His smiled again. “Well, first, you are a fine dancer. And I think it’s wonderful you kept studying through your difficulties. I wish more women did the same. It would certainly improve the dinner conversation at Eclatant. I’d hoped my sister would continue, but my brother thought it a waste of money.”
His response pleased her. “I’d say you are a rarity, Dorian, most men are of the mindset of your brother.”
“Like Gregory.”
“Gregory did choose me, after all, so he can’t be completely opposed to educated women,” she said, treading lightly.
His tawny eyes held hers, and a few beats of the music passed with no words. “I suppose he isn’t. And he has chosen well.”
This time she couldn’t stop the rising color. He changed the subject. “How do you find court?”
“Exhausting,” she blurted out.
“I know what you mean.”
“Do you? It’s just… a bit odd for me. I’ve been alone most of my life. I feel like everyone talks and says nothing, but then they are silent and speak volumes. I admire those who are at ease. I hope I don’t sound ungrateful, believe me, sir, I’m not…Sometimes I can’t believe my good fortune…maybe I’m still in shock,” she finished with a laugh.
“I know, don’t explain yourself. There’s many a night I’d rather be reading by the fire. Most at court think I’m dreadfully unfriendly, but I’ve learned not to care. I keep my allegiances few. Everyone here wants something from you, and the closer you are to the prince the worse it is. Be careful, Eleanor.”
She paused for a moment in search of a response.
Dorian cleared his throat, and she thought she saw a hint of color in his own cheeks. “Listen to me,” he said. “We should be talking about the weather and here I am going on.”
“On the contrary, I appreciate your honesty. It’s a rare thing in this place.”
“And I yours. As Gregory’s wife, you can count on my loyalty. I think you will make a fine princess.”
The song ended but Dorian did not release her immediately. Her own hand did not leave his hard shoulder. She stepped away and he let go with a soft apology. She took his arm and he led her to her waiting fiancé. The world had seemed so right tonight, and now something about her dance with Dorian Finley wobbled it again.
As the party wound down Dorian found himself distinctly drunk. Although he was sure no one else could tell, it bothered him anyway. Perhaps he had overdone it after a month of relative sobriety at his sister’s house.
He blamed his wandering eyes on the inebriation. He watched Eleanor Brice’s pale, slim form as she floated through the crowd, her gown a stamp of Desmarais purple. Since she was taller than any of the other women, and many of the men, it was easy to follow her bright blond hair. Her features flowed, one to the other, from her slender arms to her elegant neck. Her vaulting pale brows led to a long nose and delicately flared nostrils. She had none of the round softness so worshipped in Carthean women. She seemed to him rather like a lonely lily in a bed of pansies.
He wasn’t in the mood to dance, so he ignored the ladies who casually sidled up to him as the orchestra shifted from one tune to the next. Gregory’s obvious happiness heartened him, although he wondered why his friend didn’t spend more of the evening with the source of his joy. On more than one occasion Dorian noticed Eleanor standing alone. She would hug herself and her blue and brown eyes would flick from one passing face to the other. He smiled at her, hoping to bring her some comfort. She always smiled back.
He shook his head at the warm feeling in his chest. He needed some water or he faced the first hangover he’d had since a storied North Country drink-off between himself, two sergeants and a Kellish whore. He said a quick goodnight to Gregory and made for one of the side doorways.
“Mister Finley.” An unfamiliar voice called to him from behind a statue of one of Gregory’s grandfathers.
He peered around the statue. A young woman peeked from behind a marble shield carved with an ornate D. He would have to call her beautiful, with her big blue eyes, upswept blonde hair, and bee-stung lips. She looked vaguely familiar, and he thought her name was Katherine something.
“Mister Finley,” she said again. She reached out for his hand and pulled him into the shadows. “Or, might I call you Dorian?”
“If you must.”
She rambled on about the party for a few minutes and he listened half-heartedly. She finally went where he already knew she was going. “…so thrilling! Can you feel my excitement?”
She laid his hand on her bosom, and slid it down to the lace neckline of her gown. Her chest rose and fell, and her quick pulse beat under the warm, firm skin.
“I can,” he said.
She looked up at him and he caught a flash of her pink tongue. “I don’t know if I can make it back to my room on my own, sir,” she said. “Would you consider assisting me?”
“I’d never forgive myself if you got lost.”
She smiled, and he followed her down the passageway.
That night Anne Iris and Eliza helped Eleanor undress. As she stepped out of the heavy purple gown she rubbed her stiff shoulders. “Velvet, never again,” she said.
Chou Chou spoke up from his perch. “You must wear velvet at least once during the Waning Fest. Everyone does.”
“Since when is a parrot a fashion expert?” Anne Iris asked.
“Since I made your acquaintance, Mistress Smithwick, as you are widely known as the most fashionable lady at Eclatant.” He bobbed his head up and down chivalrously.
“You do go on,” said Anne Iris, but Eleanor knew both her friends were fond of Chou. All the treats they brought him swelled his belly along with his head.
They lounged on Eleanor’s bed in their nightgowns and caught up on the Engagement Ball. Eliza and Anne Iris agreed Eleanor had been a great success.
“You were radiant, dear. Gregory could not have been prouder,” said Eliza. “You did not look nervous at all.”
“Do I usually?” Eleanor teased. Eliza stuttered clarifications until Eleanor thumped her gently with a pillow. “Thank you, I actually enjoyed it. It was a splendid party. Just as I hoped.”
Not completely true, said a voice in her mind. She casually mentioned the topic, or person, that had flitted in and out of her thoughts all night, distracting her from what should have been a sort of victory celebration.
“Tell me about Dorian Finley.”
“Oh, Dorian,” said Anne Iris. “I watched you dancing with him. He’s quite a piece, isn’t he?”
Eleanor ignored the question. “How is he related to Gregory?”
“He’s not,” said Eliza. “The Finleys are an old family from Harper’s Crossing. The senior Mister Finley drowned in the lake in front of his own house, and Dorian’s brother took control of the family finances. Everyone says they don’t get on.”
“Apparently his brother withdrew him from Academy early and forced him into the Army. Perhaps he hoped Dorian would be eaten by a dragon or skewered by a rogue Svelyan knight.” Anne Iris shivered at the thought, a wide grin plastered on her face.
Eliza threw a stale parrot cracker at her. “Anyway, Dorian gets by on a small stipend and his soldier’s salary.”
“How did he become so close to the prince?” asked Eleanor.
“He visited the palace six years ago with General Clayborne,” Eliza said. “At the time Gregory was fifteen and completely wild, so the king thought it would be good for him to have a companion, an older brother of sorts. The king liked him, and more importantly Gregory took to him right away.”
“Hero worship from the start,” said Anne Iris with a shake of her head. “So here he is, six years later, one of the most important people at court. It’s rather hilarious!”
“Hilarious, yes,” said Eleanor, uncomfortably aware that she, too, came here at the price’s whim. “What is it Gregory finds so appealing about him?”
Anne Iris leaned toward her. Her eyes were like saucers. “Oh, sweetheart, you ha
ve no idea. Dorian Finley is, well, how can I explain it?”
“He’s the man any man would want to be,” said Eliza.
Anne Iris nodded. “He’s an amazing unicorn handler and huntsman. His military commanders sing his praises to the rafters.”
“Everyone respects him, because he is known to be widely read on every topic imaginable,” said Eliza. “Even the king has come to value his opinion. Gregory rarely makes a move without discussing it with Dorian.”
“And of course…” Anne Iris paused dramatically. “He is just plain gorgeous.”
Eleanor picked at the coverlet. “I didn’t really notice.”
“Oh, please,” Anne Iris guffawed. “Just because you’re marrying Gregory doesn’t mean you’ve gone blind. All the women at court lust after him, married or not. Now that Gregory has left the market, Dorian Finley is the most desired man at Eclatant.”
Eliza cut in. “He’s probably always been more desired. Gregory just had one over him by being the prince.”
Anne Iris dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ve heard he takes different lovers all the time, but no one can hold his attention for more than a few weeks. He’s supposed to be quite…” She fanned herself. “…skilled.”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Please, Anne Iris, spare us your mooning.”
“Don’t let Eliza fool you, Eleanor. She only pretends to be a prude. She and Patrick-Clark are known for their undying passion!”
Eleanor stifled a giggle. Eliza’s husband, Patrick-Clark Harper, was a short, slight man who wore a seeing glass and spent most of his time in the country. He was kind, and not unattractive, but Eleanor had trouble imagining him filled with undying passion.
“My passion is of no concern!” said Eliza.
“You’re right. Mister Finley’s passion is far more interesting.” Anne Iris collapsed on the bed. She clutched a lace pillow and writhed against it. Eliza pursed her lips. Eleanor wondered if Eliza felt true offense until she saw the corners of her mouth twitching.
“I’m all hot just thinking about it. Chou Chou, bring me some water!” called Anne Iris.
Chou raised his head from under his wing, blinking sleepily. He glided to the bed. “Aren’t you girls asleep yet?” he asked.
“No,” said Eliza. “Anne Iris is just scandalizing us as usual. But it is true, Eleanor, Dorian Finley is sought after by the women at court. Whether it’s because of his friendship with the prince or his other endowments…” Anne Irish swooned again.“…one can’t really be sure. It’s rare, I’ll give you that, for noblewomen to desperately chase after a second son with nothing but a soldier’s salary.”
Eleanor tucked all this information away, adding it to her conversation with Dorian this evening. To her irritation, it made him more fascinating.
“Speaking of chasing men,” said Chou, “Sylvia Easton has caught one with quite a lot of money. Imogene wanted her to make a powerful match, and she did.”
“Who, Chou?” asked Eleanor, eager to finally uncover the identity of Sylvia’s mysterious suitor.
“Hector Fleetwood, Duke of Harveston.”
Anne Iris gagged, and even Eliza made a face.
“That’s like courting your great-grandpa!” said Anne Iris.
“It doesn’t surprise me, really,” said Eleanor. “Sylvia would do just about anything for a lifetime of fancy dresses.”
“You don’t understand,” said Eliza. “Hector Fleetwood is ancient. Near seventy. He’s a horrible old leach, always grabbing at any woman within reach.”
Chou hopped into Eleanor’s lap. He flapped his wings and a red feather poked Eleanor in the eye. “They were married just yesterday, in a private ceremony. Apparently the duke prefers quiet affairs these days. Imogene said she would beat you down the aisle. She meant it.”
He dropped his voice and Eleanor leaned back on her elbows to make space for his performance. “I passed a few words with Margaret over a glass of wine and some crackers,” said Chou. “She said Sylvia has been sobbing herself dry in bed for a week. She refused to eat anything, or even meet the duke before the wedding. Imogene had to drag her to the chapel.”
“I can’t say I blame her,” said Eliza, and even Eleanor felt a prick of sympathy.
Chou went on. “An old raven who has been around the palace forever told me the Fleetwoods are not as showy or as numerous as the Smithwicks, but they hold real power. Harveston is the second most important city in Cartheigh, and they control it. Sylvia is now a duchess. If that old man’s performance matches his perversion and he plants a son in her belly she’ll be the mother of the next duke.”
Eleanor rubbed her forehead. The thought of Sylvia at the helm of one of the most powerful families in Cartheigh, with a vast fortune behind her, was far from comforting. At the moment, however, the other vaguely confusing thoughts circling her head seemed more pressing. She claimed exhaustion from the party and sent the other girls and the parrot off to bed.
I’m marrying the man I love in five days.
She tossed and turned. She even put a pillow over her head, but Dorian Finley’s pale eyes would not leave her alone.
CHAPTER 6
A Fine Tribute to Cartheigh
The next day Eleanor sought an audience with the one person who always calmed her nerves. She met Rosemary at First Maliana Covey, as she did not have time for the trip across Maliana to Afar Creek Abbey. Two soldiers escorted her down Eclatant’s kitchen corridor, through a non-descript doorway, and into a narrow, torch lit passageway. Eleanor stooped to avoid her head brushing the dirt ceiling. By the time they emerged onto the grounds of First Covey she was on the verge of claustrophobic panic. She stepped through another doorway, this one covered in moss and dangling ivy.
They walked through a terraced garden full of boxwoods carved into impossibly intricate images of frolicking woodland animals. Glowing spheres, like giant soap bubbles, hovered and spun slowly at strategic spots. The water in several fountains flowed backwards. It leapt out of the pool and into the basins. Statues of dragons and unicorns stood on pedestals, and as Eleanor passed they whinnied or spit fire. The buildings themselves were stone, and larger than any Eleanor had ever seen other than the palace itself. Wrought in large, plain letters over the main entrance was a message.
MEN OF GREAT POWER TO AID POWERFUL MEN
It made sense. Magicians were out in the world far more than witches. While some stayed in the Coveys as teachers and scholars, far more worked for wealthy patrons, the government, or the army. Magicians served as security forces, advisers, entertainers, or any combination of the three. The most powerful served the royal family, and those who could not find work elsewhere ended up as street peddlers, and in a few cases, assassins.
Once inside, she paused to take in huge Fire-iron statues of famous magicians, kings and war heroes. Tapestries, some nearly a story tall and woven with gold thread, depicted the history of the Covey and the kingdom. The polished marble floor could have been brought over from the palace. Young men clustered together, chatting and comparing notes. She peered through open double doors into a space that rivaled Eclatant’s Grand Ballroom in width and breadth. Ladders the height of oak trees lay against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A familiar voice echoed off the library’s white and gold walls.
Rosemary sat on a small stool with her knees fairly brushing her chin. A semicircle of young magicians fanned out before her. Some watched her aptly, some fiddled with the fringe on their gray magicians’ tunics. A few shot sparks at one another. “Today we will talk about Caleb Desmarais,” said Rosemary, “the first Desmarais king, and how he joined forces with the unicorns to bring peace and prosperity to Cartheigh three hundred years ago.”
“Everyone knows this story,” said a boy with carroty hair.
“Ah, yes, we all know the story, but today we will examine it more closely.” She laid two objects on the wool rug. The first was an oblong stone, about the size of a field mouse. The second was a delicately carved ring. Both we
re a fluid silvery color that caught the light coming through the window and sent rainbows dancing across the boys’ polished boots.
Carrottop scooped up the ring and slid it on his finger. “Fire-iron!”
“Yes,” said Rosemary. “The ring is Fire-iron. But what about this?”
The question transported Eleanor back ten years, to the Brice House and her own rendition of this lesson. The stone had been lighter than a brick or a chunk of gravel, and her fingers had slid over it as if it were wet. At one end the smoothness turned to rough edges.
“I think this is Fire-iron too,” the boy said, “but no one’s made it fancy yet.”
Rosemary nodded. “Now boys, everyone in Cartheigh knows the importance of Fire-iron. We all know its many uses. Jewelry, statues, fighting metal, even buildings—”
“It’s what makes us rich! Richer than the Svelyans or the Kells or anyone in the world!” said another boy.
“Well,” said Rosemary, “Fire-iron does indeed make some people rich. But before a piece of Fire-iron can become a ring or a sword it looks like this.” She held up the stone. “And how do we get this stone?”
“From the Dragon Mines,” said Carrottop. “The dragons make it.”
“Correct. Can you explain how the Bond between the unicorns and the Desmarais kings controls the supply of Fire-iron in Cartheigh?”
Every young Carthean knew the answer to that question. The boy stood and cleared his throat, but when he caught sight of Eleanor in the doorway he dropped to the floor.
“Pass the stone amongst yourselves, children,” Rosemary said, “but take care you don’t lose it. And no fighting. If you leave here with singed hair and blue noses I’ll hear it from Mister Oliver.”
Rosemary embraced Eleanor and they sat at a small table beside one of the library’s two skinny windows. “You can’t resist a lesson, can you?” Eleanor asked with a smile.
“Of course not, dear. What’s an old teacher to do but teach?”
“You’re not old.”
“Ninety-five this spring.”
The Cracked Slipper Page 6