The Lantern-Lit City

by Vista McDowall

  "Then I am doubly sorry for keeping you waiting, Your Grace," the earl said.

  "When we are in casual company, you may address me simply as Seanna. And you shall be Druam. None of this 'Your Grace' or 'my lord' nonsense. It wastes time."

  "As you wish it." Druam said no more, and Seanna took that as a good sign. She waited for her plate to be filled with hot, spiced pork and boiled grains. Deciding that pregnancy was an excuse to ignore civilities, she tore into the meat with unladylike savagery. The juices dribbled onto her chin, and she wiped them off with the napkin in her lap.

  Druam laughed. "I have never seen a noble woman treat her food as a man does. Gwen picks at hers with the utmost finesse; sometimes I wonder if she eats enough to satisfy her humors."

  "When she, too, carries a child, then she'll eat as I do."

  A pair of servants pulled open the curtains to a large bay window, giving them a view of the city below and harbor beyond. Lanterns were lit in blues and greens, reds and yellows, purples and oranges, all flowing together in shining rivers of color. Druam carefully placed his pristine silverware onto the clean white tablecloth, then shifted to stare out at the city. Seanna could see the lanterns reflected in his eyes.

  "Every year I commission a lantern from one of the glassmakers here," Druam said softly, almost to himself. "Shaped into dragons and wolves, kings and flowers, anything the craftsmen can dream of. Once they've finished it, I hang it in the slums of Fester's Wharves or Drycobble. You wouldn't believe what those glassmakers can do...and with only their hands and lips and the hot stirring sand. 'Tis the most wondrous thing to see."

  "Do you often watch them?"

  "Oh yes. As often as I can. And then I look at my own hands and the sand in the gardens, and I feel ashamed, for I could never in a hundred years make a beautiful thing from those few resources. Yet they can."

  Seanna observed him carefully: the way his eyes shifted over a scene which only he could see, how his mouth curled up in one corner as he spoke. For such a reserved man, when Druam talked of the lanterns, there was a strange passion in his voice, as if all his emotions were contained in that one thought. She sipped at her mulled wine, waiting for him to continue. When he said nothing – merely stared past the window with a glazed expression – she asked, "Has Gwen watched the lantern-making?"

  Druam looked back to her as if he hadn't just been lost in his own mind. "Not yet. I have made arrangements to take her after the Masque. She's often told me that the lanterns were what made her decide to come here after her escape. One could say I only met her because of the lanterns."

  "You don't attribute your meeting to the will of the gods?"

  "I doubt they would meddle in such small affairs. We live in a large world, Seanna; the gods don't have time to plan out the lives of each ant."

  "My husband would have you whipped for blasphemy, you know," Seanna said teasingly. "He is a traditionalist in the faith. I suppose you don't favor Predicant Ropaz, since he wants to drive religion toward keeping the old ways?"

  "I care not for religious affairs. Exalts come and go, and rarely affect the lives of those outside the monasteries and novums. Neither Predicant Ropaz nor Predicant Manderly would change my life in any real way; the rest of the nobles only care so that they may line the pockets of the curates and predicants to give sermons about the benefits of taxes." Now Druam's expression had shifted to boredom and irritation. Subtly, though. Only by closely watching the tics in his mouth and eyes could Seanna see the change. No wonder others think him to be a cold man. Compared to his exuberant wife, he hardly shows any emotion at all. The thought of Gwen soured Seanna's mood.

  "How is your little wife?" Seanna asked, hoping for news that the twit had fallen off a high roof.

  Immediately, the corners of Druam's mouth twitched up – barely noticeable – and his eyes brightened. "Every day, when I am tired and have bad humors, she brings me such simple joy. She is the most loving, sweet wife in the courts – with the exception of yourself. Though...she has complained that many of the courtiers have ignored or shunned her, including you. Is this true?"

  Ha, Seanna thought. Seanna hadn't been a loving, sweet wife since her wedding night. Though she smiled at Druam, her stomach roiled with envy. Damn that girl and her happy marriage. It's time to bring him into the ruse.

  Seanna's smile turned into a sympathetic frown. "She is a good manipulator. I cannot believe no one has had the nerve to tell you: Gwen is having an affair. Everyone knows, and we all shun her for the shame she has brought to you."

  Druam sat stunned. His smooth hair rumpled as he ran his fingers through it, strands falling onto his forehead and into his eyes; he didn't brush them away. "With whom?" he asked.

  "I...I don't believe it my place to say..."

  "With whom?" Druam asked again, his expression darkening. When he met Seanna's eyes, she nearly quailed.

  Seanna took a sharp breath. She hadn't thought quite that far, and said the first name that came to her head, "Your cousin, Mavian Strilu."

  "It can't be...No. Why would Gwen betray me?"

  Seanna pressed, "She told me herself that noblewomen in Demarren carry on multiple extramarital affairs and are lauded for it."

  "This can't be true," Druam muttered, still running his hands through his hair. "What evidence have you?"

  "Her maids have seen her, Druam. They've heard the cries of love-making while you are away, and helped Mavian leave her rooms by the servant's passages. Her girls love her too much to report on her, but still they gossip when they think no one to be listening. I am so sorry, Druam."

  The earl's carefully constructed façade crumbled at last and he buried his head in his hands. With her own expression pristinely sorrowful, Seanna's heart sang triumphantly. No need to worry about the other nobles or maids betraying her story: a well-oiled palm would bribe the mouth to produce the necessary lies.

  After extricating herself and her full belly from her seat, Seanna went to Druam's side. She knelt next to him, the picture of a serene, beautiful queen. Taking both his hands in hers, she ran her fingers over the soft calluses on his large palm, unconsciously feeling out the lines upon lines that spoke of a life she barely knew. His hands were cold, though not frozen, and when she rubbed them they grew warm. Side by side, she realized how very pale his skin was. There must be Skal blood in him, she thought idly, or he is still ill from the tourney.

  "Use this to your advantage," Seanna said once the silence had grown too thick. She still massaged his hands. "Show the court that you will not stand for such things. Send her away and remarry, if you must, but prove that you are not weak. Who knows what poison Mavian breathes into her ear? Perhaps he shall convince her to get rid of you and take power for himself."

  "Xandro would come," Druam said, though he spoke so softly she barely heard him. He stared listlessly at his half-eaten plate.

  "Your brother is a scholar, not a warrior nor a leader. Mavian could do much damage before Xandro arrives. I know little of Mavian, but the snippets I have heard paint an ugly picture. He has already cuckolded you; would you allow him to take your lands, too?"

  "You give him too much blame." Druam met her gaze. His eyes pierced her straight through: they were deep blue, as blue as the waters in the bay, and so very old. As if he had lived a hundred lifetimes, and had known every sorrow a man could ever suffer. He said, "Mavian is hungry for knowledge, not power. He yearns to discover the secrets of the prowlers. For his strangeness and lack of social etiquette, he has been unjustly labeled a coward and a schemer. In all the years I have spent with him – raised him – I have seen no evidence to support such claims. If he and Gwen have found each other, it has been as outcasts from the cruel world of politics. Mavian loves and respects me too much to dare touch her. I will investigate these claims and evidences to see if they are true." Seanna jolted as Druam gripped her arm, his penetrating eyes never leaving hers. "I have never loved a liar or hypocrite. Perhaps those beneath you have been mistaken i
n their reports; we are human, after all."

  Releasing her, Druam stood, then offered a hand to aid her up. Disturbed by his last statement, Seanna took his arm and climbed to her feet. She swept from the room, pretending it had been her desire to leave, and not his clear threat, that drove her heels out the door.

  Though Seanna tried to sweep away the memory of his eyes – so clear and so startling – they haunted her that night. She could not sleep for the thought of Druam standing over her, those blue eyes glowing in the dark, a knife in his hand. "You have lied to me and betrayed me, Seanna. You have broken my faith in my faithful wife, and for that you must pay." His knife plunged down, again and again and again, into her stomach, killing the unborn life inside her.

  Seanna sat up, realizing she must have fallen asleep and had a nightmare. She shook the dream from her mind. Druam is a calm, reasonable man. If he realizes the lie, I can claim that I only passed on what my spies told me. They were the ones with an agenda and false information. Not me. Her alibi secured, she slept peacefully.

  The next day, Seanna strode down the blue-veined marble corridor. Her footfalls were padded by an immense, deep rug while mermaids swam the murals overhead. Still half-enchanted by the beauty of the Cascade Palace, Seanna failed to notice Maeria Westerburg's approach.

  "Your Grace," the gold-haired girl sneered, curtseying low enough to be deemed sufficient, but no lower. Though caught by surprise, Seanna didn't let it show. She smiled broadly.

  "Ah, Maid Westerburg. I feel as if it has been a century since our last meeting." And still not long enough. Clad in a silvery blue dress with a matching snood, Maeria looked every inch the perfect noble lady. Running her eyes down the length of her dress, Seanna noted the slight curves at her breasts and hips.

  Still an entitled bitch, Seanna thought bitterly, unconsciously rubbing her own round, stretched belly.

  "A century would be ages too long," Maeria said with dripping sarcasm. "How ever would I survive without seeing you?"

  "I suspect by showing off that fine silk of yours to every passing man, be he steward or prince."

  "'Tis fine silk indeed, Your Grace. I noticed you looking; did you care to feel it?"

  A slight blush rose in Seanna's cheeks, and she glanced away before she could stop herself. Damn. Despite the girl's uncouth mouth and horrid attitude, she was extremely attractive. Seanna said abruptly, "Not today, I fear. Good morrow," and rushed off, thinking only of Maeria's smooth skin, her perfect red lips, the soft down between her legs and her squeals of delight as–

  Seanna shook herself and tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest. At afternoon tea, she spread the news of Gwen's supposed affair. All around her, courtiers gasped and whispered into their hands, fascinated by every word that fell from between her teeth.

  "Your Grace, may I speak to you?" A tall lord caught Seanna's arm as she prepared to leave. He had blonde hair and a long, immaculately trimmed mustache. Seanna recognized him as the Skallish ambassador, Lord Daghorn.

  "My lord ambassador, I always have time for our friends from the north," Seanna replied, taking his proffered arm. He led her to a secluded alcove.

  "I have heard you speak of Earl Seastone's new wife," Daghorn said, his eyes glittering. "You see, my kin in Demarren have expressed interest in her, as her name had been listed among the traitors currently wanted by the Inquisition."

  Seanna quirked a brow; she had already heard this information. "And? The girl clearly has no inclinations toward magic, else she would have shown it by now."

  "That is where I believe the story to be incorrect. Give me time, Your Grace, and I may find conclusions regarding Lady Seastone's motives for leaving her country. It would be another arrow against her. And, should you yourself discover anything else, I am sure the Inquisitors would be delighted to hear of it." The ambassador planted a kiss to Seanna's palm. "I want only for us to be allies in this matter. There are many connections and favors I could provide, should you help me."

  "I would be delighted," Seanna said. "Please, come to me once you have found out the truth."

  The ambassador swept away, a cloud of mint swirling in his wake. Seanna felt a touch of pride. Already, powerful men sought her for the information she could give them.

  When she returned to her chambers that night, Seanna found a small, velvet bag left on the table beside her bed. She opened it, her fingers slipping on the soft strings.

  Inside, she found a lovely silver brooch inlaid with emeralds and a note, which her steward read to her:

  My dear queen, I hope you can forgive my rudeness. I have dreamt of meeting you for such a long time, and find myself too tongue-tied to be kind. Harsh words are my defense against affection. I do wish us to grow closer and become greater friends. – Maeria

  Her heart beating as rapidly as a bird's wings, Seanna dictated a similar note, then folded it and placed it in the bag along with a ruby necklace. Once all was done, she sent the bag back to Maeria in the hands of the trusted steward.

  In her bed, Seanna imagined Maeria's warmth against her own. She remembered the thrill of chasing Larka, and the sweet release after days of hurried discussions and quick touches. She relished the fantasy, hoping desperately that it may come true. With Gwen deposed, and Maeria, a well-liked lady, as her ally, Seanna knew she would soon rise above Henrik and even Rask. Her body spasmed at the image of Rask torn down and defeated, his power all but gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gwen

  DESPITE LOSING the friendship of most nobles in the palace, Gwen was happy. Her marriage had grown more intimate after that strange, yet incredible night with Druam in the tavern. They made love with an intensity she had never known possible, and now, when she looked at him asleep in the bed beside her or passionately arguing with the king during councils, she felt a warmth deep inside. If she could describe that warmth, she would say it felt like mulled wine nestling in her stomach, comforting and dizzying all at once. When the spell workings of the day drained her, she need only enclose herself in Druam's arms during the safety of night to feel buoyant again.

  Yet she still kept her magic secret from him. She didn't quite know why she hadn't the courage to tell him, so she held onto it, promising herself each day that she would tell him on the next.

  At Mavian's suggestion, they decided to move their spell practice from Gwen's rooms to the old, abandoned north wing of the palace, meeting there the first time that afternoon. When she walked into that silent place, Gwen's skin prickled at the sight of the long, dusty hall stretching out in front of her, its windows covered in dark curtains. Armed with a spell of light, she stepped into the dust-ridden, silent space, her maids hovering behind her. She saw no sign yet of Mavian, so opened the door on the right. Past it was a sort of dining room. A long table stretched from the disused fireplace to a pair of double doors on her left, all other furniture obscured by dusty sheets. Three large, covered windows dominated the wall opposite her.

  A glint above the fireplace caught Gwen's eye. She stepped daintily toward the huge mantle, the fireplace almost taller than her. Over the mantle was a cloth-covered painting, though a gilded frame poked out and reflected the light. Reaching up as far as she could, her heels rising so she balanced on the balls of her feet, Gwen took the cloth and pulled it away.

  The portrait was old, its bright colors faded and paint cracked in places. A beautiful woman, in the prime of her life, gazed out with a complacent smile. She was seated in a golden chair and wore a dusky orange dress of an ancient style, a blue sash tied around her waist. Her long, dark hair cascaded around her with thousands of star-like white jewels pinned to it. One hand extended out as if beckoning Gwen to join her tranquility. Behind her, the painter had shown a beautiful countryside with mountains in the distance and a single white tower flying a blue banner.

  Something about the painting felt warm, comforting, and familiar, as if the woman it contained had a life's worth of care to give and a hundred lullabies to sing. Her smi
le was both haunting and enchanting. Perched on the edge of the table, Gwen stared at her.

  "It is beautiful, isn't it?"

  Gwen jumped at the sound of Mavian's voice and whirled off the table to face him. He smiled and entered the room, his arms laden with books. "I used to explore this old wing as a boy and make up stories for every portrait I found here. That one I called the Lady of the Plains, and I pretended she was trapped in a tower by an evil wizard."

  Gwen peered at the tomes Mavian laid on the table.

  "Did you follow Druam?" Mavian asked.

  "Yes," Gwen admitted. "But it wasn't what I thought...he never betrayed me."

  "Where did he go?"

  Gwen hesitated, then said, "It's not my story to tell."

  "I worried about you." Mavian paused, then asked, "Were you discovered?"

  "Yes." Gwen saw no need to lie about that. "Why were you worried?"

  For once, Mavian's cheery disposition faltered. "Druam can have a temper. You haven't known him as long as I have; he's as hard-headed as they come. I fear his reaction should he discover your magic. The more you use it, the more your Gaiar builds up inside you, like water behind a dam. Sometimes, that dam bursts through heightened emotions, a flux of your humors; anything could happen."

  "And you think he'd cause that dam to burst?" Gwen was incredulous. She couldn't imagine Druam doing such a thing.

  Mavian nodded slowly. "He could rail at you, stop you from practicing, and it would burst."

  Never had she seen him so serious. Gwen shook her head, unsure how much she should believe. He could just be jealous of Druam, she thought. Maybe he doesn't want to lose his time with me. She said, "I don't want to hear any more."

  "But–"

  "Stop it, Mavian. Just...tell me about the spells you wanted to practice today."