The Cracked Slipper

by Stephanie Alexander

  To his relief Anne Clara moved on. “Her odd eyes,” she said. “You should feel sympathy for her in that case. Perhaps you two can discuss ways to avoid eye contact over a goblet of wine or a game of lawn bolls.”

  “I don’t avoid eye contact. Not since I was a child.”

  “I’m just teasing you, Dor.”

  He returned to the window and watched the black water again. Anne Clara spoke from behind him.

  “Now that your great partner in mischief is settling down maybe you will too,” she said. “You are twenty-four, brother.”

  “Not likely any time soon.”

  Dorian knew of his own reputation. Women came to him easily, one after the other, each one just as beautiful and vapid as the last. Eclatant provided a constant stream of pretty smiles and tiny waistlines. A pleasant, if mindless distraction.

  Part of him envied his sister’s peaceful existence here in the Crossing. Dorian cared little for Eclatant’s endless social maneuvering. Palace life held one great appeal for him. For as long as he could read he’d been enthralled by the complex workings of the government, the daily decisions affecting the lives of thousands of people. He stood where he had always wanted to stand, on the very pulse of the crown, and could not imagine the woman who would make him want to abandon that fascination for the life of a country gentleman. Besides, he couldn’t be a country gentleman these days if his life depended on it. He had no money.

  “You’ll have to detach yourself from the Council table someday. When you do find someone she will be a lucky lady indeed,” said Anne Clara.

  “You flatter me. She will have to put up with my arrogance and boorish sense of humor.”

  Anne Clara smiled. “As I said, a fortunate woman.”

  The first baby finished nursing just as the second one started fussing. Dorian kissed Anne Clara’s cheek, called for the nursemaid to assist her, and went to gather his belongings. He mused as he pulled out two leather saddlebags stamped with the Desmarais crest.

  Leave it to Gregory to choose a bride whose suspect background was no doubt adding gray to the king’s hair. Gregory’s closet friends were an eclectic bunch. There were the predictable ones like his cousin Brian Smithwick, but Dorian got by on an old name and his own merit, and Raoul Delano was not even a true Carthean. He was the son of an immigrant, a famous Talessee jeweler. Gregory hardly hobnobbed with the stable boys, but he did love a bit of a hard case. It was one of his many quirky charms. The king appreciated none of them, but maybe marriage would help Gregory grow up. Force him into the potential Dorian knew was there.

  Dorian threw his clothes and books into the bags. He had no time for folding and wrapping. Gregory insisted he return to the palace in time for the Engagement Ball. When Gregory insisted, Dorian, like everyone else, heeded his call.

  Eleanor asked Gregory to dine with her in her chambers on the eve of their Engagement Ball. He seemed to find it an odd request, but she cajoled until he agreed. When Eleanor came out of her dressing room that evening she found a small formally set table in the sitting area, a fire crackling cheerfully in the fireplace, and several servers quietly laying out food and pouring wine. To her pleasure Gregory stood beside the table, a goblet in his hand, waiting for her. He pulled out her chair.

  “You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said. She had chosen the dark green gown hoping he would appreciate the nod to the family colors. She was not disappointed. “Our green suits you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, with a warm smile. “I admit I’m surprised to see you here. You’re always the last one to arrive at any party.”

  He eased her chair toward the table and sat down across from her. “You know I love to make an entrance, but Dorian is meeting me here at eight o’clock. We’re heading into town for the evening to celebrate the engagement and his return. I don’t want to miss dessert.”

  Her smile froze on her lips. It was half-past six. “Well, let’s start then, shall we?”

  The first course arrived, a soup of parsley and carrots. Eleanor and Gregory made small talk. She could not quite get past the servants. They appeared constantly at her side to refill her water glass or offer her another slice of bread. She struggled for a topic of substance, one not too personal.

  “I heard Sir Foust saying the Svelyans are thinking of withdrawing their ambassador. Are tensions rising again?”

  Gregory set down his fork. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I was standing near him the other night at the dinner in honor of—”

  “The Svelyans are merely sending a new ambassador because Paul Roffi is nearing eighty and ready for retirement. Regardless, why are you listening to gossip?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was just interested.”

  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry yourself about such things, sweetheart. It’s enough for you to prepare for the wedding and learn your duties.”

  They sank into silence again. The servants brought the main course, broiled pencil trout from the Clarity River, dressed with tiny potatoes. Eleanor picked up a fork, hopefully the correct one. Her thoughts flitted from one safe topic to the next. She pushed the fish around her plate and tried again.

  “How is the breeding this year?”

  The effect was immediate. Gregory always became animated when talk turned to unicorns. “Fabulous! I think we will have a crop of four or five foals this year if all the mares carry to term. Tricky stuff, unicorn pregnancy. Even with those tiny first horns the delivery can be dangerous to the mother.”

  “That makes sense,” she said, with genuine interest. “Gregory, would you take me to the Paladine sometime?”

  “Of course! Once the wedding and the honeymoon are passed we’ll spend some time in the stables. You’ve already met Vigor, my stallion. He’s the finest in the herd, or at least I think so. My father might argue his mount Fortune is superior, but I guess we’re all partial. As a member of the royal family you’ll have the chance to earn a unicorn of your own.”

  “Really?” asked Eleanor. She’d had no idea.

  “Yes, really,” he said. “You know all the unicorns in the Paladine belong to the Desmarais family, and in turn to the crown and the kingdom. We do—how shall I say it—lend them out to certain people. High-ranking nobles or war heroes, for the most part, and sometimes close friends. That person is then wholly responsible for the animal, and the penalties are steep if harm comes to it. It’s rare, because unicorns are mystical and nearly impossible to hurt, but when my father was a boy a mare drowned while in the keeping of one of my grandfather’s generals. The man hanged the next day.”

  Eleanor’s eyebrows came together. “Perhaps I’ll stick to horses.”

  He laughed. “You’ll be fine. I’ll help you. The only women allowed a unicorn are members of the Desmarais family, and not many of them are approved. Unicorns are not like horses. Just because you can ride doesn’t mean you can master one.”

  “As of now I can’t even ride. It’s been almost eight years, remember?”

  “Yes, and we will have to get you back on a horse first. But I think you have what it takes. My sister Matilda was a great unicorn handler.”

  He drained his wine glass. His compliment warmed her, but she could sense his grief for his sister.

  “I wish I had known her.” She reached across the table to take his hand this time.

  “Yes, well, it is a sad thing.” He set down his napkin. “Look at the time, I guess I’ll have to skip dessert after all.”

  “But it’s only half-past seven. I’d like to meet Dorian. You said he was coming here.”

  “Did I? I might as well save him coming up all those steps. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

  “Gregory, I want to talk with you about something.” She kept from taking his arm by wringing her hands.

  “Yes?”

  Her agitation grew as he put on his overcoat. “I’m afraid I’m not doing well at all these events…I never know what to say…I don�
��t think anyone likes me.”

  She wished she could pull the words in again, like a child sucking pear juice through a reed straw.

  He chuckled. “No one likes you? Poor Eleanor! Of course they like you. I’ve not heard a cross word.” He kissed her roughly and her lips were raw as he drew away from her. “You’re beautiful and sweet and kind, how could anyone dislike you?”

  He took his leave, off to sample whatever delights the darkened city of Maliana could provide that she could not. She waved away the dessert and sat in a squashy chair by the fire. She tucked her feet underneath her and listened as the servants cleared the remnants of the meal. She had dismissed Anne Iris and Eliza for the evening, and appreciated the solitude. In a bit she would retire to her dressing room and the chambermaids would help her into her nightdress. Chou Chou also waited for her, but she could not quite face his cheerful, chattering questions just yet.

  How could anyone dislike her? He had asked.

  How indeed.

  CHAPTER 5

  A Splendid Party

  The past three hundred years or so had been peaceful ones in Cartheigh. The military engaged mostly in protecting the Dragon Mines, regulating the skirmishes between other countries, or keeping order during the occasional plague. The nobility had, as is often the case, reaped the greatest benefits of three centuries of good fortune. As a group they prided themselves on their sophistication, worldliness, and enjoyment of the finer things. Carthean literature, art, music, and dance were universally admired. Along with love of music and dance, and wealth and idle time, came an appreciation of a good party. The court at Eclatant did nothing on a small scale, and the national holidays were no exception.

  There were four Fests, one each season, all falling in the mid-months. First came the Awakening, at the beginning of the year in the month of MidSpring, followed by the Waxing in MidSummer, the Harvest in MidAutumn, and finally the Waning, usually held in MidWinter. To Eleanor’s unease, the Waning Fest had been moved forward several weeks this year to coincide with Prince Gregory’s nuptials. The excitement would begin with the Engagement Ball and end with the Wedding Ceremony and Celebration.

  In long-gone years Fests had been one-day, community or family affairs, and for most common people they still were. At Eclatant, however, each holiday included a week of parties, contests, plays, and concerts. The palace reached full capacity, and those who could not secure lodging on the grounds invaded the townhouses of their friends and relatives.

  Happily, Gregory did not mind if Chou Chou accompanied Eleanor to most events, as he often brought along his own gray falcon, Thunderhead. Many people brought feathered companions, and at every party the servants erected an elaborately carved roost in a corner. Dozens of parrots, ravens, hawks and falcons would congregate and chat amongst themselves while daintily nibbling chocolate crackers. The birds swooped about, lighting on the chandeliers for a good view before dropping in on their masters and mistresses to share gossip. Gregory sometimes even brought his two favorite hunting hounds. They wandered in and out of guests’ legs, asking politely for food and drooling. The older courtiers found the dogs to be in very poor taste, but of course no one said a word. They simply dropped tidbits and hastily moved on, before their shoes were covered in slobber.

  So here Eleanor stood on Gregory’s arm, in an alcove off the Grand Ballroom, waiting to enter the Engagement Ball. Chou Chou sat her right shoulder. She couldn’t see the crowd, but the thrum of conversation drifted around the corner. As the moments ticked on, her dress assumed the weight of three gowns and she feared her stays were cutting off blood flow to her head. The gown was thick eggplant colored velvet, embroidered with heavy amethysts. She prayed she would not start sweating.

  Chou Chou whispered advice in her ear. “Imagine them all naked, even the fat ones.”

  The trumpets sounded promptly at seven. The royal callers introduced King Casper, and then the highest-ranking advisors, starting with Ezra Oliver. Gregory wagged his eyebrows at her and stole a quick kiss. As always, his grin lifted her spirits.

  “His Royal Highness, Prince Gregory, and Mistress Eleanor Brice. May HighGod bless the Kingdom of Cartheigh!”

  Eleanor held her head high as they entered the ballroom. The crown cheered wildly. Whether they approved of her personally or not, everyone in attendance embraced the glamour of the ball and the spirit of the Fest. Eleanor smiled and waved. She was one of them, part of the spectacle, proud of her country.

  Chou Chou flew off as she and Gregory danced a long, slow waltz. As he led her around the dance floor the assembled crowd ooohed and aaahed. His hand felt firm and right on her back. When the song ended they bowed to each other. Chou landed again on her bare shoulder as the crowd pressed in. Everyone wanted a chance to compliment the future princess. He flapped his wings in her defense.

  “Peace, Chou, you needn’t stay here all night. You’ll be squashed.”

  He spoke into her ear to be heard over the crowd. “I think they have all accepted you’re staying around. They can’t scare you off.”

  She cupped her hand over his head. “If you really want to watch after me, go see what you can see.” He winked and flew off to the party roost.

  She turned her attention to the chattering people around her. She and Gregory made their way to the far side of the ballroom where the most important guests were assembled near the thrones. On the way she was introduced to new faces, said hello to those she could remember, and admired the decorations. The magicians had outdone themselves again. Along with the usual fountains, fireballs and performing apprentices, the entire length of the ceiling swirled with giant purple, green and gold ribbons. They folded in and out on themselves in complex geometric patterns, like a child’s kaleidoscope.

  As they reached the end of the ballroom the crowd thinned, and they no longer had to shout to be heard. Gregory led her toward a knot of men and women gathered on the dais beside the two thrones. She waved to Brian Smithwick, and Anne Iris and Eliza, but she did not recognize the other young women. One man, tall with dark hair, had his back to her.

  “Dorian!” Gregory cried. “Dorian, my friend, come meet my bride!”

  The dark-haired man turned. He was indeed tall, taller than even Brian. Somehow the lack of frippery on his simple cream tunic called attention to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Eleanor supposed he would be described as wiry. He had a light, agile look about him that made Gregory seem stocky and verging on pudgy in comparison. He wore his hair shorter than most of the other young men, and she remembered hearing he had been a soldier. She registered a strong jaw and fair skin, but all was forgotten when she got to his eyes.

  They were the palest green, nearly colorless. She could almost see his pupils changing size as the magician’s fireballs danced overhead. His absurdly long eyelashes could have had a feminine effect if the rest of him had not exuded masculinity. She was put in mind of paintings she had seen of the j’aguas, the great yellow-eyed black cats roaming the forests of the kingdom of Talesse.

  For once she knew how her own oddly colored eyes affected people. She blushed as she realized she was staring.

  Gregory clapped Dorian on the shoulder. “Dorian Finley, meet Eleanor Brice. Eleanor, my dearest friend, Dorian Finley.”

  She curtsied, and he took the three steps down to her level. She still had to look up at him. “I’m so glad I’m finally meeting you, Dorian. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  He bowed. “And I you, Mistress Brice. Rumors of your beauty reached me even in the Lake District. I’m sorry I could not be here sooner, but I had family obligations.”

  “If you had been here you might have stolen her away,” Gregory said. “A great one for the ladies is my friend Dorian.”

  “You know I leave the new girls to you, Your Highness,” said Dorian. “I like a bit of a challenge, and you need to catch them young and naïve.”

  His disrespect shocked Eleanor, but it bothered no one else. Everyone, including Gregory himself, l
aughed. The unfamiliar women were particularly amused. They covered their mouths and giggled, and one tapped Dorian’s arm with her fan.

  Eleanor’s temper flared. “Better to be young and naïve than old, arrogant and jaded, Mister Finley,” she said.

  Dorian turned to her and raised one dark brow. “Peace, Mistress Brice,” he said. “How heartless of you to think my carriage over the hill at age twenty-four. I’ll forgive the insult if you honor me with a dance.”

  She started to decline but to her irritation Gregory answered for her. “Fabulous idea,” he said.

  Before she knew it she was on Dorian Finley’s arm, heading for the dance floor. She hoped for a reel so they wouldn’t have to talk, but it was another waltz. As they took a few wordless turns around the room Eleanor could tell he was a flawless dancer. She noted the prominent veins lacing his forearms. His hands were rougher than Gregory’s, with big, square knuckles. She shook off the blush that once again threatened to creep up her chest. She tried to focus on being angry with him.

  “I am sorry,” he said in the slow, drawling accent of the east. “I must’ve sounded like an ass. I forget not everyone appreciates my jests.”

  His frank apology surprised her. Her defensiveness abruptly drained away. “Accepted. It was a bad start, but I suppose it would be difficult if I hated you, being that you are my future husband’s best friend.”

  “That would be inconvenient,” he said, with a gravelly laugh. “I’ve heard more of your story since I returned. I would love to speak with you about it sometime. Amazing, really.”

  “Not so much,” she said. “It was not idyllic, but I had a roof over my head, and my parrot, and a great friend who stood by me.”

  “You mean the witch who educated you.”

  “Yes. I like to think as bad as my situation was, if I’d had a more conventional upbringing my studies would have stopped years ago. I’d be a better dancer, but I’d rather have other talents.”