Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  Sera pondered the earliest possible moment she could retire to

  the privacy of her room.

  She was Nicholas’ prisoner in flowing silk and kidskin,

  when she could be safe from all the turmoil and the agitation of

  his world. But when he kissed her as he had yesterday, she forgot

  everything else—even the sinking panic that she might never

  see her grandfather again. The only thing she wanted was more

  of his kisses, and his wonderful hands that knew secrets about

  her she hadn’t even guessed.

  “Princess Katherine. You look to be in fine form tonight.

  And your companion, m’dear? Would you be so kind?” An

  outrageously showy male wearing a pink velvet coat and

  peacock blue knee breeches on his skinny frame approached

  them, almost shouting above the murmurs of the crowd.

  Immediately upon reaching Katherine’s side, he raised his

  quizzing glass and stared through it at Sera. The foppish

  gentleman bent over Sera’s hand and actually put his mouth

  against her glove. Sera concentrated on the pale, shining bald

  spot in the middle of his crown.

  “M’dear Lady Sera,” the man, whom Katherine now

  introduced as Lord Effenby, Viscount Berington, intoned. “Such

  beauty, such grace. Might I interest you in a stroll about the

  room before His Majesty opens the ball?”

  She was filled with embarrassed confusion as to how to

  refuse such an offer, but Effenby still held her hand tightly in

  his, and it seemed to her that this was not one of Laurentia’s

  social niceties that she must endure. “I thank you, sir,” she said

  staring at Lord Effenby’s weak chin. “But I shall remain beside

  the princess.”

  “Perhaps you will honor me with the first dance.” Effenby

  lowered his voice so that only Sera could hear him and a hint of

  malice as he continued. “I should enjoy hearing of your travails

  in the summer palace of Iman Hadar, m’dear. Several versions

  of your adventures circulate throughout our set. Perhaps you

  will give me the details, and I shall pass them on to the rest of

  the company assembled here.”

  She raised her eyes and gave Effenby a long, considering

  look. Surprisingly, Effenby paled, then flushed, as though he

  had been caught by a bishop with his hand in the charity box.

  “I do not care to dance with you, my lord. Nor to converse

  with you any further.”

  “Oh, I say. Bit of a purse-lips, aren’t you? Promised to

  actually lead you about, and give you entrée into our set, and

  you’d turn your nose up at it? What a wonder, to set yourself so

  high, when all of us know where you’ve been.” Effenby walked

  off huffing.

  Chinless, balding, self-righteous, bigoted, libertine! Sera

  fought the urge to run after him and give him a sharp tongue-

  lashing. Effenby slithered across the room, to pause before a

  group of gaudy ladies. One of them was the old woman covered

  in diamonds from Sera’s other disastrous evening with the court.

  Effanby looked back at her with a smirk, and then returned his

  attention to the circle surrounding him. Whatever bon mots he

  passed along to them must have been quite entertaining, for

  Sera heard their burst of laughter from where she stood. She

  leaned toward Katherine, who was just ending a conversation

  with a rather lovely blonde in silver. The lady curtsied and

  strolled away with barely a glance at Sera.

  “How much longer?” whispered Sera.

  “We’ve been here scarce ten minutes, I think. At least

  another two hours,” hissed Katherine.

  Nicholas stood across the room receiving the last guests.

  His dark blue velvet coat and white silk knee breeches were a

  stark contrast to most of the colorfully dressed men in the room,

  and his comparatively austere costume only served to make him

  look more regal. This was his world, where he both ruled and

  felt entirely at home. She shrank into herself a little.

  She had been so certain that Arkadia would be her home

  forever. She had never prepared herself to deal with this

  opulence, this conscious mixture of cruelty and politesse, unless

  one could call glimpses of this life through a scrying glass

  preparation. Nicholas walked among these people with power

  and grace, his height making him visible above the heads of

  men who surrounded him. He smiled with such ease at those

  who so clearly accepted his right to tell them what to do.

  From somewhere behind a screen came a sweet sound of

  what must be music. She could not tell what the instruments

  were, but from her furtive studies after hours at the academy,

  she thought they might be stringed instruments. They played in

  a rhythmic fashion that seemed to imitate the beating of her

  heart. It rather took her breath away, this strange blending of

  separate tones into a harmonious whole, all lightness and gaiety

  together in that single beat that made one wish to nod along.

  Throughout the ballroom, men bowed to women, who curtsied

  back.

  Sera watched Nicholas lead the ball off with an elderly

  woman with white hair. She wore an emerald gown and walked

  with the upright grace of a queen. A tall, muscular man with a

  kind expression on his face appeared in front of Katherine and,

  with a smile to Sera, took Katherine’s hand with a bow. They

  proceeded down the row at a stately pace, Nicholas and his

  partner first. The lady turned in the dance with Nicholas, broke

  hands, joined together with Katherine and her tall, upright

  partner to form a group of four. Sera could barely take her eyes

  from them all. Even Katherine, who blushed unbecomingly,

  knew all the steps of the dance. They were so graceful. Their

  movements and the music itself made her wish she had accepted

  Monsieur Gallopet’s lessons.

  The dance went on for a very long time. Sera retreated to a

  corner of the ballroom near a large door that led into a room

  with a banquet table holding a large punch bowl and

  refreshments. In the obscurity of her corner, she savored the

  orchestra’s strange, fanciful sounds and watched the couples.

  Several of them had little to do for quite a while, it seemed, and

  used the opportunity to speak to each other. She began to see

  exactly how Monsieur Petit had meant her to use the thing

  hanging so limply from her wrist, for several ladies snapped

  their fans open and fluttered them in front of their faces, laughing

  behind the framed silk and lace. One playfully hit her partner

  upon the shoulder. Had the man done something or said

  something to deserve the little slap, or was the woman engaging

  in some kind of game?

  The music finally ended, and the dancers executed deep

  bows and curtsies to each other. Sera looked for Katherine and

  spotted her halfway across the large ballroom with Andre. For

  once, he had managed to arrange his blonde curls into some

  kind of order. As he bent over Katherine, a look of such naked

  joy filled his face that Sera felt her
self grow lighter at the sight.

  She remained in her corner, intent upon not disturbing their

  happiness.

  Surely she must have stood in this ballroom at least two

  hours—the requisite amount of time she was to obey the

  command of the king. Pushing away from her haven, she began

  the careful task of slipping away, only to feel a gentle but firm

  hand on her arm.

  “There you are.” Nicholas was beside her. She had a

  confused desire to break free and at the same time to lean into

  his strength. She took a deep breath of his scent, woodland and

  soap and his own light, musky warmth, as he bent to take her

  hand and raise it to his lips. The crowd about them went silent

  for an instant, and then resumed conversation. She felt much

  like a tortoise rolled onto its back, helpless to move, exposed to

  the pokes and prods of small, cruel boys. She stared at her toes,

  avoiding the avid eyes she felt fixed upon the two of them.

  “May I present Lord Grey, Duke of Ayres?”

  “Lady Sera, I am so very happy to make your acquaintance.”

  Lord Grey bowed over her hand. He was the same man who

  had danced with Katherine.

  Sera accomplished a passable curtsey and studied Lord

  Grey. He had strong, patrician features, dark hair, and a kind

  smile.

  Lord Grey suffered her scrutiny for a moment or two. The

  smile never left his face. “I wonder, my lady, if you realize that

  your eyes are rather frightening. They seem to see straight

  through a person and calmly judge the soul that lies within. I

  would think that, if you wished to, you could make this entire

  ballroom quail before you.”

  “I do not much wish to look at any of them,” said Sera in a

  voice that sounded thin and whispery to her ears. “I have never

  known any people such as these before.”

  “I understand perfectly,” said Lord Grey. “But beneath all

  the feathers and gilt, they are really very much like any others—

  most of them frightened to death of being found out for frauds.”

  He perused a group of courtiers ahead of them and slightly to

  the left.

  She heard Nicholas’ smothered laugh.

  “You think they are all as uncomfortable as I?” Sera stifled

  a sigh. “At least they all seem to know the correct steps of the

  dances, whereas I—”

  Nicholas’ voice held amusement. “Rob’s right, you know.

  Appearances are all in this crush. Simply assume a bored

  manner, and the world will scurry about attempting to engage

  your interest.”

  She broke off at the sound of what must be the highest

  stringed instruments—what were they? The violins or the violas,

  she wondered irritably. Again, she felt like groaning inwardly—

  frustration and regret at the years she had wasted fearing this

  world too much to learn about it. And why, oh why, had she

  refused dancing lessons when they had been offered?

  Nicholas gave her such a look—intensity mingled with a

  kind of reckless happiness. He executed a bow and took her

  hand. All Sera heard over the music were his last words.

  “…the pleasure of this waltz, my lady?”

  She realized with dread that Nicholas was pulling her

  steadily to the center of the polished floor. “No, no,” she said,

  but the music was too loud. She shook her head, trying to dig in

  her heels, but his strength was more than she could withstand

  and the floor was slippery. She could only follow quickly or

  fall.

  As they walked to the center of the ballroom, Sera noticed

  Lord Effenby and the old woman with all the diamonds scowling

  in her direction. They made a rather ridiculous couple, for

  Effenby was so spindly and the old woman so stout.

  “La! I’ll not dance, Effenby. Not while that Hill person is

  upon the floor. ‘Tis a travesty,” she heard the woman say.

  “Don’t fret, dear lady Tranevale. I’ll have that man bring

  us a treat. Ho, you there!” Effenby called to a footman passing

  by. “Some claret and blanc-mange. Bring it at once.” Effanby

  offered his arm to Lady Tranevale and followed behind Sera

  and Nicholas.

  “Let’s dance in close proximity to the woman until our repast

  arrives. Doubtless, she’ll disgrace herself in some manner, and

  I shall want a good view of the show.”

  Knowing Effenby’s prediction was about to come true, Sera

  blanched.

  Nicholas must have overheard. His frown was as dark as a

  thundercloud. But Effanby was too busy settling Lady Tranevale

  before him, and the matron was too filled with her own self-

  importance to realize she’d been overheard.

  He pulled her into his arms, and she felt his hand, steady

  and warm, on the small of her back. “My great-great grandfather

  would have stripped them both of their land and titles. I’ve half

  a mind to do so, myself.”

  Sera did not know where to place her hands. She glanced at

  other couples with her heart in her clumsy feet and shook her

  head with a kind of wordless misery. They were all looking at

  her and the king. The buzz of conjecture and speculation rose

  as the orchestra struck up the waltz and, because she and

  Nicholas just stood there, drifted into silence.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” she finally whispered, her cheeks flaming,

  feeling the disapproval that filled the room.

  Nicholas pulled her closer. “Of course you can, love. Just

  feel the beat of the music and follow me.”

  “You don’t understand. Those lessons you assigned me—I

  never had them.”

  Nicholas froze for the passing of one slow breath. Then he

  smiled, and with such tender humor. She wondered confusedly

  why it didn’t seem to matter to him that beneath the scrutiny of

  his whole court, her body had turned to lead.

  “Didn’t like M. Gallopet, did you? Want to learn from me?”

  “I’ll disgrace you,” she said to the top button of his

  waistcoat.

  “No. You’ll like it, I promise. Now, look at me and don’t

  stop. The first thing we’re going to do is think of a lovely revenge

  for Lord Effenby and Lady Tranevale. What will it be?”

  Sera looked into Nicholas’s eyes. At the twinkle of humor

  in them, her lips curved upward. “I wish to see them both with

  blanc-mange and claret—on their heads.”

  “Excellent! Keep that picture in your mind, and your eyes

  on mine, and follow.” Nicholas nodded to the musicians, and

  they began to play again.

  The music filled Sera and made her want to move with him.

  “One, two, three,” whispered Nicholas, and they were off,

  at first simply gliding forward and then backward to the beat of

  the music, and Sera had a delightful sense of flight and freedom

  within the rhythm of the waltz. Nicholas felt so warm and solid.

  She wanted to dance forever in the intimate hold of his strong

  arms.

  “See? I knew you’d like it. Now for a few spins.” And she

  was whirling, giddy and filled with music beneath the brilliantly


  glowing candelabra. She laughed and threw her head back. But

  suddenly, her foot caught on the hem of her dress.

  Sera tripped, first over her own feet, and next on the long,

  trailing skirt. Nicholas caught her as she fell forward almost to

  her knees, clutching at his sleeves.

  A few of the couples noticed and began to stare. At that

  moment, a footman made his way through the dancers carrying

  a tray of blanc-mange and claret. Aware of the sudden interest

  among the dancers in a particular spot, he stared straight at what

  they were looking at—Sera and the king. In doing so, he bumped

  into one whirling couple, stumbled, and lurched forward just as

  Lady Tranevale and Lord Effenby danced into his path.

  Lady Tranevale clutched at Lord Effenby for balance and,

  straining against a force too powerful for his meager frame,

  Lord Effenby tottered. Lady Tranevale went down in a heap,

  Effenby followed, and the unlucky footman lost the tray. The

  entire ballroom, including the orchestra, froze, fascinated, as

  crystal goblets of claret and Limoges plates of blanc-mange

  sailed through the air, landing directly on Effenby’s and Lady

  Tranevale’s heads. A sticky trail of custard and sweet wine ran

  down their hair and into their faces like lava.

  As footmen hurried to help them up, Nicholas stared

  speculatively. Then his lips quivered with repressed mirth.

  “Bull’s eye,” he whispered, escorting Sera off the floor.

  Sera was horrified, and far more frightened than she had

  been that day she’d made fire, or when she’d caused a long

  gallery to tremble. Then, fury and hurt had roiled through her,

  and helpless against them, she’d let them loose on the world.

  She’d learned to control that force by calming herself, or calling

  forth her beloved Grandfather’s image, to speak aloud her

  misery.

  But now, merely a thoughtless wish had slipped out of her

  mouth, and the result was a cruel revenge because she still knew

  next to nothing about the power of the Gift bubbling through

  her blood! Be careful what you wish for, people said. Too late,

  she realized that an Aestron must never lightly wish for anything.

  “Might I be excused?” she asked him, trying in vain to keep the

  childish quaver from her voice.

  “What is it, love? Surely you’re not upset because two nasty