by Melanie Rawn
All at once his attention was caught by the ugliest headgear he’d yet seen this afternoon. Hugely brimmed, made of straw, it looked like roof thatching dotted with turquoise flowers. Turquoise ribbons looped in ever-lengthening tiers down the lady’s back, enough ribbons to wrap up the Palace like a Namingday present. Her white dress was no better, with flounces from knees to hem that made her seem even shorter than she was; as she walked past, the ruffles puffed out with each step like the froth at the base of a waterfall. The thick hair done in a single plait over her shoulder very much wanted to be blond but couldn’t quite manage it. Suddenly he realized that he knew that braid, and the face beneath the hideous hat. Turquoise, he mused, definitely was not her color; hats of any kind were not her style. Green eyes flashed recognition for an instant before she looked right through him and continued on her way.
“Cade? Cayden!”
He remembered his manners and made his apologies to his mother. “I’m sorry—I thought I saw somebody I know. What were you saying?”
Not that he cared. He was too busy wondering what Megs was doing at the races. Granted, anyone with money to buy a ticket could get into the general stands, and a barmaid with fettling skills (who wanted to be a Steward!) had just as much right to enjoy the races as anybody else. But somehow this sort of gathering didn’t seem to be her style, either. Just exactly what her style might be, he had no idea, but what he’d seen thus far wasn’t particularly promising.
Jed spied a section of seats that might suit them. Cade was just about to agree when portions of the crowd shouted and surged towards the track as ten horses thundered past. Somebody bumped into him, which made him lose his balance, which sent him a stumbling step towards Mieka’s wife. She was so small and dainty that any attempt to brace himself on her shoulder would not only be terrible manners but likely send them both tumbling to the ground. He tried to get both feet under him and succeeded only in tangling his legs like a newborn colt. And here he’d thought adolescent awkwardness safely relegated to the past along with hangovers.
“Cayden!” She put a steadying hand on his chest—and her other hand, delicate and determined, closed around his crotch.
“Steady on, Quill,” Mieka said from behind him. As Cade flinched, he felt the Elf’s hands at his back to prop him up. “Frightful crush here, eh? Let’s find someplace where we won’t be trampled at every other step.”
Cade stood there, stunned silent but blessedly secure on his feet again, and watched the girl smile at Mieka. So lovely, so innocent, so adoring, so adorable. He felt like throwing up.
He had no time to indulge. A young man wearing the Princess’s blue-and-brown livery and forget-me-never badge shoved a path to Cade’s side and, just as a roar sounded the end of the race, tried to bellow something in Cade’s ear.
Cade thought it unseemly to shout. He waited for the noise to subside. “Could you repeat that?”
“Master Silversun?” When Cade nodded, the young man looked pleased with himself. “Thought I recognized you. Saw Touchstone at the wedding celebrations last spring. Brilliant show.” Then, remembering his errand, he said, “Her Royal Highness would like a word, if that’s agreeable.”
And thus Cayden and his entire party were escorted towards the Royal Ring, where it would soon be in his power to introduce his mother to Princess Miriuzca, future Queen of Albeyn.
It would be an acute pleasure to include Derien, Blye, Jed, and Mieka and his wife, mainly because their inclusion would cause Lady Jaspiela acute mortification. Of course, she was thrilled to her gloved fingertips by the invitation, but too haughty to show emotion except for a slight flush on her cheeks. As they were walking, she began to speak in a low and rapid voice for Cade’s hearing alone.
“Is it finally obvious to you that you could have a position in her household at the flick of a finger? With your father attending on the Prince and you placed with the Princess, our family would stand to influence the entire Court—especially once they inherit.”
Mieka, on her other side, listened with his sensitive Elfen ears and made rude faces at Cade behind her back.
“I don’t know why you don’t take advantage of the favor she’s showing you. It would be the easiest thing in the world—”
“And what would you have me do for her, Mother?” Cade asked sweetly. “For I can tell you with absolute certainty that she doesn’t require anyone to do for her what your husband does for the Prince.”
Her color deepened a trifle. Mieka grinned from ear to pointed ear.
A little while later they were being admitted through a short white wooden gate and climbing a dozen or so steps. On the way up, they passed a gentleman on the way down, who arched his eyebrows at them.
“Amazin’,” he drawled from beneath a towering hat that closely resembled a thick orange spike flattened on top by a clumsily wielded hammer. “The sort they allow into the Royal Ring these days!”
Mieka’s wife whimpered softly with nerves. That, at least, was honest, Cade noted as he glanced at her for the first time since she’d groped him. She was ice-white and saucer-eyed, and clinging to Mieka’s arm with both tremulous hands. Even the bronze-gold curls beneath her red silk hat were quivering. Cade took a quick look over his shoulder at Blye and Jed. She was in a state of shock and trying not to show it; he was trying to be not quite so tall. Derien alone was undaunted, and Cade spared a moment of admiration for the serene self-confidence of the very young.
The Royal Ring was a large platform constructed in a half circle out from a floor-to-ceiling window of the Palace, right on the finish line. That little white gate and the awning above it set it apart. Princess Miriuzca, visibly pregnant, was seated in one of a pair of almost-throne chairs, dressed in white with a wide-brimmed blue hat trailing sea green silk veils. The empty chair was of course for her husband.
The Princess smiled as Cade and his little group approached, and held out a welcoming hand. He took her fingertips and bent over her wrist, as a cultured gentleman ought. He performed introductions, starting with his mother. Then Derien, whose bow was a great deal more accomplished than it used to be before the King’s College had got hold of him.
Amused, Cayden let his sense of humor a little off its lead. “And now that you’ve met the Silversuns, it’s time for all the Windthistles. This one”—he pointed at Mieka, who doffed his preposterous cap —“is my glisker, as you may remember. That one is Master Jedris Windthistle, who is in business with his twin brother, who’s just as tall and redheaded. In fact, all the Windthistles are twins but for the newest one, and this charming lady is the Windthistle who is her mother.”
The girl sank into a flawless curtsy, blushing as the Princess smiled and said, “All best wishes, Mistress. I’m sure your little girl is a joy to your heart.” Looking up at Cade, she asked, “How many Windthistle twins are there?”
“Four sets. Alarming, isn’t it, to think there’s a second one of him?” He grinned at Mieka. “But the Lord and Lady were good to us all, and his twin is a sister named Jinsie, and much the nicer of the set.”
“Better-looking, too,” Derien piped up.
Cade concluded, “And this Windthistle is Jedris’s wife, my old friend Blye, whose work Your Highness saw last summer.”
After a momentary puzzlement, she laughed in delight. “The glasscrafter? Oh, but I have been hearing of you from my old friend, Lady Eastkeeping! Are you not usually wearing trousers?”
Lady Jaspiela went from mortified to horrified.
Most unexpectedly, Mieka’s wife saved the situation with, “And very lucky that she does, Your Royal Highness. Why, it would be as if my husband tried to do his work on the stage in a corset and silk gown!”
“With lace to his fingertips!” Miriuzca giggled. Then, her mouth tucked into a sly little smile, she said, “But of course, we only speculate. We ladies have never seen players on a stage.”
Mieka’s wife looked torn between terror of her own boldness in addressing Royalty uninvited, unce
rtainty about whether or not she was supposed to laugh, and an agony of bliss that a Princess had called her a lady.
Miriuzca then turned her attention to Lady Jaspiela, as was proper, and complimented her on her two fine sons, her distinguished husband, her lovely gown, and her beautiful hat. Blye began to breathe again. Jed looked as if the effort not to laugh would soon give him an attack of some kind. Mieka, curiously enough, was still looking stunned that his quiet, modest, shy little wife had dared to open her mouth. Cade decided it was a good look on him. Anything that kept him silent was a good thing.
Velvet-cushioned stools were arranged at the Princess’s gesture. Cool drinks were handed round. Blye found herself seated at Miriuzca’s knee, telling her—haltingly at first, then with bright fluency—all about glasscrafting. Cade stood slightly apart, surveying the little scene with satisfaction. The pottinger wouldn’t be necessary, though it would certainly be given at the appropriate time. With the Princess’s personal esteem between her and the tax collectors, Blye would be safe.
While everyone was waiting for the fourth race—bemoaning their losses on the third and hastening to place bets—the clouds that had been milling about in the distance began to blow closer. A brass gong sounded to call the weathering witches to push them away. Everyone in Gallantrybanks was more or less familiar with this, but, judging by the startled widening of her eyes, Cade was certain that Miriuzca had never seen it before. She might have heard about it, but hearing and seeing were two different things. He had been amusing her with tales of the Royal Circuit when the gong rang out, and as the weathering witches swarmed to the center of the track to work their magic, he saw her begin to tremble.
Very quietly, he said, “It will take them a few minutes to finish their work. They use their personal affinity to water and air—they’re mostly of Elven blood—to coax clouds away. When they get rid of snow, it’s the weathering witches with an understanding of fire who melt snowbanks so the water runs down the drains.”
She nodded, a stiff and unconvincing smile on her face.
Derien returned from fetching more fruit juice, and overheard the last bit. A swift glance at the Princess told him what must be wrong, and he proved himself a promising candidate for a diplomatic career by leaning comfortably against Cade’s shoulder and taking her hand to comfort her. “There’s nothing spectacular about it, you know. Nothing like what my brother can do onstage!”
With visible effort she asked in a whisper, “Can every magical person do this kind of thing?”
Cade shook his head. “No, not everyone. All the gifts and specialties are different amongst the magical races, and for each individual. There’s never much telling what will show up. With this one, for instance—” He rumpled Derien’s hair. “We live in deepest dread of what mischief he might be able to do with his magic, once he comes into it in a few years.” Dery made a face at him, and the Princess began to relax. Cade continued, “I know the concept behind what the weathering witches do, and I can melt a bit of snow from the front walk at home, but I can’t do what they’re doing with those clouds, for instance.”
She looked in the direction he pointed, and caught her breath as the clouds slowly backed away. All at once she chuckled that deep, throaty chuckle of hers. “Weathering witches must be coveted guests at outdoor parties!”
Though he joined in her laughter, he was writhing inside, too embarrassed to tell her that weathering witchery was very low on the ladder of magical accomplishments.
“But I have been rude,” Princess Miriuzca said, “taking up all your time like this. I’m sure there are other friends you wish to be talking to.” It was polite dismissal, and Cade knew it—had been expecting it, in fact, for the last half hour. What he didn’t expect was her murmur of, “And I see my husband about to arrive with far too many people, who are believing that their titles give the right to bad manners and claiming all the chairs and footstools for themselves.”
“I know the type,” he assured her. “You have my sympathies!”
She gave a guilty little giggle, then composed her features to regal calm. She was very good at it by now, he noted with a pang of regret.
Gratitude was expressed and leave was taken, and they were almost out of the Royal Ring before Prince Ashgar and his retinue arrived. Trailing behind was the Archduke. As they passed him, he gave Cayden a genial nod, but his words were for Mieka’s wife.
“Your mother’s artistry is sorely missed by the Archduchess these days. May I attribute the beauty of these ladies’ gowns to her skills?”
Cade had less reason than ever to come to the girl’s defense, but everything about Cyed Henick annoyed him. And it would be a heart of solid rock that could remain unmoved by her sudden cringe as snideness couched in compliments put her and everyone with her in their proper places: very near the ladder’s bottom, a rung or two above peasants, charwomen, and the men who drove the dung carts.
Before Cade could speak, Lady Jaspiela favored the Archduke with her notice and said, “Pray give my greetings to Her Grace. I so enjoyed our talk at the milliner’s last week, where we were both choosing hats. I had hoped to see her here today. I have the card of my own dressmaker to give her, as she requested.”
Cade had the sense not to gape. The Archduke had the sense to say only, “Regrettably, Her Grace is indisposed. I shall convey your good wishes.” With a nod, he rejoined the Prince.
“Insufferable man,” mused Lady Jaspiela. “Derien, please find me someplace shady to sit down.”
{“Your Grace, the child is born.”
The Archduke looked up from his desk, brows arched in a silent question.
The servant—the chamberlain, to judge by his fine silk shirt and silver chain of office—cleared his throat, then admitted, “A girl, Your Grace. Her Grace is well, and sends her apologies.”
“Ah well—a son next time, I’m sure. Be so good as to open as many bottles as you like downstairs and toast my daughter.”
“Your Grace is all kindness. Congratulations, Your Grace. I give Your Grace good night.”
When the man had departed, His Grace took up pen and paper. After scrawling the date at the top, he began immediately, with no salutation:
Just after midnight last night my daughter was born. My wife has apologized. She has not the wit to understand that a girl can tidy things up genealogically. Let us hope she turns out pretty enough to interest Prince Roshlin when they grow up—though ultimately that has nothing to do with the matter. They will do as they are told. As for the events at the Downstreet, I think you will agree that Silversun’s cleverness in outwitting the constables a few weeks ago went a long way towards preventing an actual riot. I believe—}
But whatever the Archduke believed was not visible to Cayden as the Elsewhen faded out.
“Cade?”
He glanced down at Blye’s worried dark eyes. Of the two others present who would recognize an Elsewhen, Derien was chattering to Jed, and Mieka was whispering soothing words to his wife. “Never mind,” Cade murmured. “As Mother says—insufferable man. Let’s find somewhere to sit down.”
During the time it took to accomplish this, his mind worked feverishly at trying to comprehend what he’d seen and why. First, whether she was aware of it yet or not, Archduchess Panshilara was pregnant, not indisposed. The date on the Archduke’s letter was three weeks shy of nine months from today—the day after Cade’s own Namingday, in fact. Second, she would have a girl—which would make things “tidy.” The Princess’s child would be a son—Prince Roshlin, who could be married to the Archduke’s daughter. The man’s schemes certainly were far-reaching, Cade thought sourly. What influence he himself might have on that midnight scene completely escaped him. How could what he did or didn’t do possibly affect when the Archduchess delivered her child?
But as Jed and Mieka hauled him off to place bets on the next race, he suddenly realized how he could turn this knowledge to his financial advantage. And Mieka’s, because the girl really was ow
ed some sort of compensation for the humiliation she’d suffered.
He had never done such a thing before in his life. He had never used his foreknowledge to make money. To get himself out of unwanted personal futures—such as servitude to Master Honeycoil—yes, he’d done that often enough. Still… how many times had he experienced an Elsewhen that offered this sort of opportunity?
And on that thought another Elsewhen flitted across his mind. Just a glimpse, just a swift impression of himself and Mieka in the drab little office that belonged to Slips Clinkscales, the odds-man who lived at the bottom of Criddow Close.
During the rest of the afternoon, Jed broke even, Cade lost a bit, and Mieka came out ahead by a tidy little sum that, uncharacteristically, did not put him in a cheery mood. Cade didn’t understand this until they were leaving. It was quite simple, really: The sidelong glances and frankly admiring stares directed at his wife annoyed him. He held her by the waist, close to his side, and glared at any man who looked more than a second or two. Cade shrugged it off, thinking that if a man didn’t want other men to look at his wife, he ought to keep her immured at home or marry somebody plain.
Everyone was tired by the end of the day. Having had experience of the impossible traffic around the Palace gates, Cade had arranged with Kearney’s coachman to bring the carriage round to the Hestings, a few blocks away. Lady Jaspiela and Derien lagged behind a bit, and Jed and Blye outpaced them some, so Cade, a step or two behind Mieka and his wife, was the only one who overheard what she said to him.
“I don’t understand why the Princess talked so much to Blye and not me. She’s not nobility or anything. We’re both crafters and married women—and her crafting isn’t even done by women. And I’ve had a baby and the Princess is about to have one and it isn’t as if Blye is ever going to, poor thing, so what could they find to discuss? And besides,” she finished artlessly, “I’m much prettier.”
Mieka laughed briefly, and Cade swore it wasn’t just imagination that lent the note of disapproval to his voice. “Oh, much. Did you think that might be the reason? The Princess is a lovely girl, no doubt of it—but you’re something the Gods made personally and with infinite care to every perfect detail, and mayhap the Princess didn’t like being outshone.”