Nightshade

by Shea Godfrey

  “Have a care for her ring then, my Lord,” Jessa said.

  Owen turned in surprise but she had lowered her eyes. He studied her closely, noticing her black curls and the braids that were scattered throughout. Her posture was perfect, yet she had a vulnerability about her as she stood before him, her hands together at her waist and looking as if she would flinch at the slightest provocation. She did not appear frail, but it seemed as if she waited for a blow of some kind, an anxiousness about her demeanor that made him want to take her hand. Waiting for what, I wonder.

  They heard Malcolm’s voice across the courtyard and Jessa’s shoulders twitched just as he had predicted they might. Waiting for that, I should imagine.

  Cecelia took Malcolm’s arm after a few quiet words and they moved across the courtyard. Malcolm looked handsome in his black trousers and jacket with a green tunic, his thick hair brushed back and his mustache and goatee neatly trimmed. His blue eyes were on Jessa and he smiled as they approached. Jessa gave a low bow.

  “Princess Jessa-Sirrah,” Cecelia said, letting go of Malcolm’s arm as he stepped close, too close in fact. She pulled at his jacket and Malcolm took a step back. “May I introduce, once again, our son, Prince Malcolm Edmund Durand, heir to the throne of Arravan and all the provinces held therein. Prince of Ishlere and Duke of Treemont. Liege Lord of Kenton and barrister to the High Court, and second to the High King in Council.”

  Bloody hell, woman. Owen scowled. Why not just pound her on the head with a rock and be done with it?

  Jessa rose smoothly. Owen’s eyes were drawn to her hands as she took hold of the jeweled clips within her hair and undid the veil, first one side and then the other.

  The silk slid away and Owen saw her in full for the first time. Sweet Gamar.

  “I am the Princess Jessa-Sirrah de Cassey LaMarc de Bharjah,” she said, and met Cecelia’s gaze. They held each other’s eyes and Cecelia’s expression filled with question at the lengthy exchange.

  Jessa held out the veil to her.

  Cecelia stared at the delicate silk for several heartbeats before taking it in a stilted manner. Etiquette demanded that the veil be handed only to Jessa’s own mother or not at all. “Jessa,” Cecelia said under her breath.

  Jessa’s attention returned to Malcolm. “And though I hold no lands or titles other than my name, I hold the hearts of my people with great care next to my own. Unlike my brothers, who are neglectful of such things. And unlike my father, who has forgotten them altogether.”

  Sweet seven hells. Owen could not remember when he had last been so intrigued by another person, unless it were Darry. But then his youngest child was her own sort of revelation and one that could not be compared to any other he had yet encountered. And though he felt he had ruined that well enough for himself, the surprising joy that was her wild blood, he could still admire it from a distance. Darry had taught him that much at least, though the lesson had come at a terrible price. Not everything was meant to be tamed, and one man’s propriety could be another man’s hell.

  “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance once again, Princess,” Malcolm said with an easy smile, though his eyes studied her with an awareness they had not held but a moment before. “Perhaps we might have tea?”

  “I would like that very much,” Jessa said, remembering how he had spoken to Darry upon the balustrade and his cruel tone as he goaded her.

  How would you speak to me, I wonder, if you knew that…if you knew that I would give all that I have at this moment to have your sister standing before me instead of you? A terrible wave of panic moved through her and she felt like laughing as she realized the man before her might very well end up her husband. And what would I do if he were? What would you do, Darry?

  Malcolm waited patiently for her to take his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and they moved away from his parents, walking to one of the far tables where the tea had been set for them.

  Owen placed a hand at the small of Cecelia’s back. “She cannot possibly be Bharjah’s child.”

  Cecelia studied the veil, her heart pricked by the fact that Jessa had given it to her. It was the mother’s honor to keep the veil, which symbolized that her daughter would no longer be hers and was a keepsake of immense significance. Cecelia swallowed over a tight throat and took a deep breath, honored and humbled. “Her mother was said to be the most beautiful woman in Lyoness.”

  “I remember,” Owen said. “The girl from the Ibarris Plains.”

  “I imagine,” Cecelia said as Malcolm held out a chair for Jessa, “that she’s more her mother’s than his, for all that she died years ago.”

  “You’re to stay and chaperone?” he asked. “To make sure Malcolm does not insult her?”

  “Yes. Emmalyn and I will sit within the solar.”

  “Perhaps just Emmalyn?” he asked in a tone of voice she recognized all too well. “My morning is surprisingly free.”

  Cecelia chuckled and slapped at his chest with the back of her hand as she moved away. “Go and do something stately, Owen, and let me attend to my duties.”

  “As you command, my love.”

  Owen watched Jessa once more and his humor faded as Malcolm poured the tea. Her shoulders were tight with the same anxiousness, only perhaps now it had spread. Jessa seemed to hold herself at a strange distance from what was happening around her.

  Owen walked down the garden path, thinking upon his greatest enemy and the beautiful child he had sent in offer of a lasting truce, wondering what the price would be if his son chose to keep her. He understood the long-term payment, a child of Lyonese blood on his family’s throne, but he knew as well that Bharjah wanted something more immediate. The Lowlands would never be Bharjah’s unless he took them by force, so what would the Butcher of the Plains demand instead?

  Jessa took up the teacup with a graceful hand as Malcolm began to talk. He was indeed quite handsome, as Jessa knew, but near at hand and with his attention on her, his eyes held a different sort of spark. He spoke of how glad he was that she was there, and that he was pleased at the opportunity to treat with her brother. She sipped her tea and smiled, as Radha had counseled, and searched his eyes. When she found them, he would look away. His reaction was discreet, but it was something she could not miss.

  He spoke easily of Arravan and how when etiquette would allow, he would like very much to show her his city, for Lokey held many wonders that Karballa did not. He said this, and Jessa knew that he had never been to her city and could not possibly know what wonders it might hold. He did not ask her of Karballa or the Jade Palace, nor did he speak at all of Lyoness.

  He smoothed his beard and Jessa noted that his nails were well-kept and his skin soft-looking. This was an affectation, she realized, that he would indulge when he was searching for something to say. He was polite, of course, but she saw almost at once that his mind was elsewhere. When her porcelain cup was empty of tea she waited as form dictated, but he did not fill it until his own cup was empty. She thanked him and he nodded absently, after which he engaged in more courtly talk.

  He spoke of the Green Hills and how he hoped she would not mind that he would steal her brother away for the hunting. And then he spoke of his skill with the bow and how he hoped that they would bring down a stag, so that once more they might enjoy the rarity of its prized flesh. He asked how she had enjoyed such a delicacy, and when she expressed her appreciation in a lie, he leaned back in his chair, looking pleased.

  After an hour or so he glanced at the trellis and Jessa saw that his councilor Marteen Salish was waiting. Malcolm nodded to him. He made his excuses politely and thanked her for the wonderful visit even as he rose from his chair. He stepped about the table and held his hand out, and she took it gently. She had to turn somewhat awkwardly from her chair, which he had not pulled out. When he asked if they might have lunch on the morrow and a walk within the gardens the next, she said yes.

  Emmalyn was there then, taking her arm as Malcolm bowed and left
them. He moved toward the trellis with more concern than Jessa had witnessed the entire time they had just spent together.

  And within that moment Jessa knew the truth. She knew that Prince Malcolm Durand had no intention of marrying her and most likely never had. He had no interest in her at all, not as his future wife or even a friend. She knew it as surely as she stood there, and the knowledge struck her like a fist. If she was not here as a possible wife then why was she here at all? The question was the same as always, yet she had not expected it from the Prince himself. What are we in the middle of, Radha?

  “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Emmalyn asked.

  “Might I go back to my rooms now, Emmalyn?”

  Emmalyn squeezed Jessa’s arm and stepped closer. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll come for you at lunch?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jessa replied. “I did not sleep well last night, and I think perhaps…”

  Emmalyn waited but Jessa said nothing more. “An afternoon nap,” Emmalyn said with a friendly smile. “A splendid idea.”

  She led Jessa toward the trellis and the path that would take them to the residence, casting her mother a worried glance.

  Cecelia felt a twitch at her temple in response. She had not missed Malcolm’s breaches in etiquette or the fact that he had barely let Jessa speak. She could only imagine what he might have been saying the entire time, and she surmised that nothing was quite so boring to a prospective bride as talk of the millosha wheat harvest and the imported silks from Greymear.

  “Dammit, Mal,” she said softly, staring at the veil in her hands.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Darry pulled herself up with a grimace, gripping the turn in the stone firmly as she swung to the right. She threw her left arm up and grasped the top edge of the balcony rail, hauling her body after.

  She rested her waist against the stone, her lower body dangling some thirty feet above the ground. She was just in time to see Jessa take down several dresses from the pole between the hearth and the balcony archway, freshly laundered and dry from the warmth of the hearth and the fresh summer breeze.

  “Jess!” she hissed, as loud as she dared.

  Jessa spun around, her body twisting to the side in mid-step. Her bare feet caught in the fabric of the dresses she carried, and she slipped with a strangled cry and fell to the floor in a heap.

  Darry laughed. “Brilliant.”

  Jessa sat up and Darry swung a leg onto the stone of her balcony rail, then toppled over onto the smooth stones.

  Jessa covered her mouth to stop her laughter and glanced toward the divan where Radha was snoring. She scrambled to her feet and hurried over the threshold as Darry got up. “What are you doing?” she said. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “We have established that, yes?”

  Jessa’s blood was racing at the sight of her, her body suddenly alive and extremely focused. Darry had not been at dinner and Jessa had regretted her absence, especially because she was no longer wearing her veil and felt exposed.

  “How was your day?”

  “You climbed my balcony to ask me how my day was?” Jessa asked.

  “Yes, and no.”

  “Shivahsa essa, Darry, you are mad. How’d you do that?”

  Darry chuckled, glancing over the balcony as well. “It looks much higher from up here,” she said. “So how was your day?”

  “Fine,” Jessa lied.

  “I saw you in your sable dress. The color matches your eyes. Did you plan it that way?”

  “Of course.” Jessa was glad for the darkness, knowing it would hide the blush on her cheeks. “It’s what women do. Why was your vest at the fête made of such a golden color if not for your hair?”

  “It was the cheapest fabric,” Darry said with a grin. “I was running out of coin very quickly.”

  Jessa laughed and glanced back into the room, searching for any sign of Radha. When she turned back Darry was reaching in her jacket. She pulled forth a flower with broad petals that Jessa recognized at once as the sunsdrop glory, a red desert flower that bloomed only in the sandy earth of Lyoness.

  Darry held it out, fixing one of the bent petals. “I thought you might be missing your home.”

  Jessa took the flower by its thick stem. “Where did you get this?”

  “The gardens at the Temple of Jezara. The Goddess is very fond of red.”

  Jessa’s emotions rose at the sight of the broad petals she knew as well as her own flesh, lifting the flower to her nose. She closed her eyes as the scent of her homeland filled her senses, a swirl of unexpected joy born within the presence of a very old friend. Though she rejoiced each morning that the Jade Palace was a thousand leagues away, she had not realized until now that she did in fact miss Lyoness.

  “And here is chicory for the Lady Radha’s karrem,” Darry said. Jessa was beautiful in the moonlight, her skin tanned and dark against the white of her shift, her hair a thousand strands of loveliness about her shoulders as a stray braid clung to the skin of her throat. Darry had to force herself not to push it aside.

  Jessa took the small leather bag, her eyes finding Darry’s. “Thank you.”

  “Are you…please don’t cry, Jess,” Darry said, panicked at the unexpected emotion. “Don’t, don’t do that.”

  “No. It’s just that…I was missing my home.”

  “It’s all right, you know.” Darry held her eyes for a long time. “It’s your home and you’re far away.”

  “Yes,” Jessa said.

  “I should go.”

  “Where? Why?” she asked. “You’ve only just gotten here.”

  “I have six more saddles to clean tonight,” Darry said. And maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I hadn’t counted on seeing you dressed as you are, or undressed, as the case may be. Amar’s mustache. She closed her eyes, but the sight of Jessa’s body so scantily clad would not disappear. What in the seven hells are you doing, Darry? She had not considered the consequences of her actions, only that she wanted to make Jessa happy. “Longshanks is angry at me for being a princess.”

  Jessa grabbed Darry’s arm as Darry lifted her left knee to the railing. “Take the bloody door, Darry,” she said, loath to see her go no matter which way she went. I hadn’t thought to find what I was looking for. But by all the gods, for the first time in my life I understand. “Take the door,” she said again.

  “And tip on my toes past the Lady Radha?” Darry asked with her rogue’s grin, her dimple making an appearance. “Not on your precious life, Jessa, not on your life.”

  Jessa let go as Darry swung over the edge and lowered her body into the air. Jessa reacted quickly and covered Darry’s hand, everything inside her pulling at her, begging her to lean down and kiss her. The thought startled her. Darry’s lips looked so soft. I would taste you on my tongue, Akasha. And at that thought she caught her breath, feeling a deeper stirring that she recognized from her most sensual dreams. “If you fall, I will never forgive you.”

  “Not to worry, Princess. I do this all the time.”

  “Climb balconies when the moon is high and give flowers to women in their night clothes?”

  Darry laughed. “Well, no,” she said as she started downward. “Though it’s not a bad idea.”

  “Come back,” Jessa whispered, stretching over the rail and catching hold of Darry’s eyes as she glanced up. “Come back again tomorrow, Darry.”

  “Yes…yes, all right.”

  “And the night after that as well.”

  “Perhaps I should find a ladder?”

  Jessa tried to hold her quiet laughter in but it broke free. “Do you have other plans then?”

  “Well, yes. I’m going to a party for Lucien.”

  “Lucien?”

  “One of my men.” Darry gripped more tightly with her right hand and shifted her weight. “It’s his birthing day.”

  “I see.”

  “Would you like to come with me?”

  Jessa couldn’t speak.

 
“Sorry.” Darry grinned. “Not proper, I suppose.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jessa said softly. “But I like being asked.”

  “Jessa?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I don’t climb down now, I might be falling soon.”

  “Shivahsa, Darry!” Jessa bent farther over the rail. “Yes, go.”

  The material of Jessa’s shift had slipped, revealing more than just a pleasing hint of her breasts. Well worth a fall, I think. Darry leapt from the wall and landed safely, then looked up to see Jessa still stretched over the stones. You will pull the moon down, my sweet Jessa, looking so in its light.

  Jessa raised the flower to her nose. “Go,” she whispered through the petals. “Go while I can still let you, Akasha.”

  Darry waved before she turned away and disappeared into the night.

  *

  “The timing could not be better, Mal.” Marteen Salish’s brown eyes were bright with satisfaction. “Will she summon your father?”

  Malcolm stared at the embers glowing in the fireplace across the room as if the small bit of light they provided could still hold back the night. “Yes.”

  “Then this is the perfect play. Stop brooding.”

  “It shall cause her a great deal of pain,” Malcolm said, though the comment was meant more for himself than Marteen. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “She’s your mother and you love her, I understand that. But she is the past, do you agree?”

  “Of course!” Malcolm snapped. “Is this not my plan? My play? This country has been sitting upon its laurels for nearly forty years. No one understands the need for young blood better than I. Try sitting in council with those old men day after day. They smell of boredom and bed death. My father must step away from his power now, before their inaction drags him down completely. At this rate the Durand name will fade into nothing but a footnote in history…all while Lyoness is ripe for the picking.”

  “Then you must own it, Mal. Very soon you will be the High King of Arravan. You may make amends to your mother when you sit on the Blackwood Throne.”