by Sera Trevor
“Naturally. You did not happen to have a role in that, did you?”
“Of course not!” Jasen said with faux indigence. “I said I preferred mudball, but I’m perfectly capable of playing chess if the situation calls for it. I just don’t like it.” Jasen bit his lip. “I’m also not very good at it.”
Rilvor took Jasen’s hand in his own. “On the contrary,” he said, his voice deep in a way that made Jasen uncomfortably aware of the tightness of his breeches. “Your moves are well made.”
He began to bring Jasen’s hand to his lips. Jasen didn’t pull his hand away, but he also wouldn’t let Rilvor lift it. “All kidding aside, I want you to know that this isn’t a game to me,” he said while looking directly into his eyes. “I understand that we must keep up appearances, but when it’s just the two of us, it needs to be honest.”
“I would not have it any other way.” Without breaking eye contact, Rilvor lifted Jasen’s hand again. This time, Jasen let him. His lips pressed against the fabric of Jasen’s glove. It was one of the most intimate kisses Jasen had ever experienced, and Rilvor’s lips hadn’t even touched his skin.
It might have turned into something more, but the appearance of a valet at the stable door spoiled the moment. “Minister Adwig wishes to speak to you, sire.”
Rilvor sighed. “Duty calls.” He gave Jasen’s hand one more brief kiss before releasing it.
Jasen gave a faint nod. The blood had rushed from his head to elsewhere, leaving him a little dizzy, and his legs felt weak. “When will we see each other again?”
“At the Suitor’s Ball, most likely. I may not be able to dedicate myself solely to you, but that it not the same as ‘ignoring’ you. You will have as much of my attention as I am able to give. That is, if you will give me the pleasure of a dance or two.”
Jasen swallowed. The thought of every set of eyes in the ballroom on him dancing with the king set his heart fluttering, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from excitement or panic. “I had already assumed I’d see the king at the ball. What I meant to ask was when I would see Rilvor again.”
Rilvor laughed. “At the soonest opportunity, I swear it.” He paused. “And while propriety restrains my actions, there is no reason why we cannot communicate privately. If you ever wish to speak to me, write me a note. I will write to you as well. Would that make you feel better about the situation?”
Jasen smiled a little. “It would, actually.”
“Then you shall hear from me soon.” He gave Jasen’s hand another kiss, and then he was gone.
* * *
Jasen floated back to the East Wing. He took a look at one of the grand clocks in the hallways—it was just about time for luncheon, but most consorts were still at their lessons. He knew he ought to go back to his room and get changed, but the thought of confronting the stairs while his legs still felt wobbly was too daunting. He decided he’d sit in the Swan Parlor for a few minutes to collect himself.
It should have been empty, but it wasn’t. Of all people, Polina sat there alone, working at her cross-stitch. It shouldn’t have surprised him too much; Polina was deemed so advanced that she had much fewer classes than the others.
She looked up at Jasen and smirked. “Lord Jasen—your hair looks a fright! What happened? Were you thrown from your horse?”
Jasen removed his hat, which was probably crooked seeing as his hair was still knotted from his fight with the hat. “Oh, no—my hat got caught on a branch.”
“So you ran into a tree? Oh dear, that must have been embarrassing.”
Jasen ought to have left it alone—as Rilvor had said, hearts would be broken once this terrible ‘game’ had ended, and of all the consorts, it seemed that the princess’s heart stood to take the most damage. He’d meant what he said to Rilvor—he didn’t relish the thought of people getting hurt. The noble thing to do would be ignore her.
But Polina was a smug little would-be saboteur, and Risyda would never let him live it down if he passed up an opportunity to annoy her. “You’re right,” he said, collapsing on the sofa beside her. “I was hopeless at riding. How did I ever think I could ever measure up to the refinement of the Court?” He threw his hat down with exaggerated dejection.
To Jasen’s surprise, Polina’s facial expression shifted. “Don’t feel too badly,” she said, her voice sounding almost kind. For a moment, Jasen actually thought that Polina was going to be a decent human being for once, but she continued. “You can’t help that you’re Grummish, or that your upbringing was so lacking. As my auntie always says, it is the height of cruelty to allow the mediocre into finer society. It can only lead to embarrassment for everyone involved.” She gave his leg a little pat. “But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be able to land a lesser noble who can appreciate your rustic charms.”
Jasen just stared at her for a minute. “What a kind thing to say. Would you mind if I asked you a favor?”
Polina set aside her sewing. “Not at all,” she said with a condescending smile.
“Would you help me redo my hair? I don’t feel like making the trek up to my room before luncheon. Rilvor did his best to help me straighten it, but as we didn’t have a brush, he had to use his fingers.”
Her smile abruptly transformed back into her usual scowl. She snatched up her sewing again. “Well, I don’t have a brush either,” she snapped. “I don’t think anyone at luncheon would notice, since you always look such a mess. And just so you know, it is beyond gauche to refer to His Royal Majesty by his first name. Even little children know better than that.”
“But that’s what he’s asked me to call him.” Jasen put his hand on his chin as if in thought. “Etiquette is so confusing. I would think that a king’s wish would take precedent over the finer points of manners, but maybe I’m wrong. What do you think?”
Polina stood up. “I think that you’re a liar, and that His Majesty will soon see you for the fraud you are!” She gathered her skirts and huffed out of the room.
Jasen couldn’t help but grin. He couldn’t wait to tell Risyda. As he stood up, he noticed Polina had forgotten her sewing. It was a scene of a horse, galloping through a wood. For some reason, it put a dent in his glee over Polina’s snit. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Risyda after all. After all, they had plenty of other things to discuss.
Chapter 8
Jasen was floating in the water.
He wasn’t sure where he was—it was a lake of some sort, fresh water, unusually warm. It was nighttime, but the moon was full, its light unnaturally bright. He gazed at it for awhile as he floated on his back, not sure what to do. After a few moments, he righted himself. His feet did not find any purchase, but he was able to tread water. He looked around, but there was nothing in any direction—only water, so calm it was almost like a mirror.
That calm didn’t last for long. The water rippled, as if something were coming to the surface. All of a sudden, Jasen found himself lifted out of the water, his legs straddling something huge. He began to flail in panic, but two arms closed around him from behind, holding him still. He tried to turn to see who those arms belonged to, but he couldn’t manage it. Huge wings spread out on either side of them. They were riding a dragon. Its scales reflected a deep blue.
Soon they were flying through the sky. He tried again to twist to see the face of his companion, but again failed. All he glimpsed was long hair, so fair that it was silver in the bright moonlight. Since he couldn’t make out a face, he looked down at the hands that were holding him. They were slender, feminine. A woman, then. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was, but found that he couldn’t speak.
They continued to fly through the sky, leaving the water behind. They passed over a palace—Strengsend, surely, although they moved so quickly that he didn’t have time to contemplate it. They flew over the steep peaks of mountains and to the other side…
A forest spread out under them, but it was no ordinary forest. The trees were ten times the size of the trees they had left behind, and they w
eren’t the color of ordinary trees. They were every color of the rainbow. The dragon kept flying until they reached a clearing. And in that clearing were at least a dozen dragons.
Jasen’s stomach dropped as they descending, landing in the midst of the clearing. He startled as the rider behind him spoke.
“Go on, now,” she said. “Don’t be afraid.”
But Jasen was afraid. A dragon on its own was overwhelming. A group of them was almost unbearable. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but an awe so powerful that it might as well be fear. He screwed up his courage and slid down. His feet touched the ground, but he was so shaky that he stumbled. He felt arms around him again, helping him to his feet.
“It will be all right,” the rider said in his ear. He turned around to get a look at her at last, but she had vanished. The dragon he had ridden on had joined the others. There was no going back.
Shakily, he moved forward until he stood in the middle of them. All of their eyes fixed on him, like enormous jewels. He wondered if he was supposed to say something. He hoped not, because he felt as if he had forgotten how to speak.
The dragons began to move, circling him. One stepped forward—Jasen’s heart leapt when he realized it was Tasenred. He felt his voice come back to him, but before he could say anything, Tasenred opened his enormous mouth and let out a ball of fire. Jasen cried out as the flames engulfed him—
—and Jasen gasped as he sat up in bed, his heart racing as he heaved in huge, panicked breaths. It took him several moments to compose himself. It had all been a dream—or a nightmare. He wasn’t sure which.
Sunlight was already streaming through the window, shining on his face. It was unusual for him to wake up this late. He wondered where Rotheld was before he remembered that it was “dressing down” day—the day before the Suitor’s Ball, when they welcomed the nobles arriving to find themselves a spouse. All of the consorts were given the day “off”—they could dress as they pleased and do whatever they wanted, even things that were usually forbidden. Especially things that were forbidden, according to Risyda. Jasen had been looking forward to it, but his dream had spoiled his mood.
He got out of bed and splashed some water on his face. Even though Rotheld also had the day off, he had thoughtfully left some clothes for Jasen: a plain shirt and jacket, plus comfortable trousers and best of all, sensible shoes and no corset. After he dressed, he shaved and brushed his hair, and that was the extent of his toilette for the day. Jasen felt his mood improve a little.
He made his way to the banquet hall, where breakfast was still underway. A buffet had been set up, but for once there were no servants to wait on them. Jasen grabbed a plate and served himself.
“There you are. I thought I was going to have to come get you.”
Jasen jumped at Risyda’s sudden appearance, nearly dropping his plate. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Risyda raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully jumpy this morning. Everything all right?”
Jasen considered telling her about his dream, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. “I’m fine. I just need to eat.”
Risyda had already finished her breakfast, but she sat down beside him anyway. It was odd to see her in such plain clothing. She wasn’t even wearing a dress—instead, she wore the same sort of feminine trousers that Polina had been dressed in when he had met her in the stable. Her normally elaborate hair was tied into a loose ponytail. It was a good look for her. “Here,” she said, grabbing a bottle from the table. “Have some champagne.”
Jasen accepted the glass but only sipped it. Judging from the giddiness of the other consorts, many of them were already a little tipsy.
“So what do you want to do today?” Risyda said. “I thought we could go to the gardens and you could teach me mudball—it sounds wonderfully messy…”
Jasen made a non-committal noise, only half listening to her as he surveyed the room. It was so strange to see everyone unadorned and acting like they were peasants at a festival instead of their usual stuffy selves. Jasen almost felt as if he were still dreaming.
He was startled out of his thoughts when Risyda snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”
“What? I mean, yes, of course. Mudball. Sounds good.”
Risyda cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it. “I just didn’t sleep very well, and I have a headache.”
Risyda shrugged. “If you say so. So, finish up already and let’s get outside! It’s a beautiful day.”
Jasen was usually the first one to bolt out of the castle when given the chance, but he still felt shaky from his dream. Besides, there was something he wanted to do, and he needed to do it alone. “Go ahead without me,” he said. “I need a couple of hours to get rid of this headache. I’ll meet you for lunch, and we can do mudball in the afternoon.”
Risyda punched him in the shoulder. “Fine. But if you abandon me all day, I will never forgive you.”
Jasen gave her a weak smile as he rubbed his arm where she’d hit him. He knew she meant it playfully, but it still hurt. “I won’t. I’ll pick up a picnic basket and meet you around noon—I promise.”
“You’d better.” With that, she left him.
Jasen finished up his breakfast. As he cleared his dishes, he caught Polina out of the corner of his eye. She was drinking champagne directly from the bottle. He decided he’d do his best to stay clear of her; he was fairly certain she was a mean drunk.
He made his way out of the East Wing and to the palace proper. There were still guards hanging around their usual posts, but the informal tone of the day seemed to be rubbing off on them as well. He was able to sneak past them and up to the hall outside the king’s chambers. Rilvor did not have the luxury of abandoning his duties and was most likely at his daily meeting with his ministers. The fact that there were no guards directly in front of the door seemed to confirm his conclusion, but he still waited in the shadows for a little while. When he was fairly certain he was alone, he stepped into the light, positioning himself in front of the portrait of the queen consort.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt that he had to see the portrait again. He was sure it was she whom he dreamed about, but was it just his mind playing tricks on him? Surely she hadn’t returned from beyond the grave to infiltrate his dreams. He looked into her eyes—of course, he saw nothing helpful there. It was only a painting of her, not the woman herself. He was being ridiculous.
He turned to leave—and almost tripped over Erada, who was standing behind him. “Hi, Jay!” she said with a toothy smile.
“Ah, hello,” he said, trying to compose himself for the second time that morning. Risyda was right—he was jumpy. “Shouldn’t you be at lessons?”
“No, silly. We have the day off too, you know.” She did a little twirl, causing her plain skirt to swish around her. “See?”
Jasen laughed a little. “Yes, I do. Sorry. I’m not myself this morning.”
She nodded sagely. “Me neither. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Then she grinned again. “So what are you doing here? Papa isn’t around.”
“Nothing,” he said, but his eyes darted to the portrait in spite of himself.
“You came to look at my mother’s picture?”
There was no denying it. “I suppose I did.”
He braced himself for her to ask him why, but she didn’t. They stood together for a moment, gazing at the portrait. Her little face was difficult to read—what was she thinking? Had he made her sad? Jasen had been twelve when his mother had died, but poor little Erada had only been six. He couldn’t even imagine the devastation she must have felt. “I lost my mother, too,” he said.
“Really? How did she die?”
“She choked on a piece of meat.” It was a thoroughly unglamorous end for his mother, who had always longed to bring some romanticism to dreary, practical Grumhul. It made her fate seem
even more unfair.
“My mama was sick for a long time. I think it would have been better if it had happened fast.”
It was such a shockingly morbid sentiment coming from a child that Jasen wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I think it would have been best if she hadn’t died at all.”
“Everyone dies, though.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact that it broke Jasen’s heart a little. “But it’s all right. Mama says that our lives are like drops of rain—separate for a little while, but then we all go back to the great River of Life, where we’re one again.”
“That’s right,” Jasen said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it. The Grummish were much less religious than the other realms, wearing their skepticism as a badge of honor. However, he certainly wasn’t going to bring that up with a little girl—but was that for her sake or his own? Jasen had the startling realization that he would be this child’s stepfather if he and Rilvor were married. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that before—he’d just hadn’t felt it so viscerally up until this point.
While he was trying to puzzle out the best thing to say, Erada took his hand in hers and smiled up at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He squeezed her hand. “I am, too.”
“And don’t worry—she likes you,” she said, gesturing to the painting.
Jasen went very still. “You mean, she would have liked me,” he corrected.
“No, she likes you. She told me so.”
Jasen was at a loss for words for several moments. “Erada—sweetheart—I’m not sure how that can be true.”
“She comes to me in my dreams sometimes. She visited me a few nights ago.”
Again, Jasen wasn’t sure what to say. “When I lost my mother, I would dream of her sometimes, too,” he said carefully. “It could feel real, but I think that it was just my memories of her.”
“But my mother was dragon-blessed,” Erada said, just as carefully, as if she were the adult in this situation and was trying to explain something very basic to a small child.