A Posse of Princesses, Page 4

  Shera and one of the new boys, a thin, pale-haired fellow named Glaen, kept exchanging mock compliments that were really insults, keeping everyone within earshot in a fizz of hilarity.

  It was getting harder to hear everyone. The conversation began breaking into little groups when a horn tooted for attention, and a herald announced that the singers from the south would not arrive in time for their concert, as a bridge had washed out on the main road a day’s ride south. Therefore the usual dancing would take place.

  So everyone rose to go in to the great salon adjoining for the impromptu dance. Somehow Rhis’s group had become the largest in the room, and judging from the laughter, was having the most fun.

  They found an empty corner with seats enough for everyone. Out on the floor, a number of couples had already lined up for one of the dances.

  “Your eyes,” Glaen said, “—as beautiful as ice at the bottom of a well—entreat me to invite you to partner me in the promenade.”

  Shera swept a mock curtsey. “Delightful notion, if only to hear again the entrancing knocking of your knees.”

  “Beauteous princess! Singeth like the frog o’ morning.”

  “Handsome heir-to-a-barony! Speaketh like unto the cricket o’ eve!”

  Dandiar neatly sidestepped a slow clump of people, leaving the tall, shy Lord Somebody next to Taniva.

  “M-may . . .” the poor fellow murmured.

  Taniva was looking about—she obviously didn’t think he was talking to her.

  “May I . . .”

  Dandiar glanced at Rhis, his eyes so obviously verging on laughter she muffled a giggle into her sleeve. Dandiar flicked a look toward the dancers, and his brows arched in question.

  She held out her hand, and Dandiar said a little louder than necessary, “Taniva, why don’t you and Breggan here join us in starting a second line?”

  Taniva looked bewildered, then shrugged. “Dancing,” she said, as though it was as strange and new an idea as balancing peas on their noses. She seemed to be completely unaware of the grateful smile on poor Breggan’s face.

  As the four walked out to begin a new line, others followed behind them. Rhis whispered to her partner, “That was smooth. How I wish I had your poise!”

  “Oh, it’s trained into us,” Dandiar said, with a smile.

  “Then maybe that’s what my parents ought to have done,” Rhis said with a sigh. “Sent me to a scribe school. I could even have learnt other languages.”

  “Was your education so poor, then?” Dandiar asked as they extended their hands, hers on his, and pointed their right toes forward.

  “Yes,” Rhis began, but bit back the usual list of complains. She thought of Elda, and Sidal, and added contritely, “No. It’s just that I paid little heed to what bored me, and instead I spent my time with what I liked doing. Such as sitting in my tower with my tiranthe and my ballads—” She remembered then that princesses were not supposed to like either of those things.

  Dandiar didn’t appear to notice. As the musicians in the gallery began the opening promenade, he said, “You wouldn’t be the first one in this room, boy or girl, to have spent more time avoiding learning than in mastering what the tutors came to teach.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, “if I’d been the heir, I might have been more diligent about current politics, trade laws, and treaties. My little niece is so serious in her studies, but from babyhood she’s heard that she will one day be queen.”

  “Heirs do grow up hearing about their responsibilities,” Dandiar acknowledged. Another quick look, one of mild question.

  “My sister-by-marriage seldom corrects her daughter,” Rhis said, thinking back further. “Doesn’t have to, because she’s so very perfect. But once she did, saying that Shera’s lightest statement might affect lives unseen.”

  “You didn’t think you might need the same knowledge in the future?” Dandiar asked.

  Rhis thought back about all those reminders of her duty in making a good marriage. “I guess I never thought at all, past what I would have liked to happen,” she admitted.

  Dandiar grinned. “Who our age ever does, unless forced to?” He added, “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Sixteen,” she admitted. She was tempted for a moment to claim an older age, but resisted.

  “Just what I guessed,” he said.

  “And you?” she asked, relieved that she’d stayed with the truth.

  “Twenty.” He grinned.

  Rhis grinned back, a little surprised. She suspected that she and Shera were among the youngest guests—and that that didn’t add to their veneer of sophistication. Couldn’t be helped.

  With an inward sigh she dismissed the thought. She swept her skirts away from his feet as she twirled under his arm, and then stepped across to wait for his bow.

  Dandiar was quite good at dancing. She was about to compliment him, when she remembered what she’d said earlier about his poise, and his response, which had not been pleased, it had been polite.

  She realized suddenly, and uncomfortably, that she never would have said such a thing to, well, Prince Lios, for example. Had she been guilty of condescension? Yes. She would never compliment another princess on her training. Eugh! Worse than Elda! Even worse than Iardith’s deliberate snubs because it had been unthinking.

  The dance ended, and Dandiar bowed. She curtseyed. He gave her his quick smile before moving off, his gaze going this way and that. Checking the room, seeing that all went smoothly for his master, she knew. He obviously felt no animosity toward her—probably didn’t even remember what they’d talked about two breaths after the conversation, for she, too, was part of his duties.

  Rhis watched him go, her thoughts impossibly tangled.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Carithe has the most wonderful idea,” Shera said, laughing behind her fan. “We’re going to get up a play!”

  “A play?”

  “She found out that the players who were supposed to come have been delayed by this awful rain, and so we’re going to do one ourselves, and surprise the others.

  “When?”

  “Oh, not until after the masquerade. No one can talk about anything else. After that they’ll be bored, and looking for the next thing, and we’ll be it. Anyway, you know more about plays than anyone, and so you could help us pick the best. Will you join us?”

  “Of course,” Rhis said. “Though I’ve read all the plays Sidal has brought back from her travels, that doesn’t mean I’d be a good performer.”

  “You at least have a pretty singing voice.”

  “Yours is better,” Rhis said.

  Shera shrugged. “I’m not all that good, I just seem to keep harmony. As for the rest of us, I don’t know how good any of us will be, but one thing for certain, it ought to be quite fun, if we choose the right play. Vors said he’d join in if you would, and we’ve got several others.”

  Vors himself appeared a moment later, just ahead of Halvic, and the girls moved out onto the floor for the next dance.

  The waltos—the new dance from foreign lands—swiftly became Rhis’s favorite, and apparently many others felt the same. Couples circled round and round the floor, stepping and gliding. Rhis turned to admire a couple who danced straight down the middle, whirling expertly, then realized that the pretty golden braid-loops on the girl belonged to that princess from Ndai.

  She felt a tug on her arm. Vors pulled her into the dance, and they galloped with enthusiasm, until the last echo of the melody died away and Rhis was breathless with laughter.

  “Want another turn?” Vors asked.

  “I need something to drink.” Rhis flicked open her fan and tried to cool her face.

  “Now that was a romp,” Vors said. “Did you see how many were staring at us? At you, I should say. They all think I’m the luckiest fellow on the floor!”

  “I was too dizzy to see anything,” Rhis admitted, gulping in air. She flushed with delight at his compliment. “But it was fun.”

  “You’r
e a nacky dancer,” Vors said. “Best I’ve seen!”

  Rhis sketched a curtsey in thanks, but as Vors walked away to get them something to drink, the glow of pleasure at the idea of ‘everyone’ watching in admiration faded. Vors’s compliment bothered he because it reminded her of her mistake with Dandiar.

  “Here you go.” Vors handed her a crystal glass.

  “Thanks.” She frowned at the punch. Vors had just given her a compliment, and he’d done it with admiration—with exaggeration, too, she had to admit. It was obvious at a single glance that not ‘everyone’ was watching. But wasn’t that the kind of thing you did when flirting? Exaggerated compliments and admiration were definitely a part of flirting. She hadn’t been flirting with Dandiar, though, so—

  “I wish,” Vors broke into her thoughts, “you’d promise me all your dances. But if not, at least the first dance of the masquerade, or I shall die of disappointment. Surely you would not be so cruel?”

  There it was again, that flirting tone.

  Rhis knew she was supposed to say something flirty back. Like what? Some kind of pretend cruelty, or an exaggerated compliment of her own? Nothing came to her mind, and she mumbled, feeling awkward, “Oh, the masquerade first dance is easy enough—but as for all the others, I do so like to dance with as many people as I can.”

  “Well, that’s to your credit.” Vors took her hand with the fan still gripped in it, and bowed over it, pressing a light kiss on her wrist. “You’re kind to all—and so I told them.” He shrugged one shoulder, tipping his head backward.

  Rhis said, confused, “Told who? What?”

  “Oh, some of the others. You know. Some thought it odd—something maybe that’s done in the high mountains, where—that is. Your chatting with the barbarian princess, and dancing with the scribe.” He looked at the chandelier, at the marble floor, at people sitting nearby, but not at her, while he tried to avoid telling her—she realized slowly—that people had talked about her. And not in a good way. “But I told them all that’s just your way.”

  She turned to Vors, more confused than before. His blue eyes were steady, his whole face smiling—as if he expected her gratitude. He was proud of having defended her!

  Except why should he defend her? Was dancing with a scribe, one who was obviously the prince’s friend, a breach of etiquette?

  “Taniva is interesting. And Dandiar’s a good dancer,” she said, trying to get at the truth without making things even more awkward.

  Vors shrugged, obviously not interested. “So are any number of us, but you showed a nicety of manners in dancing with a scribe, and so I will maintain even at sword point.” There it was—flirting again.

  Rhis drank her punch, set the cup down, and then waved her fan again, glad to be busy while her thoughts stumbled between too many subjects. Vors was obviously waiting for some kind of answer. Gratitude, that was what he wanted, or praise, for his tone made it clear he’d done something for her. But what, exactly?

  It was impossible to think—and then she didn’t have to, for tall, thin, pale-haired Glaen appeared, muscling along another tall boy who hung back, looking uncomfortable. Rhis recognized him as the shy one who’d danced with Taniva.

  “C’mon, Vors.” Glaen jerked his chin over his shoulder. “Let someone else in.” Glaen almost shoved the tall, blushing boy into Rhis’s arms as he said, “How about a trot round the room with ol’ Breggo here? He doesn’t blab much, but he’s a go on the floor.”

  Rhis promptly held out her hand, at least as relieved to get away from the awkward conversation with Vors as she was to help out shy Breggan. He bowed over her hand. As they moved away, Rhis caught sight of a very annoyed glance from Vors.

  Was he jealous? Rhis felt her insides swoop. Imagine anyone being jealous over her! She mentally considered her image in the mirror, and wondered how anyone could find her so beautiful as to fall instantly in love from across a room. But then she thought about some of the twoing couples mentioned in Shera’s gossip. They seemed ordinary, much like she was—so who could say what made people fall in love?

  And anyway, wasn’t it supposed to be both ways? She liked Vors, but she wasn’t in love with him. He didn’t make her feel the least bit of invisible-boulders-on-the-head when she looked at him, and she wasn’t longing for him to speak to her. And though his compliments were very nice indeed, the real truth was, somehow she didn’t find him very interesting beyond that. She didn’t really know him.

  She hoped that he wasn’t really in love with her, that he was only flirting, because one thing she did know: she was not going to feign an interest in any fellow just because he showed an interest in her. Especially when all they talked about were her interests, so he could compliment them, and then she had to thank him, and then he’d brag a little about what he’d been doing but then right away compliment her again, round and round. Limp limp limp.

  The music had begun, and her feet had carried her into the dance. She remembered where she was, and she hoped she hadn’t been rude. Breggan wasn’t even looking at her; his gaze was somewhere over to the left, and when they’d finished a twirl, there was Taniva.

  She hid an urge to giggle, and kept her attention on the music and her steps.

  oOo

  “Did I make a mistake in dancing with Dandiar?” Rhis asked later, when the two girls were sitting in their nightdresses on Rhis’s bed.

  “What?” Shera asked, blinking.

  “Dandiar. Scribe. Promenade. Vo—someone hinted that, well, others disapproved.”

  Shera shook her head. “Several of the scribes have been dancing, riding, so forth. I’ve seen Dandiar dancing with everyone—even Iardith.”

  “Oh, well, that settles it!” Rhis lifted her hands. “If she does it, then it must be the fashion!”

  Shera laughed. “Only once, that I’ve seen, and she looked mighty miffed. So I don’t think scribes have become the fashion yet! Lios handed her off to him during the taltan, at the partner exchange part, then went off to get something to drink.”

  Rhis cast a mock sigh. “Poor Iardith!”

  Shera snickered, then hunched a little as thunder crashed outside. The rain increased to a roar. “As for dancing with the scribe, why not? The ones we see mixing about are surely born into families of minor rank. Vors is very rank-conscious.”

  “Yes.” Rhis made a face.

  “Does it bother you, my comment about Vors?” Shera looked contrite.

  “Well, no, it bothers me that I’ve been guilty of the same snobbery.” And Rhis told Shera what had happened.

  Shera listened in silence, then shook her head, her curls bouncing. “I think you are being too scrupulous, is what I think. The fact is, you are a princess, and he is just a scribe. Rank is rank. People expect certain kinds of behavior. Downright rudeness would be inappropriate—but there are some who don’t even hold to that.”

  “Like Iardith, making game of that princess with the accent. I didn’t expect that from someone older. It seems crueler, somehow.”

  “Oh, yes,” Shera said, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you that Iardith is mean? As for that princess, I talked to her a little. Name is, um . . .” Shera pursed her lips. “Yuzhoo. No, Yuzhyu. Yoozh-h-h . . . yuh! It’s hard to say it right! No wonder she has trouble with our language! Anyway, Lios introduced her to Carithe, and she wants to be in the play. I didn’t know what to say! She seems very nice, but oh, she speaks our language so badly! One can’t help but laugh at some of her mistakes. I don’t know what I ought to do, because if we give her a part, I can just see Iardith and Hanssa and their friends laughing at us all. Ought I to tell her the play is full?”

  Rhis thought about the princess’s merry face, then shook her head. “Give her a small part. We can always coach her to say her words perfectly. Memorizing is so much easier than conversation.”

  “Ah. True. And perhaps I can find a play that has a foreign person in it . . .”

  Shera went on, trying different ideas, but Rhis didn’t
listen. Her mind had gone right back to the previous conversation. Shera hadn’t really sounded interested—she was comfortable with her ideas about rank being rank.

  Is it because my mother was not even remotely wellborn? Rhis thought. Sidal also treated people with respect that had nothing to do with rank, and everything to do with individual merit. Yes, that was her mother’s term. Merit. You weren’t given merit along with a crown and velvet clothes, if you were born a princess. You had to earn it, same way anybody else did.

  Rhis stared at the window, against which runnels of rain streamed down, gold-lit from the lamps.

  Shera had stopped talking—and she wasn’t even humming. She was looking at Rhis with a puzzled, narrow-eyed study.

  Rhis tumbled into quick speech. “One thing for certain. Dandiar is more fun to talk to than Vors, lord or not.”

  “Still thinking about that?” Shera gave Rhis a funny sort of a half smile. “I’m hope you weren’t upset with my comment about Vors,” she added.

  Rhis gazed at her. “This is the second time you’ve said that—or something like it. You know something.”

  Shera shrugged. Too quickly.

  “You are! You’re hinting about something! Come out with it.”

  “I’m not sure,” Shera said in a slow voice—not one of conviction, but the sort of tone a person uses who is determined to at least sound like she’s being fair. “It could be he’s truly in love with you—and I wouldn’t be surprised, for any fellow with taste—”

  “Skip the flowery talk,” Rhis said.

  “He’s been asking about Nym. I really noticed it during the dance tonight. He was asking me if the royal family really is as wealthy as rumor has it. More about the diamond mines. Who owns them. If you have any other brothers and sisters. Things like that. The other night he just asked about you—but tonight he wanted to know all about what wealth you have.”

  Rhis felt her insides swoop again, but this time it was a nasty feeling, like slipping on a rock near the edge of a cliff. “He thinks I’m rich,” she said. “That is, he knows I’m rich. He wants a rich princess,” she added, her middle feeling the chill of winter, “So that’s why all those compliments and things. The—the flirting. Is that it, flirting is really just fake compliments and smiles and, well, lies? Because he’s not interested in me, but my inheritance.”