The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(114)

“Put the whip to you instead, is that it?”

“If you have any pity in you at all, aye.” He straightened and smiled, but he wasn’t entirely successful. “If you would.”

She supposed he would tell her what had befallen him earlier or he wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to force it out of him. She released his hands, then reached out and brushed a few stray bangs out of his eyes before she thought better of it. He caught her hand before she pulled away.

“Thank you.”

“You look a little scattered.”

He tucked her hand under his elbow again and nodded at the page to carry on before he looked at her. “My sister did me the honor of turning me into a bitter wind on our way back. I’m still feeling the effects of it.”

“Pleasant?”

“Today, I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “I’ll let you know later.”

She had the feeling that was the last thing he would do, which meant he intended to leave her behind, which meant she was going to have to watch him very closely before he slipped out without her. She looked at him pointedly.

“Don’t go without me.”

“And why would I do that?” he asked. “The most beautiful woman in the hall on my arm and an evening stretching ahead of me in which to admire her? You must be mad. I have no intention of going anywhere but to table with you, then spending the evening begging you to dance with me.”

Which wasn’t, as she was well aware, any sort of answer or promise.

She didn’t suppose she could have expected anything else.

? ? ?

She remembered very little of supper save that she thought she might just have to thank Acair of Ceangail for his very lovely manners and his ability to discreetly indicate which fork should be used when without drawing attention to the same. What she ate she couldn’t have said, but she was confident she’d eaten it with the right piece of silverware.

The dancing was planned for what she understood was the grand audience chamber. She walked into the place and felt as if she were walking into a dream. The floor was made of some blue stone that looked as if it still lay in the bed of a river with water flowing over it, the walls were hung with tapestries finer than anything she’d ever imagined, and she was fairly certain she couldn’t see the ceiling. Behind the lord’s high table was an enormous hearth and over that hearth hung two swords, crossed. She knew nothing about blades save what Mansourah had taught her that morning, but she wondered about that steel there.

She wasn’t able to wonder about it for more than a moment or two before she realized Prince Cathar was asking her for a dance.

“I only know two patterns,” she warned him.

“That’s one more than I know,” he said gallantly. “I’ll attempt not to embarrass you. I don’t know where Mansourah collected all these guests, but tell me if they bother you overmuch. I know the fastest way to the kitchen.”

“I’ll remember that,” she managed. “Thank you.”

And that was, quite honestly, the last bit of conversation she had with anyone past commenting on the weather, the refreshments, and the quality of the players. A good hour passed before she managed to plead weariness and escape to the high table and hide behind Miach who was leaning there, chatting up some well-dressed nobleman. She accepted the glass of wine he handed her, drank, then wished for somewhere more permanent to hide. She set her glass down on the table, turned, then ran bodily into Acair.

He held out his hand to steady her, then made her a low bow. “If you’ll permit me?”

She looked at him blankly. “To do what?”

“Claim this dance.”

“I only know two patterns,” she warned him as she had Cathar. “I might embarrass you.”

“I only know three.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You’re lying.”

“But ’tis a white lie,” he said seriously. “I don’t think they count.”

She wasn’t about to offer an opinion on that, so she accepted his hand and walked with him out to the middle of the floor. They had been seated together at supper, but she hadn’t seen him once they’d adjourned to the great hall for the entertainments. Perhaps he’d been off brooding somewhere or picking locks on the king’s private chambers or stirring up some other sort of trouble. With Acair, one just never knew.

What she did know, however, was that when he had said he danced divinely, he hadn’t been exaggerating. It was no wonder he managed to get in high places so easily. Whether he managed to get back out of them as easily was perhaps debatable, but she suspected he didn’t have much trouble with it.

She had no idea how long she danced with him. All she knew was that when he invited her to take a bit of air by way of the stables, she didn’t argue. Finery, lovely music, and decent food were all very good things, but she suspected that if she ever had to exist on a steady diet of the three, she would need to season them liberally with an equal amount of time in the stables. It was no wonder Morgan spent so much time in the lists.

“My shoes,” she managed as they walked through the kitchens. “Mistress Wardrobe will scold me if I get them dirty.”

“They keep extra boots by the back door.”

She looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”