Chapter 14 #3
“Nic, you had better take your shot,” Leaf said as Master Everel hurried over, no doubt to see what was keeping them. The rest of the party had already moved on, pair by pair, toward the pavilion. “So long as you promise no more puns.”
“No more puns, but only for the rest of the afternoon. After that I make no promises. Apologies, Everel, Lady Leaf was merely upset at her poor shot.”
“It is a perfectly respectable shot for your first target, my lady,” Master Everel said while Leaf smacked Nic’s arm. “Here, some arrows for you to begin, Master sa Vare.”
“Thank you.” Dashiell took them, only to sigh once the old vowsmith had moved on out of earshot. “He utterly terrified me as a child, but I really hate seeing him run about serving us like a footman.”
“It does seem strange,” Lisbeth agreed, though she would likely have agreed had Dashiell said the sky was green. “Is he not a good vowsmith?”
“He’s amazing actually. Very diligent. Never misses a thing.
Which is probably why His Grace has kept him rather than giving him to himself, but—” Nic caught a glance stolen his way as though mindful of his reaction.
“If he was Master sa Everel, he could have a much higher guild rank and a successful career of his own.”
“Oh, that is sad,” Lisbeth said as Nic prepared his shot. “I never really thought about how it must affect non-sasines, not being able to reach high ranks. Perhaps that ought to be changed.”
“It’s to ensure that vowsmiths taking high-level contracts aren’t obligated to specific families,” Dashiell explained as Nic aimed and loosed, and a large part of him wished he could fly as his arrow did, away from the conversation.
He was no vowsmith, but he shared with Master Everel the fate of one owned—a sasine something he could never and would never be.
As his arrow hit the target near Leaf’s, Nic found himself following Master Everel’s path across the grass, more in accord with the old vowsmith than ever before.
“Well, we’re nowhere near as good as Mama,” he said, gesturing to the arrow still protruding from the centre of the target. “But we hit the thing. Shall we move on, Leaf?”
“Yes, by all means, we ought to let Lizzy and Master sa Vare get started.”
Offering her his arm, Nic gave only a perfunctory smile to the others before leading her across the grass toward the second target.
For a time, she was silent, intent on keeping her skirt lifted and battling with her bonnet, until all at once she said, “You really are very good together, you know. You and Master sa Vare.”
“Because we share an old joke about garden parties? That hardly makes up for the fact that he is well travelled, successful, and above all free, while this house is practically my whole world.”
She squeezed his arm. “I know, but I think it’s true all the same.”
When they reached the mark for the next target, Millie and Dr. Fanshaw were already finishing at the third, though the doctor’s gaze kept shying in Leaf’s direction as she prepared to take her shot.
Nic cleared his throat. “I promise no puns this time,” he said as she took aim.
“But I must tell you that I think you’ve made a conquest of Dr. Fanshaw. ”
“What?”
For the second time, she turned the instant before her arrow leapt from its string, sending it wide.
“You, Nicholas Monterris, are a monster. What do you mean I’ve made a conquest of the doctor?”
“He looks at you all the time.”
“Nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” He nodded in the man’s direction and Leaf looked around, just in time to catch the doctor staring before he turned hastily away.
Leaf sniffed. “He’s probably just wondering what’s taking us so long.”
“I’m sure that explains him staring yesterday too, and the day before.”
“You’re very silly, Nic. Dr. Fanshaw is merely used to seeing me every other day unless we’re in town. Mama has a sickly disposition, you know, and calls him in for every trivial complaint. Now do take your shot.”
He did so, but as he was about to loose the arrow, Leaf said, “Dr. Fanshaw may be looking at me, but at least he’s not undressing me with his eyes, which is what Master sa Vare does every time he looks at you.”
His arrow sailed wide as hers had done, leaving their poor attempts paired at the edge of the target.
“Excellent revenge, my dear.”
“It was, yes; however, it is also true. Shall we?”
Together they walked on again, arm in arm across the lawn.
Back on the terrace, Lord Ricard remained at the refreshment table, a flicker of white paper all that could be seen of his correspondence.
Ahead of them, Lord Charborough and the duchess seemed in fine spirits, and each target they reached had her arrow firmly planted in the centre.
Farther on, Lady Theresa and the duke had disappeared behind the pavilion—the same pavilion in which Nic and Dashiell had once kissed, a memory Nic was keen to ignore as they drew closer to its sweeping ironwork.
The weather held out until they were halfway around the course, when dark clouds rolled in over the house. Nic gestured upward. “I think Lord Ricard was right.”
“Oh, and just when I was getting the hang of this. Hopefully it will hold off long enough to finish. Where is Master Everel?”
The old vowsmith had been coming by at each target to hand out fresh arrows so they needn’t carry them, but a quick hunt of the lawn found no sign of him. “Perhaps I should just steal some from the target. Oh, too late.”
The first heavy drops pattered onto the grass around them.
“It’s just a few drops,” Leaf said. “We can ignore a few drops.”
As though this had been a challenge, the sky cracked open, pouring rain in great sheets that turned the world grey.
“I think it’s a bit more than a few drops!” Nic called through the sudden downpour, his hair already sticking to his head. Working quickly, he pulled off his coat and handed it to Leaf. “Hold it over your head!”
With Leaf holding Nic’s coat awkwardly over her sodden bonnet, she hurried toward the house.
Nic followed, rain soaking into his breeches and his white shirt as though he had just jumped into the lake.
On the terrace, a small collection of servants raced about bringing in the luncheon table, while the duke stood at the bottom of the stairs directing everyone inside.
“Nicholas!” he called as Nic and Leaf approached. “The birds!”
His father pointed toward the pavilion, and knowing how bad rain was for the echoes, Nic wheeled about without pause and dashed back into it.
Behind him, the duke shouted again, and Nic glanced back in time to see his father gesturing after him, Dashiell a rain-smeared figure now following in his wake.
The cage would likely have been too awkward for him to lift alone, but of all the people his father could have sent, it had to be Dashiell.
Nic reached the cage out of breath to find the echoes flapping about in agitation. “It’s all right, I’m here,” he said as Dashiell arrived, a fine sight with his clinging white shirt and sodden dark hair. “Take that side,” Nic added, taking hold of his and hauling them up.