Chapter 16
A TASTE AS BITTER AS GOODBYE
LEILANI
WHEN WE RETURN to the ballroom, roast white peacocks, dressed in their lace-like plumage, fan the length of the tables.
I’m shown to my father’s empty place as his injured hand is being tended by the palace healers.
At least I’m spared sitting beside Astrophel again – a blessing, as I sorely want to punch my intended in the mouth.
Maris whispers something to Blayze. His lips twitch.
‘Astrophel, it appears your kin are being served for supper,’ Maris simpers, endeavouring to keep a straight face.
‘Best give this course a miss.’ Blayze winks. ‘I assume cannibalism is frowned upon here?’ He gives a low, throaty chuckle.
No one else is laughing. Everyone looks to Astrophel for a response.
His face falters, but he recovers swiftly. A polished smile turns him, once again, into the picture of unruffled courtly arrogance.
‘You, sir, bring nothing but shame to your lineage. Your own mother must have been embarrassed to whelp such a son. Little wonder your father disowned you, wanted your brother to rule in your stead.’
My ears prick. This is news to me.
Astrophel’s words wipe the smirk off Blayze’s face. He blanches, then turns thunderous. Does anyone else notice the tremor in his hand as he drains his glass of shimmerwine?
He glowers at the floor for the remainder of the feast, a storm in his narrowed eyes as he chafes, in turn, his torc and signet ring. He speaks to no one, touches none of the remaining courses placed before him.
Minstrels circle the room as we eat, strumming moon-lutes and reciting traditional ballads.
I make a show of watching their performance, of clapping in the right places.
I try to listen to Tansy and Carmentis discussing our departure from Meissa, but my gaze keeps drifting back to Blayze.
His silence unnerves me. It’s out of character for him to allow a slight to go unchallenged, especially one that so clearly struck a nerve.
I wish I could break through the wall that keeps me from reading his thoughts, for my brandsong still whispers danger, and I can’t afford any more unpleasant surprises tonight.
The delicate threads that bind us mustn’t be allowed to snap.
*
ONCE ATTENDANTS CLEAR the final course, the musicians resume their places in the minstrels’ gallery.
It’s time for the Garland Dance to close the festivities.
And even though I’ll be forced to open it with Astrophel, this moment can’t come quickly enough, a chance to end this wretched evening on a harmonious note.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. Standing behind me to claim the dance is not Astrophel, but Blayze. He extends his hand, expression blank, save for his eyes, which flash like jewels in the candlelight, ablaze with mischief.
So, this is his plan to get back at Astrophel?
Clever, I have to admit. My betrothed has been looking forward to leading the Garland Dance, to cementing his position as king-in-waiting before the assembled court, ever since the ball was announced last moonsquarter.
And now I understand he meant to lead it with us already handfasted.
From the corner of my eye, I see Astrophel’s nostrils dilate, his body snap even straighter in his chair. But there’s little he can do without risking a public altercation. Maris’ lips are pursed tight like she’s just sucked on a snowberry. Safe to assume she didn’t put Blayze up to this, then.
I’m trapped. I don’t want to give Blayze the satisfaction of dancing with him, of enabling this petty act of revenge, but I can’t refuse without further public insult – a risk to our alliance.
And I want to dance with Astrophel less than I would a frostfang.
I place my hand in his overwarm one and allow Blayze to lead me to the dance floor.
A grin steals across his face as he claims his spoils.
We face one another, waiting for the musicians to strike up. The ballroom is eerily silent, all eyes upon us. None of them friendly.
‘Do you remember the steps?’ I hiss. The Outrealmers received only a cursory introduction to the dance.
‘Can’t say I do.’ His eyes smoulder as they roam my body, amber flecks glittering in a sea of gold. ‘Remind me – where am I supposed to put my hands?’
I ignore the rakish innuendo, a deliberate ploy to unsettle me. Instead, I channel Astrophel, directing Blayze’s movements in what I hope passes for cool indifference.
A lilting triple-metre sounds through the room. I curtsy to my mother, still seated at the high table, then bob half-heartedly in Blayze’s direction.
He reciprocates with an equally feeble attempt at a bow.
‘Position yourself to my left and offer me your hand,’ I whisper, doing my best not to flinch in response to the heat of his body as I lay my hand lightly atop his. The man carries a star-damned furnace within him. ‘Got it?’
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,’ he replies, sweeping me up with risible ease into the lift and spinning me with unnecessary force so my head rattles.
Blayze is as heavy-footed as I expected, by no means a natural dancer, but to his credit he follows my instructions and has a good ear for tempo, keeping in step with me and in time with the music.
Blayze never breaches the limits of propriety, not like he did when he commandeered my training in the Armoury, but nonetheless, there’s something decidedly improper about his touch.
His fingers, as they fan my ribcage, radiate heat, searing through my gown, through my skin, altogether too knowing and familiar.
My heart’s beating fast; I can’t draw enough air into my lungs.
Each time he lifts me, he draws me closer into the circle of his arms, closer to the hard planes of his body, close enough that the warmth of his body swathes me and I can see the candlelight dancing in his eyes, inhale the woody scent of the bark he chews incessantly, and behind it the warm amber and musk at the hollow of his throat.
Astrophel is watching grim-faced as we move across the floor, his arms folded, his lips so tightly clenched they’re almost bloodless.
Beware.
‘What instrument is that?’ Blayze nods at a minstrel playing a moon-lute, distracting me momentarily from the whispers and my brewing fears of reprisal.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘It has a beautiful tone.’
I stare at him.
‘You needn’t look so surprised, Sparkles. Maintaining this body takes effort, but there’s more to me than muscle. I don’t spend all my time in the training pit.’
‘You play an instrument then?’
‘Beyond learning to sound the battle drums, my father set little store by music. But nights are long in the pit – I taught myself the lyre. So, you see,’ he jeers, as we stumble through the sequence of arm postures, ‘I’m not such a savage, after all. I read and everything…’
‘And… And what kind of books do you enjoy?’ I don’t know where to look.
As he gathers my waist and lifts me into the spin, Blayze dips his head.
I feel the gentle scrape of his jaw against my cheek, his warm breath tickling my earlobe.
‘The filthier the better.’ I gasp before I can stop myself, and the smirk on Blayze’s face widens to a wicked grin, as he straightens and whirls me through the air, almost dislodging my veil.
Other couples gradually join us in the dance, and I breathe easier now we’re not the sole focus of everyone’s attention.
But then Astrophel takes to the floor, towing Elvi behind him.
I’m surprised he’s asked her to partner him.
At such short notice, all the eligible ladies of the court must have already been spoken for.
He’s a little unsteady after all the wine, and poor Elvi is trembling as she clings to his arm.
Still, when they join the dance, taking up the position beside us, it’s a near-seamless transition.
Astrophel’s eyes remain rooted on Blayze, on me, as we drift over the floor. He’s barely acknowledging Elvi’s presence. Blayze responds by drawing me even closer. A low, rumbling chuckle echoes his chest.
At the close of the postures, when the music dips, Blayze leans over and, loud enough for all the room to hear, hisses, ‘My father may have preferred my brother, but he thought well enough of me to wed my mother before he sired me, bastard.’
Astrophel pales as the music soars, and Blayze lifts me into another dizzying twirl. I can’t catch my breath.
Beware.
Astrophel over-spins Elvi, breaking formation, bringing them within touching distance of us. Before I can register what’s happening, Astrophel releases Elvi’s hand, casting her adrift, and wrenches me from Blayze, crushing my forearms.
‘This dance was mine,’ he hisses in my ear. ‘You are mine. Don’t ever embarrass me like that again.’ Without giving me a chance to reply, Astrophel grips my wrists more tightly still, yanks me towards him. ‘Kiss me.’
I start to pull back, but he nods towards my mother.
‘You owe me, remember? A favour of my choosing.’
Our eyes lock. I hate him more than I’ve ever hated him, but a promise is a promise. My mother is better, and I owe him for that. One kiss and my debt’s paid.
‘Make it quick,’ I whisper, tilting my chin.
His lips meet mine, hard and cool as marble.
I go limp. My arms fall slack at my sides.
Gasps emanate around the room and the music grinds to a screeching halt.
I catch a glimpse of Elvi’s face crumpling as she flees the dance floor, but Astrophel fills almost my entire field of vision.
His eyes are open, wild and unfocused, as though he’s looking straight through me – as if he doesn’t see me at all.
But then something shifts. His eyes flutter shut, his lips soften, his warm scent wraps thickly around me.
It’s as if the entire ballroom falls away.
He deepens his kiss, and somehow… somehow I’m kissing him back.
His lips part, urgent hands paw my waist, drawing me more roughly against him.