A Posse of Princesses, Page 3

  “I don’t know if he fell in love with you straight off at dinner yesterday, but he seemed might-y interested,” Shera finished briskly.

  Fell in love? Rhis stared at some nodding blossoms. “Well, I don’t know how he could, since I didn’t even see him, much less speak to him . . .” Then she thought about her own reaction to Lios, and how he hadn’t noticed her. Then she shook her head. “No, I can’t believe it. I’m not the sort people fall instantly in love with—not with Iardith around, and that beautiful one with the red hair and the dimples in her cheeks. I saw her at breakfast this morning. She’s just as pretty as Iardith.”

  “That’s the one who snabbled up the duke’s son,” Shera said. “She was pointed out to me last night. She’s eighteen, almost nineteen, the duke’s heir the same age. Two days’ acquaintance, and he wants to marry her! But she’s not given him an answer, I was told. Perhaps she’s got hopes of Lios as well.”

  “What else did you hear?” Rhis asked.

  Shera shrugged, grinning. “Oh, a whole lot of gossip about this and that person, but I expect it all changes as fast as you hear it, if it’s anything like our court at home, when everyone is there. They are all so careful with proper protocol when my mother is on the throne, but as soon as she leaves, they start flirting as much as they can!”

  “Doesn’t your father mind?” Rhis asked.

  “I don’t think he ever notices. He’s too busy talking with his old cronies, or playing crumback.”

  Rhis recognized the name of a popular card-and-marker game. Elda, like her mother the Queen of Gensam, did not approve of games, and Rhis’s father had no interest in them, so no one in Nym’s castle played them. Apparently the queen’s consort, Shera’s father, was exempt from the rule—at least when the queen wasn’t around.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by laughter.

  The girls had wandered onto the grassy part of the garden just below the terrace outside the dining area. High, female voices laughed again, and Rhis looked up at the terrace. Iardith was surrounded by a half-circle of laughing girls. Iardith hunched her shoulders, an ungraceful movement that was quite startling, and she made one hand into a claw as she gestured wildly.

  “Um! Oom! Ze ribbon she is tied on my nose!” Iardith declared with a heavy accent. “Nose? Toes? Ooom! Boo! What say I? Say I wrong? Boo!”

  Carefully modulated waterfalls of laughter met this, led by the beautiful redhead who had snabbled a duke after only two days.

  The thin, dainty Grand Duchess of the Isle of Wilfen said in her fluting drawl, “Seeing that one is scrawny as a nestling, shouldn’t that be coo coo?”

  Rhis grinned at the gales of laughter that comment caused. Did Iardith have a sense of humor, at least? She would never have dared clowning like that, not in this company. Maybe the Perfect Princess was bearable after all.

  “A sense of humor goes a long way toward making someone likable,” Rhis said, trying to be even-handed. The truth was, she was in a fair way of being jealous of Iardith, but was fighting against it. “Sidal often said that to me, and I think she’s right.”

  Shera’s lips pursed. “No need to mention that my sister Elda hasn’t one. Not even the tiniest speck of one.”

  “Well, but she’s dignified,” Rhis said.

  “Yes, and as we all know, a prince chooses dignity above all else in his future queen,” Shera said, as more laughter, like the sudden chattering of birds, brought their attention back to the terrace.

  Iardith gestured imperiously, and her admiring crowd, all older girls, followed her inside.

  “Probably looking for Lios. Speaking of flirtations, why don’t we walk out to the big garden where they are going to hold the race? We can get a good spot to watch from,” Shera suggested.

  Rhis had no objections to anything that might get them near Lios, so they made their way slowly around the extensive gardens of Eskanda Palace.

  By that time most of the prince’s guests had begun gathering as well—those who were not going to compete.

  When Rhis saw the fine, glossy-maned horses, she felt a strong twinge of envy. She’d never learned to ride one. They were rare in the mountains, and besides, Elda considered horse-back riding vulgar and barbarian. Proper people were drawn decorously in carriages.

  Rhis did know how to ride a hill pony, but no one rode those in the flatlands. They weren’t as fast as these long-legged, high-stepping animals, but they were sturdy and didn’t mind the cold weather. Rhis listened to knowledgeable discussion of the horses’ attributes and shortcomings, strongly suspecting that the Nymish hill ponies—were they to suddenly appear here—would just be laughed at.

  Before the races began, increasing clouds darkened the sky, whipping up a chilly wind. People ignored the changing weather as they watched expectantly.

  Rhis peered at the starting line, where riders and their nervous mounts milled around, or walked back and forth. “What’s going on?” she finally asked Shera, who shrugged.

  A boy overheard, and said, “Stablehands have to finish laying the course. They’re going to ride round the perimeter of the estate.”

  Shera pursed her lips. Remembering the long ride up to the palace once the girls’ carriage had rolled through the gates, Rhis wondered if the perimeter was quite a distance.

  “Rough terrain,” a girl said. “I can ride, but not like that.”

  “We ride zo creeping, wiss ze mountains. Om! I watch. No ride.”

  Rhis gasped, and spun around.

  The speaker was a short thin girl with a cloud of wheat-colored hair, walking with her arm linked through that of Prince Lios. She wore a fabulous gown embroidered in bright colors, with bunches of ribbons at arms, waist, and down the front of the gown. She had a round, pleasant face, with slightly protuberant light blue eyes.

  Lios stopped, bowed, and said, “Give me a favor, cousin?”

  This girl untied one of the ribbons from her sleeves and handed it to Lios. She grinned, a wide, laughing grin, as he bent down for her to tie it round his arm.

  “That must be his cousin from the Isle of Ndai,” Shera whispered. “I’ve seen her around, but never to hear or speak to. How fun, to come from such a mysterious place, full of pirates and magic!”

  Rhis stared at the girl, who was shorter than Shera, and even skinnier than Rhis. Ice seemed to trickle through her veins when she recognized the accent, and the peculiar speech. Ndai, though relatively close, had been settled by different people, and then had endured a long history of battles with pirates. They had a separate language, Rhis had learned in history lessons. So Iardith hadn’t been clowning, she’d been mimicking this princess—making game of her.

  “You ambulate, Couzzin. Um! Um! Um, boh, I forget ze word. Conquest zis race!” cried the princess from Ndai.

  Rhis stole a look, and sure enough, she saw Iardith and her red-haired friend laughing behind their fans. Over the buzz of general talk, Rhis thought she heard a faint “Um!”

  “I’m off!” Lios stated, and strode away through the trees.

  The noon bells echoed from the far towers, and then, closer by, someone blew a horn. They all turned their attention to the grassy field that had been chosen for the start and finish. Rhis hugged her arms close, glad of her long sleeves, for the air was getting chillier. She felt cold inside, too, at Iardith’s cruelty. She hoped the little Ndaian princess hadn’t heard any of it.

  The racers appeared, all mounted up, and urged their horses into a long, ragged line. Prince Lios rode in the middle, his hair whipping in the wind as he sat easily astride his large, reddish-brown horse.

  When the horn blew, he bent forward slightly and his horse sprang into a gallop. For a moment he was lost in the crowd, but shortly thereafter Rhis saw him again, riding like he’d been born on horseback. He was one of the five at the lead by the time they reached the end of the field, and swept round a corner by a pond.

  The crowd of watchers started leaving, some to walk through the palace to witness the race at the h
alfway point, some to retreat inside as large, cold raindrops began to spatter their faces and clothes. Shera touched Rhis on the shoulder.

  “I’m going in,” she said, shivering. “I can hear about it afterward. Want some hot chocolate?”

  “I’ll meet you,” Rhis replied. “I’m used to cold, and I want to see the end.”

  Shera smiled, hunching her shoulders. “Then you can tell me everything. If you don’t freeze first.” She hurried up a trail toward the palace.

  When at last the racers neared the end of the course the rain was coming down in earnest, and Rhis was almost alone, standing on a little rise to watch them come round the last sweep of trail before they reached the field where they had begun. A few others stood about, some under a rain canopy set up by servants.

  Rhis preferred staying where she was, so she could see the winner. She was sure that Lios would be first; her heart soared within her at the sight of Lios and his horse leaping so effortlessly over a low hedge, neck and neck with two other riders.

  They vanished behind some trees and then, two of the horses reappeared again, their riders bent low. One rider wore bright clothes, her dark braids flapping on her thin back; the other’s pale yellow hair was plastered to forehead and neck. Lios lagged a full horse’s length behind the two leaders.

  Taniva of the High Plains sent a grim look over at Jarvas, who sneered back, then dug his heels into his horse’s side. The animal seemed to tighten all over. Rhis winced, knowing it must hurt, but the horse suddenly leaped, sailing over another hedgerow, and Taniva’s horse was airborne a moment later.

  Jarvas reached the field first—just barely. He slowed his horse gradually as he rode straight for the stable. Taniva followed without looking back.

  Lios galloped to the finish line right after, and then more appeared, all riding at the same speed. When they finished, they were laughing and calling mock-insults at one another as they brought their sweaty, blowing mounts round to the small knot of people gathered—the cold wind tugging and snapping their clothes and hair—to watch the stragglers finish up the race. Lios was at the center of the crowd.

  Lios joked with his friends. Rhis didn’t know any of the people any more than she knew their past experiences. Feeling closed out, she left the garden and trudged back against the wind to the palace.

  With her tousled hair redone and warm, dry clothes on, she rejoined the party, which was gathered on the windowed terrace adjacent to the garden. They were still talking about the race, mostly teasing the losers.

  Iardith and her admirers crowded around Lios, of course, and around pale Jarvas of Damatras, who had won. But Taniva, who had nearly beat Jarvas, wasn’t included. She stood at a window alone at the other end of the terrace, staring out at the rain.

  As everyone wandered about, talking or helping themselves to the trays of hot snacks the servants brought in, Rhis gathered her courage and made her way to the tall princess in the bright vest, layered skirts, and crimson blouse. Vest, blouse, and the top layer of her skirt were edged with tiny chimes; in her black sash she wore a spectacularly handsome knife with a black and silver hilt. The sheath was studded with brilliant blue gems.

  “Very fine riding today, Taniva,” she said.

  The princess turned her head and studied Rhis for a long moment. She had long, slightly slanted greenish gray eyes, broad cheeks, and a flat nose. Her skin was more pale in color than the lowlanders’ and Rhis’s, with a yellowish cast. It was a better color, Rhis secretly thought, than Jarvas’s pinkish pale. Taniva’s clothes tinkled faintly when she moved.

  “I do not know you?” Taniva asked. Her accent was strong.

  “I’m Rhis. Of Nym. Southern mountains,” Rhis added awkwardly.

  Taniva smiled, and her face was transformed. “Ah, mountains! Then you too must feel this place a cage. Pest! I wish to go home. But I promised to come. So I stay.”

  “You don’t enjoy it here?” Rhis asked.

  “Maybe I do, if . . .” Taniva shook her head. “No. To complain is to whine like a zeem-bug. No one wants them around. You are not afraid to be seen talking to me?” Her lips curled.

  “Why should I be? Do you kick people?”

  “No. Nor do I stab, with the words,” Taniva added.

  Now Rhis knew what the princess was talking about. And probably who.

  “You’re too good with a sword,” Rhis said, grinning as she remembered her conversation the night before.

  “Have to be—” Just then Taniva gave a stiff nod.

  Rhis turned. The blond Jarvas, still surrounded by Iardith’s crowd, raked his pale gaze down Taniva. His eyes narrowed when they stopped at Taniva’s jeweled knife. He gave a slow nod, unsmiling, over the short red-haired girl’s head. Then he turned back to the beautiful Iardith.

  “There is an enemy,” Taniva said, waving a callus-palmed hand toward Jarvas, then placed it on the blue-hilted knife in her sash. “Our people are enemies. We know it, but we understand one another. That Iardith, now, I do not understand.”

  Rhis remembered the two or three times her eyes had met Iardith’s. Each time the Princess had turned away dismissively. Rhis had assumed it was just because Rhis was a stranger, hadn’t been introduced. Now she wondered if it was because she was younger, and plain, from a small kingdom.

  “I’ve never spoken to her,” Rhis admitted.

  “You have not enough importance,” Taniva said. Her tone was too matter-of-fact to be insulting. She was making an observation, and Rhis ducked her chin in acknowledgement, not particularly happy to find her thoughts corroborated. But it was probably right.

  Taniva gave the garden view a brooding glower. She had little etiquette. Her face was as expressive as her voice, and she obviously said what she thought.

  Rhis tried to think of another subject, something to make the girl smile again, but Taniva turned her head, a quick, wary movement; a moment later Rhis registered the approach of footsteps. Taniva’s face cleared, and she even smiled again, a slashing, flashing smile that made her look very handsome to Rhis’s eyes. “Ah! It is the little scribe, who knows my land so well.”

  Rhis whirled around, delighted to see Dandiar, one of whose brows arched just slightly at the word ‘little.’ Taniva and he were the same height, but it was obvious the princess was used to very tall men.

  “I came to tell you that everyone is moving to the dining room.” The scribe pointed with his chin over his shoulder.

  Taniva hesitated, her dark gaze going from Rhis to the door, and Rhis waved. “Come sit with us. Well, with me. Usually I sit with Shera, my cousin. She likes music, as I do.”

  “Gensam.” Taniva gave an abrupt nod. “More mountains. You ride in your mountains? No pony-games, no?”

  Dandiar said, “Nym has no highlands. It’s all either up or down. Gems, that they’ve got. And some infamous old mines, sites of some agreeably bloody wars, if you like that kind of thing.”

  Taniva grinned fiercely.

  Rhis realized that the scribe and the moody princess had established a good understanding, and she spoke on impulse. “Have you duties to attend to?”

  Dandiar’s face was suddenly blank, his voice very polite. “You are inviting me to go find some?”

  Rhis felt her neck go hot. “No! Opposite! I was hoping, well, that you might want to sit with us. You know all about our kingdoms, and you talk so easily with—uh, others—” She realized she was rambling awfully, and thought with an inward wince of Elda’s disapproval at her utter lack of grace and poise. Now not just her face burned, but her ears and neck. Ugh!

  But Dandiar’s quick smile, his swift gesture toward the door, somehow made it all right. He obviously understood, and Rhis thought gratefully that she knew the reason why the handsome Prince Lios had made him his personal scribe.

  The three followed the crowd into the dining room as outside rain drummed hard against the windows. They sat on the periphery of the crowd, near the windows, to which Taniva’s gaze more than once strayed. But o
nce Shera and another girl, whom she introduced as Carithe, had joined them, the talk got more lively as they described parties in the past that the weather had made into total disasters.

  Everyone had something to contribute, even Taniva, who uttered her short, breathy chuckle as she talked about a horse race once that ended up with everyone mired in the mud. Dandiar described a learning picnic organized by the royal tutor for the prince, his cousins, and some visiting boys that ended up with them chasing all their wind-whipped papers all the way across a garden into the king’s prize prickly shrubs. The resulting howls could be heard in the Royal Chambers, where a visiting ambassador thought he was hearing the torture of prisoners, and almost caused an international incident.

  Taniva snickered. “But then, these princes. They did not chase. You scribes did the work. And the yellings.”

  Dandiar lifted his hands. “What can I say? The princes did get plenty of laughs out of it. So we earned our pay that day. We were useful and entertaining.”

  Intermittently during the talk and laughter Rhis was aware of some exchanged looks between Carithe and Shera, their eyes crinkling, their mouths striving for somberness. It seemed the two girls had some secret together.

  Halvic appeared, friendly as always, with two or three other guests in tow—all new arrivals. When Rhis saw shy smiles and averted eyes, and remembered how she’d felt on her arrival—and at the end of the race that morning—she did her best to welcome the newcomers, and learn their names.

  As the newcomers joined the talk, she realized that she was having more fun now than she’d had yet. Maybe the perfect party had less to do with everyone being beautiful and fashionably dressed, and more to do with everybody having a good time, talking and laughing? And of course dancing.

  The talk shifted from weather to riding to horses and then to life in the mountains—and back to weather. Everyone had stories to tell about famous winters high up, when snow had blocked them in for what seemed ages. Shera told some funny stories about tricks her dreamy uncle had pulled on some of the stuffier courtiers, which set them all to laughing; they were soon joined by three or four boys, one of whom kept trying—in a shy way that caused sympathetic pangs in Rhis—to talk to the impervious Taniva.