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else would bring bodyguards. Doubtless they were in some servants hall even
now being plied with ale and rich food by castle staff eager for gossip.
 Valet, Derian said, keeping his voice low,  what am I supposed to do? I m
out of my element here.
 You and I will stand there along the wall, Valet gestured to the stretch
behind the head table,  where we can be ready if the earl needs us. Your
particular role will be to assist Blysse. If she is about to make any
particularly dangerous error, stop her, even at risk of reprimand to
yourself.
Derian had no doubt that the errors Valet referred to were not merely social
ones, like holding her spoon
incorrectly or drinking her soup from her bowl. Firekeeper possessed a quick
temper when she perceived offense and he had yet to figure out precisely what
would give offense.
He was permitted no further time to worry. The towering wooden doors at the
far end of the hall were beginning to open and the steward s trumpet voice
announced:  Grand Duke Gadman, Lord Rolfston
Redbriar and Lady Melina Shield, with Sapphire, Jet, Opal, Ruby, and Citrine
Shield.
 Firekeeper, Derian hissed hopelessly, but his charge hurried over to him
immediately.
 Stand there, Valet said, his own voice somehow both strong and nearly
inaudible. He dared a slight push to center Firekeeper behind the chair where
she was to sit.  And wait.
Firekeeper did so and Blind Seer sat beside her, his hackles slightly raised.
The woman acknowledged his tension by curling the fingers of one hand in his
fur, but her dark gaze was fixed on the eight people entering the room. Derian
reflected that the nobles might mistake her unwavering stare for awe, but he
knew the young woman well enough to know that to Firekeeper any stranger was
an enemy until proven otherwise.
Such care might well be indicated when encountering this particular family.
Although the rumors Derian had heard about Grand Duke Gad-man and Lord
Rolfston credited them with everything from courage to ruthlessness, they were
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as nothing compared to what was whispered about Lady Melina Shield. In city
and countryside alike it was agreed that the noblewoman was a sorceress, one
of power the like of which had not been seen since the days when the Old
Country still reigned.
Looking at the woman, demurely gowned in mutedly iridescent silk, her fingers
resting lightly on her husband s sleeve, Derian was at first inclined to
dismiss those rumors as mere superstitious talk. Then he noticed the jeweled
necklace encircling the still-firm flesh of Melina Shield s pale throat.
The necklace was short, just a few links too long to be a choker. Polished
silver links were hung with five pendants, each holding a single faceted gem.
The colors were not harmonious. Indeed a connoisseur might even say that they
clashed: brilliant blue; opaque, glittering black; fiery hues like those of a
new-lit fire; bloodred, and, lastly, a rich orange-brown, the shade of a fine
cognac. Derian did not need to be a gem cutter s nephew to recognize that each
of these gems was a pricelessly perfect example of the namestones of each of
Lady Melina s children.
Now, seeing the necklace, seeing how each of the scion Shields wore set in a
band about their brow a namestone gem to match the one about their mother s
throat, Derian believed with a sudden thrill of his terrified soul that Melina
Shield was indeed the sorceress gossip had named her. He had little time to
grow accustomed to the thought, for the steward was announcing Grand Duchess
Rosene and her kin.
Although a widow of seventy, Rosene could still wear soft pinks, for her hair
was snow-white and her skin the delicate hues of the inner petals of a newly
blossomed wild rose. Her eyes, however, were as shrewd as those of her brother
the king and she let her son escort her without hindrance, less from obedience
to custom than the better to glance about her and assess the situation.
Baron Ivon Archer, though a mature man, bore himself like the son of a hero,
but it was in his sister, Zorana, that Derian saw the true heroic fire. Both
of Grand Duchess Rosene s children were accompanied by a spouse and trailed by
their get, the youngest of whom might have been excluded from such a gathering
just a year or so before. Derian hardly had time to note that Baron Archer s
daughter, the Lady Elise, was easily as lovely as any of her more
ostentatiously named second cousins when the steward announced:
 Their Royal Majesties, King Tedric and Queen Elexa!
As no one had taken a seat, no one needed to rise, but when the brass trumpets
sounded their fanfare, everyone stood straighter in respect and turned to
watch the monarchs enter. Everyone, that is, except
Derian s Firekeeper. The loud trumpet call in the contained chamber frightened
her, causing her to start back in alarm.
Before she could err further, Derian hurried forward and seized her arm, aware
that in doing so he had once again brought himself to the king s attention. He
was too busy to worry about this, for Firekeeper s hand had flown to her knife
even as she looked about for some sheltered place from which to defend
herself.
 Easy, Derian assured her, wishing that his voice didn t sound so loud in the
suddenly hushed hall.
 Easy.
Firekeeper felt no such need not to be noticed.  What that?
 Trumpets, he said, letting his own tones match hers. If he could not go
unnoticed, then let no one think he had anything to hide.  Like a flute but
larger and louder.
 Where?
 Over there. He indicated with one hand, his other gently guiding her knife
back into its sheath.
Firekeeper moved as if she wished to examine one of the instruments. Derian
put a restraining hand on her arm, knowing that if she intended to go, no
strength of his would hold her.
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 Stay, he said, more pleading than ordering.  You can look at them later. Now
we owe the king our attention.
 Still? she asked, blowing out through her nose in what he had learned was
exasperation.  We did!
 And still we must, Derian said patiently.
King Tedric rescued him.  Steward Silver, have one of the heralds trumpets
brought here for my guest s inspection. The rest of you have my leave to be
seated.
Even Earl Kestrel obeyed this implicit command and, after examining the
trumpet, Firekeeper was willing to do the same.
 Young man, the king said, and Derian realized that he was being addressed.
Hurriedly, he bent knee.
 Remain at the young woman s shoulder and advise her.
Derian did as ordered, standing at Firekeeper s right, slightly to the left of
Earl Kestrel and as far away as was polite from the alarming presence of the
king. Still, from where he stood he noticed that the king s white hair was a
wig. The realization embarrassed him, as if he had stumbled onto a state
secret.
Servants bearing wine and bread emerged from discreet alcoves along the wall.
Noticing that none of the nobles seemed to regard them at all, Derian did his
best to mimic the servants impassive expressions, wishing more than anything
else to be forgotten. He only moved when one would pour Firekeeper wine.
 Water only, he said softly.
The king, however, cocked an eyebrow.  Do you think my vintage not good enough
for her?
Derian was about to answer when Firekeeper said:
 Wine like sick bird berries. Makes prey.
 She means, Earl Kestrel translated,  that she has observed wild birds eating
fermented berries or fruit.
They become sick, and sick creatures become easy prey.
King Tedric stroked his angular cheekbone with one finger.  Surely she does [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]