“No, of course not.” In truth, she was genuinely disappointed Gregory wouldn’t be coming along. She hoped their shared love of the unicorns would give them something they could enjoy together. She fumbled as she checked Teardrop’s girth. The thought of spending several hours virtually alone in a field with Dorian unnerved her. The mare nibbled at Eleanor’s hair as Eleanor examined her hooves. She whispered in her mistress’s ear. “All fine.” Eleanor straightened so she could read the whole message. “We will watch over each other.”
“I know we will.”
She kissed Teardrop’s muzzle and grabbed the braided rope woven into her mane. She couldn’t reach the stirrups and swinging herself into the saddle took all her strength, but it got easier each day. She guided Teardrop through the open gate.
As Dorian watched them approach his respect for Eleanor increased by the moment. Teardrop required constant reassurance, but he could tell she would become a fine mount and friend under Eleanor’s patient guidance. He saw her body responding to the mare’s movement, her long legs strong in her hunting leggings. He hoped his admiration was not too apparent.
As they left the Paladine grounds the dirt path widened and they rode side by side. Heat radiated up from Senné’s thick mane, and Dorian took off his riding gloves. He told Eleanor how impressed he was by her natural way with Teardrop, and her obvious pleasure at his compliment warmed him.
She asked about Senné. “What does the name mean?”
“It means darkness in Svelyan,” he said. “It was his sire’s name, and his grandsire.”
Senné tossed his head and snorted. “Great-grandsire,” he said.
“Yes, and his great-grandsire. Senné comes from a long line of black unicorns.” Dorian patted Senné’s neck.
“He’s quite handsome,” Eleanor said, and blushed.
“Thank you.”
They rode on, splashing across the creek Welkie had mentioned. There were no buildings and few trees, mostly wide-open fields of low grass in varying winter shades of brown and gray. They had crossed onto the grounds of the Abbey. Dorian reined Senné in. A light breeze lifted the feathering on the stallion’s hooves. He snorted and tossed his head, eager to stretch his legs. “Go,” he said.
“Hold on, Sen.” Dorian turned to Eleanor with a grin. “We should test your progress.”
“What do you mean?”
“That tree over there.” He pointed at a live oak at the far end of the meadow, half a mile away. “Let’s race.”
She shaded her eyes and gathered her reins in the other hand. “You mean that one? It is far. And we’re already ten paces in front of you!”
She leaned forward and Teardrop took off. Senné jerked the reins from Dorian’s hand and went after them.
Senné was larger than Teardrop, and longer of leg, but he did not catch up until they were nearly halfway across the field. The two unicorns raced along beside each other, kicking up clods of mud and dead grass. Dorian stole glances at Eleanor through Senné’s black mane. She ignored the reins she had looped over the pommel and clung to Teardrop’s mane. He might have thought her afraid if not for her whooping yells.
They reached the tree together. Eleanor slid from Teardrop’s back and landed nimbly on both feet. She shook out her tangled hair and wiped at the tears the wind had sent streaming down her face. She beamed at Dorian.
He remembered his first gallop with Senné. He had spent his life on horseback, as a child and then in the army, but when Gregory offered Senné to him three years ago he realized he had never known real speed or power. The thundering hooves, the rushing breath, the flexing muscle and bone, were all tenfold from the back of a unicorn. He understood Eleanor’s joy.
“Fantastic,” she said. She hugged Teardrop around the neck and flopped down on the grass. He sat next to her on the damp ground. She laughed and lifted her seat. “These leggings don’t provide as much protection as three layers of petticoats and a skirt. I must look frightful.”
He reached out and took a twig from her hair. “No, it suits you.”
He studied her dark and light eyes. He had heard talk of bad spirits, and spiteful women thanking HighGod their daughters were not so scarred and abnormal. He disagreed with them all. Without the birthmark Eleanor’s face was lovely. With the birthmark it was interesting.
His hand slid down her cheek and she didn’t move. She didn’t close her eyes the way a girl might in a poem. When his thumb brushed her lips her jaw clenched.
“Welkie might worry,” she said. She placed his hand in his lap. “We don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“No, we can’t have that.” He wondered why he was angry. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but the joy had gone out of the afternoon. He offered her a leg up on Teardrop’s back. The mare snorted and sidestepped and Eleanor scrambled more than usual to find her seat.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Teardrop. She squinted at him, and then blew a long blast of air into his hair.
Apparently Teardrop wasn’t sure what to make of him, and Dorian couldn’t really blame him for her suspicion. They cantered back across the field. Eleanor tried to engage him as they slowed to a walk, but he answered her in monosyllables. He had to. Everything he said gave him away.
CHAPTER 11
Somethin’ Brewin’
Eleanor survived her first Breaking of the New Year at Eclatant. The somber week of fasting and chapel services at the start of LowSpring made Gregory moody and irritable, and even cheerful Anne Iris began to show the effects of too little food and drink and too much preaching. “I’m supposed to be repenting for my sins, but all I can think about is wine and men,” she complained on their fifth day of water and flat bread.
Eleanor sighed. “I know. What time is it?”
Chou Chou answered for her. “Four o’clock.”
“Ugh,” Anne Iris said. They were not allowed to eat until six. “Why don’t birds have to fast?”
“It’s common knowledge that we can’t understand the moral complexities of fasting,” Chou said, through a mouthful of walnuts.
Eleanor scowled at him. “I hope you choke!”
He lit on the bedpost. “It’s only a week ladies. Soon we will be overrun with indulgences and friends and relatives we didn’t know we had.”
He was right. Once the fast ended the nobility trickled back to Eclatant in preparation for the Awakening Fest. Dressmakers and pastry chefs consumed Eleanor’s attention through most of LowSpring. As the highest-ranking female member of the royal family, Eleanor needed to both look the part and participate in the planning. Once again she thanked HighGod for Anne Iris, and for Eliza, who had returned from the country. Both of her friends enjoyed the preparations, from the menus to the magicians, and Eleanor gladly let them take charge of much of it. She stored away their arguments over table linens and guest lists, so she would be better prepared in the future.
As the castle grew more crowded the days and nights were again busy. Eleanor could hardly find the time to visit Teardrop or High Noon. Although she no longer needed the old horse for riding practice, and her unicorn’s training had progressed rapidly, she hated to neglect either animal. When she could, she rose early and rode High Noon down the private road to the Paladine for her training sessions with Teardrop. She needed an escort, but as the nights got later she rarely managed to drag Gregory out of bed. Most mornings she settled for a few mounted sentries. One evening she asked Dorian to come with her, but he demurred.
He had been distant since their ride over the Abbey grounds. She told herself it was better this way, but she still looked for him whenever she entered a room. The evenings fell into a predictable pattern of harmless pleasantries and stolen glances. He kept up his maddening habit of meeting her eyes whenever she turned in his direction.
She tried to focus on Gregory, who was in a better mood with his barrel tapped and the contests in full swing, but she could never gain his full attention. The comfortable intimacy that began du
ring the winter over quiet evenings and long rides stopped mid-blossom. His visits, both during the day and late at night, were hasty affairs. They spoke of nothing but the next event, and once again spent most of their time in the company of dozens of jostling courtiers. She danced with him, cheered him on, and laughed at his antics, but whenever he turned his back on her in a crowd she looked for Dorian. Whenever he rolled away from her in her darkened bedroom she thought of Dorian’s hand on her cheek. She often wished Gregory would spring one of his endearing romantic gestures on her, in the hope it would drive Dorian and his coldness from her mind.
Then, abruptly, Dorian began to thaw. It began when Anne Clara Finley Tavish and her husband Ransom arrived to celebrate the Awakening. It was their first visit to Eclatant since the birth of their twin daughters the previous year.
“I’ve heard nothing but praise for your sister,” Eleanor said, when Dorian mentioned the visit at a picnic. “I would love to meet her in my chambers, away from all this.”
“I’m sure she would like that. She looks forward to meeting you as well. I’ve often written of you.” He gave her a real smile for the first time in weeks.
“You’re too kind, as usual,” she said. “Please ask her to let me know as soon as she’s settled.”
The next day, in her room, Eleanor and her teakettle were introduced to a shorter, dark-eyed, female version of Dorian. Eleanor and Anne Clara passed an easy hour getting to know each other, chatting about palace life, and Anne Clara’s three children and her home in Harper’s Crossing.
“The Lake District is beautiful, and the people were so gracious,” Eleanor said.
“We are known for our hospitality,” Anne Clara said. “Ransom and I would be honored if you would come and stay with us.”
“What a wonderful idea. It would be nice to get away from here for a few days. Not that it isn’t wonderful…being here, I mean.” Eleanor sipped her tea.
“Eleanor, dear, don’t think I need an explanation.” Anne Clara reached over and tapped her knee. “I hear enough from my brother about this place. It can make anyone want to escape for a while, even the princess.”
“Dorian makes it all look easy,” Eleanor said with a smile.
“Easy? No, he’s just had more practice. I know everyone here thinks he’s all confidence and arrogance, but it wears him out. He comes home a few times a year and it’s like watching the wind let go of a banner. He’s a sensitive one, my big brother. More than he lets on, even to himself. He esteems you greatly.”
“And I him. There is no finer gentleman at court.”
“Except your husband.”
“Of course.” Eleanor set down her teacup.
“I am fortunate,” Anne Clara continued. “Ransom might not be the most handsome man in the world, but I understand him. We’ve known each other since we were children. He’s always been my friend, and he’s become my great love. I know others are not so lucky.”
Eleanor did not speak. She gazed out the window at the gardeners pulling weeds.
Anne Clara went on. “My brother is in a strange position, in our family and at court. I fear for his happiness. I think he knows I will always support him. I will stand by those he cares about, and those who care about him.”
“He’s fortunate he has you,” Eleanor said. “I hope you will call me your friend.”
The conversation returned to more mundane topics, and soon both Eleanor and Anne Clara had to prepare for dinner. They said their goodbyes, but when Anne Clara stood Eleanor embraced her before she could curtsy.
Perhaps his sister’s presence relaxed him, or something in her report back eased Dorian’s mind. Eleanor only knew over the next few weeks Dorian slowly returned to her, and somehow Gregory’s carelessness hurt her a little less.
Dorian and Gregory sat by the banks of Afar Creek passing a flask of pomegranate whiskey between them. The Awakening was over, and Dorian relished the peace. The morning was all light greens and soft blues, broken up by flashes of red and purple in the form of new tulips. Dorian loved how HighGod could make any colors blend together.
Senné and Vigor fanned out away from them, grazing and cooling down after the hard run across the Abbey grounds. The two stallions had grown up together, but they rarely spoke. In the wild a dominant stallion might not see any males other than his own sons for years, and he would eventually drive even his offspring away from his mares. The stallions of the Desmarais herd tolerated each other and worked well together, but they avoided close contact when they could.
“Too bad Eleanor couldn’t join us,” Dorian said.
“She was needed at a ladies’ sewing circle or some ridiculous thing,” said Gregory. “Knowing Eleanor, she’d rather be out here in pants with Teardrop than knitting.”
Dorian laughed. He lay back in the grass and it tickled his ears. “Another reason I’m thankful I’m a man. More opportunities for escape.”
“Speaking of escape,” Gregory said as he took a long swig from the flask. “I’m thinking it’s time we head into Maliana and visit the Hussy.”
Dorian blinked at the fat clouds above him. The Red-headed Hussy was a bordello named for and run by Pandra Tate, the most famous prostitute in Maliana. She was known for her beautiful girls, heavy security, and dedication to the privacy of her wealthy patrons.
“Why the Hussy?” he asked. “We haven’t been there in months, not since the night before the wedding.”
Gregory leaned on his elbows. “And I bet Pandra has some new girls!”
“What’s wrong with the girl you have?”
“Oh, please, Dor, this has nothing to do with Eleanor.”
“Really? I think she might disagree. Aren’t you…” Dorian’s discomfort increased with each word. “Aren’t you pleased with her?”
“Of course I’m pleased with her. I love her. She’s kind and pretty of course, but more than that she’s actually funny and rather adventurous.” He seemed to think Dorian needed convincing. “She’s really quite fascinating. And I do love the way she keeps father and Oliver on their toes. If I must be married to anyone I’m glad it’s her.”
“That’s good to hear.” Dorian ground his teeth. Lately his temper sat in the back of his throat. He swallowed it.
Gregory threw a clod of dirt at him. “Oh, come now, I just want a change of scenery. Don’t you go all moral on me. You’ve been with half the women at court. Come to think of it, you’ve been rather chaste this spring. Run out of conquests?”
Dorian had waited for this line of questioning. Gregory never tired of discussing his legion of admirers. He sat up. “Nothing new sparking my interest. I have other things on my mind.”
“Well, you can use a run down to the Hussy to clear your head. Remember Trudie, with the giant—”
“Frankly, Greg, I think we’re too old for all that. What if it got out you’re still running around Pasture’s End? You should be more discreet.”
Gregory frowned at this new idea. “Maybe you’re right. What if I had them brought to me?”
“That’s not the point—”
Gregory stood. “What is the point? That I should be loyal to my wife? You show me one man at court that is and I’ll eat this flask! Besides, you can fuck anyone you want. Talk to me after you’re married.”
Dorian could not suppress the anger this time. “If I was I wouldn’t be sleeping with hookers and bringing home the weeping pox!”
Gregory’s ears were redder than his hair. It took the brunt of his temper as usual. Dorian knew he had pushed too far. “Peace, Your Highness. I beg your pardon. I’m not myself and I spoke out of turn.”
“Damn right you spoke out of turn. I should have you flogged.” Gregory squatted in front of Dorian with his forearms on his knees. Myriad birds screamed their springtime love songs from the trees behind them. “What is it, friend? Is it Abram? Is it money?” Gregory understood how Dorian’s brother held money over his head. “Haven’t I been generous in the past?”
“Ye
s, you’ve always been generous, probably more so than I deserve,” Dorian said. “You’re a true friend, Gregory, and I am sorry.”
Gregory clapped him on the shoulder. “You know you just need ask. Think, soon we leave for Solsea, and the ladies will be at their summer best. You’ll find plenty of distractions, I’m sure.”
Dorian stood and whistled for Senné, who came at a gallop, followed by Vigor. The two stallions eyed each other, flexing their necks, while their riders tightened their girths.
“Thanks for the advice, by the way,” Gregory said from behind Vigor’s wide belly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Gregory seemed to have put their disagreement aside as they returned to the palace and the barn that housed the royal family’s unicorns. He dropped Vigor with the groom and excused himself, Dorian noted ironically, to visit Eleanor. Dorian stayed behind and rubbed down Senné himself.
Senné was tired and didn’t say much, which suited Dorian. He couldn’t begin to sort out his emotions. Gregory’s callous treatment of Eleanor infuriated him. His own feelings for her haunted him, no matter how he tried to stifle them, through his waking hours and in his guilt-ridden dreams. To say Gregory had been a friend was an understatement. Dorian owed him everything, from the unicorn in front of him to his position at court. Gregory insisted Dorian be included in the High Council, when Dorian knew he was too young and inexperienced, and in all honesty lacked the social standing, to be there. Gregory’s steadfast confidence in his abilities humbled him, to say nothing of the true affection Dorian felt for him, even when Gregory was at his most exasperating.
Dorian had spent the last six years on a slow climb up a steep hill. He’d reached the top, and should be pausing for breath. Taking in the view. Instead, as he picked burs from Senne’s mane he wondered how he had become so beholden to one man.
Eleanor followed Ezra Oliver’s trail from his office to the library to King Casper’s receiving room. She stood outside the sealed Fire-iron door with a book and a ledger tucked under her arm. Her stomach grumbled. She’d left her room before breakfast, but she dared not step away for a bite, lest Oliver emerge and she lose him again. She opened the book, took a quill from her pocket and clenched it between her teeth. She’d been awake until the wee hours reading. Her eyes stung as she flipped the pages. “That quote…page four hundred twenty-seven…”
The Cracked Slipper Page 11