Cadmians Choice (27 page)

“Because it grants
them attention and because they can’t possibly marry a Cadmian officer?”

“It’s unlikely,”
replied Sheranyne, with a mischievous smile, “but it has happened.”

Mykel felt like
swallowing both boots. He bowed. “I beg your pardon, Madame.”

She laughed,
good-naturedly, half-turning to Sturyk. “You see, dearest. He understood with
only a smile.”

Sturyk laughed as
well.

To cover his
embarrassment, Mykel gazed across the ballroom for a moment. He tried to shut
out the welter of personal auras, the feel of so many people, and just look at
the dancers and those standing around the edge of the ballroom.

“There are
refreshments in the adjoining salons,” said Sturyk, “but it’s considered poor
manners to retreat there immediately upon arriving, and particularly without
having danced at least for a time. I can see several of those I know observing
us.”

Mykel permitted himself
a wry smile as he looked back at the overcaptain. As soon as Sturyk had
mentioned refreshments, Mykel had thought about slipping away.

“If you will excuse
us.” Sturyk and his wife eased out among the dancers.

Mykel envied the
grace with which they moved. He scanned the, dancers, and those landing at the
edge of the dance floor. After a time, he found his gaze being drawn to the far
side ot the ballroom, to a black-haired woman in a plain, but flattering, pale
green shimmersilk gown. She wore a shawl. He realized that she was the only
young woman he had seen without a male escort or a parent beside her. There was
something ...

Mykel stiffened,
standing stock-still. The woman was Rachyla. He would have known her anywhere.
What was she doing in Southgate? How could she have gotten to Southgate so
quickly? He feared he already knew why.

Finally, he walked
toward her, stepping around the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the couples
moving to the music in a step he did not know or even recall seeing.

She watched him,
neither overtly encouraging nor discouraging him. As he drew nearer, he could
sense her aura—almost totally black, shot through with faint traces” of green,
unlike any other he had seen. Was that because she was a seltyr’s daughter? No
... none of seltyrs had felt that way.

“Lady Rachyla.” He
bowed slightly as he stopped a yard short of her. “I cannot say how surprised I
am to see you here.”

“Then, I suggest you
do not try.” She laughed, in the ironic and musical way that Mykel could only
recall for the instant afterward. “I see you are a majer now. I had not
expected to see you, either, but then I heard that you would be here, and I
found that I was not surprised.”

“Unlike me.”

“It is good to see
you surprised, Majer. I saw that so seldom”

“How did you come to
Southgate?”

“By ship, of course.
Is there any other way from Dramur?” Her deep green eyes fixed on him.

“I meant . . .”

“I know what you
meant, Majer. Have you come to ask me to dance? To make the obligatory
appearance and flatter your ego that you may choose any of the women and none
will refuse you?”

“I know little of
dancing, and I can see that you have changed little.”

“I have changed more
than you know, Majer, and so have you. You were not afraid to take a dagger of
anger . . . yet you fear to dance with a woman who has “nothing’’“

“ Mykel smiled. “I
did not say I feared to dance, I said I did not know much about it, and your
feet may suffer.”

Rachyla shook her
head, then held out a hand. “Let us dance.”

Mykel stepped forward
and took her hand. He held her lightly, if firmly, trying to follow the steps
of the others and to keep his boots away from her slippered feet, as the small
orchestra played an unfamiliar air. He couldn’t help wondering how he had ended
up dancing with the daughter of a seltyr of Dramur in Southgate.

“For a man with two
right feet, you do not dance badly.”

“I just follow your
lead.”

“Would that more had.”

“You have relatives
here?” Mykel finally offered, barely avoiding stumbling—and another couple.

“You did not know?
Elbaryk is a cousin. His mother and mine were sisters. He must bear a certain
... responsibility.”

“So... your maternal
cousin must assist you, while your paternal cousin takes everything your father
left?”

“Few would state it
so directly.”

“Including finding a
husband?”

“Majer ... who would
wish a wife with no property? Of those who would, who would I, or my cousin,
find acceptable?”

“I would not close
off that possibility. I recall your telling me something like that once.”

She laughed, once. “You
would use my own words.”

“Better than mine,”
he returned.

After a silence, she
spoke again, her voice low. “You would not have killed my father that day.”

“No. I would have had
him imprisoned.”

“You are too
honorable to be a Cadmian, Majer. It will destroy you—or you will destroy all
that you now support.”

Mykel didn’t have an
answer to her comment.

“It is said you are
going to Hyalt.”

“Yes.”

“And you will kill
more who rebel against the evil ones?”

“Only if they shoot
at us.”

“How can they not
when you are the tool ot the Duarches? Can you not see that?”

“I can be honorable
and see what can be done.”

Rachyla laughed, yet
it was not a mocking expression, but one more of ironic sadness.

The music stopped
with a flourish.

Mykel inclined his
head to Rachyla. “Thank you, Lady Rachyla. Might I have—”

“If you have the
slightest regard for me, Majer, do not ask me to dance again,” she murmured.

Mykel concealed a
wince.

“Not until you have
danced for at least several glasses with others. And do not call me ‘Lady,’“
she added in an even lower voice. She inclined her head to him. “Thank you,
Majer.” Her thank-you was louder and clear to those nearby.

Mykel bowed again. “My
thanks and gratitude to you. Might I escort you ...”

“My cousin’s wife is
there by the double column.”

Mykel offered his
arm. Rachyla took it, but with the tips of her gloved fingers barely resting on
the forearm of his uniform tunic. They walked to the edge of the dance floor

Madame Elbaryk smiled
politely as Mykel bowed once more, both to her and to Rachyla. Then he stepped
back and turned.

“Mykel?”

He looked to his left
and saw the overcaptain and his wife at the edge of the dance floor, less than
three yards away. He joined them, not looking back, much as he would have liked
to.

“That didn’t take you
long,” observed Sturyk. “Is she some relative of Elbaryk’s?”

“His cousin,” Mykel
replied.

“She dances well,”
added Sheranyne.

“She had to. I don’t
dance well at all.” Mykel managed a smile.

The orchestra began
to play again.

“I suppose I should
find another young woman,” Mykel said.

“They’ll love you for
it.”

“Sturyk!”

“We should dance,
dear.”

Mykel turned and
surveyed those standing beyond the dancers, but his thoughts kept going back to
Rachyla. Without looking in her direction, he tried to see if he could sense
the darkness of her aura, but there were so many auras that his head began to
ache. He had to close his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them,
he resigned himself to following Sturyk’s—and Rachyla’s—suggestions. After
several moments, he picked out a thin-faced and brown-haired young woman who
stood disconsolately, almost alone, clearly accompanied by a younger brother or
cousin. She was neither beautiful nor unattractive.

He eased up to the
pair, then smiled, looking to the youth. “Might I have a dance with the young
woman?”

She smiled, but her
eyes warned her escort against declining.

“You might, Captain,”
replied the youth, not quite sneering.

“Majer,” corrected
Mykel. “Thank you.” He turned to the young woman. “You will excuse me if I am
not an accomplished dancer.”

“I can manage that,
Majer. I’m Quesalya.”

They stepped out onto
the dance floor.

“Where are you from?”
she asked after several moments.

“I was raised in
Faitel, but I’m currently stationed in Elcien, permanently, that is. Is your
escort your brother?”

“Yes. Carlosyn wishes
he didn’t have to be here.”

“He seemed less than
pleased,” suggested Mykel. “Do you live in Southgate itself?”

“We live to the
northwest. Father’s warehouses are in Soumgate. Have you been a Cadmian for a
long time?”

“Close to eleven
years, all told.”

“That’s a long time
...”

Quesalya was not
quite the dancer that Rachyla was, but she was skilled enough that Mykel could
read her movements and keep from stepping on her toes or careering into other
dancers. When he escorted her back to her brother, she gave him a wide smile. “Thank
you, Majer.”

“It was my pleasure.”
He bowed. As he slipped away, Mykel felt that he had made someone happy, or
less unhappy.

After that, he asked
close to a score of young women to dance, choosing those who seemed to have
been forgotten or who looked neglected. All the time, he felt as though he were
being watched, and by more than a few people. He kept his eyes open for
Rachyla, but without letting his gaze linger on her. He never saw her on the
dance floor.

After a time, he
slipped away, sampled the refreshments, but contented himself with a glass of a
pale white wine before returning to the ballroom, where he danced with several
more unmarried women.

He could see that
people were beginning to slip away, decided to approach Rachyla once more. She
stood well away from Madame Elbaryk.

“A last dance?” He
bowed.

“If you insist,
Majer.”

Was there the
faintest hint of a smile in her eyes? Mykel wasn’t sure, but he found that, as
on Dramur, he wasn’t that certain about anything concerning Rachyla.

Neither said anything
for several moments.

“I watched you,”
Rachyla said.

“A few people did,”
he replied dryly.

“People will say that
you chose your partners to make yourself and the Cadmians look good.”

“I imagine they will.”

“You did not dance
with them for those reasons, I think.”

“What do you think?”

“You ask a mere
woman?”

“I asked you.” Mykel
put only the slightest emphasis on the “you.”

“You are a dagger of
the ancients. You are honest. You would be kind. Your blade has three sharp
edges, and you will cut yourself more deeply than anyone else. Yet they will
die, and you will suffer every death.”

“That doesn’t sound
very promising.” He offered a low chuckle, one he didn’t feel.

“You were the one who
asked.”

“I did. That’s true.
Did Madame Elbaryk say anything about my asking you to dance?”

“She said you were
handsome and dangerous.”

Mykel decided to
gamble. “And she also said that you were like your mother, too?”

Rachyla stiffened,
almost stumbling. “How did ... you were never...” Then she smiled and shook her
head. “You are truly the dagger...”

“Was I right?”

“You know you were.”

Mykel had the feeling
that, while he might not have liked Rachyla’s mother, he would have respected
her, and that was very unlike the feelings he had for the male seltyrs of
either Dramur or Southgate.

“You do not care much
for my cousin.”

“How can you say
that? Before tonight, I never met him, and we exchanged only a few words.”
Mykel was all too conscious of how close she was ... and still... as Dohark had
once said, how dangerous.

‘To me, it is as
obvious as the uniform you wear, Majer.”

“How about to your
cousin?”

“Were you not a
dagger of the ancients, you would be beneath notice.”

“That’s good to know.
I suppose that means that I should not come calling upon you.”

“That would not be
wise. It also would not be possible.”

“Oh?”

Rachyla did not
reply. Several long moments passed before she said, “Sometimes, late on Novdi
afternoons, just before sunset, I’m allowed to walk in the memorial park to
meditate.”

“I’ve been studying
the stelae there. If we happened to meet, would that be taken amiss?”

“Not if it did not
happen often.” Her eyes did not meet his.

Yet, Mykel could
sense she was neither lying nor leading him on.

“Then, it will not
happen often.”

“That would be for
the best.”

Shortly, the music
died away, and once more Mykel had to escort Rachyla back to Madame Elbaryk.
This time, the seltyr’s wire’s smile was less than perfunctory.

Mykel made a point of
dancing with several more young women, including a second dance with three
others, including Quesalya.

It was late when he
rejoined the overcaptain and his wife and they made their way out of the
ballroom and down to the portico—and the waiting hired carriage, far plainer
than those others lined up outside.

Mykel glanced
heavenward. Asterta was now in the western sky. Selena, a mere crescent, hung
just above the eastern horizon. He’d danced with Rachyla under the warrior moon
goddess, but did that mean anything? He doubted it.

Neither Sturyk nor
Sheranyne said much until the carriage was well away from the villa of Seltyr
Elbaryk and headed around the inner ring road to the northeast.

“I thought you said
that you couldn’t dance, Majer?” Sheranyne’s words were a mischievous
accusation.

“I can’t. I just
followed what everyone seemed to be doing, and tried not to step on anyone’s
toes.”