Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1) (17 page)

Margaret, watching him in awe, protested weakly: “But you never come to night-time happenings!”

“Rubbish. Of course I do. Come along, Margaret; come along, Poly. Dog, heel.”

“Mistress Pritchard is the
best
Prime Lady,” confided Margaret, as they were ushered by a grinning youth through an avenue of scented blue flowers and into a glittering back-yard. “Her son is the best magicker of fairy lights, and her daughter makes the most divine lemon tarts you ever tasted.
She
does absolutely nothing, of course, just sits there and smiles plumply at everyone; but the food is always better and so are the dances.”

Luck didn’t volunteer any information, but since he disappeared in the direction of the decorated supper table very soon afterward, Poly was left to the reflection that the food must be very good indeed. That, or Luck had noticed the bevy of pretty young girls who had brightened considerably at his appearance and were now making a spectacle of themselves, much to the amusement of their elders.

Onepiece said: “Sparkle,” in an unconvinced tone, as though unsure whether he should be approving or not; but when Poly helped him stagger over to the supper table, he chuckled long and gleefully.

“Sticky!” he explained, attempting to fit more lemon tart into his mouth than it would conveniently hold and inevitably finishing with the better part of the lemon butter smeared over his face.

“So I see,” said Poly with a rueful smile. She looked around briefly, telling herself that she was observing the revels and
not
looking for a certain pair of blue eyes, and was too late to catch Onepiece before he fell against her stickily in a valiant attempt to seize the centrepiece of separate, wobbling jellies.

“A woman after my own tastes!” said a laughing voice in her ear. Michael was unaccountably there, heaving Onepiece to his feet with a supreme lack of concern for the liberal about of lemon tart that transferred in the process. “I would plunge headfirst into the dairy delight of Miss Pritchard’s flummery if possible, but I see you’ve sensibly been content to absorb her lemon tart via osmosis instead.”

Poly laughed and thanked him, reaching automatically for Onepiece, but Michael levered him onto one hip and pulled her into a three-fold embrace instead, spinning them all into the dance.

He said: “Oh, we’d better dance now that we’re all sticky. We’re clearly meant to be together. Besides, if I don’t dance with you, Miss Margaret will make me dance with her.”

Since Margaret whirled past them in the dance at that moment with a laughing, audacious wink, Poly took leave to doubt this, and said as much.

“Well, I had to say
something
to salve my wounded pride,” he said, and added easily: “How do you think I get any of the ladies to dance with me, if not out of pity?”

“Tosh,” said Onepiece, his gruff little voice displeased. Poly wondered where he had picked up such a word. This time she felt the last remnants of the language spell whisper the meaning of it in the back of her mind, and found that she agreed.

“I believe you could dance with any of the girls here tonight,” she told him frankly. She hadn’t missed the lingering, envious glances of the other girls; and if several of the young men seemed to be watching
her
, many more girls were watching Michael.

“Oh well, one has to be modest, after all,” said Michael, grinning. “Me ma says you’re coming to tea. When?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” confessed Poly, allowing Michael to swing her in a close, fast arc that was thrilling more because she was afraid of losing her footing than because it pulled her closer to Michael. It was a pleasant surprise to find that the
derringer
was still performed (even if it was done so as an old curiosity), but the way Michael danced it was quite different to what she was used to. Poly found it difficult to speak and mind her step at the same time.

“She didn’t tell me what day would be convenient.”

Michael gave her a sparkling smile. “Every day is convenient when it comes to you.”

“Every day is convenient when you’re not the one baking the scones,” Poly told him dryly, and was pleased to surprise a laugh out of him.

“I yield me, lady! Half-week, then: me Ma does all her baking in the morning, so you’re sure to be fed, at least.”

Poly nodded, her eyes sparkling, and curtsied to mark the end of the
derringer.
Unfortunately it didn’t occur to her in time that her court curtsey might no longer be in vogue, and she was mortified to find that while she was making the low, graceful salute, the other girls had merely bobbed and ducked their heads.

Michael’s lips curled in a sparkling smile again, whether in interest or amusement, Poly wasn’t sure. She was relieved when Margaret, who had finished the dance quite close to them, said: “Ooh, pretty! I didn’t know anyone knew how to do those nowadays.”

“Well, Miss Margaret,” said Michael, distracted long enough for Poly to rise and recover Onepiece: “I suppose I’d better dance with you now. Can’t have you going partnerless, can we?”

“Speak for yourself!” said Margaret, with a toss of her head; but she accepted the hand he held out with a saucy smile, and Poly left the green with the smiling thought that they were really very much alike. They laughed and sparkled their way through the dance with a hundred carefully haughty nose-tilts from Margaret and as many challenging chin-tilts from Michael.

Poly watched them from a secluded bench beneath a weeping willow because it was easier to watch them than to observe the throng as she would usually have done: there were far too many eyes on her for it to be a pleasant exercise. Onepiece, who was beginning to gain a rather remarkable control of his features, and who had learned from who-knows-where the art of sticking out his tongue, was making creatively rude faces at the starers as he stood on the bench beside her. Poly muffled her laughter and tugged at his shirt until he plopped down in her lap.

“Pah,” he said. “Bosky rude.”

“Yes, but it’s not polite to notice,” said Poly. She was very familiar with the politics that made up the basis of a civil cosmos. “They’ll stop staring when they know us better.”

Onepiece said “Pah!” again, making her think that he’d possibly spent too much time with Luck, and added internally:
-not staring because of
that
. staring because-

“Because?” prompted Poly.

Onepiece seemed to be struggling with an idea too complex for his young mind. He blew out his cheeks and bounced impatiently on her lap as his lips pursed and re-pursed with the wrong words.

-easier as dog-
he complained.
-
that
one wants to dance with you.
that
one wants to kiss you-

“Good grief!” said Poly faintly, ignoring the ‘
mwah
’ with which Onepiece saw fit to embellish his remark. “How ridiculous! Who told you such a thing?”

-not told-
said Onepiece, performing a creditable shrug.
-heard. too loud front thoughts-

Poly said “Good grief!” again, unintentionally encountering the eyes of both indicated men as she flitted a nervous look over the company. The first, a youngish man with a mop of curly red hair, blushed and dropped his eyes, but the other one–the one Onepiece insisted wanted to kiss her–a little older, with pleasant lines beside his eyes, held her gaze and smiled. She looked away, but not quickly enough: he had already started through the dancers toward her and Onepiece.

“Pah!”

“Be polite,” admonished Poly. She was feeling more than a little unsettled, but couldn’t convince herself that the feeling was an unpleasant one. The faster beat of her heart wasn’t mere diffidence: it was oddly thrilling to discover that she was considered attractive by not one man, but two.

Onepiece must have heard the ‘front thoughts’, because he looked as though he wanted say ‘pah’ again. He caught her eyes as his lips opened, and sensibly refrained.

Instead, he wriggled violently, muttering: “Food. Yum,” until Poly allowed him to slide from her lap and totter away to the supper table. By the beaming looks of indulgence he was receiving from the elderly ladies there, it seemed apparent that he would be well looked-after, so Poly turned her attention to the bolder of her two admirers, who had reached bowing distance and was doing just that.

This time, she was careful to give just a friendly nod instead of her full curtsey, hoping fervently that he wouldn’t ask her to dance. After that one, half-familiar
derringer
the music had become faster and wilder, and she wasn’t sure she could have kept up with the tempo even if she
did
know the dances.

But he said: “Dance with me?” anyway; and at Poly’s regretful admission that she was unacquainted with the dance, assured her with the same words Michael had used: “I make up the steps anyway.”

Since she couldn’t imagine that everyone made up their own dance steps to the popular jigs of the day, Poly hazarded a guess that it was a general phrase of reassurance, and somewhat doubtfully assented.

Much to Poly’s surprise, her partner
did
traverse the dance to his own steps. Certainly no other couple (with the possible exception of Michael and Margaret) was doing anything so free and complicated.

He said: “I’m Colin,” and led her easily through an opening sequence of steps that she followed almost instinctively by the casual direction of his capable hands.

Push and pull were easy to recognise and follow, Poly decided: a simple matter of tension that made obvious the direction in which she was expected to move. Having Colin’s arm around her waist was less simple, since it was as much a matter of confusion at his proximity as it was difficulty in following the gentler pressure exerted.

“Poly,” she said distractedly as they narrowly avoided colliding with another couple. “Sorry!”

“Never apologise,” he said, smiling infectiously down at her and using her own hands to direct a series of shimmying movements that Poly would never have guessed herself capable of if left to her own talents. Her astonishment seemed to amuse him: his smile widened, softening in the crease around his eyes, and he added with a deprecating half-shrug: “It’s always the gentleman’s fault. If the gentleman can’t lead, his lady can’t follow.”

“Perhaps someone should mention that to Luck,” remarked Poly. “I don’t think he knows.”

One of his eyebrows rose just a fraction. “You’re on good terms with the wizard.”

“I wouldn’t say
good
, exactly,” Poly said, rather resenting the eyebrow.

“First name basis,” explained Colin, his thin lips quirking at the resentment. “We all call him the wizard.”

“Oh. He’s not, you know.”

He nodded. “We know what he is. We call him wizard to help us forget that he could kill any of us with a twitch of his finger, and that he’ll probably outlive our grandchildren’s grandchildren.”

“Oh,” said Poly again. “It’s bad for him. He forgets that people are people.”

“Well, I don’t suppose we really are, to him,” Colin said, shrugging elegantly in time with the tempo. “He’s different.”

“No wonder he’s so spoilt,” she said severely. “He thinks he’s the most important person in the three monarchies–”

“Three monarchies?”

“Two monarchies,” Poly corrected herself. “And all the cries of
hail wizard
don’t help.”

“You must be the first woman in the village to say so,” Colin said, looking at her curiously. “Will you take him in hand, Miss Poly? Cure him of his wayward habits?”

“Good grief, no!” said Poly hastily. “I’m only just beginning to understand the importance of time, and I’d hate to waste it on a lost cause.”

This time he looked amused. “Then I can only hope that you don’t find the rest of the village a similar waste of time, since I would regret not having your better acquaintance.”

“Oh no, I’m finding it very instructive,” Poly assured him, responding to the smile. “Margaret has been particularly helpful.”

“And I’ve been charming and amusing,” pursued Colin; “We’re in a fair way to being redeemed.”

She laughed, but said: “Luck’s not so bad, I suppose; it’s just that he’s hard to live with in close quarters.”

“Perhaps, but he has other qualities that make up for it.”

“Yes,” agreed Poly, but dubiously. That made Colin smile again, and he was still smiling when he straightened from the salute bow at the close of the dance.

Much to her own surprise, Poly found that she didn’t sit out more than two dances. Her partners were more often tongue-tied than not, but it didn’t stop them from trying their luck, and Poly found the chance to sit down a real luxury.

Her last dance of the night was with Michael, who gave her a flamboyant bow to finish, and inquired: “Are you gaming tonight?”

“I
beg
your pardon?” She forgot to curtsey in her shock, gazing wide-eyed at Michael with hazy memories of the dissolute gaming parties at the castle. They were possibly the only pleasure that the princess had been absolutely denied by her fond parents.