test his devotion before surrendering.
Never had she dreamed that Jet would fail that test. In her fantasies,
he had become more and more ardent until, showered in gifts, poetry,
and song, she had given herself to him gladly.