by Robin Hobb
‘We are more than happy to welcome you both.’ These words came from Naria Tenira as she pushed into the room carrying a tureen of steaming soup. She kicked the door closed behind her and scowled at Grag as she set the soup down on the table. ‘It is a relief to have Grag at home, and know he is safe. Do have something hot to eat, Reyn,’ she invited him before rounding on her son and demanding, ‘Put that veil back on, Grag. And the gloves and hood. What if I had been a serving girl? I have told you, I trust no one. For as long as you are at home, we must carry on the pretence that you are a Khuprus from the Rain Wilds, guesting with us. Otherwise, you endanger your own life. Since we spirited you out of town, the offer for your capture has only gone up. Half the vandalism to New Trader businesses and the Satrap’s ministries that has gone on in your absence has been attributed to you.’
She turned from her son and began dishing up soup for Reyn as she continued, ‘You’re near a hero to some of the young men in town. I fear it is all getting out of hand, and the Satrap’s minister has made you the scapegoat for it. The Traders’ sons dare one another to “Tenira” a warehouse, and all know what is meant by that.’ She shook her head as she set food before Reyn. ‘No matter how quietly your sisters and I live, folk still turn and whisper when we go into town.
‘You are not safe here, son. I wish your father were here. I declare, I am at my wits’ end to know how to protect you.’ She pointed commandingly at the discarded veil.
‘I’m a bit old to be hiding behind your skirts, Mother,’ Grag protested as he picked up the veil with distaste. ‘I’ll put this on after I’ve eaten.’
‘I’m a bit old to hope to have another son if they kill you,’ she pointed out in a soft voice. She gathered up the gloves and handed them to him. ‘Put them on now, and get used to them,’ she begged him. ‘This disguise is your only hope. Sa alone knows when the Kendry or any other ship will get out of Bingtown. You must continue to play the part of a Rain Wilder, and play it convincingly.’ She looked at Reyn beseechingly. ‘Will you help him?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve given word to the servants that you are both excessively private young men. They are not to enter without knocking. To honour you, I’ve told them. Grag’s sisters themselves will see to tidying the room daily.’ She turned a severe glance on her son. ‘Don’t abuse that, Grag, however humorous you might find it.’
Grag was already grinning widely.
She ignored him and turned to Reyn. ‘I must beg your pardon that I ask you to share your garments with my son. It seems the best way to preserve the masquerade.’
Reyn laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘I assure you, in my nervousness about the Ball, I have probably brought enough garments to well clothe half a dozen young men.’
‘And I, for one, am looking forward to both the elegance and the mystery of being a Rain Wild son at the Bingtown Summer Ball,’ Grag chimed in. He held up the veil and peered around the corner of it at his mother.
She looked dismayed. ‘Be serious, Grag. Stay at home, here, where you are safe. Reyn, of course, must go, as must your sisters and I. But ’
‘It would look decidedly odd for me to have come all the way from the Rain Wilds and then not attend the Ball,’ Grag pointed out.
‘Especially as we have announced him as my cousin,’ Reyn agreed.
‘Could not we say he was taken ill?’ Naria Tenira pleaded.
‘Then surely it would be expected that someone would stay with me here. No, Mother, I think the least attention will be paid to me if I continue to play my role as expected. Besides. Do you think I could resist the chance to see the Satrap face to face?’
‘Grag, I beg you, none of your wildness tonight. You shall go, then, as you seem so set on it. But I beg you, do not be tempted to do anything to call attention to yourself.’ She fixed him with a grave stare. ‘Remember, the trouble you bring down may fall upon others besides yourself. Your sisters, for instance.’
‘I’ll behave like a very gentlemanly Rain Wilder, Mother. I promise. But if we are not to be late, we must all make haste now to get ready.’
‘Your sisters were ready long ago,’ Naria admitted wearily. ‘They have only been waiting for me, not that it takes long for an old woman like myself to dress. I do not pay as much attention to primp and powder as they do.’
Grag leaned back in his chair with a soft snort of disbelief. ‘That means that we have plenty of time to eat, bathe, and dress, Reyn. No woman in my family can be ready to do anything in less than half a watch.’
‘We shall see,’ Reyn told him pleasantly. ‘You may find that attiring yourself as a Rain Wilder takes longer than you think. A Rain Wild man seldom uses a valet or body servant. It is not our way. And you must practise, at least a bit, how to sip a glass of wine through a veil. Put it on. I’ll show you now, so my “cousin” doesn’t disgrace me at the Ball this evening.’
The inside of the hired coach smelled like stale wine. Her mother had insisted on inspecting the seats before she had allowed Malta to sit down on them. Her grandmother had insisted on inspecting the coachman before she allowed him to drive them. Malta had felt impatient with both of them. The excitement of her presentation had finally sparked her. Despite the hired coach and her made-over dress, her heart was beating faster than the rattling of the horse’s hooves.
The Traders’ Concourse had been transformed. Scores of tiny lanterns had been set out in the gardens and grounds surrounding it. In the late summer evening, they seemed reflections of the stars in the clear sky. Arches erected over the walks were garlanded with greenery. Pots of sweet scented night-blooming flowers, imported from the Rain Wilds, added their eerily-glowing blooms to the colours of the walkways. All this Malta glimpsed from the window. It was so hard to resist the urge to hang her head out the window like a child. Their hired coach joined a line of carriages and coaches. As each reached the steps before the main entrance, it paused and footmen opened the doors and handed down the ladies. Malta turned to her mother. ‘Do I look all right?’ she asked anxiously.
Before Keffria could answer, Malta’s grandmother replied quietly, ‘You are the loveliest thing to grace this gathering since your mother was presented.’
The most shocking thing was not that she had said it with such sincerity. What amazed Malta was that, at that instant, she believed it, too. She held her head a notch higher and waited for her coach’s turn.
When the footman opened the door at last, her grandmother descended first, followed by her mother. Then they stood to either side, as if they were already presenting her, whilst the footman helped her step down from the coach. She stood between them, and then little Selden, groomed and scrubbed, came out to offer his grandmother his arm. She took it with a smile.
The night was suddenly a mystical and magical place. Little glass cups in different hues held candles that edged the steps to the entrance. Other families clad in their best and bearing their symbolic offerings to the Rain Wild Traders were making their ways up into the hall. Keffria, as Trader for the Vestrit family, carried their offering. It was a simple tray of carved wood, one that Grandfather had brought back from the Spice Isles long ago. On it were six little pots of homemade preserves. Malta knew that the gifts were largely symbolic, gestures of remembered bonds and kinship. Even so, she could remember when the gift had been lengths of rainbow-hued silk so heavy that Papa had had to help Grandfather carry them. It did not matter, she told herself stoutly.
As if her grandmother sensed her uncertainty, she whispered, ‘The receiver of the gifts tonight is none other than our old friend Caolwn Festrew. She has always loved our sweet cherry preserves. She will know we thought especially of her when we prepared this gift. All will be well.’
All will be well. Malta lifted her eyes to the top of the steps. The smile that dawned on her face was genuine. All would be well. As Rache had shown her and she had practised on the steps at home, she set her hands lightly on her skirts and lifted them just enough to help them sk
im the ground. She kept her chin up, her eyes on her destination, as if she had never even considered she might trip over her own skirts. She preceded her mother and grandmother this night as she climbed the steps and entered the bright mouth of the Traders’ Concourse.
Within, the wide hall was scarcely recognizable to her. It blazed with light and colour. Malta felt dazzled by it. They were amongst the early arrivals. The musicians were playing softly, but as yet there was no dancing. Instead, folk stood in small knots conversing. At the far end of the hall were the long tables, set with snowy cloths and gleaming service for the communal meal that was the final symbolism of their shared kinship. Malta noted that the raised dais that was reserved for the visiting representative of the Rain Wilds and the Bingtown Council members had been enlarged. No doubt, the Satrap and perhaps his Companions would share the high table as well. For an instant, she wondered whether it was display or honour afforded him.
She glanced back for the rest of her family. They were already caught up in the social ritual of recognizing friends and greeting them. She had a few moments to herself to look around. Technically, she smiled to herself, this was her last time as a child, free to mingle without social restraint. After her presentation, she would be bound by all of Bingtown’s unspoken rules. She would take one last unchaperoned stroll around the Concourse.
Then her attention was caught by a figure at once familiar and strange. Delo Trell swept up to her in a wave of scent and rustling fabric. Sparkling blue stones shone at her throat and wrists and on the fine silver chains that secured her upswept hair. Her eyes and mouth were expertly painted. She carried herself scrupulously erect, and the polite expression on her face was as still as a doll’s painted smile. Malta blinked her eyes, intimidated by this woman grown. Delo regarded her coolly. Yet for all that, Malta suddenly realized, she was still Delo Trell. Malta found herself smiling widely at her old friend. She caught both her hands in hers, squeezed them warmly and heard herself say, ‘Here we are! Did you ever really believe we would be here?’
Delo’s painted face of pleased interest held steady. For an instant, Malta’s heart lurched within her. If Delo snubbed her now…then Delo’s smile cracked just a fraction wider than it had been. She pulled Malta closer and whispered, ‘I was so nervous all day I was afraid to eat for fear I would get the trots. Now that I am here, I am so hungry that my stomach is growling like a bear. Malta, what shall I do if I am dancing or talking with someone and it makes a noise?’
‘Look at someone else accusingly,’ Malta suggested facetiously. Delo nearly giggled, then remembered her new dignity. She lifted her fan swiftly to cover her face.
‘Walk with me,’ Delo begged her friend. ‘And tell me all you have heard of what is going on in Bingtown! Whenever I come into the room, Papa and Cerwin stop speaking about it. They say they don’t want to frighten me with things I can’t understand. Mama talks only of how to hold my elbows in, or what to do if I drop something at the table. It drives me mad. Are we truly on the brink of war? Kitten Shuyev said she had heard rumours that while we were all at the ball tonight, the Chalcedeans might sweep in and burn the whole city and kill us all!’ She paused dramatically, and then leaned closer to whisper behind her fan, ‘You can imagine what she said they would do with us!’
Malta patted her friend’s hand comfortingly. ‘I scarcely think they would attempt that, while the Satrap, with whom they are supposedly allied, is in our midst. All the Traders would have to do is take him hostage. That he came ashore with the first group, without Chalcedean guards, is why we can believe he has truly come to mediate and negotiate. Besides, we are not all at the ball tonight. The liveships maintain their vigil in our harbour, and I have heard that many Three Ships Families patrol with their boats as well. I think it is safe for us to relax and have fun.’
Delo shook her head in amazement at her friend. ‘How do you do it? You comprehend things so well. Sometimes you sound almost like a man when you talk.’
Malta was taken aback for a moment, then decided the comment had been intended as a compliment. She nearly shrugged, then remembered to act the lady. She lifted one eyebrow instead. ‘Well, as you know, the women of my family have had to take care of themselves lately. My mother and grandmother believe it is more dangerous for me not to know these things.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Had you heard that the Chalcedeans did admit the Kendry through the blockade? He came in late, so I have had no word, yet I dare to hope that Reyn was aboard.’
Instead of looking pleased for her, Delo looked troubled. ‘Cerwin will not rejoice at that news. He had hoped to claim a dance or two with you tonight…and perhaps more, if your beau was not here.’
Malta could not resist. ‘Surely I am permitted to dance with whom I please tonight? I have not given my promise to Reyn yet.’ Some of her old giddiness swept through her. ‘I shall certainly save a dance for Cerwin. And perhaps for others as well,’ she added mysteriously. As she had just given herself permission, her eyes swept over the gathered folk, lingering on the young men. As if they were surveying a tray of dainties, she invited Delo, ‘And who do you think your first dance will be with?’
‘My fourth, you mean. I have a father, a brother and an uncle who will claim dances with me, after I am presented.’ Her brown eyes suddenly went wide. ‘I had the most awful dream last night. I dreamed that at the moment I was presented and was making my curtsey, the stitches in my dress all came out and my skirt fell off! I woke up shrieking. Can you imagine a worse dream than that?’
A tiny chill went up Malta’s spine. For a moment, the brightness of the Ball dimmed and the music seemed to fade. She clenched her teeth and willed the darkness away. ‘Actually, I can. But, look, the servants are ready at the refreshment table. Let’s go and get something to still the bear in your stomach.’
Davad Restart wiped his sweaty palms on the knees of his trousers. Who would ever have believed it? Here he was, going to the Summer Ball as he had for so many years, but not alone this time, oh no. Not this year. Across from him in the coach sat the Satrap of all Jamaillia, and beside him the lovely Companion Kekki in an astonishing gown wrought of feathers and lace. Beside him was the less flamboyant, but still important Companion Serilla in her demure cream gown. He would escort them into the Ball, he would sit at table with them, and he would introduce them to all Bingtown society tonight. Yes.
He would show them all.
How he wished his beloved wife had survived to see this triumph.
The thought of Dorill put a brief shadow across his victory. She and the boys had been claimed years ago, when the Rain Wilders brought the Blood Plague down the river. So many had died then, so very many. The plague had most cruelly spared him, left him to live alone, speaking to the memories of his family, always imagining what they would say, what they would think of all he was doing each day. He took a breath and tried to recapture his satisfaction in the moment. Dorill would be pleased and proud. He was sure of it.
And the other Bingtown Traders would concede that he was as shrewd and foresighted a trader as they had ever seen. Tonight he was going to bring it all together. The Satrap himself would dine with them, and they would remember all that Jamaillia and elegant society meant to Bingtown. In the weeks to come, he would be at the Satrap’s side as he and his Companions healed the rift between the Old and New Traders. He could not begin to imagine the trade benefits that would bring to his door. Not to mention that he would finally recapture his social stature with the Bingtown Traders. They’d have to welcome him back into their midst and admit that, over the years, he had seen more keenly than they did.
Davad smiled to himself as he considered the final capstone to his evening’s plans. Lovely as Kekki and Serilla were, they were drab compared to Malta Vestrit. They were fine as Companions, as advisers and intellectuals. But tonight it was Davad’s intention to introduce the Satrap to his future consort. He was so certain the young man would be smitten with Malta that he could already almost imagine the fest
ivities for their wedding. There would have to be two ceremonies, one in Bingtown and a second, grander one in Jamaillia. He would certainly attend both of them. It would save the Vestrit fortune and redeem him in Ronica’s eyes. It would link Bingtown and Jamaillia forever. Davad Restart would be remembered forever as the man who had reconciled the towns. Years from now, the Satrap’s children would call him Uncle Davad.
He chuckled warmly to himself, swept away on the glorious tide of his future. He realized that Companion Serilla was looking at him uncertainly. His heart suddenly went out to the woman. No doubt, the Satrap would have no further need of her, once he was married to a woman who was Bingtown born and raised. He leaned toward her and patted her knee companionably.
‘Don’t fret about your gown,’ he whispered to her. ‘I am sure that all of Bingtown will honour you for your position, no matter what you are wearing.’
For an instant the poor thing just stared at him wide-eyed. Then she smiled. ‘Why, Trader Restart. How kind of you to attempt to be comforting!’
‘Not at all, not at all. I simply wish to put you at your ease,’ he assured her, and leaned back in the seat of his carriage.
It was going to be a momentous evening in his life. He was sure of it.
32
THE STORM
‘MALTA! DELO! You should not be just wandering about. It is nearly time for you to be presented.’ Her mother sounded both exasperated and amused as she added, ‘Delo, I saw your mother just a few moments ago, and she was looking for you over by the fountain. Malta, you come with me!’
They had both taken refuge behind one of the columns by the entrance, and had been spying on the late arrivals to the ball. Kitten, they agreed, had the finest dress; it was a pity she had not the figure for the neckline she had chosen. Tritta Redof had a headdress that was far too big for her, but her fan was exquisite. Krion Trentor had put on weight since he had begun courting Riell Krell, and lost his melancholy poetic face. How had they ever thought he was handsome? Roed Caern was as dark and dangerous as ever. Delo had near swooned at the sight of him, but oddly enough, Malta had caught herself thinking that his shoulders were not nearly as wide as Reyn’s. Veiled and hooded Rain Wild Folk arrived to mingle with their Bingtown counterparts. Malta looked in vain for Reyn. ‘How will you know him when he gets here? They all look the same, muffled like that,’ Delo complained. In a line worthy of the girl she had been last year, Malta sighed back, ‘Oh, I shall know him, never fear. My heart always leaps at the sight of him.’ For a moment Delo had stared at her wide eyed, and then they had both broken down in gales of smothered laughter. As they whispered and spied, all the spring’s awkwardness between them was forgotten. Delo had assured Malta that the fabric of her dress was far richer than anything that could be bought nowadays, and that the cut of it suited her tiny waist quite well, while Malta had sworn that Delo did not have thick ankles, and that even if she did, no one could see them tonight anyway. It was as girlish and gay as she had felt in a long time. As Malta obediently followed her mother away, she wondered that she had ever wanted to leave such things behind and become a woman.