Six Moon Dance (65 page)

“F
or the soirée, I think the mahogany satin,” said Gertrude, the Wardrobe Mistress. “You look marvelous in it.”

Genevieve demurred. “It’s what I wore last time. I really look like a Nose in it.”

“You know,” said Gertrude, head cocked to one side, “you’re growing into your nose. Last year, it seemed large, true, but this year, no. This year, it seems a proper part of your face. The art instructor, Master Vorbold, said you would be striking. He was positive it would happen, and I believe it has!”

The mirror agreed, but only if Genevieve stood tall, head carried imperially poised on her long neck, shoulders relaxed, face quiet. Then the face was fine, nose and all, just as it was in the family portraits. Her dark skin was unusual in Haven, but acceptable since it was inherited from Queen Stephanie.

“I’ll bet your father’s bringing the colonel back,” whispered Carlotta, as they were having their hair done. “I’ll bet the colonel has asked for your hand.”

“No,” said Genevieve, with a pang of regret. “Father wouldn’t consider the colonel for me.” Not in this play or any other.

“Why not?” demanded Barbara. “He’s young, he’s handsome, he looks healthy!”

Genevieve worked it out. “In the first place, he’s a commoner, which means he’s uncovenantal. And then, Father is looking for a son. He did not get one by birth, so he will try to get one by marriage. It is much more important that Father get on with the person than that I do, and the Colonel is not the kind of person Father would ever be comfortable with.” She said it calmly, but heard it with a pang. What she had said was absolutely true. Now why was that? Why wasn’t Father perfectly comfortable with his own equerry?

What was it about Aufors Leys that Father was
not
comfortable with? Not merely his being a commoner, for Father was quite comfortable with some commoners. It wasn’t his appearance, which was heavenly, or his manners, which were impeccable. It had to be something, but she couldn’t think what. Just something about him. His attitude perhaps. Yes. That was likely it, his attitude of being
real
Aufors was more
real
than Father was. This idea was difficult to think out, but once having thought it, Genevieve could not unthink it. Aufors Leys was real, but like her father, Genevieve was probably not.

Everyone was ready for the soirée early. Father arrived early, also. He bowed, took her hand, and led her out through the open doors of the ballroom onto the terrace.

“Genevieve, Prince Yugh Delganor will be attending the soirée tonight, as my guest.”

Yugh Delganor. She cast out a net of memory, seining for Delganor. A guest at Langmarsh House, not long before school started this year. A tall, thin man with dead eyes, hollow cheeks, and no conversation. As she had been taught, she had given him opportunities for conversation, but each had been a stone dropped into a bottomless well: no splash, no echo. He had been very well dressed. Middle aged. Perhaps older. Not bad looking, but vaguely repellant and utterly without animation. Genevieve had assigned him a walk-on role and had been glad when he had departed.

“I remember the name …” she murmured.

His lips thinned. “You should remember more than the name, girl! Yugh Delganor is the Lord Paramount’s nephew, son of his younger brother.”

“Ah,” she murmured. “Prince Thumsort, is it?”

“No, no. Thumsort is the youngest of the three. Delganor’s father and His Majesty, Marwell, Lord Paramount were twins. Since the untimely death of the Lord Para-mount’s son, Delganor is the heir presumptive. Thumsort comes third, since Delganor’s sons have also perished.”

“Couldn’t the Lord Paramount have another son?”

“The Queen is past it, girl! She hasn’t had the good sense to die and let him find another wife, and a son out of any other woman would not qualify. Why don’t you know all this?”

She murmured, “I don’t think you have ever told me of it, Father.”

He sniffed. “I keep forgetting this school does not always teach you what may be most important to you. I hope at least you have guessed something of what this evening portends.”

Something tore. A bit of that membrane that made a comforting translucency between herself and the outside world ripped away, leaving a hole. Reality showed through, only a glimpse—ominously dark—-and her inner parts cramped in panic. She found voice to say, “Since you had not mentioned this matter before, no, I have no idea.”

He frowned, displeased.

She sought to mend the veil that protected her, pulling it together between herself and the reality of his words. “Are you perhaps engaging in some enterprise with Prince Delganor?”

He glared, not at her but at the horizon, barely visible between the trees. “I have been summoned to Havenor, to attend upon the court. It could be a lengthy term of service. When I mentioned other responsibilities, the Lord Paramount kindly thought of your needs. The Lord Paramount does not invite all and everyone to reside in Havenor. He has waited to receive others’ opinion of you, of your poise, your behavior, your appearance, the purity of your soul. Prince Delganor gave him an opinion. Aufors Leys has also done so. Delganor is coming tonight to extend the Lord Paramount’s invitation for you to reside at court during my posting there.”

“I don’t understand …”

His face contorted in anger. “Of course you do! Do not be willfully stupid, Genevieve! You have been well reared, well educated. Your soul has been kept pure. You are suitable! And because you are suitable, the Prince has condescended to come here tonight in order to deliver the Lord Paramount’s invitation. He may ask if you have any objection to leaving school. You will say no. He may ask if you have any matrimonial interest, since that might distract you from the duties of the court, and if he does, you will say you do not.”

Stillness, and herself saying in a stranger’s voice from a place of clarity. “I did not particularly like him, Father.”

He barked, a single
ha
, unamused. “That is of no matter. There will be a good many at court you will not like, any more than I do. Nonetheless, we accommodate ourselves. Who knows? You may find a husband there.”

“I am entitled to a decade more of my youth, Father. And I do not think I would like marrying a courtier.”

“That, too, is of no matter. Your mother was young when we were wed, she did not much like marrying me, nor I her. It worked out well enough.”

She closed her eyes against those words, remembering a face, hearing sounds of agony, smelling the metallic reek of blood. A woman’s voice whispering, “Jenny, Jenny, oh, my darling girl …” Had it worked well enough, their marriage? Not for mother, she did not say. Mother died, she did not say. You killed her, she did not say, feeling the first fluttering of something other than panic, something foreign to her, a loose thread of fury, hanging there, tempting her to grasp it, let what would unravel!

She ignored the thread, saying softly, “My education is unfinished, and I will miss my friends here at school.”

“That also is of no matter. The honor you are offered outshines any such concerns, and Mrs. Blessingham can no doubt recommend tutors at High Haven if you wish to continue your education.” He turned on her, face hard. “Keep this in mind! This whole matter may be in the nature of a test, to see whether we, you and I, are the kind of people who will make difficulties! Believe me, Genevieve, if you think of doing such a thing, think again. Rejecting an invitation from the Lord Paramount, brought to you by no less personage than the Prince, would not be good for me, and if you are not thoughtful of my reputation, as you have a duty to be, it will not be good for you, either. Whatever the Prince proposes comes directly from the Lord Paramount, and I am sworn to serve the Lord Paramount.”

“His invitation is actually your command, then.” She was surprised at the calm in her voice. “You are saying that I have no choice.”

“No honorable choice, no. Later on, well …” He barked laughter, as though at something he had just discovered. “Yugh Delganor may well marry again. It is not impossible he might find you attractive enough to consider you for … some very exalted position.”

And there she was suddenly, at center stage. The lights were on her, the attention of whoever it was, out there in the darkness, the watchers, among whom she had hoped to stay, always, always. Now the action centered upon her and the plot lines knotted and wove and all other characters faded into shadow. She drew away from him, hearing the rustle of her gown on the tiles loud in the silence, feeling the evening air clammy on her bare shoulders while a greater coldness froze the pit of her stomach.

She whispered, “Does he have family?”

“He has family, yes. He’s been married two or three times, but his wives died.” He said it offhandedly, as though it didn’t matter. “As I recall, his first wife died in childbirth and one of the others died of batfly fever the year it swept the lowlands. Such things happen. I must say, your attitude surprises me.”

“Forgive me, Father,” she said from that brightly lighted place where she stood, that cell in time where all seemed to converge. “It is only that I, too, am much surprised. You have never mentioned any of this to me. This invitation comes out of the blue in the hands of a man who was not even polite to me when he visited Lang-marsh House. Perhaps he is above politeness.”

This time her father laughed with genuine amusement. “Well said, daughter. Perhaps he is, indeed. Whether he is above it or not, I know you will be sensible enough not to insult him. He has received good report from Colonel Leys, who has confirmed Mrs. Blessingham’s opinion of you. She has said you are poised and quiet and your purity of soul has been approved by the scrutator. The Colonel has seconded this judgment.”

“The Colonel …” She shook her head, confused. She had not been quiet with the Colonel. He had not asked about her soul. Not at all!

“The Colonel will be going with us to Havenor,” the Marshal said, misunderstanding. “When the Lord Paramount suggested the colonel give an opinion it was for good reason. Leys is my equerry, and he would be responsible for your safety and comfort at court. His making an assessment of your manner is appropriate.” He turned away, as though finished with words.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to think of something that might delay this matter, or forestall it altogether, but before she could think of anything, he exclaimed:

“Ah, there he is!”

She turned her head toward the distant door where Nemesis stood, tall and dark and dressed all in black, his eyes staring in her direction like flawed marbles, blindly.

“Remember to whom you are speaking,” her father concluded, tucking her arm firmly under his own and moving off to greet his guest.

Somehow she greeted, bowed, responded to words. Somehow she got out onto the terrace with the tall man, without noticing that her father ushered them there, shutting the doors behind them. She did not come to herself until Delganor had taken her hand in his and was saying, “… the Lord Paramount wishes me to convey his pleasure at the prospect of your attendance at the court, in Havenor.”

The words reached her ears, but beyond her ears she felt her brain shudder and cramp at his voice. Beneath her glove, the skin of her hand crawled. She could not bear for him to press her hand again or say anything more. To put an end to it, she assented, withdrew her hand in order to make the full, dramatic curtsey, after which she remained bent, watching his heels as he retreated from her. He exchanged a few words with her father inside the door. She barely breathed, wishing she had dreamed what just happened. This had not been a play. She had not merely watched. She had been present, hideously present, and she would have given anything she owned or ever thought of attaining if she had been elsewhere throughout it all.

 Genevieve’s invitation to court had come about thusly:

The Marshal, who had been at Havenor on business, was bidden to an immediate audience with the Lord Paramount. Not stopping to put on court attire, he went upon the notice and was admitted into the small hearing chamber where the Lord Paramount spent part of each morning attending to the business of Haven. His Majesty sat on a low dais, in a gilded and padded chair beneath a baldachin hung behind and on either side with weighty purple velvet to shut out the draughts. The carpet around him was strewn with booklets, both talking book and view-cube, and a tottery stack of other such booklets occupied a small gilded table at his side. His crown was slightly tilted, for he habitually leaned his chin on his left hand, turning the pages with right, listening with his eyes half shut, like a dreaming tortoise. He was in this position when he received the Marshal, alone except for two members of the recently imported off-world security force—Aresians sworn to the Lord Paramount’s service and protection—who stood on either side of the door, weapons at the ready and eyes scanning the room in ceaseless watchfulness.

The Marshal saw all this as he came through the door, particularly the guards—bulky men, and strong looking, as all Aresians were. The two of them traded him look for look, silently, without a hint of feeling: no animosity, no acceptance, just alertness. The taller one was dark haired with a beard so black that his smoothly shaven skin looked blue. The other resembled him, though he was lighter, a bit thinner. They were good men, both. He wouldn’t mind commanding men like these.

“Your Majesty,” murmured the Marshal, bending a knee.

“Marshal,” said the Lord Paramount, without moving, the pages slowly turning. “You know that new minister, the one from Barfezi? Name of Gormus.”

“Efiscapel Gormus, yes, your Majesty, I’ve met him.”

“Don’t like him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

“I don’t know what it is about County Potcher in Barfezi! The place breeds these freethinkers like lice, and here’s another of ‘em, all full of schemes to connect to off-world, join the community of man, open our arms and our hearts. And our pockets, he doesn’t say. And our private business, which is none of off-worlds’ affair! Well, I don’t like him. Don’t like the influence he has on some of the other ministers. Decided I need a balancing weight.” He looked up, his eyes fully open, piercing the Marshal with his stare. “I’m inviting you to come to court.”