Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Dreadful. He has such a strange voice.”

  Beatris rolled her eyes. “That’s your most ridiculous objection yet. He has a White Sea accent, the same as Nan had.”

  “It’s not at all the same as Nan’s,” Tabitha protested, and looked up at Mistress Florain. “Or yours, mistress. Yours is pretty and soothing. His comes through his nose.”

  “The White Sea has several dialects along its coast,” Mistress Florain said sedately, continuing to braid Tabitha’s corset ribbons. “But most people here in the capital do tend to group us all together.”

  “I have met many from all over that region,” Beatris said, her voice solemn. “The heretic threat drove thousands from their homes.”

  “Yes,” Mistress Florain agreed. “It has become quite dangerous, so I have not been back there for some years now.” She straightened up and started fussing with the ribbons on Tabitha’s hat. “That’s how we all know that these men are heretics. True holy men are men of peace.”

  “They are,” Beatris agreed. “I find myself glad that Nan did not see what became of her homeland. She told us such nice stories about growing up there.”

  Tabitha wanted to stop talking about it. It was depressing, and she was about to go to a ball. Fortunately, Pamela was able to interrupt without Beatris getting upset with her like she would have with Tabitha. “I don’t think Lord Morel grew up there, though. Tabitha said he kept talking about how he had lived here all his life.”

  “And that does not impress you,” Beatris suggested, rolling her eyes.

  “I gave him a chance,” Tabitha declared. “I even walked in the garden with him.” Fortunately, the garden at the entrance to the mansion was not large.

  “What did you tell your father?” Beatris asked.

  “That we should give other suitors a chance. Lord Morel was only the fifth.” She knew that her father rejected most of the suitors he interviewed. She had not asked him if Nicolas had requested to be considered, because she did not want to hear that the most handsome man in Thendalia was unsuitable for her.

  “Lady Renaud heard that the Adelard ambassador’s son is interested,” Beatris said. She always passed on good gossip from her hostess. “Has he petitioned yet?”

  “Father did not tell me that he had.” Tabitha wrinkled her nose.

  Beatris saw her and sharply asked, “What, you don’t like Adelards?”

  “That’s not it at all. You think me as bigoted as the queen?”

  “No.” Beatris immediately deflated. “No, of course not. I … I just have heard rather too much of that kind of talk in the past weeks. I expected the people here to be more … worldly. So why don’t you like him?”

  “He is far too young for me.”

  Beatris’s eyes sharpened again. “Sixteen is too young?”

  “And too short.”

  “I so wanted to see Lord Warrich again,” Pamela interrupted. “Remember the Telgard ambassador? He was very kind when he visited us. Why would King Motthias dismiss him?”

  Tabitha shrugged. She had no idea why King Motthias did anything. For instance, why was he spreading the word so thoroughly about how much he favored a match between her and Othot?

  “I will ask Lady Renaud what she knows,” Beatris promised. “Oh, Tabitha, I meant to ask, are you coming with us to the theater tomorrow? Or do you have another tea?”

  “The theater, definitely.” Tabitha had only been to one performance so far, and there were at least three other acting companies in Tiaulon that Lady Renaud recommended.

  “I think that makes eight of us,” Beatris said, “if you feel better by then, Pamela, of course. Mistress Florain? Will you be joining us as well?”

  “Why, yes, Lady Beatris, that’s very kind of you. I would love to attend.” Mistress Florain stepped back from Tabitha’s gown with a look of satisfaction on her long-nosed face. “Beautiful. Do you need anything else at the moment, dear?”

  “My gloves,” Tabitha said just as Lise handed them to her.

  “Then I will get myself dressed, and we can be off. Ladies.” She nodded to them all, then disappeared into the room she shared with Pamela. Lise curtseyed and left to fetch more watered wine and sugar cakes for Pamela and Beatris.

  “Do you think the queen will be at this ball?” Pamela asked, her voice low.

  Tabitha twirled again to watch the sweep of her skirt, pretending unconcern. “Maybe.”

  Pamela’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “They say she called Mistress Agnes color-blind.”

  Tabitha forced a laugh. “She did not like my gown at the last ball.” The color choices for the skirt panels had been daring, alternating peach-pink and moss green, but, as Mistress Agnes had promised and so many ladies had agreed, the palette had worked very well, even with the silver-blue hat. Nicolas had said she looked more beautiful than ever.

  “At least her Majesty has not stooped to insulting you directly,” Beatris murmured.

  Tabitha forced another laugh. “I am sure it’s only a matter of time.”

  Beatris paused, then frowned and shook her head. “Never mind. I wanted to ask you both, are you free on Earthsday? Andre and I are going out to the countryside for some fresh air.”

  It always took Tabitha a moment to recognize Count Sebastene’s first name. “It will be less humid away from the river, right?” She had overheard someone mention that at a ladies’ party on one of the riverboats last week.

  “Very likely. Pamela, do you want to come too?”

  “Yes, some fresh air would be very nice.”

  “You said Earthsday?” Tabitha counted off the days. “No, not Earthsday. I planned to go to the tournament that day.”

  “Another tournament?” Pamela frowned. “You just went yesterday.”

  “And you said they are too loud,” Beatris added. “And too vicious, and too smelly. Yet you keep going.”

  “I can tolerate the noise when I have a good reason.” Tabitha could not hold back a smile. “Lord Bayard was in two of the events yesterday, and he will be in two more on Earthsday.”

  This earned a condescending smile from Beatris. “Of course. The chocolate lord.”

  Pamela giggled while Tabitha bristled. “I like chocolate,” she told Beatris stiffly.

  “Everyone likes chocolate. Especially ladies.”

  Pamela giggled again, but stifled it at Tabitha’s glare. “He is very handsome,” she said.

  “He is not just handsome,” Tabitha huffed. “He is honest. He does not play those stupid games with words. He listens to me instead of talking at me. He is charming and witty without being false.”

  Beatris had started shaking her head halfway through Tabitha’s defense. “He is not witty. I suppose you might find him charming, but he is not witty.”

  “You have never even talked to him.”

  “Actually, if you remember, you asked me to talk to him, and I tried. He had no interest in talking to me. I did manage to listen to him talk to more attractive ladies, and I asked several people about him. He has no real wit to speak of. He has never needed it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he was born so handsome that he has never had to amuse anyone. Ladies are always hovering around him even though he honestly does not have a thing to say.”

  “That’s not true! You laugh about the chocolate, but he knows everything about making it.”

  “Does he? What did he say about it?”

  “I don’t remember, but we talked about it at the coronation feast.”

  “Are you sure that you did not do most of the talking?”

  “It’s very nice to talk to a man who actually listens to me.”

  “Yes, I heard that from quite a few of the ladies to whom I spoke about him. The prettiest of them said he asked her to call him by his first name. Did he do that with you?”

  “Well, of course.”

  “And several lords to whom I spoke said that Lord Bayard takes no interest in th
e management of his family’s lands. He only visits their confectionaries when he brings a lady he wants to impress.”

  Tabitha did not like thinking about other ladies with Nicolas. “Of course other lords would speak badly of him and make up stories. They envy him.”

  “Make up stories? Tabitha, you are making up stories. You are inventing what you think he is, what you think he should be.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  Beatris looked at her, her homely face scrunched up as she actually thought about it. “No. It’s not as simple as that with you. The way you warp reality to suit you is, frankly, something of an art.”

  Tabitha hated it when Beatris talked circles around her like this. “I ‘warp reality’? Just because I think Nicolas is more than just handsome? Which he is?”

  Beatris shrugged. “All right.” She picked up the deck of cards and shuffled it.

  “You are just jealous because your husband is not handsome at all!”

  “At least he has a brain,” Beatris said with infuriating calm. “At least he cares about someone other than himself.”

  “Nicolas cares!”

  Beatris shook her head, dealing out the cards. “You only think so because you are blinded by his good looks. You don’t see that everything in his life, including women, will just fall into his lap. He has never had to work at anything to get what he wants.”

  “So when have you ever had to work at anything? Work is for peasants.”

  This, at least, made Beatris look up. “Are you serious? You are. You really are. You don’t understand that accomplishing something because you try hard, because you make an effort, is a good thing. An admirable thing.”

  “Right,” Tabitha snorted. “I have never seen you with a scythe at harvest time.”

  “I have never labored in a field, but that does not mean that I have never worked at anything.”

  “Name one!”

  “Tolerating you. I have put a lot of work into that.” And she called as Tabitha stalked out of the room, “I still put work into that!”

  Tabitha had composed herself by the time her father and Mistress Florain joined her downstairs, but she fumed during the carriage ride to the Avieres’ mansion, mentally reciting all the ways that Beatris was stupid and envious and completely wrong about Nicolas. In the seat across from her, her father seemed preoccupied, and in the seat beside her, Mistress Florain was wise enough to not try to make idle conversation. Tabitha wondered how much of the argument she had overheard.

  She has talked to him with me. She has seen us dance at the other balls. She must know how much I favor him. Would her governess speak well of Nicolas to her father? Or was she of Beatris’s opinion?

  Tabitha glanced at her father, at the light of the single candle in the carriage throwing half his face in shadow. His was the only opinion that mattered, and it was hard to tell what he thought sometimes. Why were some suitors allowed to meet with her? What set them apart? How could she make sure that Nicolas would meet all the necessary conditions? She knew his family was not very wealthy, but Lord Morel’s family was not either. Nicolas’s brother was only a baron, but the father of Lord Capousine, another of her suitors, was only a baron too. Nicolas was certainly of a more suitable age than either of them. And he was so handsome that Tabitha melted just thinking of him.

  The Avieres’ mansion was a little larger than the Betauls’. Tabitha complimented its beauty and style to Duke and Duchess Aviere when she reached the foyer where they were greeting their guests. Duke Aviere informed them solemnly that the king and queen were unfortunately unable to attend, and Tabitha’s father just as solemnly expressed regret. Tabitha was only somewhat relieved, because this did not mean that the king would not unexpectedly arrive later in the evening.

  That had happened at several balls she had attended. The king, Othot, and a group of the king’s magi friends would arrive just as the dancing started, and they would all claim dances with Tabitha and try to keep her from her other suitors. This served to pump a new stream of gossip into the flow already running through Tiaulon, and as Tabitha entered the Avieres’ warm ballroom on her father’s arm, she saw people whispering to each other when they saw her.

  “Are they laughing at me?” she murmured nervously to her father.

  “Some always will.” His eyes made quick but thorough sweeps of the candlelit room and all the noble guests. “But there is sympathy for you. Relax. I doubt the king will show up here.”

  He had a point. The Avieres were one of the four highest houses, and it was dangerous even for the king to risk offending them with any improprieties. She started to peer through the crowd for Nicolas.

  She caught sight of him after she had already danced with her father, Duke Aviere, and Lord Capousine. Nicolas was standing with a young lady at the edge of the dance floor, talking and laughing with her, and Tabitha felt a hot stab of jealousy. However, they were both wearing shades of brown and green, so did that mean she was a relative? Had he seen Tabitha yet? He had to know she was here, since everyone was talking about her. But perhaps he did not, for one of the qualities she admired in him was his indifference to gossip. Still, when would he ask her to dance?

  Six partners later, he did. Duke Aviere’s son had just returned her to her father’s side, and her father was turning to catch a passing servant for wine, when she heard that sweet voice in her ear. “Lady Betaul?”

  She turned and met his eyes, and marveled again at the perfection of their color, for they were dark brown, just like chocolate. “Lord Bayard.” She curtseyed, he bowed, and then he looked at her father. “Your Grace, if I may?”

  “You may.”

  Tabitha’s heart beat faster as Nicolas took her hand, and it pounded when he leaned close to whisper, “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered back. They joined a set of other couples, and she savored the feel of his hand on her waist.

  “Guess what I brought for you,” he said with a grin.

  “Chocolate?”

  “And chocolate liqueur. I hope you like it.”

  “What is it?”

  He explained, and she listened, but did not really understand the process he described. It did not matter. Beatris was absolutely wrong about him. He asked her about her day, agreed with her observation about the afternoons getting warmer than ever, and laughed at her imitation of Lord Morel’s nasal voice. She described the short walk she and Lord Morel had taken around the garden, and hinted that he should see it for himself. She wanted so much to simply ask him if he had requested an interview with her father, but she could not bring herself to sound so bold.

  After their dance, they lingered for a few moments between the dance floor and the shadowed alcoves where the servants passed, and Nicolas slipped the promised chocolate into her hand. She liked how intently he watched her as she unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth. She sighed aloud as the sweetness and bitterness swirled around her tongue, and Nicolas grinned and gave her another. “Liqueurs later,” he promised in her ear as he led her back to her father.

  “Later,” she agreed, and let her father see her smile at Nicolas before he left. But her father said nothing about it, and within moments another lord claimed her hand for the next dance.

  The party was wonderful. The music was lively, everyone was pleasant, and the king and Othot did not appear. Tabitha danced with everyone who asked her, and then she danced with Nicolas again. This time, after the dance, they stood a little further from the dance floor and a little closer to the servants’ alcoves. Nicolas unwrapped the chocolate and held it up. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She let him put it in her mouth, and it was heavenly until she bit down. It had a liquid center, and as it covered her tongue, it tasted dreadfully like brandy. The alcohol burned her whole mouth and she nearly choked, but Nan had taught her well, and she managed to swallow it. She looked up at Nicolas to tell him that it was delicious, but his eyes had already softened in sympathy. “I’m sorr
y! It was that bad? Other people like it.”

  Other ladies? She pushed the thought aside as unworthy. “No, not at all. Forgive me. I have never become accustomed to the taste of strong drink.”

  “I’m sorry. Here.” He gave her another. “This is like the one I gave you before. Take it with some wine and it should clear the taste out.”

  She really hoped he was right. Her mouth felt revolting, but she was not going to let it ruin her evening.

  She sat down with her father at a table set back from the dance floor where the music was muted, and several lords and ladies joined them. Tidbits of fruit, bread, and cheese came around, and Tabitha sneaked her chocolate into her mouth. It was the bread, however, that ended up doing the best job in getting the taste of the liqueur off her tongue, and she asked a hovering Mistress Florain to fetch her some plain water.

  “Too much dancing, my lady,” Mistress Florain said as she brought the goblet. “It makes you thirsty.”

  Tabitha smiled. “There is no such thing as too much dancing.”

  She was back on the floor before long, and although the lords spoke charmingly and danced gracefully, she kept looking for Nicolas. When she saw him with other ladies, she wished she could keep him from dancing with the younger ones. She did not see him give them chocolates, at least. Not even the girl in green and brown, who, judging by the way she moved when she danced with him, was not a relative.

  I must not allow myself to be jealous. He is so handsome that all the ladies adore him. She must learn to accept this. She was special to him, after all. She was the most beautiful lady in the kingdom. He had said so.

  At last, Nicolas approached the table, and her father barely acknowledged his request to dance with her, wrapped as he was in an intense conversation. Tabitha and Nicolas shared a secret smile as they slipped away to the dance floor.

  It was more crowded than it had been before. They had reached that time of the night where the wine had done its work in loosening the guests’ self-consciousness, but it was still too early for more than a few to have departed. Tabitha and Nicolas joined a ring of couples in a dance that kept everyone moving from one end of the floor to the other, and as he held her waist and led her steps, she could not stop smiling, even laughing with exhilaration.