Just before she turned to go, she put of few drops of perfume at her temples and in the hollow between her breasts. Marishka had worn a scent much like this. Ilsabet had enhanced it a bit, enough to make it as potent as it was beautiful.
She heard a knock, then Mihael politely asking if he could escort her down. She knew Mihael privately gloated. No doubt he had spent the better part of the last few days congratulating himself for being so blunt with her. How would he feel, she wondered, if he knew that she had already made her decision and had been merely waiting for him to suggest it?
She saw no point in openly opposing him. Tonight she would kneel before Peto, would kiss his foot. A moment of debasement and the last barrier between Peto and his new Kislovan subjects would end. Peto was homesick, and Marishka's death had made it worse. It was only a matter of time before Peto left here, and he had already pledged to put Mihael in charge.
Kislova would return to the Obours. They would not have the power they once did, but at least an Obour would rule. And someday the power would return to them; she had her plans ready to assure it.
By the time Jorani joined the other guests below, he'd heard the rumors concerning Ilsabet's apparent change of heart. The servants could speak of little else but the sounds of weeping coming from Ilsabet's room, the quiet conversations between sister and brother, ending with her decision to swear loyalty to her new lord.
Jorani knew no one could persuade Ilsabet to do anything she did not want to do. Certain of this, he stood with the other guests and watched Ilsabet enter the room, hoping for an answer to the puzzle of her actions.
The crowd parted when Ilsabet entered, falling silent when they saw her. She had chosen a simple gown of deep green silk. The color made her fair complexion look even lighter and gave it a translucent quality as well. Features that had once been almost gaunt now appeared delicate. Eyes that were once considered pale now seemed exotic. Her hair curled and shone like platinum against the deeply colored fabric.
As she walked straight to the raised table where Peto was waiting, she moved confidently, serenely; a queen secure in her castle, mistress of the halls and the people within them.
The change from the plain, shy girl who dreamt of power to this magnificently beautiful woman was so sudden and so striking, it seemed to Jorani there had to be some kind of sorcery involved.
When she stood before Peto, they both hesitated, and for a moment it seemed Peto might kneel before her. She broke the tension, falling to one knee, reciting the oath in a loud, clear voice, then pressing her lips to his boot. When she moved back, he took her hand, helping her to her feet.
She turned to face the nobles and the wealthy of Kislova and said, 'I swear allegiance to Baron Peto Casse not because of any threat he made to me, but because I have seen the peace he has brought to our people, and the promise of a prosperous alliance of our domains.'
The musicians began a slow romantic song. Jorani wondered if it had been on Peto's cue or Ilsa-bet's. As he watched, still stunned by the incredible changes in her, Peto led her into the center of the room and began the intricate motions of the dance. With their arms raised, their palms touching, they began circling right, then left. The tempo quickened. They moved closer together and began the elegant steps of a stylized waltz, whirling around the edge of the dance floor.
Peto seemed pale, dizzy, but when the dance ended, he stayed with Ilsabet for another, and another. The band knew what their lord wished. The waltzes continued while Peto held her close, smiling at her wit, laughing when she laughed.
Jorani heard no mutter of Peto's fickleness and how he should not be flirting with the sister of his dead bride only weeks after the funeral. Instead the guests were all smiling happily, commenting on Ilsa-bet's brief speech as if they were witnessing some idealized growing romance between their queen and an invading lord.
Though the daughters of Kislovan petty aristocracy were lined up to dance with the baron, he stayed with Ilsabet. She danced as if she had no problems with her lungs, with weakness, with being touched by a man she'd said often enough that she despised.
With the girl's plan so clear, Jorani could not understand how Peto and the others could miss it. Through marriage, Ilsabet could reclaim control of the Obour lands.
The invasion her father had begun would be complete with an exchange of vows, followed at a polite interval by an heir, then a vial of poison, first for Peto, and if she desired both kingdoms, a second for Mihael.
With that, she would rule for her son not one kingdom, but two.
And Jorani had planted the terrible seed of her ambitions.
He left the fete early and went upstairs. Before retiring, he stole into his hidden room and took a careful look around. Books had been moved. His supplies of candles and lamp oil were depleted. His collection of herbs and exotic poisons had been touched and studied though nothing seemed to be missing.
With a shudder, he considered all that Ilsabet might have learned on her own.
FOURTEEN
After Peto took over Nimbus Castle, Mihael and Jorani sat at his side during all meetings of state, suggesting changes to bring about peace.
Nobles who once served Baron Janosk were persuaded to ally with Peto. Some required little persuasion, all along preferring peace over honor and fighting only out of fear of Janosk. Most of his true supporters were won over when Mihael swore allegiance to Peto, then used a skillful blend of bribes and threats to assure that other Kislovan nobles did the same.
At Mihael's suggestion, Peto mollified the rebels with return of some of the lands the nobles had taken from them years before. He forgave back-taxes owed by rebel and loyalist alike who had lost fathers and sons during the rebellion. At Jorani's suggestion, he sent Obour soldiers into the countryside to assist with the spring plantings. By working side by side for a common cause under the watchful eyes of Sundell guards, resentments between rebels and soldiers faded somewhat, enough that there had already been four marriages between Kislova soldiers and fatherless families in Pirie alone-more in the outlying areas. Kislovan blood ran hot, but cooled just as quickly, Peto decided.
Peto had meditated on all these accomplishments in the days after Marishka died but they'd brought him little comfort. Every now-familiar room in Nimbus Castle reminded him of her-of her beauty in life, the agony of her illness, and the irrefutable fact that she had moved beyond his touch until death claimed him.
Let Mihael have this cursed land and all its bloody memories, he decided. At the feast in Ilsabet's honor, he would announce that he was leaving.
That evening, as Peto had waited with his guests for Ilsabet to appear, he had gone over the words of his speech. In it, he had intended to mention Mihael's and his efforts to promote peace in Kislova. He would praise Mihael's honesty and assure everyone that nothing would hamper the fledgling alliance between the two countries.
Then Ilsabet Obour entered. As the sea of faces beneath his raised platform parted, he looked toward her. And forgot the speech, his loneliness, everything.
After she gave her oath, he reached down to take her hand, and she looked up at him. Her eyes were the palest blue, white circles around the pupils as pronounced as those around the iris.
Why had he never seen them as beautiful before?
Then the music began. It seemed wrong not to dance with her. It was a formality; but as he breathed in her perfume and looked down at her delicate face, he felt an odd vertigo. It stayed with him through the first slow motions of the dance, then passed.
Replaced by anxiousness? Desire?
He only knew that he stayed with her through the evening, leaving her with regret after the feast was over. Later, when he was alone in bed, he thought of how the night had gone and realized that, though he could remember her face and her delicate hands, he could not recall the color of her dress, or the design of the brooch pinned to her gown, or even what she had said to him during their hours together.
Yet he thought himself in love, and the intensity of it troubled him.
He did not think of himself as an inconstant man. He mourned Marishka, and would undoubtedly do so for
