Valley of Silence
Page 15
But for tonight, she’d wear the velvets and silks and jewels.
“Ceara, how are your children?”
“Well, my lady, and thank you.” Standing behind Moira, Ceara continued to work Moira’s thick hair into silky braids.
“Your duties and your training keep you from them more than I would wish.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. Moira knew Ceara to be a sensible woman, the most centered, in her opinion, of the three that waited on her.
“My mother tends them, and is happy to do so. The time I take now is well spent. I’d rather lose these hours with them than see them harmed.”
“Glenna tells me you’re very fierce in hand-to-hand.”
“I am.” Ceara’s face tightened with a grim smile. “I’m not skilled with a sword, but there’s time yet. Glenna’s a good teacher.”
“Strict,” Dervil piped in. “Not as strict as the lady Blair, but demanding all the same. We run, every day, and fight and tumble and carve stakes. And end each day with weary legs, bruises and splinters.”
“Better to be weary and bruised than dead.”
At Moira’s flat comment, Dervil flushed. “I meant no disrespect, Majesty. I’ve learned a great deal.”
“And are, I’m told, becoming a demon with a sword. I’m proud. And you, Isleen, are said to have a good hand with a bow.”
“I do.” Isleen, the youngest of the three flushed with the compliment. “I like it better than the fighting with fists and feet. Ceara always knocks me down.”
“When you squeal like a mouse and flutter your hands, anyone could knock you down,” Ceara pointed out.
“Ceara’s taller, and her arms longer than yours, Isleen. So,” Moira said, “you have to learn to be faster, and sneakier. I’m proud of all of you, for every bruise. Tomorrow, and every day after, for no less than an hour each day, I’ll be training with you.”
“But, Majesty,” Dervil began, “you can’t—”
“I can,” Moira interrupted. “And I will. I’ll expect each of you, and the other women to do their best to knock me down. It won’t be easy.” She stood when Ceara stepped back. “I’ve learned a great deal as well.” She lifted her crown, placed it on her head. “Believe me when I tell you I can knock the three of you, and any else who comes, on your arse.”
She turned, resplendent in shimmering blue velvet.
“Any who puts me on mine, or bests me with bare hands or any weapon will be given one of the silver crosses Glenna and Hoyt has charmed. This is my best gift. Tell the others.”
I t was, Cian thought, like walking into a play. The great hall was the stage, and festooned with banners, enlivened with flowers, blazing with candles and firelight. Knights and lords and ladies were decked in their very best. Doublets and gowns, jewels and gold. He spotted several men and women sporting footwear with the long and pointed upturned toes that he recalled were fashionable when he’d been alive.
So, he thought, even regrettable styles spanned worlds.
Food and drink were so plentiful he imagined the long tables groaned under the platters and pitchers. There was music, bright and lively, from a harper. The talk he overheard ran the gamut. Fashion, politics, sexual gossip, flirtations and finance.
Not so different altogether, he mused, from his own nightclub back in New York. The women wore less there, of course, and the music was louder. But the core of it hadn’t changed overmuch through the centuries. People still liked to gather together over food and drink and music.
He thought of his club again, and asked himself if he missed it. The nightly surge, the sounds, the press of people. And realized he didn’t, not in the least.
Very likely, he decided, he’d been growing bored and restless, and would have moved on shortly in any case. It had only taken his brother’s sweep through time and space, having Hoyt land—more or less—on his doorstep to up the timetable.
But without Hoyt and his mission from the gods, moving out would have meant a change of name and location, a shifting of funds. Complicated, time-consuming—and interesting. Cian had had more than a hundred names and a hundred homes, and still found the forming of them interesting.
Where might he have gone? he wondered. Sydney perhaps, or Rio. It might have been Rome or Helsinki. It was only a matter, essentially, of sticking a pin in a map. There were few places he hadn’t been already, and none he couldn’t have made his base if he chose.
In his world, in any case. Geall was a different matter. He’d lived through this sort of fashion and culture once, and had no desire to repeat himself. His family had been gentry, and so he’d attended his share of high-flown feasts.
All in all he’d have preferred a snifter of brandy and a good book.
He didn’t intend to stay long, and had come only because he knew someone would come looking for him. While he was confident he could have avoided whoever had come hunting him, he would never avoid the haranguing Hoyt would subject him to the next day.
Easier altogether to put in an appearance, toast the new queen, then slip away.
He had drawn the line at wearing the formal doublet and accessories that had been delivered to his room. He might have been stuck in a medieval timeline, but he’d be damned if he’d dress for it.
So he wore black, pants and sweater. He hadn’t packed a suit and tie for this particular journey.
Still he smiled with some warmth at Glenna who drifted up to him in emerald green, in what he thought had been termed a robe deguisee at one time. Very formal, very elegant, and showcasing her very lovely br**sts with its low and rounded neckline.
“Now here’s a vision I prefer to any goddess.”
“I almost feel like one.” She spread her arms so the full bell sleeves swayed. “Heavy though. It must be ten pounds of material. I see you went for a less weighty ensemble.”
“I believe I’d stake myself before I squeezed into one of those getups again.”
She had to laugh. “Can’t blame you, but I’m getting a kick out of seeing Hoyt all done up. For me—maybe for you after all this time—it’s like a costume ball. Moira chose regal black and gold for the house sorcerer. It suits him, as your more contemporary choice does you. Still, this whole day has been like a very strange dream.”
“I was thinking a very strange play.”
“Ceara, how are your children?”
“Well, my lady, and thank you.” Standing behind Moira, Ceara continued to work Moira’s thick hair into silky braids.
“Your duties and your training keep you from them more than I would wish.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. Moira knew Ceara to be a sensible woman, the most centered, in her opinion, of the three that waited on her.
“My mother tends them, and is happy to do so. The time I take now is well spent. I’d rather lose these hours with them than see them harmed.”
“Glenna tells me you’re very fierce in hand-to-hand.”
“I am.” Ceara’s face tightened with a grim smile. “I’m not skilled with a sword, but there’s time yet. Glenna’s a good teacher.”
“Strict,” Dervil piped in. “Not as strict as the lady Blair, but demanding all the same. We run, every day, and fight and tumble and carve stakes. And end each day with weary legs, bruises and splinters.”
“Better to be weary and bruised than dead.”
At Moira’s flat comment, Dervil flushed. “I meant no disrespect, Majesty. I’ve learned a great deal.”
“And are, I’m told, becoming a demon with a sword. I’m proud. And you, Isleen, are said to have a good hand with a bow.”
“I do.” Isleen, the youngest of the three flushed with the compliment. “I like it better than the fighting with fists and feet. Ceara always knocks me down.”
“When you squeal like a mouse and flutter your hands, anyone could knock you down,” Ceara pointed out.
“Ceara’s taller, and her arms longer than yours, Isleen. So,” Moira said, “you have to learn to be faster, and sneakier. I’m proud of all of you, for every bruise. Tomorrow, and every day after, for no less than an hour each day, I’ll be training with you.”
“But, Majesty,” Dervil began, “you can’t—”
“I can,” Moira interrupted. “And I will. I’ll expect each of you, and the other women to do their best to knock me down. It won’t be easy.” She stood when Ceara stepped back. “I’ve learned a great deal as well.” She lifted her crown, placed it on her head. “Believe me when I tell you I can knock the three of you, and any else who comes, on your arse.”
She turned, resplendent in shimmering blue velvet.
“Any who puts me on mine, or bests me with bare hands or any weapon will be given one of the silver crosses Glenna and Hoyt has charmed. This is my best gift. Tell the others.”
I t was, Cian thought, like walking into a play. The great hall was the stage, and festooned with banners, enlivened with flowers, blazing with candles and firelight. Knights and lords and ladies were decked in their very best. Doublets and gowns, jewels and gold. He spotted several men and women sporting footwear with the long and pointed upturned toes that he recalled were fashionable when he’d been alive.
So, he thought, even regrettable styles spanned worlds.
Food and drink were so plentiful he imagined the long tables groaned under the platters and pitchers. There was music, bright and lively, from a harper. The talk he overheard ran the gamut. Fashion, politics, sexual gossip, flirtations and finance.
Not so different altogether, he mused, from his own nightclub back in New York. The women wore less there, of course, and the music was louder. But the core of it hadn’t changed overmuch through the centuries. People still liked to gather together over food and drink and music.
He thought of his club again, and asked himself if he missed it. The nightly surge, the sounds, the press of people. And realized he didn’t, not in the least.
Very likely, he decided, he’d been growing bored and restless, and would have moved on shortly in any case. It had only taken his brother’s sweep through time and space, having Hoyt land—more or less—on his doorstep to up the timetable.
But without Hoyt and his mission from the gods, moving out would have meant a change of name and location, a shifting of funds. Complicated, time-consuming—and interesting. Cian had had more than a hundred names and a hundred homes, and still found the forming of them interesting.
Where might he have gone? he wondered. Sydney perhaps, or Rio. It might have been Rome or Helsinki. It was only a matter, essentially, of sticking a pin in a map. There were few places he hadn’t been already, and none he couldn’t have made his base if he chose.
In his world, in any case. Geall was a different matter. He’d lived through this sort of fashion and culture once, and had no desire to repeat himself. His family had been gentry, and so he’d attended his share of high-flown feasts.
All in all he’d have preferred a snifter of brandy and a good book.
He didn’t intend to stay long, and had come only because he knew someone would come looking for him. While he was confident he could have avoided whoever had come hunting him, he would never avoid the haranguing Hoyt would subject him to the next day.
Easier altogether to put in an appearance, toast the new queen, then slip away.
He had drawn the line at wearing the formal doublet and accessories that had been delivered to his room. He might have been stuck in a medieval timeline, but he’d be damned if he’d dress for it.
So he wore black, pants and sweater. He hadn’t packed a suit and tie for this particular journey.
Still he smiled with some warmth at Glenna who drifted up to him in emerald green, in what he thought had been termed a robe deguisee at one time. Very formal, very elegant, and showcasing her very lovely br**sts with its low and rounded neckline.
“Now here’s a vision I prefer to any goddess.”
“I almost feel like one.” She spread her arms so the full bell sleeves swayed. “Heavy though. It must be ten pounds of material. I see you went for a less weighty ensemble.”
“I believe I’d stake myself before I squeezed into one of those getups again.”
She had to laugh. “Can’t blame you, but I’m getting a kick out of seeing Hoyt all done up. For me—maybe for you after all this time—it’s like a costume ball. Moira chose regal black and gold for the house sorcerer. It suits him, as your more contemporary choice does you. Still, this whole day has been like a very strange dream.”
“I was thinking a very strange play.”
