Tower of Dawn
Page 67
He wondered what she’d thought of saying a moment ago but decided against. What caused that shadow to lurk in her eyes.
But Chaol only followed her, all those words hanging between them.
They parted ways at the palace, the halls packed with servants readying for the evening’s festivities. Yrene went right to find Hasar and the dress—and bath—she’d been promised, and Chaol returned to his own suite, to wash off the dust and sweat and find something suitable to wear.
No sign of Nesryn until she’d returned midway through his bath, shouted that she was taking one of her own, and closed the door to her suite.
He’d opted for his teal jacket, and waited in the hall for Nesryn to emerge. When she did, he blinked at the well-cut amethyst jacket and pants. He hadn’t seen a sign of her captain’s uniform for days. And wasn’t about to ask as he said, “You look beautiful.”
Nesryn smiled, her glossy hair still damp from the bath. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She seemed to note the color on his face and asked, “You were in the sun today?” Her slight accent had deepened, adding more of a twirl to certain sounds.
“I helped Yrene with some patients around the city.”
Nesryn smiled as they headed into the hallway. “I’m glad to hear it.” Not a word about the ride and visit he’d delayed with her—he wondered if she had even remembered.
He still hadn’t told her about his toes. But as they reached the great hall of the palace … Later. They’d discuss it all later.
The great hall of the palace was a wonder.
That was the only word for it.
The party was not as large as he would have assumed, only a few more people than the usual gathering of the viziers and royals, but no expense had been spared on the decorations. The feast.
He gaped a bit, Nesryn doing the same, as they were led to their spots at the high table—an honor he was still surprised they received. The khagan and his wife would not be joining them, he was told by Duva. Her mother had not been doing well these last few days and wished to celebrate with her husband in private.
No doubt seeing those mourning banners at last coming down had been difficult. And tonight likely wasn’t the time to press the khagan about their alliance anyway.
A few more guests poured in, along with Hasar and Renia, arm in arm with Yrene.
When Yrene had left him at the crossroads of one of the palace’s main halls, she’d been gleaming with sweat and dust, her cheeks rosy, her hair curling slightly around her ears. Her dress, too, had been wrinkled from a day of riding, the hem coated in dust.
Certainly not at all like what she wore now.
He felt the attention of half the men at the table slide toward Hasar—toward Yrene—as they entered, trailed by two of the princess’s servant girls. Hasar was smirking, Renia utterly stunning in ruby red, but Yrene …
For a beautiful woman clad in the finest clothes and jewels an empire could purchase, there was something resigned about her. Yes, her shoulders were back, her spine straight, but the smile that had hit him in the gut earlier was long gone.
Hasar had dressed Yrene in cobalt that brought out the warmth of her skin and set her brown hair glimmering as if it had indeed been gilded. The princess had even dusted cosmetics along Yrene’s face—or perhaps the hint of color on her freckled cheeks was from the fact that the gown was cut low enough to reveal the lushness of her figure. Cut low, and tight through the bodice.
Yrene’s dresses certainly didn’t hide her body, but the gown … He hadn’t quite realized how slim her waist was, how her hips flared beneath it. How her other assets swelled above.
He wasn’t the only one taking a second glance. Sartaq and Arghun had leaned forward in their seats as their sister led Yrene to the high table.
Yrene’s hair had been left mostly down, only the sides swept back and pinned with combs of gold and ruby. Matching earrings dangled to brush the slender column of her throat.
“She looks regal,” Nesryn murmured to him.
Yrene indeed looked like a princess—albeit one heading to the gallows for how solemn her face was as they reached the table. Whatever contentment she’d possessed when they’d parted ways had since vanished upon the two hours she’d spent with Hasar.
The princes stood to greet Yrene this time, Kashin rising first.
The Healer on High’s undeclared heir; a woman who would likely wield considerable power in this realm. They seemed to realize it, the depth of that implication. Arghun especially, from the shrewd look he gave Yrene. A woman of considerable power—and beauty.
He saw the word in Arghun’s eyes: prize.
Chaol’s jaw tightened. Yrene certainly didn’t want the attentions of the handsomest of the princes—he couldn’t imagine she’d be inclined to desire the affections of the other two.
Arghun opened his mouth to speak to Hasar, but the princess strode right to Chaol and Nesryn and murmured in Nesryn’s ear, “Move.”
21
Nesryn blinked at Hasar.
The princess smiled, cold as a snake, and clarified, “It is not polite to only sit with your companion. We should have separated you two before now.”
Nesryn glanced to him. Everyone watched. Chaol had no idea—absolutely none—what to say. Yrene seemed inclined to melt into the green marble floor.
Sartaq cleared his throat. “Join me here, Captain Faliq.”
Nesryn stood quickly, and Hasar beamed up at her. The princess patted the back of the seat Nesryn had vacated and crooned to Yrene, lingering a few feet away, “You sit here. In case you are needed.”
Yrene shot Chaol a look that might have been considered pleading, but he kept his face neutral and offered a close-lipped smile.
Nesryn found her seat beside Sartaq, who had asked a vizier to move down the table, and Hasar, satisfied that the adjustments had been done to her liking, deemed that her own usual seats were not to her taste and kicked out two viziers down by Arghun. The second seat was for Renia, who gave her lover a mildly disapproving glance, but smiled to herself—as if it were typical.
The meal resumed, and Chaol slid his attention to Yrene. The vizier on her other side paid her no heed. Platters were passed around by servants, food and drink piled and poured. Chaol muttered under his breath, “Do I want to know?”
Yrene cut into the simmered lamb and saffron rice heaped on her golden plate. “No.”
But Chaol only followed her, all those words hanging between them.
They parted ways at the palace, the halls packed with servants readying for the evening’s festivities. Yrene went right to find Hasar and the dress—and bath—she’d been promised, and Chaol returned to his own suite, to wash off the dust and sweat and find something suitable to wear.
No sign of Nesryn until she’d returned midway through his bath, shouted that she was taking one of her own, and closed the door to her suite.
He’d opted for his teal jacket, and waited in the hall for Nesryn to emerge. When she did, he blinked at the well-cut amethyst jacket and pants. He hadn’t seen a sign of her captain’s uniform for days. And wasn’t about to ask as he said, “You look beautiful.”
Nesryn smiled, her glossy hair still damp from the bath. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She seemed to note the color on his face and asked, “You were in the sun today?” Her slight accent had deepened, adding more of a twirl to certain sounds.
“I helped Yrene with some patients around the city.”
Nesryn smiled as they headed into the hallway. “I’m glad to hear it.” Not a word about the ride and visit he’d delayed with her—he wondered if she had even remembered.
He still hadn’t told her about his toes. But as they reached the great hall of the palace … Later. They’d discuss it all later.
The great hall of the palace was a wonder.
That was the only word for it.
The party was not as large as he would have assumed, only a few more people than the usual gathering of the viziers and royals, but no expense had been spared on the decorations. The feast.
He gaped a bit, Nesryn doing the same, as they were led to their spots at the high table—an honor he was still surprised they received. The khagan and his wife would not be joining them, he was told by Duva. Her mother had not been doing well these last few days and wished to celebrate with her husband in private.
No doubt seeing those mourning banners at last coming down had been difficult. And tonight likely wasn’t the time to press the khagan about their alliance anyway.
A few more guests poured in, along with Hasar and Renia, arm in arm with Yrene.
When Yrene had left him at the crossroads of one of the palace’s main halls, she’d been gleaming with sweat and dust, her cheeks rosy, her hair curling slightly around her ears. Her dress, too, had been wrinkled from a day of riding, the hem coated in dust.
Certainly not at all like what she wore now.
He felt the attention of half the men at the table slide toward Hasar—toward Yrene—as they entered, trailed by two of the princess’s servant girls. Hasar was smirking, Renia utterly stunning in ruby red, but Yrene …
For a beautiful woman clad in the finest clothes and jewels an empire could purchase, there was something resigned about her. Yes, her shoulders were back, her spine straight, but the smile that had hit him in the gut earlier was long gone.
Hasar had dressed Yrene in cobalt that brought out the warmth of her skin and set her brown hair glimmering as if it had indeed been gilded. The princess had even dusted cosmetics along Yrene’s face—or perhaps the hint of color on her freckled cheeks was from the fact that the gown was cut low enough to reveal the lushness of her figure. Cut low, and tight through the bodice.
Yrene’s dresses certainly didn’t hide her body, but the gown … He hadn’t quite realized how slim her waist was, how her hips flared beneath it. How her other assets swelled above.
He wasn’t the only one taking a second glance. Sartaq and Arghun had leaned forward in their seats as their sister led Yrene to the high table.
Yrene’s hair had been left mostly down, only the sides swept back and pinned with combs of gold and ruby. Matching earrings dangled to brush the slender column of her throat.
“She looks regal,” Nesryn murmured to him.
Yrene indeed looked like a princess—albeit one heading to the gallows for how solemn her face was as they reached the table. Whatever contentment she’d possessed when they’d parted ways had since vanished upon the two hours she’d spent with Hasar.
The princes stood to greet Yrene this time, Kashin rising first.
The Healer on High’s undeclared heir; a woman who would likely wield considerable power in this realm. They seemed to realize it, the depth of that implication. Arghun especially, from the shrewd look he gave Yrene. A woman of considerable power—and beauty.
He saw the word in Arghun’s eyes: prize.
Chaol’s jaw tightened. Yrene certainly didn’t want the attentions of the handsomest of the princes—he couldn’t imagine she’d be inclined to desire the affections of the other two.
Arghun opened his mouth to speak to Hasar, but the princess strode right to Chaol and Nesryn and murmured in Nesryn’s ear, “Move.”
21
Nesryn blinked at Hasar.
The princess smiled, cold as a snake, and clarified, “It is not polite to only sit with your companion. We should have separated you two before now.”
Nesryn glanced to him. Everyone watched. Chaol had no idea—absolutely none—what to say. Yrene seemed inclined to melt into the green marble floor.
Sartaq cleared his throat. “Join me here, Captain Faliq.”
Nesryn stood quickly, and Hasar beamed up at her. The princess patted the back of the seat Nesryn had vacated and crooned to Yrene, lingering a few feet away, “You sit here. In case you are needed.”
Yrene shot Chaol a look that might have been considered pleading, but he kept his face neutral and offered a close-lipped smile.
Nesryn found her seat beside Sartaq, who had asked a vizier to move down the table, and Hasar, satisfied that the adjustments had been done to her liking, deemed that her own usual seats were not to her taste and kicked out two viziers down by Arghun. The second seat was for Renia, who gave her lover a mildly disapproving glance, but smiled to herself—as if it were typical.
The meal resumed, and Chaol slid his attention to Yrene. The vizier on her other side paid her no heed. Platters were passed around by servants, food and drink piled and poured. Chaol muttered under his breath, “Do I want to know?”
Yrene cut into the simmered lamb and saffron rice heaped on her golden plate. “No.”
