She swallowed. She couldn’t back out now. This was much too good an opportunity. Kabos would hate it, but he couldn’t object to her following Elder Davon’s instructions. Her heart raced at the thought of allowing Vigorre so close, but she found to her surprise that mixed with her nervous reluctance was a thread of excitement.
She cleared her throat. “I have no objection. As long as you’re sure your father will approve.”
Vigorre snorted as he took her hand and led her toward the dancers. His grip was firm and warm. “He adores the waltz. Look.”
Nirel followed his nod. Across the room, First Keeper Rothen was whispering in his young wife’s ear. She blushed and giggled as he swept her into his embrace and out among the dancers.
“Father considers undue preoccupation with outward shows of modesty a Purifier affectation. He maintains that it honors the Mother to enjoy all her gifts.” Vigorre stepped close to Nirel. Before she quite realized what was happening, his arm went around her waist and his hand settled firmly in the small of her back.
She resisted the impulse to flinch and pull away. Instead, she copied the position of the other women and set her hand tentatively between Vigorre’s shoulders. He offered his other hand, and she laid hers in it lightly. “Kevessa never showed me this dance.”
“It’s simple enough. Just follow my lead.” Gentle pressure of his hand on her back guided her toward the center of the room.
She stumbled a few times before she caught the trick of the steps. But he moved confidently, without showing any dismay at her clumsiness. For a while she kept her gazed focused on her feet and her mind chanting the one-two-three rhythm.
But as soon as she mastered the dance, she looked up. Nervous as she felt, she had to use this opportunity to talk with Vigorre. “Do you share your father’s opinion?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, it was with a one-sided smile and an air of choosing his words carefully. “I enjoy waltzing. But I can see the Purifiers’ point. Some of my friends take advantage of the dance.” He glanced at Mansan and his partner. They were pressed much more tightly together than Vigorre and Nirel, with his hand several inches lower down her back, and their eyes locked in a smoldering gaze. Nirel blushed and quickly looked away.
Religious politics suddenly seemed a much safer subject. “I still don’t understand about the Purifiers. We have nothing like them in Tevenar.” She wondered if she ought to begin to hint at the deception that was her true purpose, but decided it was too soon. “Are their beliefs really that different?”
Vigorre tilted his head. “They are and they aren’t. They believe the same things about the Mother that the Temple teaches. Just more rigidly, more absolutely. They claim the Temple has grown lax and corrupt through the years, and that our faith must return to the pure worship of the Mother practiced by the ancient wizards. My father says their interpretation of the sacred writings is far too narrow and literal. That the Mother can’t be confined within any words, no matter how inspired, and that she’s constantly revealing new aspects of her power to us.”
Nirel heard a note of ambivalence underlying his words. “What about you? What do you believe?”
He looked at her, dark and unreadable. “Shouldn’t a son stand by his father and adhere to his teachings?”
“Only if you believe them. For yourself, not just because it’s what you’ve been taught.” Nirel made her voice as certain as she could.
“Oh? You speak as if you have experience in these matters. Have you disagreed with your father’s beliefs?” Vigorre looked past her toward where she’d last seen Kabos, an eyebrow arching in speculation.
“I—” She’d better be careful not to contradict what she needed to say later. “I’d rather not talk about it right now. But I’ve always made up my own mind about what I believe.”
“Hmm.” He studied her in silence through several measures of the dance. When he spoke again, his voice was very low. She had to strain to catch his words over the music and other couples’ conversation. “While I don’t agree with everything the Purifiers espouse, I do have certain… sympathies… with some of their arguments. A number of their criticisms of the Temple accord with my observations.” His gaze shifted away from Nirel’s. “I love my father and support him. As long as I can remember I’ve planned to follow him as a Keeper. But the Temple does abuse its power. If we don’t change that from within, the Purifiers will force reform on us from without. And with it will come their other policies, which will harm Ramunna as they have harmed Marvanna.” He flashed an apologetic smile at Nirel. “I’m sorry. You probably find these matters tedious.”
“No, I’m interested. I asked, didn’t I?” The more she could get him to confide in her, the more credible he’d find it when she confided in him in turn. “Tell me more. What sorts of abuses do you mean?”
He scowled. “If you haven’t heard the gossip already, I’m sure you will. My father has always acted honorably in his dealings with women, despite what people say, but not all Keepers hold to his standards. There’s a lot of wealth and status in being a Keeper’s wife, or even his mistress. I’ve had girls offer me far more than they should, hoping I’ll favor them once I’m a Keeper.” He hesitated and looked away before rushing on. “By law the Temple receives a tithe of everyone’s earnings, even the poorest folk. All that money goes to build larger and more ornate temples in the wealthy districts, when it doesn’t go into the Keepers’ pockets. The only place to worship in the whole Beggars’ Quarter is a little bare building scarcely big enough for a hundred people to crowd into. People suffer and die uncomforted every day, while we argue fine points of theology. We may no longer have the power to heal them, but at least we could do something!”
Nirel blinked, taken aback by the passion her innocent query had unleashed. “This really matters to you, doesn’t it?”
He flushed. “Yes. Not that I can do anything about it. I’m only an acolyte. Maybe someday, if my father’s name helps me reach a position of influence, I can start to make a difference. Until then I can only watch, and think, and speak out when I can get someone to listen.” He looked sideways at her. “Most people think I’m strange to care about such things.”
“I don’t know why. Your concerns seem legitimate to me.” Nirel didn’t have to feign sincerity.
He smiled wryly. “Are things very different where you come from?” His voice remained casual, but his expression took on an odd intentness. “Are the wizards everyone is talking about like the wizards of ancient Marvanna, who abused the Mother’s power until she took it away from them? Or do they use it as she intended from the beginning, to ease her children’s suffering?”
It was the perfect opening, but Nirel found she couldn’t take it. Suddenly she was ashamed of the elaborate series of lies she needed to make him believe.
The music drew to a close, giving her an excuse to evade the question. She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated. If we had more time I could explain. Perhaps we could dance again later?”
Vigorre guided her to a smooth halt. “I’d enjoy that.” He released her hand and took his arm from around her waist, stepping back. The places his warm body had pressed against her felt cold in his absence.
All around them, couples drew wistfully apart, applauding the musicians, a few calling for them to play another waltz. Nirel smiled awkwardly at Vigorre and turned away. She drifted toward the food tables. The musicians began to play one of the conventional figure dances, a complicated one Nirel hadn’t yet had the chance to learn. She was just as glad to wait a dance out. She was tired, and she needed to clear her mind so that when she spoke with Vigorre again she could stay focused on her task.
A hand closed hard on her forearm. She turn to meet Kabos’s burning gaze.
“How dare you!” he hissed. He dragged her toward a clear stretch of wall. “Of all the wanton, indecent, shameless displays of lust—”
“Father!” Nirel kept her teeth clenched, her lips st
retched in a frozen smile. “Don’t make a scene!” Loudly, for the benefit of those around who were giving them odd looks, she said, “I know you didn’t want me to waltz, but there’s no harm in it. Everyone was having such a good time.”
She met his glare and dropped her voice to a whisper. “That was him! The reason we’re here. Now let go of me and say something reasonable. People are staring.”
The look Kabos gave her was full of loathing. But he dropped her arm and stepped back. Gruffly, he said, “Very well. But no more.”
“All right, Father. Whatever you say.” Nirel dropped her gaze until the curious onlookers turned away. She turned to watch the dancers weaving in and out of complex figures. Beside her, Kabos did the same.
After a moment of silence he took up his complaint again, in a low but urgent undertone. “The Elder didn’t command you to throw yourself at the boy. You can accomplish your task without flouting everything the Ordinances say of proper behavior.”
“Father, Elder Davon told me to do whatever I needed to in order to get Vigorre’s attention and feed him the information. You know what’s at stake. I made a good start, but I’m not done yet. I’m going to have to speak with him again later. If that means dancing another waltz with him, that’s what I’ll do.”
Kabos breathed heavily. Nirel darted her eyes around without turning her head. She didn’t think anyone was close enough to hear their whispers, but it worried her to be speaking so openly of secrets that must not be revealed.
She lowered her voice even further. “Father, I swear, I will do nothing to shame you. I only want to obey you, and Elder Davon, and the Lord of Justice.”
She glanced at him. His fists were clenched at his sides, and rage boiled behind his eyes as he stared unseeing across the room.
After a long silence, he closed his eyes. “Do what you must,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He turned jerkily and strode across the room.
Nirel watched him go, breathing hard. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. Tears would smudge the cosmetics she’d applied so carefully. It took the rest of the dance for her to recover her composure enough to walk slowly back to the table of food where Mansan and his group of friends, Vigorre among them, were gathering.
She tried to act normally, but Mansan took one look at her face and frowned in concern. “Hey, you’re not in trouble with your father, are you?”
Her smile was shaky. “He didn’t like me waltzing.”
Mansan grinned and lifted one shoulder. “He’ll get used to it. Most of our parents have.”
A girl jumped in. “The first time they played a waltz at a ball, half of us had to stand it out, and the other half got yelled at afterward.”
The rest were quick to add their commiseration. Nirel gradually relaxed, tension draining from muscles she hadn’t realized were clenched, as she listened to tales of excessive reactions by overprotective parents. She was surprised and touched by how eager the others seemed to ease her unhappiness and help her feel accepted into their circle. She took the plate of food someone handed her and snared a drink from a passing tray.
When the next dance started, she let one of the boys lead her onto the floor. Over the course of the next few hours she was never without an eager partner. No more waltzes, just comfortably formal formations. Vigorre was always nearby, sometimes touching her hand or briefly circling with her as the pattern of a dance brought them together, but he didn’t try to speak to her. She kept track of him, but considered it wise to wait before attempting to contact him again. It was pleasant to set aside her mission for a while and enjoy the evening. She wished Kevessa was there to share it with her. What was her friend doing, far away in Tevenar, among the wizards she’d been so curious about?
Nirel’s feet hurt. She was beginning to wish Lady Yovella had provided chairs for her guests when the musicians laid aside their instruments and excused themselves. She rejoined what she’d come to think of as her group as they assembled by the tables.
Mansan was quick to reclaim his role as guide. “Nirel, a bunch of us are going out for a walk around the gardens. Do you want to come?”
She tried not to be too obvious as she scanned the gathering crowd, but Mansan laughed. “Yes, he’s coming, too.” He jerked his head to where Vigorre hovered at the edge of the group.
Nirel flushed. It was all right if Mansan and the others misinterpreted her interest in the First Keeper’s son. It made a convenient cover for her real purpose. But she hesitated, glancing across the room. “My father…”
“It will be fine,” Mansan assured her. “Look, Lady Yovella’s right by him. She’ll tell him it’s what we always do. The parents will be coming out to join us after a while. But they let us have a little privacy first.” He grinned.
Sure enough, after a glance at the young people, Lady Yovella took Kabos’s arm and steered him away, chattering brightly at him. Nirel took a deep breath. “All right.”
She trailed along as the group made for a pair of wide, windowed doors on the far side of the room. They led to a terrace overlooking a broad green lawn. Torches illuminated a long rectangular fountain splashing in the center and marked out paths that wound away between banks of flowering bushes.
Laughing and chattering, the group traipsed down the stairs and spread out across the lawn. A few couples headed off on their own, but enough people remained that Nirel didn’t feel awkward. She chatted with Mansan and a handful of others for a while. When that gathering broke up, she drifted over to watch the arching droplets of water that sparkled ruby and amber in the flickering torchlight. The cool autumn evening felt good after the exercise of dancing and the close air of the ballroom.
Even though she’d deliberately set the stage for it to happen, she was startled when Vigorre’s quiet voice spoke in her ear. “Would you like to walk with me?”
Nirel’s heart pounded. “Yes.” She rested her hand on Vigorre’s offered elbow. He guided her to a side path. Tall glossy bushes bedecked with globular blooms closed around them. They might have been deep within a forest, except that occasional torches cast yellow circles on the sand of the path. Rising over the bushes and between the trees, Nirel glimpsed the tall white shape of their host’s home.
“It’s nearly winter, yet there are so many flowers.” Nirel stopped to admire one of the many-petaled blossoms.
“These are camellias.” Vigorre broke a bloom from the bush and pressed it into her hand. “They like the cool weather. You have no winter flowers in Tevenar?”
“Not in the mountains. Where I grew up, the trees lose their leaves in the fall, and there’s snow on the ground most of the winter.” Nirel twisted the flower stem between her fingers.
“I’ve never seen snow. It doesn’t fall in Ramunna.”
“That’s what Kevessa said. Maybe she’ll get to see some now. Although I heard it’s not very common in Elathir.”
Vigorre leaned toward her. “Do you think she’s all right? All of us worried when she disappeared.”
Nirel wished she could share the full story with him, but that was out of the question. She chose her words carefully. “I know she made it onto the ship and left with Professor Gevan for Tevenar.”
“Good. He’ll take care of her.”
Irrationally, the concern in his voice bothered Nirel. “Do you know Kevessa well?”
Vigorre quirked an eyebrow at her. “Only as a friend.”
“I didn’t mean—” Flustered, Nirel looked away.
“I know.” He chuckled. “All of us whose parents are of a certain status know each other. We’ve been seeing each other on social occasions all our lives. It’s a rather small community. Almost everyone’s here tonight.”
Nirel frowned. “It seems like a big crowd to me. I never had any friends growing up. Just my family.”
It was his turn to frown at her. “None at all?”
Defensive, Nirel turned away. “Our farm was a long way away from our neighbors.” She set off down the path again, and Vigo
rre followed her.
They didn’t speak for a while. The path twisted back and forth, winding down a small but steep incline. At the bottom a tiny stream, barely a foot across, gurgled over a bed of smooth rocks. A wrought iron bench, all curlicues and twisted columns, graced a little alcove off the main path. Nirel gratefully sank onto it. Vigorre sat beside her.
He looked across the stream to the dark woods looming on the far bank. “What do you think of Ramunna? Do you like it here?”
Nirel sorted through the mixed emotions raised by the seemingly-simple question. “I—It’s very different. Parts of it I like very much. I’ve learned so much since I came here, met so many interesting people…” She groped to find words to express her feelings without offending. “But some things bother me. There are so many restrictions on women. And so much about your lives seems determined by who you are, who your parents are. I mean, at home lots of people apprentice to their parents’ guild, but you can join any guild you want, if they’ll take you.”
“I can see how our ways might seem confining to you.” He was quiet for a moment. “But tonight, for instance, the ball, the gardens…”
“They’re wonderful,” she reassured him.
“I’m glad you like them.” He shifted, settling back. With a smooth motion he stretched his arm and rested it along the back of the bench, brushing Nirel’s shoulders.
Nirel froze. Conflicting impulses assailed her. Part of her wanted to pull away. She barely knew Vigorre. They’d met only a few hours ago, shared only a few words. But part of her remembered the way it had felt to waltz in his arms and wanted to lean into him and feel his warmth again.
The Ordinances went into exhaustive detail about exactly what a woman was permitted to do with a man. Pretty much everything her body was whispering it wanted was forbidden. You weren’t even supposed to kiss a man unless you were betrothed to him. If Kabos were to see her here, his reaction would be even more extreme than his earlier outrage.
Under ordinary circumstances, the Elders would agree with him, and assign her strict and painful penance for even allowing Vigorre’s arm to rest against her shoulders without protest. But these circumstances were far from ordinary.
The Law of Isolation Page 42