Shadows Past: A Borderlands Novel Page 8

  Snagging a goblet off Bertram’s tray for myself, I took a sip and the wine’s warmth filled me within as the bath’s heat surrounded me without. Despite myself, I started to relax and, reaching up, I removed my feather and sloshed over to the edge to place it next to my dagger that lay already on a convenient table beside my tub. Then, undoing my braid, I slid down in the water, allowing it to undo the kinks and knots of fourteen days of hard riding, my mind fleeing past Berenice’s presence to go to Kveta’s surprise appearance. She hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen her—just before I’d been sent off as Magus Kareste’s apprentice over five years ago. The same couldn’t be said about me, yet Kveta hadn’t blinked at braid or feather, or any of the other changes that had happened. Wondering what the wolf had heard, I looked down and spread out my hand. In the candlelight the aspect symbols on my palm shone softly, as did the truth rune, all of them quiescent, their hum more felt than heard. If Wyln followed through on his threat, tomorrow morning they wouldn’t be so quiet. Finishing my goblet, I placed it on the bath’s edge before tracing the symbol for air with the tip of my finger. The humming increased until I could hear the faint undertones like the ringing of a bell. At the same time, a strong gust blew around the tower, rattling the glass panes hard, and everyone paused, some turning their heads to the windows. I immediately closed my hand over the glowing symbols and rune, pushing it underwater.

  “Must be a storm blowing in,” Suiden murmured. One of the few who haven’t moved, he remained leaning back against his tub’s side, his eyes closed.

  “Most likely,” Jusson agreed. He also hadn’t responded to the gust of wind. “Do you get bad ones here, Lady Berenice?”

  “Sometimes,” Berenice said. “During the season of storms, we have a lookout who rings the bell in warning, but there are always those who are caught, both a-sea and on land.”

  Jusson’s eyes slit open. “The Watcher doesn’t help with that?” he asked.

  “No, Your Majesty,” Berenice said. “According to legend, the Watcher responds to things that threaten the castle directly, like invasion and such. Not natural disasters.”

  Jusson’s eyes closed again. “I see.”

  “We have the same problem in Elanwryfindyll,” Wyln said, and more than willing to be distracted, I listened to his lilting voice as he launched into a story of how one storm had left the harbor ships on top of the docks. As he spoke, my gaze idly tracked Berenice as she walked briskly past. Though the lone female in a roomful of naked men (and one male cat), she appeared composed. She was slightly flushed, but that seemed to be due more to the steam and heat than any maidenly confusion. The humidity caused wisps of her hair to curl about her face and tendrils falling down her nape emphasized the surprisingly graceful line of her neck. My eyes followed that line to where it disappeared under her plain dress, traveling down as she bent forward to pour something fragrant in Wyln’s bath, her spine an elegant curve—

  “I say, Rabbit,” Javes said.

  My gaze snapped to the bland-faced captain.

  “Bertram wants your attention.”

  Looking to the side of the tub, I saw that Bertram had picked up my empty goblet and was proffering another. Grabbing it, I took a long gulp, hiding my face behind the cup. It didn’t help. Berenice found me anyway.

  “Does His Lordship desire fragrance for his bath?” she asked demurely, her eyes sparkling.

  Muttering agreement, I closed my eyes, finding refuge in the dark.

  Whatever had blown in, it wasn’t a storm. The rising moon had joined the stars in clear sky, all of them shining through the windows of the king’s chambers by the time we were ready for the evening meal. Jusson was once again in his favored austere raiment with his gold circlet upon his head. Javes, Suiden, and I were in our dress uniforms, Suiden and Javes wearing the drab army, while I had on the blue and white of the King’s Own, my gloves pulled snugly over my hands, hiding the aspects and the rune. The butterflies remained on the mantelpiece, drowsing in the rising warmth of the fireplace, but both Laurel and I had reattached our feathers, mine bright red against the blue and white ribbons woven into my braid by Finn. To my surprise, Finn pulled out a small wooden box and opened it to reveal sapphire cuff links and a sapphire and diamond pin nestled in a red velvet lining—gifts from honored Moraina. The first and only time I’d worn them had been in the dining hall of the Fyrst of Elanwryfindyll, to let all and sundry know that I had a dragon’s favor. Wondering who I was giving notice to this time, I stood still as Finn inserted the cuff links and attached the pin to my tabard, Laurel giving a contented rumble as he watched.

  “Good,” Jusson said when Finn was done. He cast a glance over the rest, then nodded at our escort. Berenice had disappeared as soon as our bath time was over, and so it was a senior servant who led us down the winding stairs, moving at a sedate pace until we debouched onto the gallery.

  Most of the dinner guests were already in the hall, filling it with a genteel din that competed with the musicians hidden behind a screen on the gallery. Stopping the servant from announcing us, Jusson moved to the railing and looked down on the well-dressed, glittering mass. Princess Rajya was there surrounded by her soldiers. She again rivaled a jeweled flock, wearing a draping outfit in flame red, her fingernails and lips matching. Standing a small distance away were Kveta and the Turalian wizard. I lifted my gaze from them, trying to find Berenice in the shifting crowd, but at that moment Jusson must’ve looked his fill, for he again nodded at the servant, who then stepped to the fore and announced:

  “His Majesty, King Jusson the Fourth of Iversterre.”

  The music ceased and a deep hush filled the hall as Jusson descended the gallery staircase, everyone either bowing or curtseying, their heads bowed. As I waited my turn, I wondered what it would be like to always be on the receiving end of that at least outwardly show of deference. Then I wondered what it would be like to once have had it and then lost it. Or had it snatched away. Suiden, though, didn’t act any different when the servant had announced “Captain Prince Suiden.” He did have on his battle face, but I figured that had nothing to do with lost honors. His gaze was fixed on Princess Rajya—who stared back, her own face determined. Leaving Kveta, the wizard ghosted to her side, his eyes resting on Suiden for a moment before moving to me. Wearing my own game face, I stared back as I too was announced. Then I lost him as I made my own way down the stairs.

  Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet were waiting at the bottom with a second bow and curtsey as soon as Jusson reached the last step. They had apparently taken advantage of their own amenities as they had changed clothes, Lord Idwal now wearing a robe of midnight blue while Lady Margriet had on a gown of the lightest of silver that shimmered like starlight, its brightness repeated in the diamonds that had replaced the rubies in her ears and around her throat. As they swept Jusson off to mix and mingle, I finally found Berenice, traveling in her parents’ wake. She too had found time to change, but her brown dress was just as dull as her pink one, and I frowned, wondering how Lady Margriet, who had exquisite taste for herself, could countenance such ugly clothes for her daughter.

  “You can stare at her all night, or go and talk with her, what?”

  I turned to find Captain Javes standing next to me. “I’m not sure I want to do that, sir—” I broke off, startled at what I’d just admitted and, more important, where. I quickly looked around, but fortunately the chattering din kept my doubts from being overheard.

  Javes gave his silly twit smile. “Escorting a maiden during her predinner ambulation in full view of her parents and guests will not cause the banns to be published.” He considered a moment. “Usually.”

  “Ha, ha, sir,” I said.

  Javes’ smile became more real before it faded. “I know that you’ve had this sprung on you suddenly, Rabbit,” he said, his voice quiet. “I also reckon that Berenice is probably not someone you would’ve chosen on your own.”

  About to agree, I stopped as Berenice’s image arose,
her face gently flushed from the steam of our baths, her spine supple, her eyes sparkling merrily as she laughed at me. However, Javes took my silence for assent.

  “Given her parents, she’s not what I expected either,” he said. “Still, she seems like a nice girl—and competent and intelligent too, with a good sense of humor. That’s much more important than looks—”

  “So they are. And I’m constantly amazed that people choose otherwise. Then, the courting habits of humans are a mystery, aren’t they, honored Javes?”

  Both Javes and I looked down to find Kveta had worked her way to us. She looked back, her brown eyes bright.

  “Yes, very much so—” Javes broke off, blinking. “Er—”

  Kveta ignored Javes’ fumble. “All the feints and counterfeints, the pretense, the games, the misunderstandings. It’s amazing that they are able to focus enough to produce the next generation.”

  “When we have a will, we find a way,” Javes murmured, making a recovery.

  “We, Javes Wolf Damas’son?” Kveta asked, her brown eyes now dancing. “I didn’t realize that you were mated to a human.”

  “I’m not—” Javes broke off again, glaring at the wolf.

  “Aren’t you mated, Kveta?” I asked hurriedly. “I remember Ma talking about it just before I was apprenticed to the Magus.”

  Kveta’s eyes dimmed. “I was, but not any longer.”

  I blinked, surprised, because while there were some Border folks whose relationships tended to be rather fluid, wolves mated for life.

  Kveta must’ve seen my expression, for her own turned wry. “He died.”

  Nothing like stepping in it just before dinner. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. I gave a short bow. “My sympathies and condolences.”

  “No worries, little Rabblet,” Kveta said. “It was some time ago.” Her expression brightened and she nosed Javes’ hand. “However, our pack is always on the lookout for fresh blood. I could pass on your name and scent, Wolf Damas’son—”

  “I say, Rabbit,” Javes interrupted, his gaze going beyond me. At the same time, he shifted, moving his hand out of Kveta’s reach. “Thadro wants your attention.”

  I turned to see the lord commander standing some distance away with Jusson, Lord Idwal, Lady Margriet, Berenice, some aristos, and several of the local gentry. No Jeff or Arlis, though. The lucky sods must’ve been allowed to stay in the barracks. The king, the inhabitants of Mearden Castle, and the guests were intent on their conversation, but Thadro, noticing me looking, discreetly beckoned. It appeared that my dithering about whether to join Berenice or not was over.

  I pressed my palms together and gave Kveta another bow. “Please excuse me. Duty calls.”

  Turning, I headed for my commanding officer. “I’ll go with you,” Kveta said. “I need to present my respects to our hosts.”

  Javes, who also started to go with me, stopped midstep, a hunted expression on his face. “Ah, Rabbit, tell the lord commander that I’ve gone to check on the men—”

  “Shall you return tonight, honored Javes?” Kveta asked. “I’d hoped to be able to set a time to meet with you tomorrow and go over the dispatches from your uncle Jakub.”

  Javes once more paused. “Yes, of course,” he said, his hunted expression fading into blankness. “Perhaps I can visit the barracks after dinner.”

  As Javes moved to join us again (making sure that I was between him and Kveta), I glanced down and caught a glint of silver and what looked like bone in the thick fur at the wolf’s neck.

  “You’re wearing an ivory collar, Kveta?” I asked, startled. I then folded my lips together tight. Wolves were notorious for refusing to wear any kind of body ornament, especially one that went around their necks. As an old wolf once told me, “We are not dogs.”

  And they were even more rabid about other races’ practice of adorning themselves with what the wolves called dead animal parts.

  Fortunately, Kveta didn’t take offense at my question. “Not a collar, little Rabblet,” she said, her face once more wry. “And not ivory. It’s a charm made of turtle bones for luck.”

  “It is?” I asked, grinning. “Well, I don’t know how effective it would be—it sure wasn’t lucky for the turtle.”

  “The fact that I am here and the turtle is not is good enough for me,” Kveta said. Her ears twitched in a canine shrug. “It’s amazing how the things you disdain while on dry land become imperative once you go a-sea.”

  Javes gave a short laugh. “Very true, Captain Kveta. Very true, indeed,” he said, and he and Kveta talked about sea superstitions and the wards against them as we wove through the hall filled with Mearden’s dinner guests. Idly listening as they argued whether sticking a knife in the mast to break the doldrums really worked, I watched the crowd. They were the same mix of folks that had greeted us when we’d arrived that afternoon—prosperous merchants, town elders, local gentry, and a sea captain or two, all dressed up in their best finery—with Jusson’s aristos sprinkled among them, adding their own shine to the hall. They moved about as they did their own mixing and mingling, shifting from group to group, voice raised in talk and laughter. Well, all were mingling except for Princess Rajya and Captain Suiden. The captain and Her Highness stood in a cleared space created by the princess’ guards around them, Suiden with his arms folded across his chest, his face impassive as he listened to his daughter speak, the red on the princess’ fingernails flashing as she gestured in emphasis. Neither one looked at us as we went by. And just a little farther on were Laurel and the bald wizard Munir forming their own conversation group. Unlike Suiden and Princess Rajya, they did notice us passing, Laurel’s eyes narrowing as they fell on Kveta trotting by my side. He moved as if to intercept us, but Munir laid a hand on the cat’s arm and Laurel reluctantly turned back to Munir, his tail lashing. Munir, though, acted as if nothing had happened, his expression remaining politely interested, the tattoos on his bald head gleaming, his hands tucked back into the sleeves of his voluminous robe. It was gray, like the one he had had on earlier, except this one was embroidered with silver thread that glittered in the bright candlelight. The thread caught my eye as it flowed, disappearing into and then reappearing out of the folds of the robe, its patterns pulling me somewhere. I blinked, then lifted my eyes, only to meet Munir’s dark gaze. Seeing my attention, he nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

  “Well, you’ve made a friend,” Kveta said, observing.

  “Don’t know why,” I muttered, facing forward again.

  “Somehow, I don’t think friendship is what Master Baldy has in mind,” Javes said. He glanced down at Kveta. “You’ve spent some time with yon wizard during your voyage here. Did he say anything about Rabbit?”

  “Why would a Turalian high court wizard speak to a lowly animal from some backwoods country?” Kveta asked, her voice light.

  I had hidden my surprise at Javes’ question—partly at the fact that he expected Kveta to answer it, but mostly at the implication that the wizard Munir knew who I was before he set foot in Iversterre. However, at Kveta’s response, I stared down at her. “They snubbed the captain of their ship?”

  “Don’t you know that the Empire of the Sun is the navel of civilization, Two Trees’son?”

  Javes, Kveta, and I turned to see that Wyln had joined us. The enchanter’s gaze was on Munir, a faint line between his brows. “Those of us who aren’t privileged to be born citizens are provincial louts who don’t know our heads from a hole in the ground,” he said.

  “Very true, honored Wyln,” Kveta said. “And Munir and I did not spend quality time together during our journey. But that was as much as my fault as his. Somehow I kept getting the feeling he was measuring my pelt for a lap rug or perhaps a hat, gloves, and cloak.”

  Javes made a sound between a hum and a low growl while Wyln gave a faint hiss, but neither said anything as we had arrived at the king’s klatch. Lady Margriet and Lord Idwal were standing on either side of Jusson, Berenice next to her mother, while Thadro was a l
ittle distance behind the king, talking to an aristo and the aristo’s armsmen captain wearing the colors of his lord, fresh from his quarters in town. Both Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet had watched me approach, Idwal with an appraising expression and Her Ladyship with wide-eyed awe. Her gaze went to the ribbons in my braid, dropped to the sapphire and diamond pin on my tabard before descending to my cuff links. Her gaze rose back to mine and she dropped a small curtsey. However, Berenice merely lifted a brow at my magnificence, her eyes sparkling, and I found myself forgetting all about plain gowns and bald wizards as I grinned back.

  “Cousin,” Jusson said, and I quickly turned my attention to the king. His face was bland, his own black eyes gleaming. “Lady Margriet has asked how did you find your quarters.”

  My face flushing, I bowed at Lady Margriet. “They’re very well, my lady—”

  “Oh, enough of your mother’s family, Emlyn! I don’t care who she was related to, she still was no better than she had to be. And if I were you, I’d keep an eye on your daughter. From what I’ve heard, her heels are becoming just as round as her grandmother’s.”

  Stopping midbow, I—and everyone else—turned to a nearby cluster of merchants where two richly dressed matrons, one thin and tight-lipped, the other doublechinned and well rounded, were standing nose to nose, glaring at each other.

  “You’re just jealous, Frauke,” said the round matron. “My Aveline has suitors while your stick of a daughter couldn’t attract flies if she smeared herself with honey.”