by E. D. Walker
Lord Guillaume paused, shooting her a look of appalled embarrassment. “I—I’m sorry, Lady Violette. That was thoughtless of me.” He frowned, a notch appearing between his brows as he thought. At last, a smile bloomed across his face. “I will speak to the governor. There are many other noble ladies in a similar plight to you, wives and daughters of his loyal barons. I’m sure the governor will offer dispensations for the ball. Yes, I think we may be able to arrange something so you might attend, Lady Violette. I know I should hate to miss the chance to have a dance with you.” He winked.
Violette forced her lips to curve in a return smile, but her gut was twisted in knots. “You are too kind, Lord Guillaume.”
Chapter Three
After a very short amount of time and, of course, a promise to attend the ball in his company, Princess Aliénor managed to see her cousin Lord Guillaume out. Violette trailed behind the two of them, her gut heavy with dread.
As soon as the door had swung shut on Lord Guillaume, Princess Aliénor reached out and caught hold of Violette’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Is there anything I can do?”
Violette blinked, her eyes stinging. “I’m all right, my lady. Truly.” She allowed a brittle laugh to escape. “Although I will be most happy to leave this city and return to the North.” At least in the North, she had never had a curfew, never been locked into her own house.
“And I.” The princess tugged on Violette’s hand. “Come, let’s see what my king has written today.”
***
The king had written that he would like to go for an afternoon ride with Princess Aliénor and would she be ready in time? He would wait at the beach path for her whether she showed up or not.
Well, of course, Princess Aliénor wasn’t about to miss a rendezvous with her king. Which meant Noémi had to get the princess into her riding habit while Violette braided the princess’s long red hair up and pinned a veil over the braids to maintain decorum. By rights, they should all be in mourning colors. Princess Aliénor’s husband, Prince Philippe, had been killed only a few months ago, and Violette’s husband John had fallen in the same battle with the prince.
But life in the southern colonies and the general upheaval meant no mourning colors. They didn’t have the resources or money to procure them, and the social life of Aratum was not such that they’d be snubbed for not wearing mourning. Violette still felt a pang as she slipped into her own pale-blue riding bodice and split skirt. Her husband John had done so much for her, helped her escape her aunt’s strict household, taken her on this grand adventure south. He’d coddled her, cared for her. John deserved her mourning, her sorrow. Instead, she often found herself exasperated that he had left her adrift and alone to find her own way. It often felt as if she’d been orphaned a second time.
“Are you ready, Violette?” Noémi called through the door.
Violette hastily slid the last pin into her own hair, patting at it to check for stray curls. She was the lowest-ranked and youngest lady in their household. It wouldn’t do to delay the others—to delay the princess.
Their horses were waiting in front of their house, held by two grooms, one light skinned, one dark. Both men were Lord Guillaume’s servants, in his pay to spy on Princess Aliénor’s household. Lord Guillaume watched all their comings and goings, so Princess Aliénor made it a point to avoid meeting King Thomas too often.
Violette swung into her own saddle and gave her mare’s silky neck a pat. If only Princess Aliénor could’ve fallen in love with a Jerdic nobleman and not a foreign king. Then they wouldn’t have to trade secret letters, arrange secret meetings. And Violette wouldn’t have to worry about leaving Jerdun forever.
“Are you all right?” Noémi asked as they started off along the bustling streets, the grooms clearing a path ahead through the crowd.
Violette startled at being noticed and forced herself to smile. “Oh, yes. I’m all right.”
Noémi opened her mouth to say more, but they’d hit a raucous knot of people on the edge of the marketplace, and both of them had to concentrate on controlling their mounts to avoid injuring any of the pedestrians. By the time they were through that bit, Princess Aliénor had called a question back to Noémi, and the other lady had ridden forward to keep pace with the princess.
Violette squeezed her hands around her reins, the leather of her gloves squishing audibly. Princess Aliénor was a kind liege lady. Sweet. Generous. But still Violette couldn’t help but wish that her life could be her own. That it didn’t pivot so entirely around Princess Aliénor’s needs, Princess Aliénor’s worries, Princess Aliénor’s secrets and schemes. Violette’s fortune was utterly bound to the princess’s now—as surely as it had been bound before to her husband John’s. Was it wrong to wish Princess Aliénor would be more careful? For all their sakes.
And instead we ride off on a busy, bright day so she can meet her lover. Violette bit back the sigh that wanted to escape and drew her shoulders up to sit straight. It would not do to let her outward posture reflect her inner turmoil.
Soon enough, the cobbles of the city street gave way to the loose dirt path that led to the beach. There was a bustling port and harbor, of course, but the rest of the coastline around the city was bare, perfect for a horseback ride along the ocean with only the occasional fisherman’s hut to break the path.
The Lyondi party awaited them already. An assemblage of some half dozen knights and—Violette groaned a little—Ned. All the king’s men were mounted and waiting, and the two riding parties easily melted into each other. Princess Aliénor and King Thomas rode side by side. Noémi and King Thomas’s right-hand man, Master Llewellyn—who was a sorcerer as well as a knight—rode together. The rest of the knights rode in a loose circle around them, guarding against anyone who might want to harm King Thomas or the princess.
The two grooms Princess Aliénor had brought were easily welcomed among the knights with smiles and handshakes from the Lyondi men. Keeping the grooms distracted as much as possible, Violette supposed.
“Lady Violette.”
“Squire Ned.” Violette turned to glare at Ned as he brought his horse carefully alongside hers. “I didn’t appreciate that trick you pulled this morning, by the way.” She kept her voice low so she wouldn’t be tempted to yell at him.
He cocked his head. “You mean mussing your hair?” He traced the back of his neck in demonstration.
Violette’s cheeks heated. Unbidden, the memory of his hands tickling her skin returned. “That and the…other thing.” The kiss. You kissing me, you rogue. She glowered at him.
His mouth softened. “Ah, yes. Well, all in the name of duty, right? It didn’t mean anything.”
“Of course not.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
They rode without talking for several minutes. The chatter from the others, the roar of the sea, and even the gentle shush of their horses’ hooves through the sandy path provided ample background noise to fill their silence. Still, Violette had her shoulders tensed, her hands gripped tight around her reins. What was it about Ned that always made her feel like a dress sewn too small, stretched and taut and ready to split at any moment?
Glancing at the line of riders ahead, she locked gazes with Master Llewellyn as he pivoted in his saddle. He gave her a distracted nod then craned his neck, scanning the area all around them with narrowed eyes.
Violette frowned. “Your Master Llewellyn seems a bit…watchful today.”
Ned snorted. “Paranoid, more like. It’s those new laws they read out today from the governor.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve, ah, heard about the laws?”
Violette wet her lips, her stomach clenching. “Yes. Although I’m not sure the princess remembers I have a curfew now.”
Ned shot her another watchful glance. “It’s not just you.” He’d lowered his voice again so he was almost whispering.
“What do you mean?” Violette found herself matching him and whispering too.
“It’s m
agic users too. But it’s not just a curfew. The city officials are rounding them up.”
Violette gasped and glanced again at Master Llewellyn. “But—”
Ned made a shushing gesture with his hand and gazed around as if in idle interest, although she quickly realized he was checking the position of Lord Guillaume’s grooms.
“They’re taking Northmen and Tiochene magic users?” she asked. “It makes no difference?”
Ned nodded. “Anyone using magic at all. Even the midwives, and you know the midwives have never hurt anyone.”
“Do—do many people of the city know about…about…”
“Our friend?” And Ned flicked his gaze quickly to Master Llewellyn then away again. “No, thank Kind Fate. We’ve kept that pretty quiet. But there’s a reward for anyone that turns a magic user in. Folks with Talent will have to be careful.”
Violette worried at her lower lip. “What do they do to the magic users they catch?”
Ned shrugged, his face set in unhappy lines. “They just disappear so far. Some folks think they’re being pressed into an army of magic users to counter the Tiochene threat. Some think they’re being tossed out of the city into the mountain wastes.”
“And you?” Her voice broke on the end, her throat tight with a gathering knot of anxiety and fear.
Ned shook his head, a lock of shaggy brown hair falling over his eyes. “If they were gathering an army of magic users, I think they would have started with volunteers first. And if they were just tossing folks out of the city, we’d have heard rumors of that too. Fights. Complaints from relatives. I think the folks who’ve gone missing will stay missing. And I’m sorrier than I can say for that.”
Violette let out a long, slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Oh, how I wish I’d never come on this foolish adventure sometimes.”
Ned opened his mouth to reply then cocked his head to the side, clearly reconsidering his remarks. An impish smile quirked his mouth after a moment. “Only sometimes, my lady?”
How can such a homely boy have such an engaging smile? She took a quick breath in through her nostrils then let it slowly out through her mouth, fighting for control of her too-hasty temper—although, truly, her temper only seemed to flare like this around Ned—and she gazed at the silver-blue waves of the sea as they crashed against the shore. “My family’s estate in Jerdun was entirely land-locked, with only a narrow river for water just outside our village. I’d never seen the ocean before I came here.”
“Worth the trip, was it?”
Violette watched the waves crash and fall, tilted her head back to let the crisp salt breeze flirt over her cheekbones. “I don’t know if it’s worth all that’s happened. I do know I’m very glad to have seen the ocean.”
“Me too.” His voice was hoarse.
But when she looked over at him, he wasn’t looking at the ocean. He was looking at her.
She hurriedly looked away, her cheeks burning.
“We’ll stop a moment,” King Thomas called back to all of their party. “The princess is feeling dizzy. You two,” he pointed at the grooms, “hold our horses. Lady Noémi, Sir Llewellyn, will you join our walk?”
A polite fiction. Lady Noémi had to go along to act as chaperone for Princess Aliénor, and Master Llewellyn never let his king out of his sight if he could help it. And always I’m left behind. Useless. Alone.
“Lady Violette?” Ned had already dismounted, his reins tied off to a nearby post along the path. He held his hands up to help her dismount her own horse.
She swung her leg over and slid down into his arms a bit more heavily than she would have liked. She almost lost her balance and had to grip his shoulders to keep from toppling. He had fine shoulders, slim but firm with muscles.
Ned cleared his throat and jerked away from her, putting more distance between them. “There—there’s a tide pool down a little ways. All kinds of interesting creatures in there. Would you like to go look?”
Violette cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder, but her princess and the king had already made good time going the opposite way down the beach, leaving their horses—and her—behind. A wistful tug tweaked Violette’s heart as she watched the two royals walk together, Princess Aliénor’s arm linked through the king’s, their heads bent in confident intimacy toward each other.
Ned nipped at Violette’s sleeve with his fingertips. When she turned to him in indignation, his habitual grin was back in place. “Come on, you know they’ll be a long time yet.”
Violette felt herself softening, teetering toward yes. But going off alone with a squire was hardly proper behavior, even if the rest of their party was in sight.
He smiled again, eyes bright. “We get close enough to the waves, you might have a good chance of pushing me in, my lady.”
That startled a crack of laughter out of her and, before she could talk herself out of it, she was letting the squire lead her toward the waves.
***
“Augh, it’s moving!” Violette recoiled as the squishy, many-legged creature in the water darted into a crevice of the pool they stood over. She squinted and just barely made the creature out. Its skin had magically mimicked the rock, and she gasped. “Did it turn to stone?”
Ned chuckled. “No, no. If you poke it with a stick—”
“Don’t.”
“I won’t. Anyway, if you were to poke it, the thing would still be all…” He trailed off, frowning. “I don’t know the word in your language.” They had been speaking Jerdic. Partly so Ned could practice his court Jerdic—his street Jerdic, especially the curse words, was quite fluent—and partly they spoke Jerdic, she suspected, because Ned was being a gentleman. He was quite sweet really. When he didn’t make her want to set his hair on fire.
She laughed at herself. “What’s the word in Lyondi?” she asked.
“Squishy.”
“Ah. I do know that one.” And she gave him the matching word in Jerdic.
He nodded and repeated it under his breath a few times, his accent surprisingly good. Not for the first time, Violette suspected that Ned could show himself in a much more polished light if he’d a mind for it. But then, he would have to have a more civilized side to serve his king, wouldn’t he?
“Anyway,” he continued, gesturing toward the many-legged creature doing its best impression of a rock. “If you poke it with a stick when it’s camouflaged, it’s still all squishy. It’s just changed its skin different colors to match the rock. Master Llewellyn says some lizards can do it too.” Ned’s voice softened and grew quiet, tense somehow. “Master Llewellyn says this sort of thing isn’t magic. Not really. But it seems miraculous enough to me. You change your—your body. Your skin. Can you imagine having magic like that?”
Violette flinched and stepped away from the pool. She stiffened her shoulders and slapped at imaginary dirt on her skirts. Damn Ned. Damn him. She was having such a lovely time then he had to throw out an insensitive, rude remark like that. And with everything that’s happened today…Her chin quivered as she edged toward tears, and she braced her jaw trying to stop them. “I—I think my skin is beautiful, squire.”
Ned frowned up at her, still squatting by the little tide pool. His brows were knit together, his expression one of bewilderment. “So do I, Lady Violette.”
She shook her head, fisting frustrated hands in the fabric of her skirts. “I would not wish to change myself—even had I the power to do so.” Not for any stupid laws. Not for anything. That would be to deny her heritage. Her late mother.
A curious wistfulness settled over Ned’s features, a softness, a fragility tangled altogether with a warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. “I’m glad, my lady.”
She flung her hands up and voiced a tight, irritated sigh. “Then what do you mean—” But she broke off as she studied his posture, his slumped shoulders, the nervous twitch to his hands. She’d misunderstood something here.
She lowered her voice and knelt across the busy little p
ool from him. “Ned, why should you wish to change your skin? You’re the squire to the king of Lyond. Right now you have a position of great trust. Someday that could turn to great power. You have freedom, money, connections. You can do anything you like. Go anywhere you want.” Unlike me.
But if anything, his posture had grown more closed off, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “We should rejoin the others.”
The words were curt, flatly spoken, and Violette flinched. “I’m sorry, Ned. What did I—”
“You there!”
Violette whirled at the sound of the unfamiliar voice bellowing at them. Four men turned their mounts down the sand dune off the riding path, heading straight toward her and Ned. Four strangers, and all of them armed and dressed in heavy leather armor. Even as she stumbled back two steps in fear, Ned darted in front of her, his sword already drawn.
The riders balked at the sight of drawn steel. But after a pause, one man among the others kicked his horse forward. He was a young man, perhaps five and twenty with hair the color of a gold coin and a well-made face. His skin was pale, his cheeks wind flushed and red. A North-man most likely.
Violette might have called him handsome were it not for the sneer curling his lip. He glanced at her once then away, dismissing her entirely as he glared at Ned. “All Tiochene must be inside the city walls well before sundown.” The man spoke Jerdic to Ned, and he spoke it like a native. Another refugee like them then, pushed from his colony city, forced to flee. He might even be one of Lord Guillaume’s officers who had found employment with Aratum’s lord. “Now, will you escort your woman back, or must we take both of you into custody?”
Violette’s stomach roiled, and she stepped closer to Ned, gripping his free arm for reassurance.
“‘Custody’?” Ned spat out. His cheeks were flushed with anger, his jaw tight. “She is a free lady and a noblewoman of Jerdun. The city’s new laws do not apply to her.”
The young leader turned his contemptuous gaze on Ned. “Doesn’t matter if she’s a princess of the blood. The law is the law. And she’s a Tiochene.”