House of Shadows (22 page)

“The ending to every tale,” Koriadde said wryly. “If someone must break an arm, it always seems to be me.”

Bluefountain and Summer Pearl brought their song to an ambiguous close, as though the music might continue if one listened for it, or might at least be meant to continue. Taudde tilted his head, intrigued. But Summer Pearl set her harp on the floor beside her cushion and went around the table to pour more wine for anyone who nodded, ending by pouring a glass for herself. She settled on a cushion between Lord Miennes and Mage Ankennes and said, “Oh, tales of our foolish youth. Mine are modestly lost in the distant past, which is fortunate for my present dignity.”

To Taudde’s surprise, Mage Ankennes removed a thick ring of braided gold and silver wire from his thumb and offered it as a gift to whoever told the best story of misspent youth. Koriadde instantly tossed an armband of copper set with fire opals onto the table and suggested that everyone tell a story and then the entire gathering could decide upon a winner, everyone else paying a forfeit to this fortunate person. The young men and the keiso agreed enthusiastically.

Summer Pearl poured more wine for everyone to toast this decision while the servants brought in new dishes. Featherreed began a story from her first year as a deisa of climbing over the rooftops of the candlelight district on midsummer night to meet a boy from Maple Leaf House—the son of a keiso and a wealthy ship merchant. Taudde lost the first part of this story because Leilis led in two servants with trays of some complicated tidbits and he found himself at once trying to trace the workings of the ensorcellment that surrounded the woman. Without touching her again, he couldn’t quite grasp the edges of the spellwork… She went out
again, leaving him once more frustrated and distracted. And worried. What if she told the Mother of Cloisonné House that she thought the foreign Lord Chontas might be a mage?

“I made it to the rooftop of the Sea-Dragon Theater much later than we had agreed to meet there,” Featherreed was saying when Taudde finally managed, with some difficulty, to bring his attention back to her story. “It was nearly the hinge of the night when I arrived, and raining gently. That night the Riembana were performing the ‘Four Seasons of the Heart,’ by Geselle Maniente, you know. The music came up and mingled with the rain. I thought I had never heard anything so beautiful. It seemed to me that every drop of rain chimed like a bell as it hit the rooftops. So I made my way around to the western side of the theater where the rooftops nearly touch and jumped across the last gap—”

“And found the boy there with another girl,” guessed Ankennes, smiling. “Girls mustn’t trust the promises boys make at noon; so few last till dawn.”

Meadowbell and Rue both laughed knowingly, clearly familiar with this story.

“You’re wrong,” said Featherreed, laughing and blushing at the same time. “He was there. So were four other couples. Even in the rain! But it was midsummer night, and there was ‘Four Seasons of the Heart,’ so everybody had had the same idea. Including Mother and her keisonne!”

Ankennes exclaimed “No!” and laughed freely. All the young men were grinning or laughing. The prince smiled.

“The Mothers of all the Houses knew perfectly well somebody ought to be there,” finished Featherreed. “I was so embarrassed! But the boy—it was Hedderes, son of Kedres ken Miriedd, and he’ll tell you it’s all true—anyway, he’d very bravely remained to stay by me if I came. We both swore on the mountains and the sea that we’d just meant to listen to the music—all the young people swore the same oath, I believe—and fortunately Mother didn’t take the adventure very seriously.”

“A good story,” approved Koriadde, and immediately began to
try to outdo it with a story involving his father’s favorite horse, half a dozen of his evidently wild friends, and the terrible time they’d had getting the animal into the uppermost story of his father’s country house in Kenne.

The youngest of the keiso had remained at the edge of the gathering, her intense sapphire gaze drawn first to one and then another of the company as the stories were told. She was eating only a little and drinking nothing but tea, Taudde had noticed with approval. But the girl’s shyness had eased as the men’s attention was drawn elsewhere. She laughed freely at Koriadde’s story and then at Meadowbell’s, looking young, happy, and extremely beautiful. And the prince, though he laughed dutifully at Meadowbell’s story and then Jerinte’s, was clearly enthralled by her. His captivation was, in fact, rather charming. Taudde, not wanting to be charmed, looked away.

The keiso, too, were aware of the prince’s attention. After Jerinte’s story, Rue murmured to her young protégée. Moonflower looked first surprised and then pleased. Truly, she was not shy by nature, Taudde saw, only she had been uncertain at first in company she did not know.

Now she thought for a moment and then began, “Now, this happened when I was only fourteen. One cannot expect good sense from a child of fourteen, so what happened was not my fault.”

Around the table everyone was settling back with anticipation. The keiso shifted around the table, Meadowbell settling next to Miennes and Featherreed by Jerinte. Rue settled to a cushion beside Taudde. Servants had brought a pale liquor, and Rue poured him a small cup. Taudde tasted the liquor cautiously. It was very sweet, with a tart aftertaste that lingered on the tongue. The prince distractedly waved away the cup Summer Pearl offered him, his attention all for Moonflower.

The girl clearly wasn’t
trying
to captivate the prince. There was nothing studied or artificial about her manner. But her natural warmth and innocence was delightful. And, Taudde judged, glancing around the table, every other man present agreed, even
Miennes, whose close attention to the young keiso Taudde read as ugly and lascivious. Ankennes, in contrast, had an air of rather paternal interest. Koriadde and Jerinte had noticed their prince’s fascination and had taken a slightly distant attitude.

Rue and Summer Pearl both looked wry and amused and a little resigned at the men’s reaction to their young companion. Meadowbell and Featherreed had their heads tilted together, and Taudde suspected this evening would itself become a story. Bluefountain was playing a quick rippling melody with an intricate descant behind the melodic line. Her expression was closed, intent. Taudde thought the older keiso might not even have noticed the general male focus on Moonflower.

“We had taken ship for Ankanne,” Moonflower explained. “My father had business with the stone yards there. Why he thought he should take all eight of his daughters along I can’t say, except we begged to go and he did not like to be parted from us. And then I suppose he thought a little travel would be good for us—we had never been out of Lonne, except for Ananda once.” There was a touch of sadness when she spoke of her family, which only added to her charm.

“You have seven sisters?” asked Prince Tepres, seeming much struck by this detail. He had had seven brothers, of course, before the various rebellions three of them had attempted against their father.

“Yes, my lord. Eminence. My lord,” answered the girl, with pretty confusion. They had been very informal all through the evening and yet she knew this was a prince of Lonne. A little confusion of address was not exceptional, but in this case the prince seemed charmed by it. Again Taudde found himself drawn to like the young prince, and again he flinched from that impulse.

“By no means regard my interruption,” Prince Tepres was saying warmly, and gestured for the girl to continue. “And, indeed, we are not at all formal this evening.”

Blushing, Moonflower lowered her sapphire gaze. She said softly, “Well, then, my lord, we took ship for Ankanne. My sister
Miande learned to make a horrible kind of porridge with fish and hard cracker, and all that next year she would make it sometimes, to tease us. My sister Enelle learned to figure the ship’s heading from the stars, and the captain of the ship gave her a compass of crystal and brass when we left the ship. Does one say ‘disembarked’? Is that the term?”

“One might,” said the prince. He rested his chin into his palm, regarding the young keiso with a serious expression, but the corners of his eyes had crinkled with laughter.

“Well, disembarked, then. But before that, my poor sister Nemienne was ill and hid below in our cabin, so we took turns nursing her. She thought it was very unfair and complained until she was too ill even to grumble.”

Jerinte, a little too far into the liquor, sat up and declared, “I’m always ill at sea! I go overland all the time now.”

“Yes, Jerinte, we all have great sympathy for your affliction,” said the prince sharply, and then much more kindly to the young keiso, “But by all means continue.”

“Well, my lord, so Nemienne was ill, and Tana a little, but not so much. And my sister Liaska, who was only just seven years of age, learned to climb in the rigging like a ship’s boy, even though everyone tried to prevent her, and she learned to curse like a sailor, too. It took months to teach her not to.”

There were chuckles around the table and Moonflower smiled in return and continued, “But I am the only one of us in all that voyage who laid a hand on the nose of a sea dragon.”

The prince sat up straight, exclaiming. From the reactions of the keiso, Taudde realized that none of them had heard this story before either. He realized that this girl must be a newcomer to Cloisonné House. Mage Ankennes blinked and cocked his head at her, deeply interested, and even Jeres leaned an elbow on the table and looked sincerely intrigued for the first time in the evening. Miennes had a faintly skeptical look in his eye, but said nothing.

“It came out of the sea on a day so quiet the water was as still as the sky,” Moonflower said. Her voice dropped, creating a new
sense of intimacy as everyone was forced to hush and lean forward to listen. “The sea is dark there off Monne, where the bottom falls away and the sea is deep. There is a different look to the waves there, as though they hide all their power in the depths and so there is less to see on the surface.

“Birds had been with us all the time, flying after the ship and perching on the ropes: That kind with the long white wings, and the small kind that darts in and out of the waves as though it were half fish and only half bird. But there were no birds with us that morning. I think they saw it far below, a shadow in the blue, and it frightened them because it was so much greater than they.”

She was a natural storyteller, Taudde thought. There was music in the cadences of her voice. Despite everything, he found himself genuinely interested in her story. Bluefountain had begun playing an accompaniment, picking up the rhythm of the girl’s voice with her kinsana and adding a dark burring underneath that rhythm, as though something great swam below Moonflower’s words.

“Fish came before it, leaping on the surface of the water. The light turned them to silver and pearl as they leaped. There were hundreds of fish, thousands maybe, so many the whole sea seemed alive with them. If someone had leaped over the railing, I think he would have been able to walk on their backs as though on cobbles.

“I remember the captain shouting to us to get away from the railing. At the time, I did not hear him. I was looking at the dragon. My father and my older sisters were busy with the little girls, and Nemienne, who would have given her toes for a chance to see a dragon, was below in our cabin. So there was no one by the railing but me when the dragon came up out of the sea.

“It might have been made by a Paliante jeweler.” The girl’s voice dropped even lower, taking on a dreamier cadence. “Its scales were enameled in jet and citrine. Its ivory tusks looked like crescent moons, and its horns were jet spiraled around with gold. It seemed to rise up as high as Kerre Maraddras. Its head seemed the size of the Laodd, its eyes larger than whole oxen. They were sapphire traced with nets of gold, and they had slit pupils like a cat’s.

“I thought it would fall down on the ship and crush it, as an avalanche will crush a cart, and with no more malice. It seemed to me a force of the sea, like the wind and the waves. But then it dipped its head to the railing and turned to look across the deck with one sapphire eye, and I saw it knew we were a ship and not really a thing of the sea, and that it was curious. By then I knew that I should back away, only it was too late. And it was so beautiful. It was near enough I could reach out my hand and touch it. So I did. It was cool, but not cold, and not slippery as a fish is slippery. Touching it was like touching glass.

“Then it lifted its head again and went down into the sea, and the water closed over it, and it was gone. And I cried,” the girl finished simply. “My father thought it was because I had been afraid, but really I cried because it had been so beautiful.”

There was a brief, awed pause. Bluefountain drew her accompaniment to a conclusion, letting the burr underlying the melody sink down and disappear, like something great slipping slowly from sight. She did not lay a hand across the strings to still them, but let the last notes ease imperceptibly down into silence.

Then Koriadde, without a word, picked up his arm ring and tossed it to the table before Moonflower. It nearly slid off the edge, so the girl had to put a hand out to steady it. She looked at Koriadde in surprise, and Taudde knew she had not expected to win any prize for her story—that she had not been thinking at all of the terms the young man had proposed for the game.

Ankennes gave the young keiso his ring, murmuring, “Beautifully told, child.” Jeres Geliadde gave her his thumb ring of plain polished hematite, and Rue leaned over and murmured to Moonflower that this ring meant she could request aid from any of the King’s Own guardsmen. Moonflower looked suitably impressed. Taudde observed the glance the prince and his bodyguard exchanged, and the resigned nod Jeres Geliadde gave the prince, and the prince’s small smile, but he thought Moonflower missed this exchange.