Blackveil
Page 83
“It’s a play and nothing more,” she replied.
“Is that so.”
She could not allow him to continue his line of questioning. Whenever he saw her, he persisted in needling her about “disappearing” and she was not about to play his game. She would not reveal Rider abilities. The secret had been kept so long as a means of protecting Riders from a populace phobic of magic. She would not endanger herself or her friends that way.
She drew herself up to her full height, and in the most haughty manner she could summon, she said, “I find your inquiry most inappropriate.” She spoke loud enough that anyone nearby could hear her, and indeed several looked her way. “You are a very crude man.” Chin held high, she turned on her heel and strode off fluttering her fan before her face. She smiled to herself wondering if he’d be able to persuade anyone else to dance with him after that.
She crossed to the far side of the room and decided to escape the crowds and warmth of the ballroom by retreating to one of the balconies. It was cold enough outside that she doubted too many others would be there. A footman opened a door at her approach and she exited into the fresh air, sighing in relief, the babble and music fading away behind her.
The only light was that which flowed from the ballroom through the glass doors. Clouds obscured stars and moon. She stepped up to the balustrade, and shivering in the chill, wrapped her arms around herself.
Yes, still winter, no matter how close spring.
Despite the cold, she found herself comforted by the relative quiet and dark. No Lord Amberhill here. No looking mask.
And then someone cleared his throat.
Karigan jumped. She had thought herself alone.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
She peered down the length of the balcony and at the far end, there stood King Zachary. He had removed his dragon mask and ran his hand through his hair.
Karigan’s mouth fell open, and then she remembered to curtsy.
He smiled. “Another refugee from the festivities, I see.”
Karigan realized he did not recognize her.
“Yours is the best costume I’ve seen tonight,” he continued. “Bold and festive, and loaded with metaphors. All the others ... I don’t know.” He stroked his beard. “Dull, I guess. So very proper. Who do I have the honor of addressing?” Before she could respond, however, he waved his hand through the air. “No, no. Don’t tell me. It would ruin the mystery, and that’s what a masquerade is supposed to be about, right? Mystery, hidden identity, secrets.”
Karigan’s hand went to her mask. Her fingers found the bow that secured it. She could not be this close to him and not reveal herself. It had been so long since they’d had private words. In fact, any words at all. How would he receive her? Would he be cold and distant? Pleasant and gracious? Or, more intense, like ... like another night three years ago when they’d stood on this very balcony with a silver moon shining overhead? It had been another ball, another time ...
Her hand trembled as she pulled on the ribbon. The mask did not fall. She tugged harder, only to realize the bow had become a knot.
“Your Highness,” she said, but just then the door at the king’s end swung open and Lady Estora rushed out onto the balcony and his attention turned to his betrothed.
Karigan receded into shadow.
“Zachary,” Estora said. “It is so cold out here. You’ll catch a chill!”
“Oh, I don’t think so. The air is bracing.”
“Even so, you are missed, and there is something you should see.” She took his arm and guided him toward the door.
“Very well.” He grabbed his mask and with a glance in Karigan’s direction, he paused and bowed to her, flashing her a smile. And then he was gone.
Karigan rushed to his end of the balcony and gazed through the door after them, her breath fogging the glass. The pair worked their way through the crowd, hand in hand, pausing now and then to speak with their guests.
Karigan turned away ready to tear wig and mask off and fling them over the balcony. Damnation! She’d been so close. So close to him, and the moment was lost.
In a fit of frustration, she kicked a column of the balustrade.
“Ow!” The column was made of granite. “Ow, ow, ow!” She hopped on one foot. “Bloody stupid fool,” she berated herself, perversely pleased by the pain.
After a few moments of this, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and limped into the ballroom on her smarting foot. She’d had enough of the masquerade ball, and now she would leave for the comfort of her own chamber in the Rider wing.
AMBERHILL’S MASQUE
Amberhill watched after the G’ladheon woman as she strode away from him, admiring how she swung her hips to avoid brushing her ample panniers against others as she worked her way through the throngs.
“Remarkable,” he murmured to himself. He supposed he would never get to the bottom of her ability to disappear, or persuade her to admit to her association with the godlike stallion, but he enjoyed trying.
He disregarded those who glanced sidelong at him, the men who moved their ladies out of his path. Karigan G’ladheon had probably ruined his chances of finding a dance partner this evening.
That was fine. He’d find other ways to amuse himself. For instance, there was trying to identify who was behind each mask. He picked out Lady Mella with the butterfly mask almost immediately. How could he forget the delicious contours of her body, which he, as the Raven Mask, had once known so intimately? Her husband was the ancient Lord Maxim and he did not think she got much pleasure from that shrunken piece of dried fruit. No, the night he’d crept into her bedchamber her exuberance and gratitude had been most agreeable.
“Is that so.”
She could not allow him to continue his line of questioning. Whenever he saw her, he persisted in needling her about “disappearing” and she was not about to play his game. She would not reveal Rider abilities. The secret had been kept so long as a means of protecting Riders from a populace phobic of magic. She would not endanger herself or her friends that way.
She drew herself up to her full height, and in the most haughty manner she could summon, she said, “I find your inquiry most inappropriate.” She spoke loud enough that anyone nearby could hear her, and indeed several looked her way. “You are a very crude man.” Chin held high, she turned on her heel and strode off fluttering her fan before her face. She smiled to herself wondering if he’d be able to persuade anyone else to dance with him after that.
She crossed to the far side of the room and decided to escape the crowds and warmth of the ballroom by retreating to one of the balconies. It was cold enough outside that she doubted too many others would be there. A footman opened a door at her approach and she exited into the fresh air, sighing in relief, the babble and music fading away behind her.
The only light was that which flowed from the ballroom through the glass doors. Clouds obscured stars and moon. She stepped up to the balustrade, and shivering in the chill, wrapped her arms around herself.
Yes, still winter, no matter how close spring.
Despite the cold, she found herself comforted by the relative quiet and dark. No Lord Amberhill here. No looking mask.
And then someone cleared his throat.
Karigan jumped. She had thought herself alone.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
She peered down the length of the balcony and at the far end, there stood King Zachary. He had removed his dragon mask and ran his hand through his hair.
Karigan’s mouth fell open, and then she remembered to curtsy.
He smiled. “Another refugee from the festivities, I see.”
Karigan realized he did not recognize her.
“Yours is the best costume I’ve seen tonight,” he continued. “Bold and festive, and loaded with metaphors. All the others ... I don’t know.” He stroked his beard. “Dull, I guess. So very proper. Who do I have the honor of addressing?” Before she could respond, however, he waved his hand through the air. “No, no. Don’t tell me. It would ruin the mystery, and that’s what a masquerade is supposed to be about, right? Mystery, hidden identity, secrets.”
Karigan’s hand went to her mask. Her fingers found the bow that secured it. She could not be this close to him and not reveal herself. It had been so long since they’d had private words. In fact, any words at all. How would he receive her? Would he be cold and distant? Pleasant and gracious? Or, more intense, like ... like another night three years ago when they’d stood on this very balcony with a silver moon shining overhead? It had been another ball, another time ...
Her hand trembled as she pulled on the ribbon. The mask did not fall. She tugged harder, only to realize the bow had become a knot.
“Your Highness,” she said, but just then the door at the king’s end swung open and Lady Estora rushed out onto the balcony and his attention turned to his betrothed.
Karigan receded into shadow.
“Zachary,” Estora said. “It is so cold out here. You’ll catch a chill!”
“Oh, I don’t think so. The air is bracing.”
“Even so, you are missed, and there is something you should see.” She took his arm and guided him toward the door.
“Very well.” He grabbed his mask and with a glance in Karigan’s direction, he paused and bowed to her, flashing her a smile. And then he was gone.
Karigan rushed to his end of the balcony and gazed through the door after them, her breath fogging the glass. The pair worked their way through the crowd, hand in hand, pausing now and then to speak with their guests.
Karigan turned away ready to tear wig and mask off and fling them over the balcony. Damnation! She’d been so close. So close to him, and the moment was lost.
In a fit of frustration, she kicked a column of the balustrade.
“Ow!” The column was made of granite. “Ow, ow, ow!” She hopped on one foot. “Bloody stupid fool,” she berated herself, perversely pleased by the pain.
After a few moments of this, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and limped into the ballroom on her smarting foot. She’d had enough of the masquerade ball, and now she would leave for the comfort of her own chamber in the Rider wing.
AMBERHILL’S MASQUE
Amberhill watched after the G’ladheon woman as she strode away from him, admiring how she swung her hips to avoid brushing her ample panniers against others as she worked her way through the throngs.
“Remarkable,” he murmured to himself. He supposed he would never get to the bottom of her ability to disappear, or persuade her to admit to her association with the godlike stallion, but he enjoyed trying.
He disregarded those who glanced sidelong at him, the men who moved their ladies out of his path. Karigan G’ladheon had probably ruined his chances of finding a dance partner this evening.
That was fine. He’d find other ways to amuse himself. For instance, there was trying to identify who was behind each mask. He picked out Lady Mella with the butterfly mask almost immediately. How could he forget the delicious contours of her body, which he, as the Raven Mask, had once known so intimately? Her husband was the ancient Lord Maxim and he did not think she got much pleasure from that shrunken piece of dried fruit. No, the night he’d crept into her bedchamber her exuberance and gratitude had been most agreeable.
