Nine
“You are unaccountably distracted,” Caius murmured, not looking at the man standing next to him. They were up on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of his manor, watching the final preparations for the night’s gala. Servants in silver and white livery moved quickly, clearing space for carriages to be parked and checking the cobbles and bricks fo the yard to make sure they were firmly in place. Others hung greenery and banners from sconces on the walls and set themselves to lighting lanterns hung all along the circular drive that stopped in front of the stairs at the entry. They were less than an hour from its start, less than an hour from sunset. The festivities would be on them before they knew it. “What’s going on?”
Ascalon shook his head slowly, staring blankly out over the walls and at the gate, a gate that stood closed tonight, the road empty before it. He could just barely catch glimpses of Coronet below them, down the hill, lamps starting to slowly be lit as twilight sank lower over the city. “Nothing that has bearing on the current situation,” he said, finally glancing sidelong to his brother. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I always worry,” Caius said, crossing his arms. “Especially when it seems like something’s gotten you upset.”
“That’s what makes you a good brother,” Ascalon said, then smiled, hoping the expression didn’t seemed as forced as it felt. He’d meant it to be reassuring. The dubious glance Caius gave him told him he’d failed. A sigh escaped his lips. “I mean it, Cay. It’s not anything you should worry about right now. There’s enough on your plate.”
“My plate?” Caius’s brow quirked. “You should consider your own as closely.”
“I know what I have to do in order to make all of this work,” Ascalon murmured softly. “I’m your first line of defense in this Sapphire Crown business. If I think what they bring is genuine, then they get to you. No sooner, no negotiations.”
Caius stared at him for a few moments and Ascalon struggled to avoid the weight of that stare. He knew what Caius was thinking but wouldn’t acknowledge it. His brother was worried, and he was entitled to that worry, but at the same time, Ascalon hadn’t lied to him. What was bothering him had nothing to do with what they were going to embark on—it had everything to do with other things beyond both of their abilities to control.
“Let it go,” Ascalon said quietly, not quite pleading, not yet. The look of concern on Caius’s face only got worse and Ascalon winced.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Caius asked.
He nodded. “I’m sure, but if something changes, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s all I ask,” Caius murmured, then turned his attention back to the courtyard, leaning against the rail. “Do you think we’re making the right decision?”
“Mm.” Ascalon crossed his arms, joining his brother in his lean, though while Caius stayed upright, Ascalon leaned against his crossed arms, down closer to the thick stone rail. “I do,” he said, once he was more comfortably settled, his spine stretching slightly as he shifted his position. “This gives them something to concentrate on, something to rally around—and it saves you from wasting resources best turned toward other things.”
Caius snorted softly. “I would ask what other things you’re talking about but I suspect you’d look at me like I’d grown a second head.”
“Aye, because you know full well what I’m talking about.” Ascalon shook his head. “It’s the right call, Cay. The alternative is petty squabbling and possible war with Proximus. That’s not something we can afford now is it? Lord Darrow has already expressed displeasure at the raiding along his border, though he can’t tell us who’s responsible. This will rechannel the energies of the nobles and the knights—and all of their alliances.”
“Unless or until it’s found,” Caius said quietly. “And then what?”
“Hopefully, the tensions will have eased by then and we won’t have war to worry about. Otherwise, we figure something else out—one way or another, it works itself out. There’s no other choice in this equation.”
“You seem damned certain,” Caius said, glancing at him. “How?”
“Because I have faith in the Lord of Elfaedil.” Ascalon looked up at him and smiled a tight, grim smile. “Or is that faith misplaced, brother?”
Caius was silent for a long moment as he settled his hand on Ascalon’s shoulder. “No,” he murmured. “Never.”
“Good,” Ascalon said, then straightened. “Come on. Your guests will be arriving soon. We’d better make sure we’re both ready for that.”
He turned to walk inside, and after one last glance around the courtyard below, Caius turned and followed him.
Joslyn let out a low whistle, moving around her slowly in a circle, studying her from the hem of her crown to the crown of her head. “I can’t believe it,” she said, eyes glittering in the dying sunlight. “You look incredible.”
Elaine blushed, adjusting the neckline of her gown slightly. “Thanks. Not bad for short notice, is it?”
“Not bad is definitely not the terminology I would choose in this scenario,” Joslyn said, shaking her head. “Mistress Margot is some kind of miracle worker.”
“Not a miracle worker, just an artist.” Elaine smiled. “Well-chosen, then?”
“Absolutely,” Joslyn said. “Were you worried about that?”
“Maybe a little. I’ve never done this before, remember?”
“There’s that,” Joslyn said. “But you shouldn’t have worried—not at all. I mean it. You look incredible. People are going to wonder where the hell you’ve been in all of the best ways tonight.”
“Speaking of,” Elaine said, glancing toward the street. “Shouldn’t we be getting into that carriage and heading off?”
Joslyn smirked. “Worried we’ll be fashionably late?”
“Not fashionably. Just late.” Elaine smiled. “Besides, aren’t you excited for Ascalon to see you in all of your finery?”
Joslyn twitched her skirts—her gown ink-black with traceries of red and gold worked through it at the hem and through the bodice. “Well,” she admitted. “Maybe a little.”
Elaine took her by the hand, tugging slightly as she turned to head for their waiting carriage. “Then let’s go before he dies of suspense.”
“He will not die of suspense,” Joslyn said, laughing as she let Elaine tug her down the walk toward the edge of the street and the carriage. A footman hopped off the sideboard to open the door and drop the step, waiting alongside to hand each woman into the carriage like something out of a fairy tale.
“He won’t if we’re not late,” Elaine said, grinning.
The footman, dressed in the colors of Elfaedil, bowed to them as they reached the street’s edge. “M’lady Arenvale, m’lady Grovesong. It is an honor to serve you this evening.”
“Thank you,” Elaine said with a smile. She took the footman’s offered hand and let him help her up and into the carriage, lit within by magic-powered lamps. A moment later, Joslyn joined her in the well-appointed interior, complete with plush, comfortable benches and curtains for privacy. The footman shut the door to the carriage and latched it, and a moment later the carriage jolted into motion, the hooves of the paired bays clopping softly against the cobbled streets.
“Does Lord Caius always provide conveyance for his guests?” Elaine asked, leaning forward to be heard over the sound of the carriage’s wheels and the horses’ footfalls.
Joslyn smiled. “Only when it’s big.”
“Which means…?”
“That you have made an excellent choice about when to make your debut, Isolde. Have no doubt about that.”
Elaine settled back against the rear wall of the carriage, exhaling a breath quietly. “Is it really that remarkable that I haven’t made it to one of these?”
“A little,” Joslyn said. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, though. I think there will be more than enough going on tonight that no one will have much time to pay attention to the new face in the crowd that probably should have been there the whole time.”
“Is that a dig?”
Joslyn shot her a smirk. “Maybe a little one.”
“I am busy you know,” Elaine said. “And my lands are fairly remote.”
“And yet, you spend most of your time in the city.” The smirk was still in place, though Elaine knew her friend was teasing. Her gaze drifted toward the window and for a moment, Joslyn watched the city as it flashed past them. “It’s all right. Don’t whip yourself into some kind of frenzy over it. Everything will be fine. Who knows? Maybe no one will notice.” Her gaze flicked toward Elaine again. “If whatever this all about is big enough, no one will.”
“So you said,” Elaine murmured, her own gaze drifting toward the window. They were nearing the edge of the city, now, moving toward the road that led up the hill to Lord Caius’s manor at the top. It glittered in the setting sun, the walls painted oranges and pinks and golds in the fading light, torches and lamps flickering atop its walls and in the windows of the keep that towered above them. She exhaled a sigh, her stomach tightening and a lump swelling in her throat. There was little reason for her nerves, and yet there they were, huge and real and almost enough to make her tell the driver to stop and let her out.
She wouldn’t let herself do that, though. Joslyn was right—she had been far too divorced from this for far too long. It was time—and postponing any longer would just make things worse in the long run.
It wasn’t just all of that, though, that caused her visceral reaction. There was a mysterious beauty to Lord Caius’s manor that captured her senses and her imagination. The ruler of Elfaedil was aloof, a mystery in and of himself. She hadn’t heard much of him beyond the fact that he liked his privacy and that he was powerful, benevolent when warranted and dangerous when provoked.
She didn’t know what to expect, and that, too, fed into her nerves—and the excitement that had been building since she arrived at Mistress Margot’s seeking a dress for the evening.
The carriage started up the long, winding roadway up the hill to the cliff where the manor perched. Elaine smiled.
Won’t be long now.
Only a little bit further to go.
“We’ll be there soon,” Joslyn said softly, watching her.
“I know,” Elaine murmured, gaze still on the manor—no, truly it was a castle on the hill, not something so simple as a manor—rising above them. “You’ve been there before?”
“A few times.”
“Alone?”
From the corner of her eye, she could see Joslyn shake her head. “No. Like this, usually, for a gathering. Once with just Ascalon and I.”
There was a question Elaine wanted to ask, but it slipped from her before her lips could form the words. It was going to be a beautiful night, if the colors painted in the sky were any indication. She sighed softly and shook her head.
“I shouldn’t be nervous.”
“No,” Joslyn agreed, grinning. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Then I suppose I won’t be,” Elaine said, turning back to her with a smile. “This will be fun.”
“Without a doubt,” Joslyn said. “It always is.”
The carriage lurched for a moment, pausing as it joined a line of other carriages approaching the gates, unfolded wrought iron twisted in knots, standing open awaiting Lord Caius’s guests for the evening. She couldn’t quite see to count how many carriages were ahead of them, nor how many were behind, but she assumed it was quite a few—likely every noble of every stripe in Elfaedil and likely even more people besides.
As Joslyn had said, tonight was going to be big, though no one was quite certain what would make it that way beyond the gala.
“Probably some kind of announcement tonight,” Joslyn murmured, jarring her from her thoughts. Elaine glanced at her, brow arching.
“About what, though?”
“With him, you never know,” Joslyn said, fidgeting with a glove. “Could be anything. Last time it felt this big, though, it was announcing the Thorne affair.”
Elaine blinked. “He announced—”
“Now do you see why I told you that you should come this time?” Joslyn was grinning again and Elaine huffed a sigh.
“You could have just said so.”
“But would it have been as convincing?”
“May—”
The carriage stopped and Elaine’s gaze snapped back to the window.
They had arrived.
The footman hopped off the running board and came around to the side of the carriage, setting the step before he unlatched the door. “Ladies,” he said quietly. “Welcome to Weatherstone.”
Elaine found it oddly hard to breathe as the footman handed first Joslyn, then her down from the carriage. She unconsciously shook out her skirts, resettling them as she moved a few steps away from the carriage. Joslyn glanced toward her even as she reached back to take Elaine’s hand.
“Come on,” her friend murmured, moving toward the steps, her pace measured, unhurried, gliding like some sort of dancer across the bricks and cobbles of the courtyard toward the polished granite stairs into the keep’s main entrance, massive dark oak doors flung wide to greet the gathering night and Lord Caius’s guests. Two liveried guards flanked the doors, studying each new arrival with critical gazes, but neither moved to block their passage as they reached the top of the stairs and glided toward those open doors.
The foyer beyond was massive, lit by lanterns and a thousand candles, the floors of polished dark stone tiles. A massive staircase stood opposite the door, curving up on either side to meet before another set of massive doors. These, too, stood open, and other men and women garbed in finery similar to their own drifted up those steps in singlets, in groups and pairs, all funneling at their own pace through those doors.
Elaine took a deep breath. Joslyn squeezed her hand.
This is it.
She let go of Joslyn’s hand to mount the stairs, steeper and not as deep as the ones outside, needing both hands to lift her skirts just high enough that she wouldn’t step on their hems. Joslyn shot her a grin, falling in beside her, and together they headed up the curving marble stair to the doors to the great hall.
The first thing that struck Elaine as they stepped through the doors and into the great hall was the sheer scale of the space. It was massive, with galleries running along its walls, set above massive windows that stretched from a few feet above the floor to graceful arched tops that ended just below the braces that helped support the galleries. More windows lined the galleries, stretching again a few feet from the floor all the way to the ceiling. The windows ran along both the right and left hand sides of the great hall, one side overlooking ornate gardens, the other with a view over simpler landscaping and the cliffs to the sea beyond. Elaine’s breath caught and she paused for the space of a heartbeat, eyes widening.
“Don’t hold up traffic,” Joslyn whispered to her, steering her toward the stairway down to the main level of the great hall.
Elaine blinked and shook herself, blushing slightly. “Of course not,” she murmured. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Joslyn said. “Everyone reacts the same way the first time.”
The great hall was thronged with people, though not so many as Elaine initially expected—though not as few as she feared. They were clustered here and there in groups, already deep in conversation, others sipped at wine or other spirits near the refreshment tables, while still more leaned against columns, alone and watching. There was a small orchestra at one corner at the far end of the room, still warming up and tuning instruments quietly, not quiet ready to play.
I suppose that means there’s going to be dancing later, Elaine thought, trying not to frown. She kept pace with Joslyn as they wended their way through the drifting mass.
“Where’s Ascalon?” she asked her friend in a stage whisper—it was the only way she’d be heard but not overheard.
Joslyn jerked her chin toward the gallery at the far end of the room. “There.”
Sure enough, there he was, dressed in black and silver, standing near the railing, his gaze roaming lazily over the great hall—until it lit on them. Even at this distance, Elaine could see the brief flash of a smile before the figure next to him said something and he turned away, smile fading.
It took a second for it to register who the figure beside him was. Elaine blinked. “That’s—”
A series of loud thuds interrupted her and the room grew eerily silent, the hush coming so quickly and so absolutely it was as if someone had suddenly hit a mute button on the scene. Elaine’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced back to see if people were still arriving and found the doors to the great hall closing, whisper-quiet on well-oiled hinges.
She looked back toward the balcony, her mouth dry.
Straight to the main event, then.
Joslyn’s fingers twined through hers and squeezed. She squeezed back, bracing herself.
It was time.
