It was so ludicrous Sienne laughed, and controlled herself before it could turn into hysterics. “Of course not! Why? Did it look like I did?” The remnants of her laughter evaporated. “Alaric didn’t think so, did he?”
“I doubt it. He just…he was awfully quiet all the way back, the way he gets when he has something on his mind.”
“He’s probably just tired. But I won’t let it go at that, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Thanks. Sleep well.”
Sienne went into her room and took off her boots and socks, wriggling her toes in pleasure. Alaric couldn’t be jealous of Rance. It was just ridiculous. Nobody sane would choose Rance over Alaric…all right, Rance was handsome in a roguish way, but Alaric was strong, tall, well-muscled, and had those hands that made Sienne shiver when he touched her. It was probably nothing.
She lay back and listened for the sound of Alaric’s heavy feet on the stairs. Her muscles weren’t tense anymore, but she didn’t feel sleepy, just relaxed. Of course, when she thought of her parents, she tensed up again. They were the ones who’d arranged the match between Rance and Felice, the heir, and with a year’s distance she could admit they hadn’t done it to be cruel, because they hadn’t known about Sienne’s attachment to Rance. But she’d humiliated herself in begging them to let her marry him, and she’d never forget the pitying look in her father’s eyes or the scorn in her mother’s voice: We can’t insult the Lanzanos by offering them the lesser sister. Lesser sister. It still made her burn with fury and residual humiliation.
And now she’d have to see them again after swearing she’d never return home. Technically, she hadn’t broken that oath, but she felt the spirit of it had been, maybe not violated, but certainly stretched to the breaking point. Was her whole family here? Maybe she could see her siblings, whom she’d missed—not the younger ones, who’d been infants when she left home for her fosterage in Stravanus, but certainly her next younger brother Alcander. That was a cheery thought.
She heard someone coming up the stairs with a heavy tread and sat up. But Alaric passed her door and moved on down the corridor, and moments later his old bedroom door opened and shut. He hadn’t used that room for over a month, not since they’d started sleeping together. It felt like a punch to the stomach. So he wouldn’t come to her. Maybe she was wrong, and he was jealous. Or angry. She hated it when they were at odds; he was her heart, her dearest love, and when they weren’t one she ached inside.
She left her room and went down the corridor to knock at his door, then opened it without being invited. “What’s wrong?” she asked, closing the door behind her.
Alaric was seated on the bed, removing his boots. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“That never gets us anywhere. You’re not jealous of Rance, are you? Because there’s nothing to be jealous of. I wouldn’t have him back even if I didn’t love you.”
He fixed his pale blue eyes on her. “Then why didn’t you tell him I’m your lover?”
“I—didn’t I?” She scrambled backward in memory. She’d called Alaric her companion when Rance had asked who he was. She closed her eyes and thought about kicking herself. “I didn’t. I don’t know—no, wait, I do know why I didn’t.” She walked over to Alaric and took his face in her hands. “Rance is going to tell my mother every detail of our encounter, and I want the news that I’ve taken up with a giant Ansorjan scrapper to come directly from me.”
Alaric raised one eyebrow. “Is that so important?”
“Love, if my mother is going to have a heart attack, I want to be there to witness it.” She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I assure you I’m not ashamed of you, or embarrassed to let my old lover know I’ve moved on, or…or still secretly in love with that slimy bastard. I can’t wait for Rance to find out what you are to me, because you are superior to him in every way, and I think he knows it.”
A smile touched Alaric’s lips. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her down to sit on his lap. “I wasn’t angry,” he said, “I just had a moment of insecurity. Don’t hold it against me.”
“I never would. And now I think we should go back to our room and reassure each other. There’s plenty of time before dinner.” She squinched her eyes closed. “No, we can’t. I’ve run out of the preventative. I’ll have to find an apothecary first.”
“Why are you using a preventative?”
“Because I’m not interested in ending my scrapping career early to take care of an infant. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you that, love.”
Alaric shook his head. “I thought I told you it’s not necessary. Sassaven and humans can’t interbreed.”
She drew back, astonished. “I…had no idea.”
“I could swear I told you. I’m sorry.” His grip around her waist tightened. “I hope that’s not distressing.”
“Why would it be distressing? I had enough of raising children when my youngest sisters were babies. We were too poor to afford full-time nannies, and my mother enlisted Felice and me in shouldering our share of the burden. I’m relieved I don’t have to worry about it.”
“Oh.” He looked thoughtful, as if he wanted to say something else, but just shook his head.
Sienne took the opportunity to kiss him, long and sweet, promising a world of delights. “Let’s go. Sex in those seedy inns is never as satisfying as sex in our own big bed.”
“I don’t know,” Alaric said, standing and swooping her up in his arms. “I find it satisfying wherever we have it.”
4
The Plaza of Sighs was west of the palace and the estates of Fioretti’s nobles. Tall mansions with pillared entries stood cheek by jowl along four sides of the five-sided plaza, facing an ugly marble fountain depicting all six avatars in their most heroic poses.
Sienne sought out the statue of Averran and stood looking at it for a while. Averran hadn’t become famous until he was elderly, and his portly, bald statue comforted her in its ordinariness. The other five statues looked noble and beautiful, but the sculptor had depicted Averran as a grumpy old codger leaning on a walking stick, and it was so exactly how she pictured the avatar in her head she wondered if the sculptor had had some insight not granted to the average man.
She sighed and turned away from the fountain. The fifth side of the plaza was taken up by a chapel to the avatar Gavant, first of the avatars and a staple of Sienne’s childhood. Like all places dedicated to Gavant, it exuded wealth, far surpassing the mansions on the plaza in its opulence. Its pillars and the frieze above the door were picked out in gold paint that was probably real gold, and the smell of very expensive incense floated from within. Sienne was happy to turn her back on it. Worshippers of Gavant didn’t have to be proud or wealthy—her own father was proof of that—but in general they cared more about appearances than Sienne felt comfortable with.
Brass numerals hung above each mansion’s door, all of which were decorated with yellow wreaths of forsythia. The wreaths were so identical Sienne had an image of the householders, or renters, coming together to agree on a decorating scheme. It was fortunate the mansions themselves differed in construction and paint, or the effect would have been downright unsettling. Sienne rapped on the door of number four and waited.
Presently, the door opened, and a servant Sienne didn’t recognize said, “Yes?” He might not have been Beris, her parents’ steward, but he had the same air of upper-class superiority Sienne had always hated. He looked at her, assessed her appearance—she hadn’t bothered to dress up for this—and dismissed her. It made her angry.
“Lady Sienne Verannus, here to see my parents,” she said in her haughtiest voice. “If that’s not too much trouble for you…what is your name?”
The man’s eyes had widened when she declared her name, and he visibly controlled himself. “Pagani, my lady.”
“Pagani. May I enter, or do your duties require you to keep me waiting on the doorstep?”
Pagani took several steps back and bowed
. “My apologies, my lady. If you would care to step inside, I will show you to the drawing room.”
Sienne sailed past him, forcing him to hurry to get ahead of her. She surreptitiously slowed her steps, not wanting to look like a fool for not knowing where to go. The entry hall rose two stories in the most modern fashion—this mansion couldn’t be more than ten years old. Paint, not whitewash, brightened the walls, and four closed doors led off it. Stairs that curved back on themselves with a white ironwork bannister occupied the back of the hall, with another, smaller door tucked beneath them. It smelled of floor polish and the more biting scent of vinegar. Someone had cleaned thoroughly, and not very long ago.
Pagani opened the second door on the right and bowed again. “Please make yourself comfortable, and I will tell the duke and duchess you have arrived.”
Sienne nodded, the barest incline of her head she could get away with and not be rude, and Pagani shut the door behind her. Her feet made tapping noises on the freshly waxed floorboards, so shiny she could see her dim reflection in them. Antique chairs and a low table occupied the center of the room, atop a rug that might have been Chysegaran in make. The room had only two windows, and Sienne judged they faced the back of the mansion, which put them in shadow at this time of day. She almost made lights to illuminate the dimness, but decided against it. It was less off-putting when she couldn’t see how opulent it was.
The chairs looked comfortable, for antiques, but sitting might make her look weak…or would it look like she was confident enough to behave like one of the family instead of an estranged daughter? She sat, discovered the chair wasn’t as comfortable as it looked, and stood just as the door opened. She turned to face it, banishing the ridiculous guilty feeling that she’d been caught somewhere she didn’t belong, and was for the first time in over a year face to face with her parents.
Dear Averran, she thought, they look so old. There was more gray in her mother’s dark hair, her father’s forehead was surely more wrinkled than it had been when she last saw him, and both looked so stern she had to quash an impulse to throw herself at their feet and beg their forgiveness. She swallowed to moisten a suddenly dry throat. She didn’t want to be the first to speak, not least because she had no idea what to say.
Her father took a few steps forward. “Sienne,” he said, his voice husky. Then he came to her, his arms outstretched, and enveloped her in a hug. “We’re so glad to see you.”
Startled, she reflexively put her arms around him and returned his embrace. He smelled just as she remembered, of dry paper and woody incense, and she found she was crying. “Papa,” she said. “Papa, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” Papa said, releasing her to arm’s length. “We’re just glad you’re back.”
Sienne looked past him at her mother, whose lips were still pressed together in a stern frown, and thought about that “we.” Then her mother let out a deep sigh and reached for her. “Why couldn’t you have at least told us you were safe?” she asked, clasping Sienne’s hand and squeezing gently. “We imagined the worst.”
Sienne’s inappropriate guilt gave way to the real thing. “I thought King Derekian would tell you I was well. He knew where I was.”
“Derekian knew?” Papa let out an explosive curse. “Damn him for keeping secrets. How dare he interfere in our family business?”
“I asked him not to tell you my location. I didn’t want—I wasn’t ready to return. But I told him it was all right to let you know I was well.”
“He’s a busy man, Pontus,” Mother said. “And it isn’t his business. Sienne, sit. You look so uncomfortable.” She pulled a bell rope near the windows, and as if by magic, Pagani appeared. “Coffee, Pagani,” Mother said, and Pagani did his disappearing trick again.
Papa sat on the sofa, and Sienne took a chair near his. Mother came to join them, saying, “Have you been in Fioretti this whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Dear Kitane have mercy. And you’re well? You look…” Mother’s voice trailed off as she observed Sienne’s plain clothing, her sturdy boots that had taken her on so many adventures. Sienne guessed she’d been about to say common.
“I’m well. I’ve been a scrapper for most of a year.”
“A scrapper?” Mother imperfectly concealed her horror. She recovered herself and added, “That must be…interesting…”
“How did you fall into that line of work? We thought you’d become a scribe, or hire out as someone’s court wizard, something you were trained for,” Papa said. “No wonder we couldn’t find you. We looked in all the wrong places.”
“I chose it deliberately for that reason. I didn’t want to be found.”
She’d sounded too forceful, and both her parents recoiled slightly. “And I wanted to do something unusual with my magic,” she added, trying to soften the blow. “I’ve become so much more experienced, and I’ve learned spells I never would have learned if I’d…stayed home.”
The door opened, and Pagani entered bearing a tray from which wafted the most heavenly aroma. He set it on the low table between Sienne and her parents and withdrew without another word. Mother came to herself and took up the coffee pot, pouring slowly as if playing for time. Nobody spoke. Sienne found she was tapping her right toe and made herself stop. She poured liberal amounts of cream into her cup and stirred, watching the patterns the light cream made against the black coffee.
“I love what I do,” she blurted out, feeling the silence like a physical pressure. “I have friends—the best of friends—and my life is exciting. I don’t regret anything except giving you pain.” The last wasn’t entirely true; she’d wanted to hurt them the way they’d hurt her. But that desire had faded as the months passed.
“Friends?” Papa said. “That’s a relief. We imagined you alone, without support…Sienne, this is all such a surprise to us. You’d never been anywhere but Beneddo and Stravanus your whole life. We didn’t think your sheltered existence had prepared you to survive on your own.”
“Rance said you were with friends yesterday. Scrapper friends?” Mother said “scrapper” like it was a foreign word.
“They’re my companions, yes. My scrapper team. We’ve been together almost since I left Beneddo.” Was this the time to bring up Alaric? Not yet.
“And you…explore ruins? I’m sorry, I have no idea what scrappers actually do.”
“That’s right. Or we sometimes act as bodyguards for a caravan, or hunt monsters.”
Mother’s lips soundlessly made the word “monsters.” Papa said, “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is dangerous, sometimes. But that’s why I’m part of a team. We protect each other.” She felt defiant and afraid at the same time, anticipating the moment when her father would forbid her to continue and order her home. She didn’t have a plan for if that happened.
“Giles wants to be a scrapper,” Papa said. “I don’t think he realizes what it entails. Maybe you can explain it to him better than I.”
“I won’t dissuade him, if that’s what you want.”
To her surprise, Papa smiled, though she’d sounded more belligerent than she felt. “Your brother takes up enthusiasms and discards them as readily. I think if you’re honest about the difficulties of scrapping, he’ll decide something else is more interesting. Gavant forbid he do any actual work.”
“He’s nineteen, Pontus, he has time to decide what he wants,” Mother said.
“You were married at nineteen, Clarie,” Papa said. “It’s not too young to decide on a life’s path.” He turned back to Sienne. “The whole family is here. I know your siblings will want to see you. Will you stay?”
“Stay…you mean, here?” Sienne shook her head and set her cup down. “I have a home. But I want to see them.”
“But you’re back. You can’t expect us to let you go so easily.”
“You let me go easily enough a year ago. I know I’m good at confusions, but I can’t imagine you looked very hard f
or me.”
“That’s enough, Sienne,” Mother said. “You have no idea the trouble you caused us. We searched everywhere for you.”
Tears pricked Sienne’s eyes again. “I’m sure it looked very bad, the duke’s daughter disappearing after a huge fight with her parents.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Papa said. “Sienne, do you think so little of us that you imagine it didn’t tear us apart not knowing where you were? How could you do that to us?”
She blinked back the tears. She was not going to cry in front of them, damn it! “How could you treat me like I was nothing? Like what I wanted—the thing I wanted more desperately than anything—was irrelevant?”
Papa bowed his head. “I can’t tell you how much we regret what passed between us. We didn’t understand your attachment to Rance was so strong. It was cruel—we should have found a better way to tell you about the marriage.”
“Not found a way to let me marry Rance?” Sienne couldn’t stop herself from saying.
“That was impossible,” Mother said. “We already had a marriage contract. The Lanzanos would never have accepted a change.”
“Never would have accepted the lesser sister, you mean.” It was out before she realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Mother’s brow furrowed, but she said nothing.
“The Lanzanos are proud people, and they were thrilled to see their son marry nobility,” Papa said. “They might have…but things have changed, and what happened a year ago doesn’t matter.”
“Proud social-climbing snobs, you mean,” Mother said bitterly.
“There’s no sense revisiting the past,” Papa said. “We need to move forward, not dwell on old mistakes. Gavant must have blessed Rance to walk to the market yesterday just as you were there. Something’s happened, Sienne, and it involves you.”
Cold dread crept over her. “I’m not coming back. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I have a life here now. I’ll want to visit, probably—”
Shifting Loyalties Page 4