Return to Canifis

I have known that for a long time. It is the same in Asgarnia as well.

An enticing breeze flowed in from outside, and Gar’rth breathed in deeply to clear the pollution of the hall from his senses. The bailey was populated with yew trees and grasses, an oasis of nature in the city of men. It was a relief.

He breathed in again, and this time he sensed the newcomer before he saw him. Clean robes and soap differentiated Lord William’s scent from most others.

“The ladies are about to enter,” the young man said. “Come. It would not do to miss them.”

Gar’rth followed Castimir back to the stage as the double doors to the north were opened. All eyes fell on Kara-Meir as she entered the Great Hall. She walked at the front of the column of women, her dress ballooning outward from below her waist, a yellow cloak hanging from a golden chain about her throat. Her waist-length hair had been ornately styled in curled plaits, with a yellow ribbon tied at its apex.

Behind her, Gar’rth saw Lady Anne, whose jaw was firmly set.

“I would have thought it would have been Lady Anne leading the girls,” Lord William mumbled to Castimir, who gave a smile. “It is so unlike her to follow in second place.”

A red rose leaf caught in Kara’s hair, thrown by one of the many young children of noble birth who were too young to participate in the dances. They lined the way to the stage, carrying small buckets and raining red and white leaves upon the women.

“Why do they do that, with the rose petals?” Castimir asked.

“It’s a symbol of summer, and with it, fertility, I imagine,” Lord William replied. “Ah! There is Lady Caroline, standing behind Lady Anne and next to your friend Arisha.”

“You should go and throw a rose petal over her,” Castimir advised.

Lord William laughed.

“I will do just that, Castimir,” he said. “Excuse me.” The nobleman gave a last grin as he hastened down the steps.

Their happiness is strange to me, Gar’rth thought as they arrived at their table.

“Arisha looks nice, Castimir.” He heard Doric say. Gar’rth looked to their barbarian friend. Among all the women, Arisha stood out, for she was dressed according to the customs of her people, and not the court of Varrock. Her arms, legs and midriff were exposed, for she wore a leather brassiere and short brown skirt. Her wrists and neck displayed elegant jewellery, and as ever she wore her silver tiara in her now-straightened black hair.

“But have you seen what Kara-Meir is wearing, Lord Despaard?” Gar’rth heard someone say not far away. The speaker was a shrivelled old man in a great black-bearskin fur. “The yellow cloak and ribbon? I am not sure if the King will be amused.”

“It has been over a year since she died, Papelford,” came the response. “It is important for the realm that he moves on. A Queen must be found, an heir needs to be born. If Kara-Meir has acted knowingly, then I applaud her boldness. If not, then it is a fortunate reminder.”

Gar’rth saw now that many people spoke to one another, their eyes all on Kara, some in puzzlement, one or two in open disbelief. And the King himself stared also, his face impassive.

Kara-Meir approached the stage as the orchestra ended their play. In the silence, the King stood.

“Kara-Meir, you will be seated at my side,” he said. “Your dress is an appropriate one for this time of year, and yet it bears a familiarity that is painful to me. You are aware of this, are you not?”

What game is this, Kara?

She climbed the steps, holding her dress carefully. Behind her, Lady Anne followed, her eyes burning wildly, a smile ill-disguised on her lips.

“I am aware of it, my King,” Kara replied. “Lady Anne was kind enough to explain to me how the last young lady who wore yellow was a favourite of yours. But she also explained how such a dress would serve to remind you of happier times, and she insisted that I wear it.”

Kara turned back to Lady Anne and gave a polite curtsey as the other woman looked on in amazement.

“I would not dare to presume-” Lady Anne stammered.

“Lady Anne,” Kara interrupted, “I arrived in Varrock this morning with no sense of style or fashion. Everything I wear today is entirely to your credit.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “And to yours alone.”

Someone laughed suddenly from below, and the tension relaxed. King Roald extended his hand and Kara took her seat at his side. Above, the orchestra commenced with a new tune.

She is angry, Gar’rth observed. Lady Anne hides it well but she is burning now.

The wolf-headed jester appeared at the base of the stairs. He gave a howl and charged up, where he danced around the simmering woman, assaulting with comical gestures as if intent on devouring her.

But Lady Anne remained still.

“It will take more than a wolf to humiliate me, Gleeman,” she said caustically.

“Ah, no doubt!” he responded. “But at least my ugliness is only skin deep.” There were gasps, and the room rippled with laughter as Lady Anne took a half-hearted swipe at him as he ducked nimbly aside. Then, with a suddenly delicious smile, she found her seat near Theodore.

As the music changed, a dance began on the floor in front of the platform. A circle of women stepped to the open area, joined hands, and danced in a round, while Gideon Gleeman disposed of the wolf’s severed head, then tumbled and jumped and leapt in their midsts, encouraging them with his acrobatics. Lord William successfully ambushed Lady Caroline, drenching her in a rain of rose petals while lutes and harps and voices provided a merry accompaniment.

Doric drank and talked with Lowe, the King’s fletcher, Castimir spent his time talking to Arisha, and Ebenezer fell into animated conversation with the merchant Draul Leptoc, explaining his steam engine and the role it had played following the war.

After the circle dances came the private ones. Gar’rth noticed Lady Anne’s look of triumph as she lifted Theodore’s hand in hers and led him to the floor. Kara shared a brief dance with King Roald.

Only I remain alone.

Gar’rth left the table and found his way into the crowd below the stage. At one point a young woman fell against him with a delightful cry, peering up at him, only to turn aside quickly when she saw his face.

Fear, he thought. They fear me. Even my friends. They all fear me. Do these people secretly know that I am different?

Gar’rth moved to the terrace door again, and this time continued outside. The sky was dark now. He took a deep breath at the terrace’s edge. The scent of nature, imprisoned in the walls of the palace, comforted him. He heard a voice behind, and he knew his privacy would not last.

I don’t want to talk now.

Not to anyone. Not even Kara.

He stepped back into the shadows, against the wall. Only a yard away a young man ran out, leading a woman by the hand. Quickly they ran down the terrace steps and disappeared into the darkness of the bailey.

But the night held no secrets from Gar’rth. He watched them find a spot below a yew tree, far enough from the hall to be private in their eyes. He tried to look away, but could not.

Suddenly his anger grew. There could never be anyone like that for him, not here.

He turned to the door as the old man Papelford appeared before him. The man’s scent was of old books. Behind him came Lord Despaard.

“Excuse me,” the old librarian muttered as both men passed him and walked some distance away, talking in low voices. “Not much farther Lord Despaard. I am not so young any more.”

“I just want to be sure we cannot be heard, Papelford.”

Gar’rth turned back to the balustrade, deliberately moving away from the two men who now stood at the farthest end of the terrace, out of the reach of the torchlight.

“Don’t be so paranoid Lord Despaard,” the old man whispered, though his voice was still clear to Gar’rth. “He can’t hear us. Not from that distance. No one could.”

Gar’rth smiled.

“This heroine, Kara-Meir,” Papelford said cautiously. “Do you think she knew to wear that dress? She risked