Chapter 20: Chapter 20

efore she had closed the door, Drew was already at his post against the wall. She placed Lessa’s chalk and slate on the round, polished table by the door. How she hung onto

them only held her curiosity for a moment.

Her palms felt damp, and she could not stop thinking about her talk with Sybil. The woman had been vague with her warnings. Danger. Stay by Russal. Avoid being alone. Stay out of the garden. Really, there’d been nothing solid to find to take action over. They still didn’t know who the man in red was. Lies and deceit follow. That had been the most ominous, though no more specific.

She needed something to do. In her bedroom, she’d left the illustration out expecting to finish inking it this afternoon. She could lose herself in her work.

Her arm suffered unexpected tremors. She suspected the tight muscles in her shoulders were the cause, and the worrying was the cause for the tight shoulders. Whatever the reason, she wouldn’t try laying the black outlines or the gold leaf to Amily’s gift. At least she had an excuse to begin the chalk lines for Russal’s drawing. Outlining the panther, especially its face, reminded her of Russal in his sleek black uniform, his expression both intense and playful. Calmer, she set the chalk-sketched sheet aside. With her arm no longer twitching, she made a few careful lines on Amily’s.

When she stopped to consider her tentative contouring, a rap on her door interrupted her critical examination. She walked to the door, finding herself staring back at her work as if she could see it through the wall.

A page bustled in, bringing lunch with the explanation that a dresser would arrive to get her ready for the Grand Review, and there wasn’t time for her to return to the mess hall. She ate standing by her worktable, eyeing the drawing and content with how it was coming along.

The arrival of a dresser was an understatement. No fewer than three women showed up, each one presenting the fortitude of a general about to go to war. To her astonishment, they rolled in a roomy tub, and a contingent of girls and boys filled it up with pail after pail of steaming water.

She escaped to her bedroom when the dressers took over the sitting room. But that proved inadequate for getting out of the way of the head dresser who took over every flat space in her chambers as she distributed their various supplies. When one aggressive assistant grabbed the corner of Amily’s picture to push it aside, Kambry reached the end of her patience.

“If one more person so much as taps this table with a fingernail, I will personally, gleefully throw each one of you from this room!” She stood, her chest heaving as she glared at each one with equal condemnation.

They backed into the sitting room, one by one, reciting, “As you wish, Miss do Brode,” and following it up with a deep curtsey.

The door into the hallway opened a crack before widening further, and Drew peeked his head in. “Everything okay in here, Miss do Brode?”

“I think it is now,” she said, her voice still sharp as a knife edge. The three women directed their gazes to the floor.

He stared at each woman and then back at Kambry and looked relieved not to have to take action. The door eased closed.

They kept a wide berth around the worktable, though Kambry secured the box of inks and protected the parchment with a thin covering held down by weights on the corners. The chalked draft for Russal she placed between two thin boards and set beside the supply box.

Fragrances drifted about the room as they completed the bath preparations. The most junior of the dressers, a meek, mousy brunette, locked her door with a quick twist, and Kambry stepped into the tub. She gave a sigh of relief that they had placed it in the more open sitting room away from a

certain mobile wardrobe. They scrubbed her pink and oiled her to a shine, then wrapped her in a thick terry robe before setting to work on her hair.

If Russal had requested this, they would have a long talk about her preferences. If it was any part of keeping him safe, she’d not complain. Ridiculous. How would all this perfumed nonsense impact their security?

A second page arrived with a light custard and fruit for a snack before she dressed, and they put the last touches to her hair. Another bright box sat on her vanity filled with hairpins, combs and ribbons. Even the tiniest hair embellishment had a gem or semiprecious stone set in gold, silver, or tortoiseshell, or glued to a silky ribbon. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d come in and busied herself with the drawings. Had Russal been here earlier or did a servant drop it by? She liked the idea that he had delivered it himself, but she wished she’d been here to see him.

“Turn around, Miss do Brode, and have a look,” said the meek junior dresser.

She stood up and faced the vanity mirror. Dropping her hands flat on the table, she peered at herself, her mouth agape. They had laced her hair with tiny gold and lavender beads strung on a thin wire. Both a framework and an accessory, it held her brown curls behind her ears and in a cascade from the crown of her head to the top of her shoulders. The shiny locks brushed the back of her neck in silky tingles. A fringe of wispy curls framed her face.

The three dressers, reflected in the mirror, awaited her assessment, but she was speechless. They shared grins that did not mask their assumed success.

“Now the dress,” announced the head dresser.

With infinite care, they slid the burnished brown satin over her head, her arms a protective scaffold over her hair.

~~~~~~~

Arches of proilis blossoms, greenery and gold and silver ribbons masked the blank walls of the great hall in which she’d had her first meal with Russal. The glittering chandeliers of crystal and candles illuminated the room like broad daylight. There was not a direction she could look without being amazed at the transformation the simple rectangular room had gone through. The people, equally splendid, stood all along the walls as if prepared to dance some intricate circular step, leaving the interior empty.

Gordy nudged her forward through the great doors. His cryptic, “Join the line, Miss do Brode,” offered no guidance she could discern. His wide shoulders felt like a wall behind her.

When she remained just inside the threshold, he called out, “Make way.” The guests, three and four deep, blocking the entrance stepped aside, and Gordy ushered her between them, and then he disappeared.

They closed in around her, gazing at her from head to toe in curious sidelong glances. Nobody whispered, which she was certain should have been the follow up to such probing examinations. They waited, patient and stirring calmly.

She mimicked their placidity, her hands clasped in front of her. She tried to stand still, but she kept wanting to look around and discern what the purpose of remaining there was. Surreptitiously, she leaned forward, looking left and right, then slid back in line, no more informed than she’d been before she’d regarded the strange assemblage. And then it shifted to her left, and she sidestepped to maintain her place. The shift repeated itself several times before she gave in again to peek around her incurious companions.

Far along the left appeared to be a receiving line. Russal and several other stately dressed individuals were greeting the assembled personages. She peeked again. For the first time, he was wearing a crown, a thin circlet of gold that glinted in the light filling the room. Her gaze ran down the line that curved around the room to where he stood. It could be at least ten minutes before she reached him, and then what would she do?

There had to be another twenty or thirty minutes of people trailing off to her right.

As the line moved along, the middle of the hall filled. It became harder for her to see Russal and his companions each time she pressed herself out of the line to look. She stopped checking when she received annoyed harrumphs from those around her.

She pressed her hands flat to the gold lace overlaying her deep-chocolate skirt and reminded herself how lovely the dress was. The warmth created by the closeness of those beside her did not stop the occasional draft that brushed across her shoulders where the deep plunge of the dress raced down her back. The neckline dipped modestly in front, just beneath the cascade of chocolate zircons on the necklace she wore. The dress, as though having a mind of its own, refused to be relegated to mere finery, eclipsed by the many distractions. The satin flowed against her skin like cool water, and the spill of gems tingled with weight and warmth.

The whisper of voices in the line ahead of her caught her attention. Those individuals now reaching the front of the receiving line were introducing themselves. Something new to keep her mind busy. She struggled to come up with an appropriate introduction for herself. Kambry do Brode of Paddlyrun. How pedestrian. Miss Kambry do Brode, scribe of Paddlyrun. What would a scribe be doing at a Grand Review for the Prince of Kavin? Kambry do Brode, a visitor from Paddlyrun.

An arm slid around her waist, and she leaped away and gaped over her shoulder. Russal’s grin drew a twist to her lips.

He laughed thoroughly enjoying her surprise. “I’ve wondered where you were because you should be with me. Come along, Miss do Brode.” His fingertips rested on the skin between her shoulder blades and goosebumps rose on her arms. “Are you cold, my dear?” he whispered in her ear, drawing her under his arm as he turned her in place beside him.

She shook her head and shivered. His chuckle carried them to the end of the receiving line. There Russal grasped the hand of a gentleman who stepped up to face them. “Laurents, may I present to you Miss Kambry do Brode of House Kon, original house of Konright and honored guest of Kavin Wood via Kavin Cut.”

What a ridiculous repetition of k. I’m a tongue twister. She rolled her eyes, and when she looked at the elderly gentleman, he raised a white eyebrow, an arch that suggested he might break it if it rose further. “Welcome to Kavin, Miss do Brode,” he said with the sleekest voice she’d ever heard. He gave Russal a wallop that jostled them both before he walked away.

The introductions were endless, but Russal shared anecdotes about his guests, keeping her amused if not accustomed to his elaborate introduction of her. He pointed at a man in a rich olive tunic over brilliant white blousy sleeves and flowing silk collar. “That fellow broke my tin man when I was five years old. He assured me the joints were made to bend so he could be placed in a chair or arranged as if about to run. I was unconsolable for days. He brought me five bendable figures with intricate tin joints in apology. I wouldn’t let him play with them even though he had given them to me.” He ran his fingers down her back from her neck to the end of the plunge. “We’re close friends now.”

He smiled at her. Between his gaze and his delicate touch on her skin, she could not help but shiver. Russal leaned in close. “I wish I could kiss you.”

“I’d be a puddle on the floor if you did,” she stammered.

“And no more glorious puddle would exist in this entire room. You make me smile just standing beside you.”

When the last guest walked past and joined those milling in the center of the hall, he guided her to the dais, and the room grew quiet.

“My friends and honored guests, renew acquaintances and enjoy the repast Kavin offers.” He waved a hand at the line of tables filled with a bounty of vibrant fruits, savory meats and

iced deserts. “It has been many years since the last Grand Review, and it is a failure I intend to remedy. There have been many suggestions for activities held in the past at such gatherings, but I don’t recall them, having been so young. However, I am most certain that bait-the-bailey was not one of them.”

There was chuckling throughout the room, and Kambry wondered what the activity required. By the smirks, she could tell the idea amused many, but no one seemed ready to argue for its inclusion.

“Those of you who were adults at the last review, feel free to enlighten me if this evening falls short.” He wagged his finger at a younger man dressed in resplendent finery. “But not you, young Lord Durose. You’ve already proven yourself unreliable.” He smiled warmly at Kambry and faced his audience again.

“I give you welcome and request your indulgence while I revive an old Kavin tradition.”

He nodded at the musicians settled between two enormous doors leading to an enclosed courtyard. They played a lilting melody that sounded like springtime: soft rambling with sudden rushes of exuberant rills reminiscent of birds and bubbling spring water. He slid his hand under hers and guided her into the center of the room. The guests moved aside, the elder ones tilting their heads as if to recall the tune while others looked on captivated. When he turned to face her, he bent his head and stepped close.

“This is an ancient, traditional dance. Just follow my lead.”

“Will others join us?” Her grip on his fingers trembled.

He looked around at the expectant faces and smiled down at her. “Unlikely. Fortunately, it is best danced by a single couple.”

It was part promenade and part country frolic, keeping time with the rushes and meanderings of the melody. Russal guided her in graceful turns and gliding strides, giving her

time to follow along or catch up, making her moves fit the flow of the music as if it were about two people tentatively building a relationship, learning to read each other.

“Feel the beat beginning to rise, Kambry? We will tease first one direction then shift to the other. You’ll catch the switch.” He skipped them forward, and the beat turned.

Her skin tingled as if something soft had enveloped her. The room and its gathering of people sharpened like she suddenly had gained the vision of an eagle.

First, they flowed right, nearly to the edge of the ring of people watching, then just as he said it would, the music rose and flowed again, and they switched left.

She felt more than alive, and Russal’s delighted gaze never left her.

They stepped in toward each other. “Is this dance particular to the Grand Review?” asked Kambry while they were close. The steps of the dance drew him away.

Upon his return, he said, “It is not an unusual tune to play at the opening of the event, but it is not a requirement.” He backed away, twirling her away from him until they met again five paces back.

“Its purpose?” she said, somewhat breathless from her rush to catch up to him.

“It is a promise and fits the purpose behind this celebration,” he said, coming so close his lips brushed her forehead.

Because of the drifts and returns of the dance, she could observe him without embarrassment. The man she had met days earlier was not the man she danced with. That dark, cold figure had been replaced with one who seemed the representative of all that was spring and distinctly Kavin. His pale-green embroidered tunic fitted his lean torso, and the darker green trousers tucked into gleaming boot tops below his knees accentuated his muscular legs. The sleeves of his shirt were of fine white linen, and they draped and stirred with his graceful turns and steps.

But it was his expression that banished the memory of her first meeting with him. His gaze was rapt, a smile playing along his lips, all for her.

The sudden cessation in the music jolted her as she stared up at him, their bodies a mere breath apart, his hands pressing hers to his chest, both of them breathing deeply. A breeze, as if it had a mind of its own, passed in through the courtyard doors and twirled around them. A tingle ran up her from her feet to her scalp.

“That was as promising as I had hoped,” he whispered. “May Kavin find you as enrapturing as I do. Our wearing shoes may call for a subtler understanding; nevertheless, I think the message is clear.” Russal released her only to tuck one of her hands under his elbow and press his over the top of her fingers, which were conscious of the firm muscle of his arm beneath the thin sleeve.

Shoes! Are we back to the shoes again? What did I just promise? What did he promise?

While she caught her breath, he strolled from group to group encouraging her to take part in the brief dialogue he held with each cluster. Each time he looked at her, his smile was like that of a child with a surprise planned. He seemed to enjoy the anticipation. She hoped nothing about the evening interfered with his machinations if they involved her, and he found such delight in them.

Alone for a brief moment between groups, she asked, “Have you spoken to Sybil since this afternoon?”

His sharp gaze fastened on her. “Yes, and that is why I am not letting you out of my sight nor out of Kavin’s protection.” He gazed around, his expression almost taunting someone to press his authority. “I’ve made my point, so I don’t think I will deal with any challenges for your attention tonight.”

She snorted. “Who would dare?”

He ran his gaze from her toes to her head. “Every red- blooded man in this room if you so much as crook your finger.”

“You’re a silly man sometimes, Prince Russal.”

He tucked her hand tighter against his arm and smiled so sweetly she almost forgot they weren’t alone.

“I would like you to keep your ring in your view for this assemblage. Let me know with a squeeze on my arm if it reveals trouble.”

She nodded and was immediately nervous and focused.

The group they were approaching expected his attention and turned to face them, but a guard interceded, handing Russal a note. He read it, keeping her hand in place by pressing his elbow against his side. The warmth radiating from him eliminated all her qualms about her safety or his. She could have sworn a vibration of excitement rolled through him. “Come.” He raced them to the dais, taking a moment to promise to return to the party he was passing up.

He waved at a server carrying a tray of fluted glasses filled with a bright golden liquid. He took up two, passing one to Kambry. “Sip only. It is very strong but appropriate for what I must announce.” He spun to face the crowd, guiding her around him. He released her hand and gestured toward the musicians. A trumpeter sounded, and the guests grew silent.

He raised his glass and then lowered it, gazing momentarily at the floor as if seeking order to his words. He looked up and ran his gaze along the waiting crowd, silencing the last of the talk. “An announcement, my friends. Lord and Lady Condori have been delivered of twins. Samel, a sturdy son, and Suria, a fine daughter, incomparable heirs to the throne of Kavin. They rest well at Strom Castle. We grant their children peace and the courage to choose well the course of their lives.” He raised his glass again. “Drink to their joy!” He took a gulp of the sparkling liquid and beamed.

Kambry sipped as he suggested and felt an instant surge of warmth rise from her chest as the drink coursed down her throat. Amily and Tomo’s children were heirs to the throne of Kavin?

The crowd roared and then surged forward to give congratulations and gather around him for more information. He laughed and gestured to hold them back with no luck. They converged on him, bubbling with felicitations.

Kambry stepped a few feet away and watched him supply each inquisitor with the information he had already shared. She gazed at him and again appreciated his suit of green and realized how well he symbolized Kavin. Her imagination filled with how they must have looked, her deep-brown satin and gold twirling and wrapping around him, like the deep, dark bark of the Kavin forest itself, and he like the pale green and purple of the proilis vine in flower.

He must have planned for that effect: the two of them Kavin Wood personified. She retreated farther as more people swarmed around Russal. The crowd grew, and she continued to back away until she stood beside his throne.

A hand gripped the back of her neck. The sharpness of the pinch made her freeze. “Stay as you are, Miss do Brode. Do not make a sound.” Another hand took hold of her arm closest to the chair.

She imagined the high back of the throne created the perfect place to hide.

The icy fingers squeezed, a threat she understood. He could snap her neck easily. She took a breath. The thought of screaming coiled in her mind, building with the certainty that she must make sure this man did not harm Russal.

“Stopper that squawk,” he growled, stirring the curly wisps of hair at her check. “I have more than one archer planted with an arrow aimed at Prince Russal. At a signal from me or from you, if you go ahead with that scream, he will be dead before all the air has left your lungs.”

She released her breath in gasps. “Step back with me.”

“No.”

He released her arm, pointing first one place and then another. “See the guards and your trustworthy Marshal

Burtram? Where are their eyes fixed? Though the guards are on Russal, what of Burtram’s?”

She looked where he pointed.

“See how his eyes are focused on someone behind a stout decoration. Do you note how calm he is, as if waiting for a signal? Too many here know the unfitness of the prince and are prepared to take action.”

He returned his grip to her arm and tugged her to him, and the liquid in her glass sloshed, dampening her fingers. His face brushed her cheek. “Miss do Brode, Kambry, darling, you’re lovely, but you know you’re not one to hold a man’s attention, least of all a prince who can have any woman he wants. A scribe is hardly up to his standard, though she might be good for a distraction for a time.” He pulled her back a step, admonishing her when she fought to resist, pressing her weight forward. “I only restrain myself from dragging you back out of the wish to do you no harm, but if dealing rougher with you now will get you to safety, I will do that.”

“How can me being with you make me safe?” She tried to jerk her neck from his grip, and his hold tightened to the point of bruising.

“Step back with me. I really don’t want to hurt you after all I have gone through to protect you from him.”

What does he take me for? She pulled herself forward and attempted to dash her drink to the floor, anything to cause a commotion that would draw attention. Someone had to be looking her way, one of the guards, maybe.

“Uh-uh.” He grabbed the glass and set it down on the prince’s throne and pinned her arm to her side with his body. “Think, Miss do Brode. How many times has he changed his tune with you? How many times did you think he was actually nice under all that shifting meaning? Don’t delude yourself. Think it through. You’ve known him for less than a fortnight. Is that long enough to be certain you know who and what he is?”

She couldn’t help the sudden wash of recent memories that flooded her mind. Their first meeting in his office, dinner in the dining hall, then on his balcony, and later when he’d let them put her in the guards’ prison. All were times he appeared prepared to abandon her somewhere outside Kavin, away from her home, left to face an uncertain and dangerous future. She closed her eyes. Was she deluding herself? Why would she now be worth noticing when years in her own village among friends and family, everyone had overlooked and ignored her?

“The dance was quite a masterful trick. Yet, he left his shoes on. The ambiguity suits his usual habits. One can never be certain what his true intentions are.”

He towed her back another step, and she was behind the high-backed chair, just able to see past it before he tugged her fully behind. No one had seemed to notice. “I can prove his lack of fidelity. It won’t take long.” He snorted. “He set you aside knowing they would surge forward and push you back. He probably intends to leave shortly to search for you, but he’ll be busy elsewhere. I’ve just made it easier for him, but I know where he’ll go.”

Before she could argue, he had her behind the curtain at the back of the dais and entering rooms she’d not seen before. The pain at the back of her neck left her near breathless. The room they stood in was lit by one oil lamp, turned down to its lowest setting.

“This room used to be where the royal family held congenial meetings when we were children. We often played in them.” He spun her around, revealing the simple layout of the space and its décor. A long table and chairs filled the center. Cabinets of books and scrolls covered the walls.

Children. Russal would know him if he saw him. They’d been children together.

“No one comes back here, except Russal with someone he doesn’t want others to see him with. Although, he was in meetings yesterday in this very room.”

He lies. Would he have really harmed her in front of all those people? Why hadn’t she caused a ruckus before he took

her away? She let him convince her to question Russal, and Burty would never turn on his prince. She knew this.

He kept talking. “It’s the old part of the castle, once the royal chambers before the later additions. Now meetings fill them and sometimes the prince uses them for a quaint assignation,” he simpered. “This is not his favorite place for such trysts. Come with me.” He grabbed her by her upper arm, releasing her neck, though his fingerprints still felt impressed into her skin.

The intervening rooms they had passed muffled the sound of chattering people beyond the curtain behind the throne. She would have to scream herself raw to be heard.

His quick stride had her scurrying to keep up and avoid tripping in her skirts.

“That’s quite a lovely dress you’re wearing. I bet you made even him consider you worth a long-term dalliance for a little while. It’s a shame. He just hasn’t got the staying power. Poor little Tia was so hopeful.”

Tia! Stahn’s betrothed? She’s been here? “I need to talk to Russal. Let me go.” Though Tia had hesitated when Blinny insisted they sing the chant, Kambry refused to believe Russal could have done anything to harm Tia.

“His silk tongue will have you believing he’s the honest prince of an honest land: he’s such an accomplished liar. I can’t allow that.”

“You are lying!”

“Kambry.” He sighed.

They were nearly to a doorway when she stamped and caught him squarely on the top of his foot. He dropped to his knees, but he pulled her down with him. Wrenching her around, his face contorted, he closed his eyes and took several determined breaths. She slapped him across the face, her hand stinging.

He grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “Kambry, I am taking you to see the true Russal. You’ll understand when we get there why he is not available for a chat, and then all will

clarify in your mind just how my efforts have been a kindness to you.”

Kambry stared at him, for once having him close enough for a thorough examination. A tiny scar at the outside corner of his eye pulled his lid down a fraction. His hair held no variation in color. It was a wig or dyed. She studied and memorized his features. Green, nearly brown eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, so perhaps really a redhead. His eyebrows looked dyed and his lashes were fair. There was something familiar about him, but she was certain she’d never seen him before arriving in Kavin. Surely, the details she now had would be enough to reveal his identity to Russal.

She remembered making that drawing for Sybil, who hadn’t recognized him. If they were children together, and he’d changed his appearance since becoming an adult, Russal might not recognize him either.

“Up we go.” He yanked her upright as he rose and pushed her through an opening that hadn’t been there a moment before. “If you would take my word for who he really is, you would not suffer so much.” He shook his head. A seemingly genuine, sympathetic gesture, she questioned. “But a broken heart can do wonders for a foolish mind.” He limped as he pressed her forward.