The Harvest Ball
PROMENADE
Crescendo
Z achary smiled down at her. “What was that about between you and Lieutenant...” He seemed to search for a name but could not come up with it. That certainly would have displeased the lieutenant.
“Nothing,” she said, “just telling him what a privilege it was to dance with an officer of the light horse.”
Zachary looked askance at her but did not pursue the matter.
They danced effortlessly, skimming the floor as smoothly as skaters, flying, soaring, dipping, rising. Her hair and feather fluttered into her face. They spun and whirled gazes locked, her hand in his, his arm around her. Her other hand rested on his shoulder.
In dance, as in arms training, they were so well matched, their complementary movements so harmonious, it almost felt as though they were linked on some greater level that merged them body and mind, and made them one. She wondered what sharing other physical pursuits with him would be like.
Her cheeks flamed at such thoughts.
She exulted that here in this moment, even in this place among other people, they could be together, touch, feel the heat of the other, their hearts beating in unison, and gaze into one another’s eyes with none wiser to the truth.
She yearned for more, but was grateful for what she had, this connection they currently shared.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” he asked.
“I am now.”
His smile flickered into a grin. “I am glad you decided to come. Estora was not sure you would.”
She was glad she had, too. In his arms she felt as though she floated and she could pretend it was just the two of them in the ballroom, making love through the dance, in the open, a dream.
If only it could last, for her dream was shattered when all too soon the dance master called out the change and she was abruptly torn from Zachary’s embrace and received by her next partner, an older man with few teeth.
He was rather nimble for his advanced age and looked at her with a sharp eye.
“You married, girl?”
His question was accompanied by spittle that sprayed her cheek. She grimaced, but couldn’t free her hand to wipe her face. “Uh...”
“I need heirs. Got a big estate. You’d be taken care of.”
Dear gods, she thought, and got a jolt when the hand on her waist traveled inappropriately. She grabbed his wrist and moved his hand to her swordbelt, a warning. “I am betrothed,” she sternly told him to make him behave.
“Too bad. You look like a healthy girl, like I could get some heirs out of you.”
She fought her anger at his boorish manner and maintained as much space between them as she could. “I am sure you will make some lady very happy.”
“She’s gotta be young. I need heirs.”
The tempo moderated and, much to her relief, she was released, and as she spun to her next partner, she yanked a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her face.
She crossed paths with Estora who was destined for Lord Sweaty Hands.
She seemed to know what lay in store for her, for her mouth was a thin line of distaste.
Karigan cast her a sympathetic look and found herself face to face with Enver.
He looked as though he wished to flee. She grabbed his hand.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Double Time
He was plainly unhappy and wouldn’t look at her.
“You’ve got to stop this avoidance,” she told him.
“As you wish, Dama.”
“Ugh. And they call me stubborn.”
Now he looked at her with a startled expression.
Good. She had his attention now. Or, at least, part of it.
They had to stay aware of the dance as they careened around the clover leaf pattern.
To make a mistake could cause a disastrous collision with another couple—the possibility of which was part of the thrill of the dance, but of which she had no desire to enact—and as smooth and balanced as Enver was, dancing with him lacked the seamless perfection of partnering with Zachary.
“I thought I made it clear I’d no animosity toward you for what happened back in the north after our visit with the p’ehdrose,” she said.
“You did,” he replied.
They swooped and rushed to the music.
“Then why do you keep avoiding me? You can’t even look at me.”
“I apologize, Dama, but I will always carry the shame.”
“Stop it,” she said. He looked stunned. “The ones who should be ashamed are those who manipulated us and put us into that position. I won’t let them take away our friendship.”
“It is...just friendship?”
“Well, yes...” And suddenly she was afraid of what he would say next, but he said nothing, his expression downcast. There was more going on behind his eyes that she could not read. “You look like you have more to say.”
He took a deep breath. She felt his chest heave in their close proximity. “I have had to see Gweflin for healing.”
She recalled the Eletian mender who had been so helpful and kind to her while she awaited trial in the Alluvium.
“You have? What for? Are you ill?”
“For you,” he said with some difficulty.
“I don’t understand.”
“To me, you are a sickness.”
She was so stunned she could not speak. Their dance stumbled to a stop and the couple behind them nearly slammed into them.
Before she could find her voice, he abandoned her on the dance floor.
She started to follow him, but other couples cut her off, and a moment later, Lord Penburn claimed her even as another gentleman entered the floor to take Enver’s place and dance with the lady who’d been left unpartnered.
As they set off, she craned her neck trying to locate Enver, but could not find him until at last, they rounded a turn on the dance floor and she saw him running up the stairs and out of the ballroom.
She thought to go after him and lost the rhythm and stumbled.
Lord Penburn helped her keep to her feet and held her close.
What had Enver meant that she was a sickness to him?
“Have you considered my invitation, my lady?” Penburn asked.
“What?” So distracted by Enver was she that Penburn’s words hadn’t registered. She tore her gaze from the stairs and looked up at her partner. “Invitation?”
They careened past Zachary and Estora. Estora cast her an odd look and said something to Zachary.
“My country estate,” Lord Penburn said. “It’s called Riverrock as it overlooks the Grandgent. In springtime the gardens are splendid and there is boating on the river, and much open space for riding.”
“Uh...” Thrown off guard, and her thoughts still entangled by what Enver had said, she couldn’t seem to find coherent words with which to respond.
“I am sure the king would be willing to release you for a time,” he added
“I don’t know...”
“To be plain,” he said, “I wish to court the Lady Winterlight, though I must do this properly and seek the consent of your father. Er, one of your fathers if I understand the situation correctly. Or, must I ask both? How does one seek an audience with King Santanara?”
She was flabbergasted. “Courting? You want to . . . ?” Words continued to fail her.
“Very much so, my lady.”
She was spared having to answer by a sudden partner change, but she was passed back to Lord Sweaty Hands, who regarded her with trepidation.
Fortunately for him the tempo slowed down, but his apprehension was well founded.
She, with her mind bursting with thoughts and emotions between Zachary, Enver, and Penburn, flung him about the ballroom floor.
The tempo moderated further into a slow waltz and with the next partner change she found herself once more in Zachary’s arms.
Open Finish
He held her close to his chest and she sighed in contentment, but it was short-lived. He gazed down at her with an odd expression on his face.
“Karigan, Estora...Estora tells me you’re betrothed.”
“What?”
“I wish you had mentioned it, or perhaps you were planning a special announcement? Who is it? Enver?”
“What?” She cursed under her breath, wishing she could speak in more than one-word outbursts. “I’m not...” She thought frantically and guessed that Lord Toothless must have mentioned it to Estora or another dancer and the rumor began to spread. A rumor she had inadvertently started!
“Not Enver?” Zachary said. “Lord Penburn, perhaps? I know he is...most interested.”
“No-no-no,” she said. “No one. I told him .” She nodded toward Toothless across the dance floor who was locked with some poor young lady with a mortified expression on her face. “I told him so he would not get any ideas about getting heirs from me.” The mere thought made her grimace in distaste.
Understanding lit Zachary’s features. “Old Lord Garvy. Yes, he’s been searching for a woman to marry since his first wife passed, leaving him without heirs. Perhaps I will have a talk with him about proper manners. It is not the first I’ve heard of his crass approach to courting young ladies.”
Crass was an understatement.
“It does, however, bring up something I’ve been thinking about,” he continued, now looking troubled, his tone serious and quiet enough for her ears only.
“It is complicated between us, and I think you know the feelings I have for you. We both know that Estora has freed us to be together, but it is still a difficult situation with which to come to terms.”
“Yes,” she murmured, soaking in the warmth of his touch and the intimacy of the dance, the scent of him.