Quite unexpectedly, Therez found herself facing Baron Eckard. “My dear,” he said. “Will you honor me?”
Whispers rose and fell around them. Aware of the audience, Therez could do no more than murmur a yes. Eckard led her onto the floor as the music sighed into life. Palm against palm, he stepped to the left, and she to the right. Then he lightly clasped her hand and spun her into the first movement of the dance.
He danced well, was her first surprised thought, as he guided her through the intricate turns and sweeps. He was older than she had guessed, with deep lines etched into his weathered face. Thirty years at Duenne’s famous court. She tried to imagine him as a youth, dancing at the king’s balls. She could hardly picture such a scene or such a place.
“You are thinking hard,” he observed.
Therez recalled herself with a blush. “My apologies, my lord. I was thinking about Duenne. And the King’s Court. And, well, what the city is like.”
“Ah, that is right. Your brother mentioned your plans to visit a while. Next summer, no? Have you alerted all the booksellers?”
Therez dropped her gaze. “My lord teases.”
“Not at all. It’s rare to find a young woman who reads seriously. Or perhaps I’m being unfair to young women in general. Tell me … what kind of books do you prefer?”
“History. Legends. Poetry.”
“Then you must certainly know about Tanja Duhr.”
Ehren must have mentioned her love of poetry. But it was true, Tanja Duhr was her favorite poet, and she welcomed the new topic. With Baron Eckard taking the lead, they talked about the woman’s poems and how language had changed in the four hundred years since she wrote them. Then, because Duhr had witnessed the empire’s final years, they talked about the old emperor and his many heirs, all executed for treason, except the youngest daughter. About Leos Dzavek coming to court as a young prince. About his theft of Lir’s jewels, the downfall of the empire, and the founding of Károví. About magic and war and times of great change. There were no constraints, no examining every word before she spoke. It was like breathing for the very first time.
All around, the dancers flowed between the beribboned columns, and Paschke’s music spun through the air.
“Duhr wrote what she witnessed,” Eckard said. “Both the larger events and those small intimate stories of lovers and grief and trust and betrayal. And we, who come after, are made richer for her works. But then, I believe we all carry a book within our hearts. Our dispositions. Our ambitions. Our secrets. It takes great trust to let another person read that book.”
“Have you found such a person?” Therez said.
His mouth curved into a pensive smile. “Yes, I did. We loved. We married. We had children, and then she died. What about you, Mistress Therez? Have you a favorite book?”
He had phrased the question so she could answer either meaning. Even so, she found herself tongue-tied a moment. “I don’t know yet, my lord. I enjoy so many different books, but to choose one … I don’t know,” she repeated.
The dance was drawing to a close. Baron Eckard spun Therez around but before he released her hand, he bent close. “When you do choose a favorite book, if ever you do, remember to choose for friendship above anything else.”
He was gone before she could reply. Therez turned and came face-to-face with Baron Mann.
“Mistress Therez. Will you honor me with the next dance?”
She hesitated, but a glance to one side showed Theodr Galt approaching. “Gladly, my lord.”
Mann’s mouth tilted into a smile. “A quick-thinking girl. No wonder Maester Galt treasures your company.”
So he had seen Galt, too. Therez lowered her gaze, keeping her eyes and mouth under control. Mann liked to flirt. And he liked to provoke other men.
Baron Mann kept up a stream of light compliments throughout the dance. Therez would have found his conversation diverting, except for the look she had noticed on Galt’s face when they passed in the dance. Mann had seen it, too, for he made an offhand comment about avid collectors. She wished she could tell Mann’s character better, but he was like a book with latches and locks, its ornate cover deceiving. Whomever he did allow to read his pages would find the contents interesting, she suspected.
As she expected, Galt claimed Therez for the third dance. “Mistress,” he said.
“I am honored,” Therez said with a curtsy.
His hand was warm, his skin as smooth as her father’s. He spent his time in counting houses, she thought, or at elegant affairs such as this one.
The dance’s first notes floated through the air—a slow-moving traditional dance, where the partners circled each other in wheel patterns. As more couples joined the dance, the smaller patterns joined in a single, larger one. The steps required all her concentration, which gave her an excuse for keeping silent. It was just as well. Galt’s dancing was polished and assured, but more constrained than Baron Mann’s, and his expression less inviting than Baron Eckard’s.
“Your father tells me you were your mother’s chief assistant in planning this evening,” he said unexpectedly.
Therez nodded cautiously.
“Do you often do so?”
She nodded again and felt his fingers press against her shoulder. She glanced up, startled, and caught a brief tight smile on his face. It was not a happy smile.
“You talked more with Baron Eckard,” he observed.
So that was the difficulty. “We talked of Duenne. I hope to visit next summer.”
“I’m surprised your father would allow you to travel so far alone.”
I don’t know if he will, she thought, but she had no wish to talk about her father.
“You like books, I heard,” Galt said after a moment. “Do you have a preference in authors, or are you simply an enthusiast?”
“I … I find it hard to say which.”
“Because you are young? Or because you do not trust your opinion?”
Because I do not trust you, she thought. Galt seemed to catch something from her expression, because he did not repeat the question. With a firm hand, he spun her through the couples in a breathless rush. When they reached the farther side, he brought her to an abrupt halt and held her close. For a heartbeat, it was as though they were alone in the hall. His scent made her think of winter fires. Against her will, she felt the first stirrings of attraction.
“You see,” he said softly, “I can dance as well as any baron.”
And then they rejoined the dance as though nothing had happened, only Therez found it difficult to follow his lead or answer his questions. Her pulse beat too hard and too fast. So did his, but whether in attraction or anger, she could not tell. That she could not tell bothered her nearly as much as Galt himself. What had happened between him and Marina Bartos? No, she didn’t want to know. She only wanted the dance to end so she might get away from him and his jealousies and his strange intent gaze.
To her relief, Lev Bartov danced with her next. They chatted about markets and trade and the weather, and he asked her opinion of music. After Lev came an interlude of song. The dancers paused while Paschke’s lead soloist performed an old ballad, accompanied only by a drummer, softly keeping time. Therez noted how Baron Eckard smiled, and how Baron Mann himself appeared different, so entirely absorbed in the music. A secretive, misleading book, indeed.
When the dancing resumed, Therez partnered first with Willem Leffler, then Klara’s brother Imre. Therez half expected Galt to approach her again, but he had disappeared, apparently. She saw him much later, walking with her father from another room. Both looked pleased. That could only mean they had reached some key agreement. Perhaps even the shipping contracts …
I am a merchant’s daughter after all, she thought, and laughed to herself.
Well after midnight, the guests began to take their leave. Eckard, one of the first to depart, spoke graciously to her parents and her brother. Pausing by Therez, he took her hand and bowed low. “Pleasant reading,” he m
urmured.
Mann followed shortly after, offering pretty compliments to Therez and her mother and the promise of a visit to her father. Once he had left, the other departures came faster, and Therez’s attention was consumed by the exchange of compliments and the final good-byes.
The last person to go was Theodr Galt, who lifted Therez’s hand to his lips. “Mistress. A delight to make your acquaintance. I look forward to our next encounter.”
His lips were warm, and he held her hand longer than absolutely necessary. She felt a tremor run through her, and a lingering frisson of magic. Danger, said her instincts. Whatever this man gives comes at a price. It was with relief she saw him turn to her mother and father.
At last the hall was empty. Therez breathed a tired sigh and wished her parents and brother good night, but when she turned toward the stairs, her father raised a hand. “Therez, come with me. I have something to discuss.”
Therez exchanged a surprised look with Ehren. Her mother shook her head. A warning? Had something gone amiss? But there was no time for questions. Her father gestured impatiently for her to follow him. Just as she passed through the salon doors, she glimpsed Ehren leaning down to listen to something their mother said.
Petr Zhalina led the way back through the parlors and the dancing salle, and into the wing where he kept his offices. At his private study, he unlocked the doors and motioned for her to go inside. With growing apprehension, she took the seat in front of her father’s desk. The scent of roses and violets drifted through a partially open window. Fainter still a whiff of památka flowers.
Her father set the lamp on a high shelf, where its light reflected from the dark windows, and from the large sand glass that occupied one corner of the room. He took a seat behind his desk. He was about to give her bad news, she could tell. The autumn contracts in suspense. Ehren’s return to university delayed, and her trip to Duenne canceled. But she had thought he looked so pleased earlier, when he and Theodr Galt had reentered the dance salle.
Her father ran a hand over his eyes. He did look tired, with shadows beneath his eyes, as though he had not fully recovered from his illness last spring. Then with a shake of his head, he reached for pen and paper. His hands, long and slender like Ehren’s, moved with swift assurance as he dipped the pen into the ink, tapped away the excess, and wrote. Therez saw the name Theodr Galt written in small square letters.
“I’ve come to a decision,” he said. “You remember the talk we had last winter.”
She nodded. Petr Zhalina had summoned his daughter into his office to discuss marriage, or rather to deliver a dry summary of his expectations and her obligations. Even so, he had explicitly said that such duties would come after she turned seventeen.
“I’m pleased to say that the opportunities I foresaw have arrived, and sooner than I calculated. I’ve made my choice for your husband, Therez. Theodr Galt. Tomorrow we negotiate the terms and sign the papers.”
Reaction was swift and unthinking. “But Papa, you said—”
Her father struck a line through Galt’s name. “You dislike my choice?”
“I … I don’t know him well enough to like or dislike.”
He waved a hand to one side. “You will. You have no reason not to.”
Point decided, no argument, said his tone. Therez let her breath trickle out. “I expected to spend the next year in Duenne. You surprised me.”
“Galt surprised me, to be blunt. He said he didn’t need to mourn the loss of his former marriage prospects. The girl had disappointed him. So had the father. But their foolishness didn’t erase his need for a wife to manage his social obligations, and you impressed him this evening.” Her father wrote out Galt’s name again, then a series of numbers after it. Habit? Or did those numbers have a significance?
He blotted the paper neatly—a methodical gesture. “You are young, I told him. He argued that you will turn sixteen next month—not an uncommon age for marriage in some parts. You might continue your education in his household if necessary. He offered generous terms.” That last was said almost as an afterthought.
He sold me. Theodr Galt named a price and he agreed.
Mann’s comment about avid collectors went through her mind. Her skin went cold and she had to suppress a shudder. What did Mann know about Galt? Or had he simply guessed at the man’s nature? “What about—” She stopped herself before she mentioned the rumors. Her father would not pay any attention to them. Instead, she asked, “What did Grandmama say?”
At that, her father looked away, but only for a moment. “Your grandmother has no say in this matter. Come, Therez. Fortunes are directed and planned for. They are not found like a treasure by the roadside. I will not argue the point. Tomorrow I hold the formal interview and we sign the contracts.”
“The shipping contracts?” she said impetuously.
Spots of color appeared on her father’s cheeks. “Do not be stupid, Therez. We are signing all the necessary contracts that touch upon this family. More you need not discuss.”
But I am not an entry in your ledger. I am not a crate of stone or wood, to be signed for and delivered.
Therez held her hands tightly together, willing her pulse to slow, her face to remain a blank. Her father was watching her closely, his gaze bright and rapt. He would lock her in her rooms tomorrow if she did not show a proper gratitude. He had done it before.
“What did Baron Eckard discuss with you?” he said. “Look at me when you answer, Therez.”
She met his gaze steadily. “Books.”
Petr Zhalina frowned. “What kind of books?”
A pause. “History books.”
“Interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “Did he show you any attentions? No, never mind. His days of influence are past.” He released a sigh. “You may go, Therez. If you like, you might want to talk with your mother. I told her to expect you.”
Dismissed. Therez hesitated, but her father appeared fully absorbed in writing columns of numbers. Still, he was observant, she knew from experience. She rose and curtsied, as an obedient daughter should, and though it took all her effort, she kept her expression fixed in a pleasant smile. Turn around, she thought. Leave the room. Do not lose control.
She walked steadily through the business wing, back through the public dining room, where the chambermaids were still at work. The steward greeted Therez in passing. She answered automatically, she hardly knew what, and kept on walking until she reached the stairs.
She stopped and leaned heavily against the newel post, forehead resting on the smooth wood. Tomorrow. Marriage next week or next month. It all depended on the contract her father signed. Her stomach lurched at the thought.
It took several moments before she could recover herself enough to climb the stairs. Numb, she passed through the familiar rooms where her mother entertained. A small parlor. A gallery decorated with paintings and other artwork. A library with rare first editions. It was a rich man’s house, built from luck and skill and determination. Her father had come to Veraene from Károví with nothing more than a cargo of rich furs, which he traded for shipments of marble, which he then turned into his first profit in gold. Therez thought she had understood him, had admired him for his intelligence and fortitude, even if she feared his temper.
It was quiet in the family’s private wing. No voices disturbed the hush; no shadows except hers moved across the walls. Therez came to her mother’s suite. Lamplight edged the door. Isolde Zhalina waited, as ordered, for Therez to visit and discuss the news.
What advice could I ask her? How to hide your thoughts? How to breathe without giving offense?
How to be a prisoner, not a wife and partner.
No, no, no. No, I cannot give up yet.
She turned away from her mother’s door and passed onward to her brother’s door. Ehren was awake, too, apparently, because she heard the soft notes of his flute. He had long ago given up regular lessons, but now he was practicing, which he did whenever he wanted to soothe his nerves
.
She knocked. Almost immediately the flute went silent. Ehren opened the door. “Therez.” He looked wary, she thought. But not surprised.
“Ehren, do you … do you have time for me? I have a problem.”
He stood aside. “Of course. Come in.”
As she entered his study, she realized she had not visited her brother’s rooms since he came home from university. Her distracted gaze took in the shelves overflowing with books, the letters on his desk, neatly stacked and waiting for his attention. One of the letters, addressed to Ehren, carried the device for Count Beckl’s house. Another envelope, in a more ornate hand, had a name she didn’t recognize. More signs that her brother had changed without her noticing.
“Therez, what’s wrong?”
Therez opened her mouth, closed it. It took another moment before she could frame the sentence. “Father told me I would be married. He’s negotiating my betrothal.”
Ehren nodded. “Mother told me. You must have been surprised.”
She thought her voice would shake. Instead, she found herself saying calmly, “It’s too sudden, Ehren. Far too sudden.”
Again that wary look. “You mean the business with Maester Bartos.”
“Of course I mean that. Don’t you think it strange that Maester Bartos broke off the marriage? He must have had a reason. And besides—” Her voice had scaled upward. She broke off and tried again. “I’ve heard rumors. Nothing definite, but nothing good. And no one has seen Marina Bartos for three days. I want to know what happened to her.”
But Ehren was shaking his head. “Gossip. That’s all you’ve heard, Therez. There is nothing wrong with Marina Bartos except an attack of the vapors. Galt counts himself lucky to have discovered the truth about her character before their marriage took place.”
“You heard from him, but not from her family.”
“I don’t need to. Theodr Galt is a respectable man. He wants a suitable wife to handle his social affairs, not someone who takes to their bed at the least contradiction or correction. And he’s not the only lucky person. You are, too. With Galt as your husband, you will have money and status, everything you could want.”
Passion Play Page 4