You will smile and exchange bows as we depart in the morning.”
Carola made it outside the room, though she had to stiffen her knees. When the door was closed, she leaned against the wall as black spots floated across her vision.
“Oh, was it bad, darling?” Tatia cooed. “Here, I will help you to your room. We can tell everyone you were taken by headache.”
“Illness,” Carola murmured. “Summer illness.”
“What?” Tatia asked, guiding Carola slowly to their end of the suite.
“Why should an invitation to a private picnic be vulgar?”
Tatia said, “My mother once told me that your father hates the Baron Lassiter more than anyone alive. Something about your mother. Maybe he’s visited that hatred onto his son. I’m so sorry, dearest darling coz, sweeter than a sister.”
Once she’d reached the safety of her room, Carola turned around. “I shall take a stick to Denra,” she snapped. “How
could
she be so clumsy as to let my father see her taking the letter? Or maybe she even gave it to him—in expectation of extra pay—oh, I will beat her senseless, and then turn her away.”
“And have everyone whispering?” Tatia raised her hands in Don’t Cross My Shadow. “You know that such an action would cause the exact sort of interest that you would despise. How people would laugh!”
Carola paused and turned to study herself in the mirror to see if she revealed any traces of her disgrace. “But she betrayed me. How else would he have gotten that letter?”
“It could be that Uncle’s own man was lying in wait,” Tatia said. “At any rate, you know you cannot trust her. Go on exactly as usual. You will just never again give her anything to whisper about. But really, darling, in the future, you must entrust such things to me. Who is better to guard Definian secrets than a Definian?”
“Oh, Tatia, you are so good.”
“Now, you just lie down. I will fix your favorite tisane with my own hands and see to your arrangements. You only have to rise, dress, and hold your head high on the morrow.”
Carola retired to her bed.
What follows is not Carola’s memory. Carola had no idea that after Tatia shut the door softly she gave orders to the waiting servants before she flitted down the hall to the formal chambers. There she made herself busy until at last the duke crossed from one room to another. He caught sight of her and beckoned. When she neared, he said, “You have done well, niece.”
“It was my duty, Uncle,” she said humbly, with a low curtsey. “Though it hurt me, oh-so much, for Carola is dearer than a sister. But I am a Definian, and our name is even dearer.”
The duke smiled tight-lipped and walked on.
Back to our servants’ table, and the gossip that the duke deplored.
“
Zalend
,” one of the servants commented.
Garsun said, chuckling, “And doomed to exit through Willow Gate because her veins don’t run with ice like her father’s.”
Not that the ducal party would depart through the Gate of Silver Willows. The duke would see to it that they departed through the Gate of the Lily Path, as was proper, even though it was located on the westside of the city nearest the palace, and Alarcansa lay directly east. The Gate of Silver Willows was used for mourning corteges, or for those signifying a wrong done them. When mentioned in conversation, the Willow Gate inevitably meant grief, sorrow, or tears, most often for badly ended love affairs.
This matter taught me three things.
First, that you might “whisper,” that is, entrust a privacy to a confidante about a third person, but your listener might not feel the need to keep the secret if they feel no loyalty to that third person. In fact, it might be regarded as a weapon.
Secondly, that I now understood the look I’d seen on Lady Carola’s face the day she watched Lord Kaidas Lassiter: it was
zalend
. The storm-love.
Third. It was identical to the look I’d seen on King Jurac’s long face as Princess Lasva
Carola made it outside the room, though she had to stiffen her knees. When the door was closed, she leaned against the wall as black spots floated across her vision.
“Oh, was it bad, darling?” Tatia cooed. “Here, I will help you to your room. We can tell everyone you were taken by headache.”
“Illness,” Carola murmured. “Summer illness.”
“What?” Tatia asked, guiding Carola slowly to their end of the suite.
“Why should an invitation to a private picnic be vulgar?”
Tatia said, “My mother once told me that your father hates the Baron Lassiter more than anyone alive. Something about your mother. Maybe he’s visited that hatred onto his son. I’m so sorry, dearest darling coz, sweeter than a sister.”
Once she’d reached the safety of her room, Carola turned around. “I shall take a stick to Denra,” she snapped. “How
could
she be so clumsy as to let my father see her taking the letter? Or maybe she even gave it to him—in expectation of extra pay—oh, I will beat her senseless, and then turn her away.”
“And have everyone whispering?” Tatia raised her hands in Don’t Cross My Shadow. “You know that such an action would cause the exact sort of interest that you would despise. How people would laugh!”
Carola paused and turned to study herself in the mirror to see if she revealed any traces of her disgrace. “But she betrayed me. How else would he have gotten that letter?”
“It could be that Uncle’s own man was lying in wait,” Tatia said. “At any rate, you know you cannot trust her. Go on exactly as usual. You will just never again give her anything to whisper about. But really, darling, in the future, you must entrust such things to me. Who is better to guard Definian secrets than a Definian?”
“Oh, Tatia, you are so good.”
“Now, you just lie down. I will fix your favorite tisane with my own hands and see to your arrangements. You only have to rise, dress, and hold your head high on the morrow.”
Carola retired to her bed.
What follows is not Carola’s memory. Carola had no idea that after Tatia shut the door softly she gave orders to the waiting servants before she flitted down the hall to the formal chambers. There she made herself busy until at last the duke crossed from one room to another. He caught sight of her and beckoned. When she neared, he said, “You have done well, niece.”
“It was my duty, Uncle,” she said humbly, with a low curtsey. “Though it hurt me, oh-so much, for Carola is dearer than a sister. But I am a Definian, and our name is even dearer.”
The duke smiled tight-lipped and walked on.
Back to our servants’ table, and the gossip that the duke deplored.
“
Zalend
,” one of the servants commented.
Garsun said, chuckling, “And doomed to exit through Willow Gate because her veins don’t run with ice like her father’s.”
Not that the ducal party would depart through the Gate of Silver Willows. The duke would see to it that they departed through the Gate of the Lily Path, as was proper, even though it was located on the westside of the city nearest the palace, and Alarcansa lay directly east. The Gate of Silver Willows was used for mourning corteges, or for those signifying a wrong done them. When mentioned in conversation, the Willow Gate inevitably meant grief, sorrow, or tears, most often for badly ended love affairs.
This matter taught me three things.
First, that you might “whisper,” that is, entrust a privacy to a confidante about a third person, but your listener might not feel the need to keep the secret if they feel no loyalty to that third person. In fact, it might be regarded as a weapon.
Secondly, that I now understood the look I’d seen on Lady Carola’s face the day she watched Lord Kaidas Lassiter: it was
zalend
. The storm-love.
Third. It was identical to the look I’d seen on King Jurac’s long face as Princess Lasva
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