Even as a girl, she had a sweetness of spirit I had quickly learned to cherish, and she was truly as dear as a sister to me; dearer, mayhap, since I had no blood siblings of my own. “I promise, if I don’t find the Dauphin to be kind, generous, wise, warm-hearted, and perfect in every way, not a word of pandering shall escape my lips.”
Edmee laughed. “Well. You might allow him a minor flaw or two. He
“Oh, no,” I said seriously. “Perfect in every way. For you, I insist on it.”
She eyed me fondly. “I’ll miss you.”
I leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Edmee tugged my hand. “Lie with me here a moment and look at the sky. When we’re apart and missing one another, we can look at the sky and remember that the same sun shines on us both.”
I obeyed.
The sky was an intense, vivid blue. The scent of lavender hung all around us, so strong it was almost intoxicating, mingling with the scent of sun-warmed earth. The buzzing of the industrious honeybees was hypnotic, making me drowsy. Closing my eyes, I reveled in the feel of the sun on my skin, thinking how much I would miss Terre d’Ange. Between my childhood at Montreve and the seven years I’d been fostered at Rocaille, I’d lived all my life here in Siovale province. I couldn’t imagine calling anyplace else home.
The beginnings of a poem, a classic Siovalese ode to the landscape, teased at my thoughts.
“Do you think you’ll like him?” Edmee murmured. “Prince Rolande?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “They say he’s high-spirited.” I cracked open one eye and peered at her. “And handsome.”
Edmee smiled. “I hope he likes poetry.”
“I hope so, too.”
WAS I TRULY that innocent and carefree in those days?
Yes, I suppose I was.
Remembering hurts.
PRINCE ROLANDE DE la Courcel, the Dauphin of Terre d’Ange, did not like poetry.
I discovered this in a Tiberian bathhouse, approximately one hour before the recital that was meant to be my introduction to the Dauphin.
My journey to the city of Tiberium in the allied nation-states of Caerdicca Unitas had been long, but uneventful. I was accompanied by my tutor, Leon Degrasse, a gifted poet in his own right and a skilled diplomat who had long served the Comte de Rocaille. Once we arrived in Tiberium, he quickly secured appropriate lodgings, hired a small staff to see to our needs, enrolled me in the University’s curriculum, and arranged the aforementioned recital, down to choosing the verses I was to recite and the elegant poet’s robe I was to wear.
I’d developed an affinity for poetry early, and was reckoned something of a prodigy, even by D’Angeline standards. My youthful body of work spanned a dozen styles, many in the classic Siovalese mode, many others aping the work of poets before me, and a few seeking to find my own voice. Messire Degrasse gauged it best if I stuck to the classical forms, and so it was that an hour before the event, I luxuriated in the ministrations of the most skilled barber in Tiberium’s most prestigious bathhouse, a warm, damp linen towel draped over my face, running through verses in my mind while the barber combed and trimmed my hair, oiled my skin, and buffed my nails with a pumice-stone.
There I heard them enter, but I paid no heed until one spoke. Folk were always coming and going in the bathhouse.
“Oh, damn my luck!” a man’s voice said in Caerdicci, then switched to D’Angeline. “Can’t you pull rank for once, Rolande? I’d my heart set on a rubdown and a trim before this damned recital.”
Beneath the towel, I startled.
“Isn’t the point of this whole Tiberian experience to teach me to understand the common man’s concerns?” a good-natured voice replied in D’Angeline. “Behold, the suffering of an ordinary citizen, forced to wait his turn!”
Others laughed. The first man grumbled. “There’s no time to wait, your highness. Are you quite sure we must attend?”
“Sadly, yes.” The prince’s good-natured voice turned dry.
“Politics,” someone else said.
“Politics,” the prince agreed. “Tonight’s prodigy is a foster-son of House Rocaille, hand-picked by the Comte, father of the allegedly fair Edmee, possessor of strong ties to the royal line of Aragonia. And if I must suffer through this tedium, so must my loyal companions.”
“You
Laughter rang in the bathhouse.
I gritted my teeth, fighting a rising tide of humiliation and anger.
“I know, I know.” The prince’s voice was sympathetic, and there was the sound of a hand clapping on a shoulder. “Courage, Gaspar! We shall endure.”
As soon as their footsteps receded, I sat upright, flinging the damp towel away from me and scrambling for my clothes. “For your trouble,” I said to the barber, fumbling for my purse and pressing coins into his hand. He stared after me as I fled the bathhouse, pelting through the streets of Tiberium and arriving at our rented villa, sweating and furious.
“Messire de Montreve!” Leon stared at me wide-eyed as I tore through my clothes press, ignoring the fine robe of green silk laid out on my bed. “What in the world is wrong?”
“A change of plans,” I said grimly, hauling out a plain cambric shirt and my hunting leathers. They would have to do. I donned them in haste, leaving the laces of the vest undone, yanking at the fine fabric of the shirt to rend it. I slung my sword belt with its gentleman’s blade around my hips, fastening the buckle.
“Anafiel, no!” My tutor sounded horrified. “The Senator—”
“May be appalled,” I finished, twining my long hair into a plait and knotting it at the nape of my neck in a rough soldier’s club. “But he is merely our host, Messire Degrasse. It is the Dauphin I seek to impress… or at the least, not to bore senseless.” I glanced in the mirror. “Trust me?”
After a reluctant moment, he nodded.
“Good.”
AH, GODS!
You were so ready to dismiss me out of hand, Rolande. And I was so unwilling to be dismissed. Mayhap it would have been better if I’d let it happen, if I hadn’t been so fierce and stubborn and insistent.
Better for you, better for me. Better for Edmee, to be sure. I loved her as a sister, and I will never cease to regret what befell her.
And yet…
I loved you. I loved you so very, very much. And does not Blessed Elua himself bid us, “Love as thou wilt?”
I did. Gods help me, I did.
IN THE STUDY next to the dining salon, I paced and ran through lines of the piece I’d chosen in lieu of Messire Degrasse’s selections, aware of the murmur of voices exchanging pleasantries in the background, of the sound of wine being poured as the prince and his guests fortified themselves against the tedium to come.
The thought fed my righteous indignation, and I channeled my ire into the performance. When Senator Vitulus introduced me, I stepped forth to a polite smattering of applause.
It died quickly as they took in my unlikely appearance.
I identified Prince Rolande by the choice couch accorded to him and the description I’d been given. His black hair hung loose save for two slender braids at either side caught back in a silver clasp. Strong brows were arched over dark blue eyes. He had a generous mouth made for smiling, but at the moment his well-shaped lips were
