by Sharon Shinn
He gazed up at her. “If you’re not planning to leave the building again.”
“I’ll stay put. I promise.”
“Then I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Trying not to lean on the princess too heavily, Rafe limped through the door into the main room, where Callie and Bo were cleaning up after the first round of diners and setting out food for the next wave.
“Pull up a chair if you’re hungry,” Callie called. “I’ll bring meals out to you.”
Caze bustled off to find Sorbin, but Rafe sank gratefully to the first chair he could find, which was at a table that was blessedly empty. Josetta dropped into a seat across from him. “It doesn’t seem like it should be so tiring to just sit in a conveyance all day while someone else does the driving, but it is,” she remarked. “And I’m not even recovering from mortal wounds!”
“I hate being so pathetic,” Rafe said with a grimace. “I’d rather be dashing and manly.”
Josetta was still laughing when Callie brought over a tray filled with plates and glasses. Plain food and tumblers of tepid water had never seemed so appetizing. “You were plenty dashing when you saved Corene, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“You weren’t even there when I confronted those ruffians,” Rafe pointed out. “You didn’t get to see me strut and threaten.”
“Maybe you don’t know this, but I’m not really impressed when people strut and threaten,” Josetta answered. “I’m much more touched when someone is wounded and desperate.”
He wolfed down the first bite of meat before answering. “Even to please you, I don’t think I can promise to let myself get beaten up again,” he said. “If that’s what it takes to catch your attention, I’m not going to be able to do it.”
She was eating more daintily than he was, but Rafe noticed that the food was disappearing pretty rapidly off her plate as well. “You’ve caught my attention in a number of ways,” she said, her voice low enough that no one else could overhear. “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting you anytime soon.”
Rafe swallowed another big mouthful. “So. What he said back there. About my parents. Do you think he was right?”
Without hesitation, she nodded. “The primes all have the power to read people, but in very different ways. My sister Zoe can touch a man and tell you who he’s related to because she can analyze the blood in his veins. I don’t know how Mirti and Nelson and Taro sort out who belongs to what family, but I’m certain they can do it.” When he didn’t answer, she studied him curiously. “Does it bother you? To know you don’t belong here?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been something of an outsider. I didn’t fit in when I lived in the country. I live on the fringes here in the city. This news doesn’t really change anything, but it makes me curious, I guess. I always thought my mother ran away from some farming homestead, maybe, came to the city to try to make her fortune, and ended up seduced and abandoned.” He shrugged again. “Not a pretty story, but a common one. But if she came here from some other country—why’d she leave? Why’d she pick Welce?”
“And where did she come from?” Josetta asked. “Cozique? Malinqua? Both pretty long journeys for a woman with a baby.”
“Soeche-Tas is just over the mountains,” he suggested. “Maybe that’s where she was from.”
Josetta studied him a moment. “Maybe. But I’ve met my share of Soechins and you don’t have their look.”
“I suppose we’ll never know.”
“Could you ask your stepfather? Maybe your mother confided the truth to him.”
“Could be. Though I think he would have told me the story by now if he knew it. He’s a great believer in honesty no matter what the cost.”
“That’s right. You said he was torz. It’s a typical failing.”
“At any rate, at this point it doesn’t matter much who she was. You said it yourself, the night we met. It doesn’t matter what kind of family we’re born into. What matters is what kind of people we become.”
“I do believe that,” she said, smiling now. “And trust me, I know how it feels to learn, very abruptly, that your parents aren’t who you thought they were. But you’re still who you made yourself into. Life just becomes a little more interesting, that’s all.”
“I think mine’s been interesting enough lately, thank you very much.”
She tilted her head to observe him. “Something tells me there are more unexpected developments to come. I hope they’ll be fun to watch.”
He observed her for a long moment before finally saying, “And I hope you’re there to watch them.”
EIGHT
The next morning, as she prepared to travel into the heart of Chialto, Josetta was surprised to learn that Caze and Sorbin didn’t plan to follow her through the city like so many dogged shadows.
“We’ll take you to the Cinque, just to see you safely out of the slums, but our orders are to guard the shelter,” Caze informed her. “As long as Foley’s with you, we’re to stay here.”
She could admire Darien’s master hand at work; she could hardly object to the presence of his guards if they were standing watch over the thing she loved. Then again, maybe Caze and Sorbin just didn’t want to accompany her because they knew where she was going.
To her mother’s house.
Seterre had taken a place almost dead center in the city, a little south of the fashionable district where most of the well-connected families had their homes. The main advantage was that it was walking distance from the new Plaza of Arts that had sprung up in the past few years, largely because of Seterre’s passionate support.
Of Vernon’s four queens, Seterre had been the one who seemed most unsure of herself once the king died and all his secrets were revealed. Elidon, his first wife, had remained at the palace, serving as advisor to Darien and keeping herself deeply involved in Chialto politics. Romelle, the youngest queen, had retired to the country estate of the torz prime to raise her two daughters—and the decoy princess. Alys, of course, had continued to plot and stir up trouble. But Seterre had been at a loss.
Josetta couldn’t remember how her mother had fixed on the idea of becoming a patroness of the arts. Maybe she’d gone to a theatrical production one night when she was bored; maybe a concertmaster had come to visit her one afternoon, begging for funds. At any rate, Seterre had become transformed. She had rented a quirky house with many rooms and levels, turning some into rehearsal studios, some into art galleries, some into music chambers. She had adopted a dramatic and colorful style of dress and added even more gestures and intonations to her animated manner of speaking. She was a little silly, Josetta thought, but she was happy, which made up for it. She had not been particularly happy at court.
“Darling!” Seterre greeted her when Josetta arrived for lunch the day after the expedition with Rafe. “You look so pale. Have you been working too hard? Come in and let me feed you something sinfully delicious.”
“Wait—let me get a look at you,” Josetta said, coming to an utter standstill in the middle of the kierten. Foley stood poised on the threshold itself, as if he was afraid to step inside. The big open space was unfurnished, as custom demanded, but it was hardly empty. A brightly colored mural—a street scene from the Chialto shop district—had been painted in one continuous picture along all four walls, incorporating the house’s doors and windows into its whimsical design. Adding to the busy market feel were nine or ten lifesize figures made of cloth and wood, sumptuously dressed, arranged in conversational groupings or contemplative poses. One woman appeared to be starting toward the door, her arm lifted in an enthusiastic wave, her painted face breaking into a smile of delight. She was so lifelike, and she looked so much like Seterre, that for a moment Josetta had mistaken the doll for her mother.
But Seterre was even more gorgeously dressed. She spun around to show off the velvet folds of her turquoise tu
nic, heavily decorated with jewels and feathers. She had a matching clip in her thick blond hair. “Do you like it? I had it specially made.”
“It’s beautiful, but I’m afraid it’s wasted on a lunch with me. Unless we’re expecting company? In which case—” Josetta glanced down at her own tunic and trousers. She knew better than to show up at her mother’s in the plain clothing she preferred at the shelter, so she was wearing fine silk and handmade shoes, but the pale pink was subdued and the embroidered accents were subtle.
“No, it’s just the two of us, but I was hoping you would come with me tonight. There’s a performance at a new little theater and I promised I’d attend. I could lend you something to wear,” she added. “Just something with a little color.”
Josetta thought about all the work awaiting her back at the shelter: the accounts to tally, the supplies to inventory, and the very interesting patient who had practically healed himself by willpower alone. She hesitated, gazing at her mother’s hopeful face. “I’d love to come,” she said.
“Excellent! Foley, you’ll join us, I hope?”
“I’ll certainly escort you there,” he said in his courteous way. “But I’d rather wait outside to make sure there are no disturbances on the street.”
“Excellent,” Seterre said again. “But first—lunch!”
Foley bowed them out of the kierten and then disappeared—to the kitchen, Josetta supposed, or to the room that Seterre maintained here for his private use. It was off an odd little hallway that fell between the servants’ quarters and the guest chambers, but a considerable distance from the rooms set aside for Seterre and Josetta. Like everyone else, Seterre wasn’t exactly sure of Foley’s place in her daughter’s life.
Though that didn’t keep her from trying to find out. In fact, he was her first topic of conversation once they were settled in a small, cheerful dining room that was relatively free of clutter. Food had been laid out and the servants had already withdrawn. Time for mother and daughter to share secrets.
“So?” Seterre inquired, arching her delicate brows over her blue eyes. “How’s the situation between you and Foley these days?”
Josetta served herself a portion of some poultry dish covered in thick sauce. “Mother, you know you would be scandalized to hear I’d become involved with Foley.”
Seterre made an equivocating motion with her head and spread her hands wide. She wore rings on every finger. “It might not be what I would want for you permanently, but if you took him for a lover one summer? Or even two? I don’t see that it would do you any harm. Once you’re married, you know, life can be very dull. You should take the chance to enjoy yourself while you’re still unencumbered.”
You took the chance to enjoy youself while you were married, Josetta was tempted to say, but she knew how her mother would respond to that. I was fulfilling my duty to give the king an heir! I did not sleep with Navarr Ardelay merely for the pleasure of it! Maybe it was even true. Though from everything Josetta knew about Navarr Ardelay, Seterre probably had enjoyed their nights together.
“No, nothing has changed between us,” Josetta said, spooning some spiced berries onto her plate.
“It’s strange. He’s so devoted to you. And yet—” Seterre took a sip of fruited water. “Do you think he just prefers the company of men?”
“Maybe. Though he was with us when Corene and I were traveling with Jaker and Barlow, and they’re a couple, and Foley didn’t seem particularly interested in them.”
“Maybe he’s been damaged somehow. You know. So he can’t quite function.”
Josetta strangled a laugh. “Mother, I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation.”
“Maybe you just need to encourage him,” Seterre said. “You’re a princess. He’s a guard. He doesn’t have the nerve to speak his love.”
Josetta toyed with her food. She had done just that two summers ago. Found a moment when she was alone with Foley and confronted him—practically offered herself to him, or so it had seemed at the time. I’m not a princess anymore. I can choose who I want to be with. I trust you more than any man I know. If you want me, I will love you in return. He had been almost appalled at the declaration—not, it seemed, by her boldness, but by the very notion that such a union could be possible. I could not think of you in that way, he had answered. It would be like wanting a statue in the Plaza.
Josetta had been depressed about it for a quintile. Like her mother, she had had trouble finding her way once Vernon was dead and everything was changed. She had been lonely, unsure of her place, wanting simply to make a choice, any choice, and move forward with her life. She had thought that taking a husband and finding a house and producing babies would at least give her some direction.
Later, though, she was glad that Foley had turned her down, and surprised that there had been oddly little awkwardness between them because of it. Her life still might hold a husband and children someday—she hoped it did—but she had stumbled on a different kind of passion, and it was enough to sustain her for a good long while.
And she might meet more suitable men than Foley someday. Not, of course, that any of them had come her way in the past nineday or so . . .
“I don’t plan to encourage him,” she answered at last. “I don’t think Foley is the right man for me.”
“Well, don’t let Darien Serlast marry you off to someone he thinks is right for you. You know he’s a schemer. I worry about how much influence he has over you.”
Josetta smiled. “I think he would like to have influence over me.”
That made Seterre laugh. “Oh, good! Ignore him as much as possible! The man is entirely too arrogant.”
“He had an argument with Alys the other day, did you hear?”
Seterre was delighted. “Yes! You know my cook is friends with Zoe’s maid, and she must have run through the streets to bring the news. Everybody knows. But is it true she’s pregnant?”
“That’s what one of the blind sisters told Corene. How did you hear?”
Seterre looked mysterious. “I have my sources.”
“Do you suppose it was a mistake?”
“Alys doesn’t make mistakes.”
“But why would she want another baby?”
“She thinks it will be an asset somehow. She can marry it off to some heir or heiress of the Five Families, I don’t know. Use it as a pawn in some dark scheme.”
“What a repellent woman she is.”
“I know,” Seterre said cordially. “Some days when I’m feeling a little tired or unhappy, I think, ‘At least I’m not living at court anymore. At least I don’t have to see Alys every day.’ Cheers me right up. I don’t mind not seeing Elidon every day, either,” she added.
“I like Elidon,” Josetta said. “Although she’s very—” It was hard to find a single word that summed up the intelligent, strong-willed, and confident queen. “Sure of herself,” she ended lamely.
“I know! Can you believe she’s elay? You’d think she was all hunti, because she can be so inflexible.”
Josetta grinned, but said, “I think what makes her elay is her sense of vision. Elidon sees things—the whole world, all at once—in ways most of the rest of us never manage. She’s not as flighty as elay people can be, but she thinks on a different plane.”
Seterre sniffed and said, “Well, I’m just as glad to be living in a place where Elidon’s vision doesn’t have any bearing on my daily life.”
“You do seem happier these days,” Josetta agreed. “You seem like you’ve found the right place for yourself. Something all of us need to do.”
“I hope your place isn’t that dreadful little shelter in the city.”
“I think it is, though. That’s where I’m happy.”
“But, darling—you know I don’t like to criticize—but you can’t spend your whole life there. You have to be part of society some of t
he time.”
“I already promised Darien I’d come to court when Romelle visits.”
“Yes, but more than that. If you’re not going to run off with Foley, then you need to be thinking about other men. Wealthy men. Men from the Five Families.”
“I’m only twenty. I don’t have to marry for years and years.”
“You don’t even have to marry! But you will certainly want—companionship—and you’re not going to find it down in the slums.”
Josetta couldn’t help envisioning Rafe Adova’s smiling, roguish face. The man with a light heart, a curious mind, and the most extraordinary blessings. “Who knows?” she said. “Maybe I will.”
• • •
Josetta stayed for the play, which her mother loved but Josetta found incomprehensible, then spent the night because Seterre seemed so woebegone at the thought that she wouldn’t. But in the morning she couldn’t be persuaded to linger past breakfast.
“There’s too much work to do back at the shelter,” she said firmly. And too many interesting people to see. Unless they’ve already moved on.
Rafe Adova was still there when she returned, though she had been right to worry he might be gone. He had clearly grown well enough to be restless. Her day was so chaotic she didn’t have a chance to speak to him until after dinnertime, when he announced he planned to return to his own apartment above the bar where they’d met.
“I can feed myself, bathe myself, and tend to my own dressings,” he informed her. It was late in the evening and everyone else had gone upstairs except for Caze and Sorbin, who were making one last patrol around the block. “Callie’s given me some salve to take with me. I don’t need to be cared for anymore—I’m just taking up space. So I’m leaving in the morning.”
“We have plenty of beds. There’s only one other person in the infirmary—as you must know, since you heard him screaming when we tried to patch him up! You don’t have to leave if you’re feeling at all unsteady.”
It seemed his hands could never be idle. He shuffled his deck three times, four times, before looking up at her with a half-smile. “I’m not sure it’s the wounds making me feel unsteady,” he said.