Nightshade (6 page)

“Buying time for what?” Bentley asked. “As soon as he took Bharjah’s offer it was certain your parents would be involved. What time does that purchase when your father will lead the negotiations?”

“None that I can see at this point. But it was Mal’s opening move, setting the board to his advantage.”

“Does he seek the throne before it’s his?”

“Why would he?” Darry asked. “The throne is his birthright and he has spent his whole life preparing to claim it. But if he could bring about peace with Lyoness and secure the Lowlands once and for all? It would grease his path to the throne with scented oils and petals of roses. He sees some great victory in this scheme that will do just that.”

“And so what information do they have?”

Darry laughed. “As if I would know? I’m the backwards indiscretion, remember? My father would no more share such knowledge with me than he would dance with me on Solstice Eve.”

Bentley heard the taint of unhappiness once again and knew that she had drunk more wine than usual. She would never have made such a comment so casually were she not a tad in her cups, not even to him.

“Bharjah offered up his daughter like a prized piece of meat and Malcolm snapped at her like a hungry dog. My father has agreed to let them come and to see how this all plays out. That’s all I know for certain and, to be honest, all I care to know. If thirty years from now Arravan has a king of Lyonese blood, this will be the best gamble that Bharjah ever made. No doubt I shall be long dead by then. Killed in a bar fight most likely.”

Bentley’s heart stuttered. “No doubt,” he whispered. “Shall we have a big funeral?”

Darry smiled at the assumption they would go together. “I’ve just bought a bodhran, so perhaps we might have music as well.”

“You should’ve broken a fiddle then.”

“I hear that she’s very beautiful,” Darry said after a time, remembering her brief glimpse of the princess and how her sari had caught the sun.

“The Nightshade Lark?”

“Named so for her dark hair and famous voice,” Darry said, wondering what Bharjah’s daughter would be like. There was little mystery about her many brothers. They were said to be as their father—hard, cruel men. Of the Princess Jessa-Sirrah, however, very little was known.

“Perhaps she looks like her father.”

“Don’t jest, Bentley. She’s being offered up like a sacrifice. She deserves our respect and best manners.”

Bentley smiled.

After a while the barkeep approached, setting another bottle of Ravonese gold on their table, then taking up the empty one.

“We did not order such,” Bentley said. “And though it’s a rather delicious, fruity vintage, I think you have most of our coin already.”

“Compliments of the Lady Marin Corvinus,” the man said, and walked away.

“Corvinus. I believe I might know that one,” Bentley said.

“Someone likes you, my pretty.”

Bentley searched the room until his eyes fell upon the courtesan. Dressed in lace stockings and an ivory-colored corset with ties of green ribbons, she lounged in a cushioned chair as if it were a throne. Her face was beautiful, heart-shaped and delicate, and she eyed them with a secretive smile.

“Sweet Gamar’s mustache. Sit up, Darry.” Bentley filled his goblet again and stared across the room, searching for an invitation from the courtesan as he took a slow drink.

Darry’s arms were on the table and her left hand played at the cuff of her right sleeve. “Is she pretty?”

“Decidedly so.”

“I’ve a few golds in my pockets yet,” she said as he refilled her cup.

The courtesan’s head tipped back slightly and her lips parted as Darry took a drink, her gaze filled with more heat than the fire that blazed within the hearth. “Sweet Jezara,” Bentley said. “Best save that gold for yourself.”

Darry’s brow came down in confusion.

Bentley laughed at her frown and reclined against the bench. “The wine was not for me. Look for yourself, by the hearth.”

Darry set her wine down and let her eyes wander, taking in the woman’s lovely curls, the red within the buoyant strands flaring in the firelight. She followed them down along the smooth neck and then farther still, admiring her gorgeous curves and the cut of the corset. Her legs were long and smooth, and Darry’s blood heated in a wicked manner. She swallowed and turned away, warmth of desire starting at the base of her spine and spreading outward as she stared into her goblet.

“So what will you do, my kitten?” Bentley asked.

“She looks like—”

“She wants to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Like she wants you beneath her on the cool sheets of her bed?”

Darry closed her eyes, only to have her mind latch hold of Bentley’s suggestion. She could almost feel the woman moving beneath her, their skin slick as they thrust together on tangled sheets.

“She’s very beautiful, Darry.”

“I can see that,” Darry answered in a tight voice.

The music in the parlor changed to a ballad plucked on the strings of the lute and meant for lovers. Darry let out a slow breath at the change in tempo. She could feel the woman’s mouth on her, relinquishing herself to the absolute heat of it, the Lady Marin’s tongue taking control and those hands on her breasts, lips clinging and pulling upon her flesh until…

And what would be the price, she wondered, for a moment’s worth of pleasure? To risk her hard-won freedom for an indiscretion that Malcolm could very possibly use against her, despite the joy she might feel at the coupling. It was too easy and Darry knew it, acknowledging where she was and that the whole room would watch. She had not recognized any patron as one of Malcolm’s men, but they did not have to be paid for at the moment, to be given his coin in the end.
Don’t be a bloody fool, Darry. You’re being careless.

She had been in love once, and though she had proceeded with caution and as much discretion as she had been capable of, she had pursued her love with all of the wonder and enthusiasm that youth and a sense of invincibility might lend. But she had learned there were no guarantees, not even in love.
Or perhaps especially in love
.

Bentley could see the battle taking place within Darry. Her situation was complicated and he knew that better than anyone. That she deprived herself the comfort of a lover was no secret. She respected her family’s position and the problems her heart might pose. Her sense of honor was deeper than any he had yet encountered, and she always kept in mind that a casual dalliance on her part might become a weapon to be used against the crown. She had to consider Prince Malcolm as well, and the fact that he waited for her to stumble, eager to assert his control in some way. What Malcolm would do when Darry decided to free her heart and declare her full independence at last, neither of them knew, but Bentley understood that she would never do it lightly and without great deliberation. And she would do it for nothing less than love.

He regretted having teased her, even in such a small way. “Let us go, my friend, yes?”

“Yes.” Darry pushed her wine away with a careful hand. “Yes…before I forget what I’m fighting for.”

“You look fine.” Bentley pulled at Darry’s sleeve, keeping her from fussing with her collar. “If you don’t stop, I’ll have to piss.”

“I thought I was the nervous one.”

“You are, but you know I can’t manage when you fidget about.” His hands wiggled in front of his face as they walked along the balustrade. “If
you
can’t handle it how am I supposed to?”

“Poor baby.”

Darry saw her sister, Emmalyn, and then she saw the woman who stepped onto the wide terrace from one of the guest chambers.

“Sweet Jezara, is that her?” Bentley asked.

The woman wore a sari, as was the fashion in Lyoness, its silk draped about her curvaceous figure in a manner that was more suggestive than the dresses of Arravan. Her hair was a lovely spill of black curls that fell down her back. A veil clipped within the strands covered her face beneath the eyes.

Darry’s heart skipped as she surveyed the woman’s body and followed her movements, noting the bangles and bracelets on her wrists and the way her hands moved with grace as she closed the door.

Bentley straightened his own collar. “If she looks like her father, I shall spread my legs for him and bat my eyes.”

Darry laughed.

Jessa took a jagged breath at the laughter and stepped back, a sudden fist closing within her chest as she turned. Her shawl slipped from her arm, and Jessa stared as it pooled on the stones at her feet.
Stop being so jumpy, you fool.

Darry hurried her step as the princess knelt to retrieve the garment. She slid to a knee as she took up the silk with careful hands. “It appears I wasn’t quick enough,” she said with a smile.

Jessa met her eyes, her gaze moving from one eye to the other and taking in the shocking difference in color. The woman before her possessed a green eye on the right and a deep blue on the left, her expression filled with warmth. Her strong face was framed by wide golden curls that were stark against her black uniform, the high collar of the tunic rising along her neck.

So you must be the warrior, the backwards daughter they call the panther. Vhaelin essa, but you’re lovely.
A stutter of fear moved within her chest and she considered its weight, still caught beneath the woman’s eyes.

“’Tis a lovely shawl, Princess,” she said.

Not fear.
It did nothing to push Jessa away but drew her forward instead.

“This is my sister, Princess Jessa,” Emmalyn said, stepping up. “Captain Darrius Lauranna Durand. Her duties occupied her elsewhere upon the eve of your welcoming banquet.”

“I’m sorry.” The Princess Darrius’s hand was still extended. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jessa placed her hand within the Princess’s. The feel of the strong hand about her own caused a pleasant flutter within Jessa’s chest and she smiled beneath her veil. “
Tu an rayza masha-anna
,” she breathed, tightening her grip as she rose and stepped close.

Darrius took a small step backward as etiquette demanded, releasing Jessa’s hand and holding forth the shawl. “I’m afraid you must translate, my Lady.”

Jessa found her tongue at last. “Thank you,” she said, taking back the shawl. “You’re most kind, Princess.”

“And you’re most welcome,” Princess Darrius said. She glanced at her sister and lifted her elbow out. “Might we escort you to dinner?”

Emmalyn slipped her right hand in the crook of Darrius’s arm. “By all means. Lady Jessa, this is Lieutenant Bentley Greeves.”

Bentley stepped forward and lowered his head in deference. “Princess, I am most honored to make your acquaintance,” he said formally. “If you would allow me the privilege of being your escort, I would be most pleased.”

Jessa bowed her head in return. “I must enter the great hall with my brother, Lieutenant Greeves, but until then I will most humbly accept your arm.”

“Off we go.” Emmalyn turned to Darry and set them in motion. “Malcolm has promised a feast of delights. It wouldn’t do for us to be late.”

“Yes,” Darry said, “that would be a sin.”

Emmalyn cast her a sideways glance. “You’re looking rather splendid in your dress blacks,” she said.

The uniform had been specially tailored to fit, the jacket flaring at the waist and falling just past Darry’s slim hips over a starched white tunic, her black trousers hugging her strong legs and tucked neatly into calf-high black boots polished to a brilliant shine. On the left breast was the embroidered emblem of her command, a golden mountain panther stitched with an expert hand. On the right were the insignia that announced her rank and several service medals as well, denoting that she had served along the borders of Lyoness and Greymear. She had also sailed for a year with the royal navy, patrolling the Sellen Sea aboard the Queen’s own clipper, the
White Zephyr
.

Not even their brother Wyatt had managed to accomplish that. Their father had frowned upon such a duty as too dangerous. Darry, however, had gone when her opportunity to do so had arisen. The fact that their father had said naught against Darry for it and had refused to send for the ship’s return still troubled Emmalyn. She was unsure why he had argued for Wyatt’s safety and not Darry’s.

Darry had been just seventeen, and it had been a very long year for those left behind. A year in which their mother had barely spoken to their father, her anger and worry so thick that from solstice to solstice the royal family had been at war within itself.

That war had ended only when Darry walked through the palace gates in her bare feet and worn, weathered uniform. She was as dark as an island native and grinning wildly. Wyatt had been so jealous that Emmalyn had thought he would burst, but he had worn it well and still swelled with pride when the
Zephyr
was mentioned, trumpeting their sister’s service as if she had conquered the world.

“Darry?”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” Emmalyn tightened her hold upon Darry’s arm as they stepped from the stairs into the grand foyer. “Just wondering where you were.”