A Walk, a Folly, a Dance, and a Flirtation

Breakfast finished in silence, punctuated by Temmin's crunching of his toast and the crinkling of newspapers. Sedra was now striding out the morning room door, her remaining papers under her arm.

"Sedra, wait!" called Temmin. She looked back at him and slowed enough so he could match her pace. "So--Ellika tells me you walk quite a bit." She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "I thought perhaps I could walk with you today and we could talk?"

Sedra turned toward him more fully. "What about?"

"I don't know!" said Temmin. "I've missed you. It's just been such a long time since I've seen you."

"I know you," she answered, stopping at the door to her rooms. "You're trying to get out of something."

"Yes, the Keep!" he cried. "How can you stand being cooped up in this heap of rocks?"

Sedra's sober expression broke, and she laughed. "I can't on a morning like this. Meet me on the terrace in fifteen minutes. Give me a chance to change out of my wrapper."

When Temmin got back to his own rooms, he found Jenks happily puttering in his wardrobe. "No, your highness, you cannot put your riding clothes back on."

"Whyever not?!"

"Unless you're planning on walking in your study, people will see you. Not to mention smell you." Jenks rummaged through the racks of clothes--where had they all come from? wondered Temmin--and finally pulled out an acceptable brown wool riding-style jacket and matching waistcoat. Temmin got away with his existing dark gray pants and white shirt, and had only to change from his soft indoor shoes to sturdy walkers and grab a tweed hat before running back downstairs to the terrace off the sitting room.

Sedra was waiting, dressed in a sensible dark blue walking dress cut short enough to nearly show the tops of her black boots. On her head perched an equally sensible felt bonnet in a matching blue with a light rose lining that warmed her ivory complexion and flattered her chocolate brown eyes. Her one concession to fashion, besides that lining, was a voluminous fine wool shawl from the Southern Territories that reminded Temmin of nothing so much as a very dainty, very brightly colored blanket.

"How many sets of clothes does one go through in a day around here, Seddy?" said Temmin, offering his arm. She took it companionably.

"Let's see," said Sedra, ticking off on her fingers as they walked down the steps onto the groomed pathways. "Breakfast--really, Temmy, tell Jenks I said you can go a little less formal to breakfast, Mama and I wear wrappers down to the morning room, after all--then morning dress, then if you have audiences that day there's afternoon dress, then dinner dress. So there's at least four, more if you go riding or walking in the day or to the theater after dinner. Or if you're Ellika," she finished with a grin.

"And how are you getting along with Elly these days?" said Temmin, thinking of the letter he'd read so many times.

"Ellika." Sedra sighed. "As we get older we have less and less in common, it seems. She is so unwise sometimes! And yet, she's escaped unscathed--so far. I think the Beloved watches over her, little brother. But one of these days, I fear Blessed Neya will not be watching." She kicked her skirts out slightly as they stepped onto the rolling green lawns sloping down to the reflecting pool and the little marble pavilion ringed with cedars just beyond it. "Elly has it in mind to make a love match."

"I should very much like to love whoever I end up marrying, wouldn't you?"

"You may have more choice in the matter than Ellika and me," said Sedra tightly. "You may have a hand in your fate. For us, it will be luck and luck alone. I'm 19, Temmy." Her voice choked with emotion. "I'm 19, and I've put off Papa as long as I can. I expect by this time next year I shall be married, to the Mother knows who."

Temmin squeezed her arm with his in sympathy, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. His sister, married to a stranger? He had some vague idea about political alliances, but he hadn't ever thought about it before in terms of his own sisters. They walked on quietly until they reached the placid water and walked along its shore to the pavilion.

"What will you do?" he said in a low voice.

"What can I do? Run away with a lover? I'm too valuable as a bargaining chip. Papa would send the entire army out to find me, and he'd have the marriage annulled, if the groom survived the search. If things were different--" she grated out bitterly.

"If what things were different?" prompted Temmin.

Sedra looked briefly at him from the depths of her bonnet, and her eyes were full of a fierce passion that took him completely by surprise. She turned her fine head back to the pavilion. "If I were male, or if our laws weren't so backward, I would be the Heir. I was firstborn. I'm smart enough to rule, Temmin, and strong enough, too."

"I've always said you were smarter than Ellika and me put together, Seddy, and I dare say you're the one with the most discipline. You even look the most like Papa," he said, trying to joke her out of her dark mood.

"But none of that matters!" she cried out, pulling her arm from his and clenching her fists at her sides. "You're the boy, so you shall rule, and Ellika and I get sent like trophies, like brood mares, like whores, to whatever noble our father wishes to buy!"

"Sedra!" exclaimed Temmin in shock.

"But it's true, and it's not fair, and it's not right! No one will listen to me, certainly not Papa, and not that Teacher!" But at her own mention of the Teacher, a change came over her. Sedra gave a little shudder and quieted, though tears still filled the brown eyes.

"Ellika said you didn't like the Teacher."

"Did she," said Sedra tonelessly. "It's a bit more complicated than that. Please, Temmin, I don't want to talk about the Teacher."

"But--"

"Please. I beg you, as your sister." They reached the little pavilion, a folly their grandfather had built in the Southern style after a visit to his newly conquered lands.

"All right," said Temmin. He took her hand. They walked inside and sat on the bench under the graceful arches. The morning was bright, and the spring air was filled with the scents of grass and cedar. Temmin held his sister's warm hand and wished, more sincerely than ever, that they were all back at Whithorse, where she had been happier and he hadn't needed half so many clothes.

When they returned to the Keep, Temmin gave Sedra a fond kiss on the cheek and begged off family luncheon. The spring air had made him a bit sleepy. He wanted nothing more than a pleasant little nap on the green velvet couch in his study. Perhaps a nicely roasted chicken beforehand, a glass of wine, some spring greens in vinaigrette. Soup. Soup would also be good. And honest bread with a bit of cheese and some pickles. And a pudding. Nothing too substantial. He sent Jenks off to the kitchens, took off his jacket, and threw himself on the sofa.

He thought about what Sedra had left unsaid. She clearly thought she would be a better ruler than he would be. He feared she might be right. But he also knew that even if he abdicated in her favor, the throne would go to the next male in line--whoever they could dig up, even illegitimate sons or distant cousins. He'd never heard of a queen ruling in her own right in Tremont. His family had always produced a male heir, somehow. No, he was as doomed as she was.

Jenks entered, groaning under the weight of the "not-too-substantial" luncheon, and Temmin sat up and set to.

Ellika found him two hours later, stretched out on the couch sound asleep with the napkin still tucked in his collar and a few crumbs in his blond moustache; the scant remains of the luncheon had long ago been spirited away.

"Wake up!" Ellika picked up his carpet-slippered feet, unceremoniously dumped them on the floor, and sat down next to him in a froth of ruffly pale green that make her look, thought Temmin, like nothing so much as a very large, very pretty cabbage.

Ellika was rosy and blonde like their mother, and like Temmin himself, though his eyes were blue, and hers were the king's brown, chocolate like Sedra's. But where Sedra's eyes were serious and steady, Ellika's seemed lit from within by a particularly merry fire. Her heart-shaped face showed every fleeting emotion, which made her a horrid card player but a strangely amiable listener despite her chattiness, sympathies flowing across her face in accordance with the tale being told. She was in no sympathy, however, with Temmin's renewed snoring.

"I said, wake up, Sir No-Beard!" She poked him in the ribs.

"Hey! I'm awake! And I'll have you know I counted ten whiskers this morning," Temmin grumbled.

"I'm less interested in your whiskers than I am in your feet. On with your dancing shoes, young sir, I intend to make sure you don't embarrass me or yourself at tonight's ball." She rose to her feet and gestured behind her.

From seeming nowhere, Jenks appeared with Temmin's dancing shoes, and the prince took off his carpet slippers and laced up the shoes. "I don't see where my skill as a dancer has anything to do with you."

"I am widely held the best dancer in the capital, Temmy, and it just won't do to have my brother stepping on his partners' feet. Come on, up up up!" She dragged him off the couch, onto his feet and down the hall.

When they reached the grand ballroom, it was already full of servants preparing for the night's event. Tables and chairs ringed the edges of the floor, and footmen moved among them spreading blindingly white damask tablecloths. Maidservants were placing beeswax tapers in candelabras, stands and sconces; they would add a warmer, more flattering glow to the gaslight. More servants were arranging huge vases of flowers from the Keep's hothouses, and a small army of boys on ladders were busily polishing the gilt panels of mirrors that covered the longest wall, their shape echoing the graceful arches of the red-curtained windows facing them. Orchestrating it all was Affton the butler, unruffled as usual but murderous in his glare at any servant who wasn't moving fast enough for his satisfaction.

Even with all the bustle, a good expanse of shiny wood floor remained unoccupied. The two principal royal musicians--the Music Master, a tall, thin pianist named Sullo possessed of an extraordinarily full black moustache that veiled his mouth, and his near-identical brother, a violinist--were directing the placement of chairs and stands for the orchestra on a little elevated stage at one end of the hall. Ellika marched Temmin up the floor to the stage and clapped her hands for attention. The two men looked up quizzically from their work.

"Master Sullo!" she called. "We require a bit of practice music. Will you indulge us, please."

The brothers Sullo bowed with a good grace and took their places, Master Sullo flexing his long fingers as he settled on his piano bench and Mister Sullo blowing out his moustache like a hairy little curtain before shouldering his violin. On an unspoken signal they struck up the tune, a simple dobla. Ellika gave a deep curtsy and Temmin bowed, a bit awkwardly.

"It's just like sitting a horse, brother, it's all about balance and posture and keeping your joints loose. Watch and learn."

Temmin took his sister's hand and led her through the repeating figures of the dobla: point, back, step step step, point, back, step step step, switch hands turn, switch hands turn, switch hands turn, step step step. A child's dance, the traditional opener of any Tremontine dance or ball, something simple, cheerful and innocent to kick off an evening that would probably not end that way for at least a few of the dancers.

No one had ever told Temmin to think of equestrian posture as he danced. The dancing master brought in to Whithorse had given up on him years ago. He'd paid little attention to the actual dancing at their annual ball, preferring instead to eat until he burst at the buffet, stare uncomprehendingly at the local girls dressed in their best, and snigger with his boy cousins. The last two years there hadn't been a ball at Whithorse at all, what with Ellika and Queen Ansella at the Keep.

But now, as he and Ellika pranced through the dobla, he began to see why this might be considered fun, or maybe Elly's delight was just rubbing off on him. Even dancing with her brother, she was mesmerizing. Her sweetly sly smile and quick feet made the children's dance something more than it was. She added a little snap to all the turns that sent her blond mane fetchingly over first one shoulder and then the other, and even the way she pointed her toe was at once elegant and merry.

As they danced down the ballroom, Temmin noticed everyone surreptitiously watching them, more than one man with open longing for this golden girl on his arm. He grinned down in delight on his beautiful sister, and threw himself into it as if he were cantering through the countryside. They worked their way back up the floor, and as they approached the stage, the brothers Sullo ended the dobla with a flourish.

Ellika clapped. "Temmy, you don't dance badly at all!"

"I suppose I don't!" he said in surprise. "At least the dobla. I'm a little afraid to attempt anything any harder. And we don't have other dancers here, so...I guess we're done?"

"Nonsense," said Ellika briskly. "We shall at least practice the quarta. Let's see--" She scanned the servants. "Arta! Fen! I know you two can dance. Put down what you're doing and come here." The two looked nervously toward Affton, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, then shyly joined the prince and princess on the dance floor. "Temmin, you partner with Arta. Fen, you'll be with me." She put Arta's hand in Temmin's and took the speechless Fen's hand in her own, and they set themselves in the pattern for the quarta, with the couples facing their partners.

Temmin wasn't quite sure where to put his eyes. He looked over at his sister, and she was smiling up at the red-haired young Fen as charmingly as if he were an earl rather than a footman. He followed her lead and turned to Arta with a smile and a slight bow of his head. The young maidservant looked up at him with wide hazel eyes and blushed to the roots of her curly brown hair. There was something about Arta that reminded him of that pretty maid at Whithorse--her eyes, perhaps, or the blush so like that other girl when he'd caught her that night in the garden--but before he could complete the thought, the brothers Sullo started up the quarta and the two couples fell in step.

This dance was more complicated than the dobla, but Temmin found the steps coming back to him faster than he'd expected. After a couple of false starts and a quick walk-through, he was dancing smoothly with the other three, sweeping Arta along through the forms. They twirled and stepped, changing partners and dancing in a ring before the sequence began again.

Arta was soon laughing, nerves forgotten, and little corkscrew tendrils of her hair hung down around her ears and nape escaping her little lace maid's cap. Each time Temmin took her in his arms to spin her around he pulled her a little bit closer, until she was quite near to him on the final spin. He could smell her hair, a sweet scent that reminded him strangely of both hay and clean fur. When the dance ended and the two couples bowed and curtsied to each other, he had a very hard time resisting the urge to sweep one of those corkscrews back behind her ear, or even worse, bury his nose in her nape and breathe deep.

With a start he realized he had been staring. Arta's eyes were even wider, if possible, and she was as red as a rose. On a sudden impulse, he bowed over her hand, straightened, and winked, releasing it. Arta burst into nervous giggles, bobbed a curtsy, and ran back to the little knot of maidservants gathered at the edge of the dance floor. As he watched her retreating back, he looked up at the wall of mirrors--was that--? No. Whatever he was seeing was probably just his nerves.

Ellika dismissed young Fen with a nod and a smile and turned to her brother. "That's enough of a demonstration to me that you know more than you've let on about balls, sly boots," she said under her breath.

"No," the prince said smugly as they left the ballroom arm in arm. "I just followed your lead."

"Well, just don't let Mama see you flirting with a maidservant or you'll get her fired."

"Ellika--is Arta a 'hussy'?!"

His sister burst out laughing. "I promise to point out at least one hussy before the night is over! Now," she said, "speaking of Mama, she always has the nicest tea, and I'm hungry."