Trouble with Kings (37 page)

And that started it off—errors were opportunities for gallantry, a happy gesture that filled the room with laughter until the dance ended, and there was Gilian standing near Maxl, plying her fan so her curls blew, and she tipped her head back and said in Jewel’s direction, “What a burlesque!”

Jewel went on talking to Riana Dascalon and handsome, silly Malnaz Torquel.

Althan blushed again. “Not all of us had practice beforehand. I think we did pretty well, considering.” He looked around, and several signified agreement.

Gilian flirted her fan, then spread it flat in intimate mode. “I thought we did wonderfully. But Sartor, so ancient, so sophisticated—its dances so graceful, really requires the most graceful figures.” A pause, a coy twitch of her head.

Lord Zarda shifted his smirking gaze from his daughter to Maxl.

“…but I have long accustomed myself to the dreary truth. We tiny people never are seen, for few look over the rooftops, but alas one cannot make that claim for the lumbering bovine.” She finished, tittering, with an artful flick of her fan Jewel’s way.

Jewel had never been prettier, the candle light making a blaze of her yellow gown with its gold and peach embroidery, her splendid coloring heightened by the dance, her lips curved in a smile full of mischief. Maxl gazed as one besotted.

“To see a cow dance in a royal court!” Elta laughed without mercy. “Oh Gilian. You are too absurd.”

“Alas,” Gilian said airily. “The absurdity is not as bovine as reality.”

Jewel’s brows rose. She snapped her fan open with a crack, drawing all eyes, and she said, quite mildly, “Beg pardon, what did you say?”

It was completely unexpected.

Jewel was on the verge of laughter, and with an inward flutter against my ribs I realized what she was going to do. “I didn’t quite catch your remark, Gilian. Were you addressing me?”

Now either Gilian retreated—insults are never funny if they have to be repeated to the recipient, especially one as stupid as that—or repeated. Gilian, no weakling when it comes to malice, whispered, “I was not. I was making an observation on clumsy dancing. If you wish to claim the attribute, I can only bow in polite acquiescence.” And she gave a dainty curtsey, every line a mockery.

Jewel just kept looking at her with a puzzled air. “Bo—?”

Several of the men muffled snorts of laughter, and Riana and Birdy giggled. Even Corlis’s thin lips curved in a tight smile.

Jewel looked around, her hands making a helpless gesture. “Bo—vine? Is that what you said?”

Half-smothered laughter spread through the circle. I had never seen such a clear division of reaction. Most of the young were laughing, most of the old, at least Zarda’s many allies, looked disapproving. How had he gotten so popular? No—not popular—that’s when people enjoy you.
What was that Jewel said about leading through fear?

Jewel rounded her lips.

I nearly gasped out loud. She really was going to moo.

It would be devastatingly funny, it would serve Gilian right.

But it would also divide the court. And I could not let Zarda’s allies get any advantage over Maxl. Even social.

I snapped my own fan open, walked right through the center of the circle, took Jantian’s arm. “Please? May we try it again?”

Jewel cast me an arrested glance, her lips still parted, then the disastrous moment was gone. She held out her hand, a random gesture, and not fewer than half a dozen fellows stepped forward offering to partner her.

Gilian tucked her tiny fingers possessively under Maxl’s arm, smiling up at him wistfully. I could feel him taking in the entire room—what he had missed, the fact that he’d missed it—with a kind of internal slap.

He bowed to Gilian and led her into the dance.

That night Maxl followed me to my room. I had stayed in case there might be a need to attempt to avert any more disasters. Maxl prowled around the perimeter of my room, touching things. When Debrec entered, looking enquiry, he said to me, “Let’s go to the lair.”

Hot cocoa had been made in anticipation.

My brother prowled around the perimeter of this room, too, gazing sightlessly into the dark outside the window, tapping his fingers on the back of the old sofa, the chairs, and on the mantel as he stood at last beside the fire, the stylized wheat pattern embroidered on his tunic gleaming like threads of molten gold in the ruddy light.

“Power warps our lives,” Maxl said finally. “Tradition—treaty—put on thrones, kings and queens who are too seldom bonded by any regard outside of power, or expedience. Like our mother. And the Szinzars’ previous generation.”

“There are exceptions,” I said. “And compromises.”

“There seem to be two natures,” Maxl observed in a slow voice. “There’s the one that can find consolation—and pleasure—wherever it is offered, and then there’s the other that chooses once, and once that choice is made, no compromise is possible.” He looked over at me. “Do you agree?”

I thought of Eleandra, dancing from lover to lover. And of myself, in whom mere memory of the all-too-brief ride in one man’s arms was far more compelling than all the graceful words, the ardent smiles, the caressing hand-kisses and oblique offers of more, from numberless men of four different kingdoms and one principality.

“Yes.”

Maxl turned around to face me. “Did Ersin offer marriage to you, then?”

I nodded.

Maxl wandered back to the window. “I thought he might have.”

“And you didn’t want to influence me.”

“No. I could see advantages either way. You would get a fresh start there. You might even like it. But I would miss you here. Yet you aren’t happy.” He turned to face me again.

I said, daring, “Neither are you.”

“No.” He spoke to the fire and not to me. “But I cannot leave.”

A knock at the door.

Maxl answered it himself.

Jewel stood there, her dark blue gaze searching his. “Do I intrude?”

“Of course not.” He held the door wide.

Jewel entered, her gown rustling, her scent lightly perfuming the air. “I love the new dances. And would probably like the songs if I could understand ’em. A lovely evening, considering Ersin’s departure. I’d thought they’d all be glum as a row of crows.” She sat down next to me. “Though I must confess I am too angry with our favorite swain to admit how much he will be missed.”

I laughed. Only Jewel could get away with such blithe illogic.

Maxl’s lips twitched as he cast himself into the worn old armchair on the other side of the fire.

“I really thought he would propose to you in form,” Jewel said to me. “How very romantic that would have been! I did not take him for a trifler. At least, not with you.”

“He was fun,” I said.

“That he was,” she agreed, and she glanced over her shoulder at Maxl, who had taken up his letter opener again, and was playing with it. “Not that he ever took me seriously for a moment. Not with all those outrageous compliments!”

“That you returned. More than Ersin himself will I miss your preposterous flirtation.”

“He told me that last night. That I’d made him laugh, and he’d always be grateful.” She grimaced. “Jewel, the royal clown.”

“But you were not serious with him either. Admit it!”

“Easily. I’d thought—I’d hoped—he was serious with you.” She frowned in perplexity at me, but then her eyes narrowed. “And he was. Wasn’t he? I can see it.
Some
thing happened.”

I shrugged. “Nothing but a wish for friendship.”

“Friendship,” she repeated. “No. Don’t tell me if you would rather not. But friendship was what he offered me—and most of the people here in Carnison. He was more, oh,
tender
with you, especially the past week.”

I could see the hurt behind her smile, and so I said, “He spoke in private, and so I kept our conversation private.”

She moaned. “Oh, Flian! That’s what I was afraid of. Are you impossible to please?” She ran her hands over her face. “Or is there more political subtlety at stake than is obvious to the barefoot princess from Ralanor Veleth?”

She did not look Maxl’s way, but I felt the intent of her question veer and aim straight for him.

Golden light flickered along the steel of the letter opener as Maxl spun it into the air and caught it. He looked toward the fire and twin flames burned in his widened pupils.

“Ersin was not any more attracted to me than he was to you. His heart lies elsewhere, but he did me the honor to be honest when he offered me a treaty marriage.”

Jewel’s brow cleared. “Yendrian. I thought there was something there!” She sighed. “Oh, how romantic. And tragic, for Yendrian is an heir, and Ersin from another kingdom.”

“More examples of love thwarted by political expectation,” I said.

“What I was thinking.” Jewel tipped her head. “But you did make friends with Ersin. You will write to him, I trust?”

And when I made a gesture of repudiation, Maxl said, “Flian doesn’t write letters. As I can attest, waiting and waiting to hear all last summer.” He grinned at me.

Jewel looked from one of us to the other, and I said hastily, “I had a very bad experience once. When I was a young teen. And someone—she’s married now and living happily in the south—entrusted me with a secret. But my letter was intercepted. And the contents spread all over court.”

Jewel looked askance. “I can imagine by whom, but how could you be so clumsy? You have a castle full of servants surely you can trust.”

“I didn’t know how to arrange a private correspondence.” I flung out my hands. “It never would have occurred to Papa to tell me, and, well. I don’t write letters. But after he safely finds his princess, perhaps I’ll go visit Ersin. That would be fun—and diplomatic as can be.”

I glanced at Maxl, and perceived that his mood had changed. He wanted to be alone. Moments before he had been restless, brooding. Now his brow was furrowed with intent as he impatiently tossed the letter opener onto the desk. “I think we will liven court a little. Let’s give a masquerade ball, shall we?”

“We?” I asked.

“Yes. You and I.” He spoke with decision. “Next month. Dreariest part of winter. People will have something to look forward to. So order your very finest gown. Begin selecting your music now.” His voice turned ironic. “I will see to the dangerous and terrible words of invitation.”

I laughed. “Very well—and I wish you all the enjoyment of your having to write all those dangerous invitations over and over. But then you’ve got those four wheel-greasers with the good handwriting, eh? Good night.”

Jewel accompanied me to my room, and cast herself on my couch, her expensive yellows skirts lustrous in the firelight. “I thought I would scream! He is
so
unhappy! Yet he does nothing while that horrid little monster ties her ribbons of spite and ambition around him.”

“Gilian.” I made a sour face. “I’ll tell you this: if he marries her, I will leave Carnison.”

“She would like nothing better,” Jewel stated. “She hates it when you speak once and dissolve a nasty moment, like you did tonight. She hates it and I love watching you do it.”

“It works only because she respects rank. And I’m now the heir.”

Jewel nodded, a glitter of unshed tears along her eyelids. “You also dissolved my own nasty moment.”

I could not help a laugh. “It would have been funny. But wicked, too.”

“Am I wicked?” Jewel asked, pressing her fingers against her brow. “I was so proud of deflecting the bovine comment—and I got them kissing hands—but then I got angry. I’m never sensible when I’m angry. I know it, I scold myself to remember.” She sniffed. “I try to be so good, but I wasn’t brought up good, so what terrible things might I do, if I get power? Maxl is right to avoid me. You saw he didn’t dance with me again. I know it’s because of that disastrous moo that I didn’t make, but everyone heard it anyway, in their minds.”

I shook my head, thinking,
he doesn’t trust himself
. The subject being Maxl, one could not separate the man from the king. “I’m hoping Maxl can face down these Zarda alliances with his patience. They aren’t—can’t be—natural alliances. The Zardas lead through fear. And I suspect Lord Zarda’s current alliance is also based on promises he’s making among his cronies if she comes to power.”

Jewel bit her lip. “But you’re suggesting it’s all political. It isn’t. I think she wants
him
.” She shivered. “How could he possibly want her?”

“He doesn’t. She doesn’t see his distaste, but I do, even though he says nothing to me whatsoever.”

“He doesn’t?”

“We still don’t talk about private matters.”

“So it’s not only me you hold at a distance.” Her brows puckered, and again she looked hurt.

“Jewel, I don’t talk because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“I wish I knew why. You said once that everyone courts you only for your money, but that is not true of Althan. And one or two others.”

“Althan is good and kind and funny, and we agreed there would never be a courtship years ago. And we have exactly nothing in common—he loathes music. I get bored hearing about horse races.”

“All right, that’s Althan. But you turn them
all
away, with the same absent air, only you’re not content to be alone, I can
feel
it.” She grinned, and got up to pace restlessly around the floor. “I apologize if I trespass some boundary that is invisible to me. I can’t hide anything I think! But I do wish I could see you happy.”

“And I wish the same for you.”

She clapped her hands to her arms and hugged them, her head bowed. “I know what I want.” She stared down into the fire. “But what I want doesn’t seem to want me. Or wants me, but not as—”

Not as queen?

She flounced onto the sofa again. “So what you think is, Maxl might give in and marry Gilian because if she and her father are powerful enough to make a faction that can stand against him, he cannot afford to have them as enemies?”

“That’s the only reasoning that makes sense.”

Jewel put her chin on her hands. “I would never dare to speak to him about my own feelings, lest he think me another Gilian.”

“Oh, he could never think that.”