Drabblefic #6: Days of Grace (Chalion/Paladin fandom)
Title: Days of Grace
Genre: Romance; Angst
Ratings & Warnings: PG
Word Count: 3682
Summary: Liss tried not to wince. “This won’t be like dancing in the town square, Royina. There will be many highborn ladies who aren’t still getting accustomed to wearing a pretty dress. Who don’t have sun-burned faces or sit cross-legged on walls." Set a few days after Paladin of Souls ends so massive spoilers if you have not read it.
Author's Note: For hrymfaxe, who requested Foix, Ferda and the prompt dance, and who appears to have ended up with most of my favourite characters in there as well. This took me ages to get going with and then threatened to become the world's longest ever drabble. Any feedback/concrit is very welcome as it is my first attempt at this fandom, and after the initial brick wall it was so much fun. :)
Days of Grace
No one was quite sure who had first put forward the suggestion. Lord Illvin, a smile rarely off his face these days, said it must have been mentioned in conversation by the Royina. The Lady Ista, whose lips also smiled most readily, and especially whenever mention was made of the mysteriously blossoming apricot tree in the forecourt, calmly shook her head and thanked dy Cabon for the idea. He, rather wistfully straightening the once-white robes which hung quite loosely on him now, denied all knowledge. Whilst adding that, of course, it was both an extremely fitting tribute to the gods who had protected them, and the eagerly awaited arrival of Marshal dy Palliar and Chancellor dy Cazaril.
So no credit may have been claimed, but the feast and dance was announced, preparations begun, and after nearly a week of frenzied hammering and frantic repairs to restore Castle Porifors to a little of its former glories, there was no doubt all were ready to celebrate.
Except perhaps one.
Liss took to hiding out in the stables and was heartily ashamed of herself for doing so.
It was there, one afternoon, that the Royina found her. Liss’s own horse having been brushed so vigorously that his palamino coat was a covering of softest gold, she had moved on to the mounts of the senior officers - all riders having been recruited to the carpentry division, irrespective of rank - then those of the junior ones, and finally on to the tall, ugly and possessed chestnut stallion. It had eyed her with suspicion and she’d raised the brush, ready to retaliate in kind if those yellow teeth snapped at her. But perhaps it could smell the Royina’s scent on her, or it simply recognised another confused soul for it shivered at her first touch and then submitted. A short while later, it was positively leaning against her as she brushed and hummed.
“I see you’ve charmed yet another male in my retinue.”
The voice was amused. Liss looked up to see the Lady Ista watching her, leaning her head back on the partition, against the cushion of what looked like very hastily pinned-up hair.
Perhaps Lord Illvin had been able to snatch some time off between his duties.
“Oh, this one’s quite sweet. When you get to know him.” Liss gave the chestnut a congratulatory pat for standing like a docile old mule to have his feet picked out, and watched the crest of the red neck swell with discernable pride. Wanting some praise to know he was being appreciated, she thought, smothering a grin. Same as all men.
“I did wonder what was occupying seemingly so much of your time down here.” Ista’s voice was still light, but she eyed Liss thoughtfully. “I scarcely imagined it was Demon.”
“Lady, if I have in any way neglected-”
“Dear Liss, no. Not at all. At least - not me.” She waited till Liss felt the tell-tale color rising in her face, and then added gently, “I passed Foix in the forecourt.”
“Oh.” Liss tossed her braid back over her shoulder and set to work with the brush again.
“He said he’s hardly seen you these last two days.”
“He’s looked then, has he?”
“It would appear he thinks so.” The pause suggested Ista was choosing her words with care. “Don’t you?”
Liss shrugged and moved her brush in case Demon’s flank started developing bald patches.
“He seems under the impression your absence dated from the announcement of the festivities. He even wondered if his previous complaints about the castle food may have lead you to seek out the safety of seclusion, but his heart did not seem in such banter. He fears he’s said something to offend you and, while that sounds very probable knowing Foix, it sounds highly improbable knowing you. Which makes me think - Liss, will you stop that infernal brushing and look at me!”
Liss jumped. Looked. Swallowed.
“Royina?”
“Liss. What’s wrong? I thought you were pleased by my, er, earlier suggestion.”
That I become Lady Sera Annaliss dy Teneret, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Royina Ista. Instead of a mere yeoman’s daughter and lowly courier. A lady fit for an aristocrat?
She spoke straight from the heart to the woman she owed so much to. “More pleased than you can ever know, Royina.”
“Then?”
“Then this dance…” She stopped, her throat unexpectedly tight.
“But you love to dance. I was there - remember? That night in Vinyasca when you jumped over the balcony and joined in.”
She tried not to wince. “This won’t be like dancing in the town square, Royina. There will be many highborn ladies who aren’t still getting accustomed to wearing a pretty dress. Who don’t have sun-burned faces or sit cross-legged on walls. I will be like some great country gawk next to them.”
“Even if that were true - which it is not - the Liss I know would never let that bother her for a moment. She would go there and show those highborn girls what it means to enjoy oneself.” Ista straightened up from the partition and tucked stray hair behind an ear with an impatient hand. “Is it that you think Foix will notice and mind?”
“Yes. No. Possibly.” She snorted at herself but it was an effort. “I sound like a madwoman. Five gods, I have become a madwoman over this.”
“Well… Now we have something else in common.” Ista smiled, but there was disquiet in her eyes. “Dear Liss. Tell me.”
“He hasn’t asked.” She looked at Ista over the chestnut back, hoping she didn’t sound as sullen as she felt. Or would understand what she felt. “The officers - I’ve heard them asking the ladies to reserve dances for them. It’s the gossip of the day, who will dance with who. And even if he did ask, I don’t know these dances. The ones I did before were country ones, the ones I grew up with and learnt as a child.” She bit her lip. “Back in Vinyasca, Ferda chided me afterwards for my - my lack of decorum.”
Ista studied her in silence for a minute. At last she said, “Has Ferda spoken to you?”
“Ferda? He mentioned he would see me there at the feast. Nothing more.”
“Do you think he still has hopes regarding you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think-” Liss stopped, remembering Ferda, very upright and correct. Not quite meeting her eyes. She caught her breath. “I am not at all sure what he thinks.”
“And you?”
“Oh - no. No.” Honesty forced her to add, “Perhaps once, long ago - or so it seems - I did think of him a little. He’s nice to look at. But then I realised that I liked and was irritated by him in equal measure. While Foix-”
“Yes?”
Liss grimaced. “Appears to have irritated me enough to turn me into a madwoman over a simple dance.”
“Then,” Ista smiled a little in return. “I think you should consider that you are dealing with two who are brothers and men first, and rivals only second. That when both have had their eye on a prize, the, um, apparent victor may consider the feelings of the other before anything else.”
“Oh!” Liss let out a deep breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding onto, and thought about this.
“Besides, was I not there when you told Foix to hold all aspirations until you both reached Vispling?”
“Yes. Though I didn’t say anything about all,” Liss added, absently patting Demon’s bony nose. “And now there is another ‘besides’ - there wasn’t a feast and a dance planned then, when we said all that. A decent suitor is supposed to think these things through for himself and take appropriate action.”
The Royina made a small choking sound, which Liss, glancing up, belatedly realised was laughter. She grinned. The fact that she was covered in horse hair and dust, and had sweat-soaked patches in places where ladies were assuredly not meant to sweat, was no longer a source of such concern.
This was her. It hadn’t put Foix off so far, had it? And if it had, wouldn’t it have put her off him?
“I suppose the royalty still stamp their feet in dances, much like the country folk?” she asked Ista.
The Royina took a moment to wipe her eyes. “I think you’ll find they do,” she said gravely. “You’ll be able to see for yourself on the night as I shall certainly require my highly esteemed and irreplaceable lady-in-waiting to attend me there.”
Liss nodded. “I’d like to make all those highborn ladies see how a real country girl dances, Royina, and have them attend me.”
Ista choked again.
The festivities had been timed to begin when the heat of the sun dropped below what was left of the roofline, and this had allowed the honoured guests, who had ridden in on weary mounts an hour or so earlier, time to bathe and refresh. Liss, turning her head to look round the room, thought that Lord Illvin and his willing army of helpers had wrought several miracles upon it with the aid of the gods. No traces of the horses which had been tethered down one side of the star court remained, and the fountain had been cleared out to flow again. Rich, colourful brocades had been draped over the walls - thus hiding the recently-made holes from view and allowing the night breeze pleasantly in - and the air was thick with perfume and the excitement of those who at one time thought they may never celebrate again.
It was subdued excitement, though. Dy Cabon’s prayers firstly reflected the sorrow felt for those not present, asked healing for those still ill and wounded and, finally, blessed the food about to be eaten almost as an afterthought. Liss thought of Lord Arhys, so handsome, so gallant - even when dead - and heard the court magicians struggling to play a lively air because their numbers had been almost halved. It had been a heavy price to pay.
One who’d paid a heavier price than most, stood resplendent and lean in black, the keys of his brother and his brother’s widow hanging from his belt as he waited to greet his guests.
“Bastard’s eyes, Ista,” Lord Illvin muttered, faintly uneasy despite all the trappings of command. “Arhys was always so much better at this than me.”
The Royina, head barely level with his shoulder, smiled up at him. “I am surprised a few formalities worries you more than, say, riding outnumbered into battle armed only with a pitchfork and a very fat white horse?”
“That,” said Illvin feelingly, “was infinitely preferable to this. Porifors is only mine by loss and in my safe-keeping only temporarily. Though if I have you by my side-”
The look he gave Ista was so private and so warm that Liss at once both rejoiced for her and was envious of her.
“Rest assured,” the Royina dimpled, mischievously, “A plague of demons shall not stir me from your- Cazaril!”
She sped off, at a pace somewhat faster than a brisk walk, towards a tall man whose grave and rather severe face softened immediately to a surprisingly merry glint at the sight of her, and whose dark hair, frosted with grey, was not dissimilar to Illvin’s own.
Illvin looked mortified. At least until she turned and beckoned him over to join them with obvious delight at the prospect of his introduction.
Liss, finding herself dismissed for the moment but not wanting to wander off too far, saw both Ferda and Foix standing with the Chancellor and the Marshal. Of course, there was long-standing history there which she’d have liked to have asked Foix about along with much else. Especially the tale of how the Chancellor had once summoned three mules to come to him.
It was Ferda, however, she found herself next to at the high table. Ferda who offered only stilted conversation and picked at his food - some places away, she noticed Foix, uncharacteristically, pushing his around as well - and Ferda to whom she wished there was some way to say… What, exactly?
That above all else, I do not wish to come between your brother and you?
Perhaps he felt something of her uncertainty because as the final platters were cleared away and everyone left the tables, he lingered by her side for a moment. Liss waited.
“I shall be leaving with Marshal dy Palliar in the next day or so.” Ferda hesitated. “In case my duties do not allow - I do wish you well, my lady.”
“And I you.” She also hesitated, wondering whether to curtsey - priggish Ferda might appreciate that, this other Ferda might not - and while she was deciding he took her hand and kissed it. A brief, hard kiss.
He walked quickly away without a backward glance, and she felt sorry for him and could not help feeling a little thrill for herself. She watched the dancers for a little while, noting their movements and tapping her foot along with the rhythm. A junior officer approached her and she was forced to be brutal after all attempts at humorous dismissal fell on drunken and deaf ears. She moved to the side of one of the lanterns, in the cool of the dark shadows, and thought she had the beginnings of a headache. It was odd how unbraided hair, hanging loose and painstakingly arranged by one of Cattilara’s ladies who had chosen to remain behind, seemed to weigh twice as much.
Bootsteps sounded behind her and stopped. A familiar voice and breath close to her ear. “Shall I challenge him to a duel?”
“No need. I’ve already told him I’m not interested in donkeys, only stallions.”
Liss’s hands, which had gone without thinking to tweak the folds of the dress into more organised layers, nearly flew up to her mouth instead to call the words back the instant they’d left. She turned.
Broad shoulders and broad face, with a few faded bruises and tiny cuts still remaining about the eyes from his ordeal. He looked very smart in a blue tunic trimmed with gold.
“How about bears?” said Foix, and grinned at her.
It was hard not to return the grin, but she reminded herself of the last two days which had first deposited her into confusion, and then left her marooned midway, somewhere between doubt and dismay. Silver tongues were easy to come by; honesty was not.
“I’m not sure.” She folded her arms, a gesture not as simple as it usually was because of the trailing, delicate sleeves. “The only one I know seems to be avoiding me of late.”
The smile became a frown. “Not true. Or not through choice, and the same charge applies to you, surely?” He gazed for a moment in the direction Ferda had gone and grimaced. “Someone is having to come to terms with a brother set fair to be a Bastard’s acolyte, and a lady set fair to-” He broke off, peered at her closely. “Would you be upset if I told you the first is proving somewhat harder to come to terms with than the second?”
“Relieved,” she said truthfully. “And you?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Much relieved that you’re relieved. Now that’s out of the way, why are you - apart from avoiding all donkeys, of course - skulking back here in the shadows? I would have thought you’d have loved to dance and certainly would not lack for partners.”
“The steps are new to me and I don’t fancy making a fool of myself in front of all the high-born ladies who’d look down their noses.” She scowled. Partners? Did the great dolt not see? “I seem to have done enough of that recently as it is.”
He scowled back. “During the last couple of days that thought has also crossed my mind.”
“What? That you don’t know these steps?”
“Despite whatever assumptions you may be making - exactly that.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s enough ladies out there to put you right.” She let her voice rise with anger because it choked back all other emotion. “You certainly don’t have to stand in the corner with the lowly stable girl.”
“I’d happily stand there all night if she let me,” he snapped. “As it is, I find it hard to believe that a dance could matter that much to you?”
“It’s never mattered that much before.” She gulped to control the tightness in her throat, realising how much she’d given away, but still reeling from I’d happily stand there all night, which had only now sunk in.
“Liss.” Foix said it so quietly it was a minute before she looked up and saw how flushed he was. “Am I to take it that you think it suddenly matters to me because you weren’t brought up to learn this dance as a matter of course?”
She looked down at the beautiful slippers which were pinching her toes like mad. “You did agree you’d been avoiding me,” she muttered. “There had to be some reason.”
“I saw you watch Prince Sordso when he snivelled and cried at the Royina’s feet. You’ve seen what a long way Goram still has to go if, indeed, he can go that far. It did occur to me that seeing someone demon-gnawed - let alone someone who has been gnawed, however briefly, by two - might not be the most attractive of propositions. I would not blame you if-”
He stopped. “I would not blame you at all,” he said, on a shaken whisper.
She stared at him, wondering if her mouth had fallen open very wide, thinking that a modest lady wouldn’t do either of those things. Of all the things she had imagined, he had picked the one she had not.
“Oh,” she said at last, deciding it was better to reassure him practically in the first instance than to throw herself headlong at him, tempting though that was. “I thought you knew that I have always been fearful for you, but I have never been fearful of you.”
His turn to stare. The hopeful quirk of the lips in one corner was very attractive and the headlong throwing grew even more tempting. But first…
“And I would not blame you,” she said carefully, thinking she would, very much after that, “if you regretted my lack of grace.”
One eyebrow rose, the other followed. This time she let herself grin. They both came down again, and an answering smile crept across his face along with an unmistakable glitter in his eye.
“You’ve never seen me dance,” he said. “You’ll be the one needing condolences.”
“I thought bears had a natural talent for that sort of thing?”
“Not this one.” Somehow his hand found hers, transferred it to his arm, and led her forward towards the music and the dancers. “This one must have been out hunting the day lessons were being given.”
Liss laughed. “You could use magic,” she suggested as they joined the edge of the throng of dancers. He bowed very low and correctly to her.
“A wise woman,” Foix said feelingly, as he straightened up, “once told me I would find all the magic I wanted, if I left all demons out of the equation.”
“She didn’t!” Liss did her curtsey, which never seemed to go quite right, but the voluminous skirt did hide a multitude of sins.
“Not quite. I received her meaning, though.” Foix frowned, glancing around him. “To the traditional ordeals by fire and water, there will now be numbered ordeal by dance. Five gods, I hope you paid attention from your corner.”
She had. Despite his protests, Foix had a sure grasp of the steps and, excitingly, of her hands, and she had enthusiasm enough for both of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she was pleased to see Ferda with a most attractive partner. They joined in with a brisk roundel and were soon managing figures with a cheery panache. She might even have managed an air of elegance if Foix hadn’t persisted in smirking at her every time they passed which made her do some retaliatory face-pulling of her own.
She stamped her feet with relish, her long hair flying around her, noticing that they were edging towards the doorway and wondering if she was mistaking his intent for lack of direction.
A warm hand snaked out, caught her round the waist, and turned her smoothly. It appeared she had not mistaken anything as he led her out under the pearl gray sky with the shadows of nightfall gathering round them, past the steps and the forecourt, towards the wall overlooking the stables which she’d often sat cross-legged on. There was a smattering of applause behind them as the music drew to a close.
“And now, lady…” he whispered, his eyes holding hers.
His lips were soft, softer than she’d imagined, and he tilted her head back with his hands in her hair. The kiss, which started by asking a gentle question, quickly found an assured answer from them both.
He drew back a little and looked at her. Anxious, and a little vulnerable, and not at all Foix-like.
She grinned, thinking she must be starry eyed, and not caring because he was too. He laughed, all anxiety vanishing, as his hands went to her waist and, very carefully, he lifted her and the layers of beautifully embroidered dress onto her familiar place on the wall. She decided it was probably best not to attempt to cross her legs right now.
He hopped up nimbly next to her and she leaned against him and into him, her head on his shoulder, enjoying the roughness of the tunic beneath her cheek and feeling the warmth of him rush through her again. A tiny breeze carried the familiar, comforting smell of horses and ripened hay towards them, and a lantern glowed faintly in the corner of a bowed roof.
His large hand clasped hers tightly. “Aye,” he murmured against her ear, till she turned her head and looked up at him.
“Now I know what the gods mean by grace,” he said.
Genre: Romance; Angst
Ratings & Warnings: PG
Word Count: 3682
Summary: Liss tried not to wince. “This won’t be like dancing in the town square, Royina. There will be many highborn ladies who aren’t still getting accustomed to wearing a pretty dress. Who don’t have sun-burned faces or sit cross-legged on walls." Set a few days after Paladin of Souls ends so massive spoilers if you have not read it.
Author's Note: For hrymfaxe, who requested Foix, Ferda and the prompt dance, and who appears to have ended up with most of my favourite characters in there as well. This took me ages to get going with and then threatened to become the world's longest ever drabble. Any feedback/concrit is very welcome as it is my first attempt at this fandom, and after the initial brick wall it was so much fun. :)
Days of Grace
No one was quite sure who had first put forward the suggestion. Lord Illvin, a smile rarely off his face these days, said it must have been mentioned in conversation by the Royina. The Lady Ista, whose lips also smiled most readily, and especially whenever mention was made of the mysteriously blossoming apricot tree in the forecourt, calmly shook her head and thanked dy Cabon for the idea. He, rather wistfully straightening the once-white robes which hung quite loosely on him now, denied all knowledge. Whilst adding that, of course, it was both an extremely fitting tribute to the gods who had protected them, and the eagerly awaited arrival of Marshal dy Palliar and Chancellor dy Cazaril.
So no credit may have been claimed, but the feast and dance was announced, preparations begun, and after nearly a week of frenzied hammering and frantic repairs to restore Castle Porifors to a little of its former glories, there was no doubt all were ready to celebrate.
Except perhaps one.
Liss took to hiding out in the stables and was heartily ashamed of herself for doing so.
It was there, one afternoon, that the Royina found her. Liss’s own horse having been brushed so vigorously that his palamino coat was a covering of softest gold, she had moved on to the mounts of the senior officers - all riders having been recruited to the carpentry division, irrespective of rank - then those of the junior ones, and finally on to the tall, ugly and possessed chestnut stallion. It had eyed her with suspicion and she’d raised the brush, ready to retaliate in kind if those yellow teeth snapped at her. But perhaps it could smell the Royina’s scent on her, or it simply recognised another confused soul for it shivered at her first touch and then submitted. A short while later, it was positively leaning against her as she brushed and hummed.
“I see you’ve charmed yet another male in my retinue.”
The voice was amused. Liss looked up to see the Lady Ista watching her, leaning her head back on the partition, against the cushion of what looked like very hastily pinned-up hair.
Perhaps Lord Illvin had been able to snatch some time off between his duties.
“Oh, this one’s quite sweet. When you get to know him.” Liss gave the chestnut a congratulatory pat for standing like a docile old mule to have his feet picked out, and watched the crest of the red neck swell with discernable pride. Wanting some praise to know he was being appreciated, she thought, smothering a grin. Same as all men.
“I did wonder what was occupying seemingly so much of your time down here.” Ista’s voice was still light, but she eyed Liss thoughtfully. “I scarcely imagined it was Demon.”
“Lady, if I have in any way neglected-”
“Dear Liss, no. Not at all. At least - not me.” She waited till Liss felt the tell-tale color rising in her face, and then added gently, “I passed Foix in the forecourt.”
“Oh.” Liss tossed her braid back over her shoulder and set to work with the brush again.
“He said he’s hardly seen you these last two days.”
“He’s looked then, has he?”
“It would appear he thinks so.” The pause suggested Ista was choosing her words with care. “Don’t you?”
Liss shrugged and moved her brush in case Demon’s flank started developing bald patches.
“He seems under the impression your absence dated from the announcement of the festivities. He even wondered if his previous complaints about the castle food may have lead you to seek out the safety of seclusion, but his heart did not seem in such banter. He fears he’s said something to offend you and, while that sounds very probable knowing Foix, it sounds highly improbable knowing you. Which makes me think - Liss, will you stop that infernal brushing and look at me!”
Liss jumped. Looked. Swallowed.
“Royina?”
“Liss. What’s wrong? I thought you were pleased by my, er, earlier suggestion.”
That I become Lady Sera Annaliss dy Teneret, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Royina Ista. Instead of a mere yeoman’s daughter and lowly courier. A lady fit for an aristocrat?
She spoke straight from the heart to the woman she owed so much to. “More pleased than you can ever know, Royina.”
“Then?”
“Then this dance…” She stopped, her throat unexpectedly tight.
“But you love to dance. I was there - remember? That night in Vinyasca when you jumped over the balcony and joined in.”
She tried not to wince. “This won’t be like dancing in the town square, Royina. There will be many highborn ladies who aren’t still getting accustomed to wearing a pretty dress. Who don’t have sun-burned faces or sit cross-legged on walls. I will be like some great country gawk next to them.”
“Even if that were true - which it is not - the Liss I know would never let that bother her for a moment. She would go there and show those highborn girls what it means to enjoy oneself.” Ista straightened up from the partition and tucked stray hair behind an ear with an impatient hand. “Is it that you think Foix will notice and mind?”
“Yes. No. Possibly.” She snorted at herself but it was an effort. “I sound like a madwoman. Five gods, I have become a madwoman over this.”
“Well… Now we have something else in common.” Ista smiled, but there was disquiet in her eyes. “Dear Liss. Tell me.”
“He hasn’t asked.” She looked at Ista over the chestnut back, hoping she didn’t sound as sullen as she felt. Or would understand what she felt. “The officers - I’ve heard them asking the ladies to reserve dances for them. It’s the gossip of the day, who will dance with who. And even if he did ask, I don’t know these dances. The ones I did before were country ones, the ones I grew up with and learnt as a child.” She bit her lip. “Back in Vinyasca, Ferda chided me afterwards for my - my lack of decorum.”
Ista studied her in silence for a minute. At last she said, “Has Ferda spoken to you?”
“Ferda? He mentioned he would see me there at the feast. Nothing more.”
“Do you think he still has hopes regarding you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think-” Liss stopped, remembering Ferda, very upright and correct. Not quite meeting her eyes. She caught her breath. “I am not at all sure what he thinks.”
“And you?”
“Oh - no. No.” Honesty forced her to add, “Perhaps once, long ago - or so it seems - I did think of him a little. He’s nice to look at. But then I realised that I liked and was irritated by him in equal measure. While Foix-”
“Yes?”
Liss grimaced. “Appears to have irritated me enough to turn me into a madwoman over a simple dance.”
“Then,” Ista smiled a little in return. “I think you should consider that you are dealing with two who are brothers and men first, and rivals only second. That when both have had their eye on a prize, the, um, apparent victor may consider the feelings of the other before anything else.”
“Oh!” Liss let out a deep breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding onto, and thought about this.
“Besides, was I not there when you told Foix to hold all aspirations until you both reached Vispling?”
“Yes. Though I didn’t say anything about all,” Liss added, absently patting Demon’s bony nose. “And now there is another ‘besides’ - there wasn’t a feast and a dance planned then, when we said all that. A decent suitor is supposed to think these things through for himself and take appropriate action.”
The Royina made a small choking sound, which Liss, glancing up, belatedly realised was laughter. She grinned. The fact that she was covered in horse hair and dust, and had sweat-soaked patches in places where ladies were assuredly not meant to sweat, was no longer a source of such concern.
This was her. It hadn’t put Foix off so far, had it? And if it had, wouldn’t it have put her off him?
“I suppose the royalty still stamp their feet in dances, much like the country folk?” she asked Ista.
The Royina took a moment to wipe her eyes. “I think you’ll find they do,” she said gravely. “You’ll be able to see for yourself on the night as I shall certainly require my highly esteemed and irreplaceable lady-in-waiting to attend me there.”
Liss nodded. “I’d like to make all those highborn ladies see how a real country girl dances, Royina, and have them attend me.”
Ista choked again.
The festivities had been timed to begin when the heat of the sun dropped below what was left of the roofline, and this had allowed the honoured guests, who had ridden in on weary mounts an hour or so earlier, time to bathe and refresh. Liss, turning her head to look round the room, thought that Lord Illvin and his willing army of helpers had wrought several miracles upon it with the aid of the gods. No traces of the horses which had been tethered down one side of the star court remained, and the fountain had been cleared out to flow again. Rich, colourful brocades had been draped over the walls - thus hiding the recently-made holes from view and allowing the night breeze pleasantly in - and the air was thick with perfume and the excitement of those who at one time thought they may never celebrate again.
It was subdued excitement, though. Dy Cabon’s prayers firstly reflected the sorrow felt for those not present, asked healing for those still ill and wounded and, finally, blessed the food about to be eaten almost as an afterthought. Liss thought of Lord Arhys, so handsome, so gallant - even when dead - and heard the court magicians struggling to play a lively air because their numbers had been almost halved. It had been a heavy price to pay.
One who’d paid a heavier price than most, stood resplendent and lean in black, the keys of his brother and his brother’s widow hanging from his belt as he waited to greet his guests.
“Bastard’s eyes, Ista,” Lord Illvin muttered, faintly uneasy despite all the trappings of command. “Arhys was always so much better at this than me.”
The Royina, head barely level with his shoulder, smiled up at him. “I am surprised a few formalities worries you more than, say, riding outnumbered into battle armed only with a pitchfork and a very fat white horse?”
“That,” said Illvin feelingly, “was infinitely preferable to this. Porifors is only mine by loss and in my safe-keeping only temporarily. Though if I have you by my side-”
The look he gave Ista was so private and so warm that Liss at once both rejoiced for her and was envious of her.
“Rest assured,” the Royina dimpled, mischievously, “A plague of demons shall not stir me from your- Cazaril!”
She sped off, at a pace somewhat faster than a brisk walk, towards a tall man whose grave and rather severe face softened immediately to a surprisingly merry glint at the sight of her, and whose dark hair, frosted with grey, was not dissimilar to Illvin’s own.
Illvin looked mortified. At least until she turned and beckoned him over to join them with obvious delight at the prospect of his introduction.
Liss, finding herself dismissed for the moment but not wanting to wander off too far, saw both Ferda and Foix standing with the Chancellor and the Marshal. Of course, there was long-standing history there which she’d have liked to have asked Foix about along with much else. Especially the tale of how the Chancellor had once summoned three mules to come to him.
It was Ferda, however, she found herself next to at the high table. Ferda who offered only stilted conversation and picked at his food - some places away, she noticed Foix, uncharacteristically, pushing his around as well - and Ferda to whom she wished there was some way to say… What, exactly?
That above all else, I do not wish to come between your brother and you?
Perhaps he felt something of her uncertainty because as the final platters were cleared away and everyone left the tables, he lingered by her side for a moment. Liss waited.
“I shall be leaving with Marshal dy Palliar in the next day or so.” Ferda hesitated. “In case my duties do not allow - I do wish you well, my lady.”
“And I you.” She also hesitated, wondering whether to curtsey - priggish Ferda might appreciate that, this other Ferda might not - and while she was deciding he took her hand and kissed it. A brief, hard kiss.
He walked quickly away without a backward glance, and she felt sorry for him and could not help feeling a little thrill for herself. She watched the dancers for a little while, noting their movements and tapping her foot along with the rhythm. A junior officer approached her and she was forced to be brutal after all attempts at humorous dismissal fell on drunken and deaf ears. She moved to the side of one of the lanterns, in the cool of the dark shadows, and thought she had the beginnings of a headache. It was odd how unbraided hair, hanging loose and painstakingly arranged by one of Cattilara’s ladies who had chosen to remain behind, seemed to weigh twice as much.
Bootsteps sounded behind her and stopped. A familiar voice and breath close to her ear. “Shall I challenge him to a duel?”
“No need. I’ve already told him I’m not interested in donkeys, only stallions.”
Liss’s hands, which had gone without thinking to tweak the folds of the dress into more organised layers, nearly flew up to her mouth instead to call the words back the instant they’d left. She turned.
Broad shoulders and broad face, with a few faded bruises and tiny cuts still remaining about the eyes from his ordeal. He looked very smart in a blue tunic trimmed with gold.
“How about bears?” said Foix, and grinned at her.
It was hard not to return the grin, but she reminded herself of the last two days which had first deposited her into confusion, and then left her marooned midway, somewhere between doubt and dismay. Silver tongues were easy to come by; honesty was not.
“I’m not sure.” She folded her arms, a gesture not as simple as it usually was because of the trailing, delicate sleeves. “The only one I know seems to be avoiding me of late.”
The smile became a frown. “Not true. Or not through choice, and the same charge applies to you, surely?” He gazed for a moment in the direction Ferda had gone and grimaced. “Someone is having to come to terms with a brother set fair to be a Bastard’s acolyte, and a lady set fair to-” He broke off, peered at her closely. “Would you be upset if I told you the first is proving somewhat harder to come to terms with than the second?”
“Relieved,” she said truthfully. “And you?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Much relieved that you’re relieved. Now that’s out of the way, why are you - apart from avoiding all donkeys, of course - skulking back here in the shadows? I would have thought you’d have loved to dance and certainly would not lack for partners.”
“The steps are new to me and I don’t fancy making a fool of myself in front of all the high-born ladies who’d look down their noses.” She scowled. Partners? Did the great dolt not see? “I seem to have done enough of that recently as it is.”
He scowled back. “During the last couple of days that thought has also crossed my mind.”
“What? That you don’t know these steps?”
“Despite whatever assumptions you may be making - exactly that.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s enough ladies out there to put you right.” She let her voice rise with anger because it choked back all other emotion. “You certainly don’t have to stand in the corner with the lowly stable girl.”
“I’d happily stand there all night if she let me,” he snapped. “As it is, I find it hard to believe that a dance could matter that much to you?”
“It’s never mattered that much before.” She gulped to control the tightness in her throat, realising how much she’d given away, but still reeling from I’d happily stand there all night, which had only now sunk in.
“Liss.” Foix said it so quietly it was a minute before she looked up and saw how flushed he was. “Am I to take it that you think it suddenly matters to me because you weren’t brought up to learn this dance as a matter of course?”
She looked down at the beautiful slippers which were pinching her toes like mad. “You did agree you’d been avoiding me,” she muttered. “There had to be some reason.”
“I saw you watch Prince Sordso when he snivelled and cried at the Royina’s feet. You’ve seen what a long way Goram still has to go if, indeed, he can go that far. It did occur to me that seeing someone demon-gnawed - let alone someone who has been gnawed, however briefly, by two - might not be the most attractive of propositions. I would not blame you if-”
He stopped. “I would not blame you at all,” he said, on a shaken whisper.
She stared at him, wondering if her mouth had fallen open very wide, thinking that a modest lady wouldn’t do either of those things. Of all the things she had imagined, he had picked the one she had not.
“Oh,” she said at last, deciding it was better to reassure him practically in the first instance than to throw herself headlong at him, tempting though that was. “I thought you knew that I have always been fearful for you, but I have never been fearful of you.”
His turn to stare. The hopeful quirk of the lips in one corner was very attractive and the headlong throwing grew even more tempting. But first…
“And I would not blame you,” she said carefully, thinking she would, very much after that, “if you regretted my lack of grace.”
One eyebrow rose, the other followed. This time she let herself grin. They both came down again, and an answering smile crept across his face along with an unmistakable glitter in his eye.
“You’ve never seen me dance,” he said. “You’ll be the one needing condolences.”
“I thought bears had a natural talent for that sort of thing?”
“Not this one.” Somehow his hand found hers, transferred it to his arm, and led her forward towards the music and the dancers. “This one must have been out hunting the day lessons were being given.”
Liss laughed. “You could use magic,” she suggested as they joined the edge of the throng of dancers. He bowed very low and correctly to her.
“A wise woman,” Foix said feelingly, as he straightened up, “once told me I would find all the magic I wanted, if I left all demons out of the equation.”
“She didn’t!” Liss did her curtsey, which never seemed to go quite right, but the voluminous skirt did hide a multitude of sins.
“Not quite. I received her meaning, though.” Foix frowned, glancing around him. “To the traditional ordeals by fire and water, there will now be numbered ordeal by dance. Five gods, I hope you paid attention from your corner.”
She had. Despite his protests, Foix had a sure grasp of the steps and, excitingly, of her hands, and she had enthusiasm enough for both of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she was pleased to see Ferda with a most attractive partner. They joined in with a brisk roundel and were soon managing figures with a cheery panache. She might even have managed an air of elegance if Foix hadn’t persisted in smirking at her every time they passed which made her do some retaliatory face-pulling of her own.
She stamped her feet with relish, her long hair flying around her, noticing that they were edging towards the doorway and wondering if she was mistaking his intent for lack of direction.
A warm hand snaked out, caught her round the waist, and turned her smoothly. It appeared she had not mistaken anything as he led her out under the pearl gray sky with the shadows of nightfall gathering round them, past the steps and the forecourt, towards the wall overlooking the stables which she’d often sat cross-legged on. There was a smattering of applause behind them as the music drew to a close.
“And now, lady…” he whispered, his eyes holding hers.
His lips were soft, softer than she’d imagined, and he tilted her head back with his hands in her hair. The kiss, which started by asking a gentle question, quickly found an assured answer from them both.
He drew back a little and looked at her. Anxious, and a little vulnerable, and not at all Foix-like.
She grinned, thinking she must be starry eyed, and not caring because he was too. He laughed, all anxiety vanishing, as his hands went to her waist and, very carefully, he lifted her and the layers of beautifully embroidered dress onto her familiar place on the wall. She decided it was probably best not to attempt to cross her legs right now.
He hopped up nimbly next to her and she leaned against him and into him, her head on his shoulder, enjoying the roughness of the tunic beneath her cheek and feeling the warmth of him rush through her again. A tiny breeze carried the familiar, comforting smell of horses and ripened hay towards them, and a lantern glowed faintly in the corner of a bowed roof.
His large hand clasped hers tightly. “Aye,” he murmured against her ear, till she turned her head and looked up at him.
“Now I know what the gods mean by grace,” he said.