The heat of a blush crept up her neck and face, and she ducked her head, suddenly shy in his presence. Her earlier ease in speaking with him had vanished, a distant memory in the face of her current tongue-tied state. She spent the remainder of supper sipping wine and listening as he and her father discussed Sodrin’s lessons, and Sodrin fired off questions as fast and numerous as a barrage of arrows.
Once the supper ended, and the various diners broke into smaller groups to either gossip, curry favor, or destroy reputations, Jahna edged her way toward the room’s perimeter and the promised freedom beyond the tall, ornate doors flanked by guards. Her father had left her to her own devices, and she had refused her brother’s offer to keep her company.
“Enjoy,” she said, catching the way his gaze swept the hall, settling on one pretty nobleman’s daughter before moving to another. He was a high-ranking aristocrat’s son and of an age where courtship was not only natural, it was expected. Sodrin didn’t need her clinging to his arm should he try his hand at a little clumsy wooing.
She almost made it to the doors without incident when Dame Stalt stepped neatly in front of her and blocked her path. The urge to curse her bad timing battled with her delight that the revered headwoman of the Archives sought her out.
As if by some unspoken magic, the crowd thinned away, leaving a wide circumference of empty space around them. The dame looked more formidable than any warrior queen in her severe-cut gown. She stared down her nose at Jahna, who gave a hasty bow before clasping her hands behind her back to hide the fact she was wringing them bloodless from nervousness.
“I received your scrolls,” Dame Stalt announced, and Jahna’s heart plummeted to her feet at the grim tone in the other woman’s voice. “You lack structure and need proper training, but the account you sent me is thorough, detailed, and avoids useless fancy.”
Almost light-headed with relief at the sharp-edged compliment, Jahna gave another quick bow. “I’m so glad, madam. I enjoyed recording the stories the grandfathers and grandmothers of Osobaris told me.”
The village of Osobaris perched inside lands owned by Jahna’s father. A nondescript community made so by its lack of significant trade goods or strategic importance, it nonetheless possessed the distinction of being a gateway from which the first of the Elder races, the ancient Gullperi, abandoned this realm, leaving behind only remnants of their power in lonely tors, sacred circles and timeless forests.
Dame Stalt’s gaze was even more piercing than that of Radimar Velus. “You did a fine job of recording what they said without succumbing to the more fanciful aspects of storytelling. I think you would do well as an apprentice at the Archives if you’re interested.”
Jahna swayed on her feet before catching hold of her shock and wrestling it into submission. Gods forbid she do something stupid such as faint in front of the dame, especially when the news was this wondrous. She measured her words and prayed she didn’t screech or babble. “Oh yes, my lady. I’m very interested. Though I don’t know if my father would be willing to release me to apprentice with the Archives.”
She hadn’t expected such an offer from Dame Stalt. Her hope in sending the manuscript to her for review had been that the dame would look it over and perhaps consider her for apprenticeship as an amanuensis with possible promotion to first tier king’s chronicler after a few years. This was far better than she ever imagined.
If only she could get her father to agree to it.
Dame Stalt waved a languid hand in the air, as if approval from Jahna’s father was a minor and unimportant thing. “Let me speak with Uhlfrida tomorrow. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement that would satisfy everyone.”
She bid Jahna a short good night and plunged into the throng of dancers and observers, her decisive strides toward the king’s dais at the far end of the room clearing the path as if she wielded lightning strikes to push people out of her way.
Jahna envied her that particular talent and wished she might be able to employ the same as she tried for a second time to reach the main doors. She wanted to race outside, kick up snow drifts and laugh with joy under the winter moon. Her euphoria over Dame Stalt’s offer wasn’t dimmed by yet another interruption, this one even more welcomed than the dame’s had been.
“You remind me of a lantern whose flame burns bright, my lady. Your eyes are dancing, though you are not.” Sir Velus raised a questioning eyebrow, his own eyes green as the coveted sea glass brought over the mountains by the intrepid trade caravans and sold as jewelry to rich noblewomen.
Jahna grinned, still riding on a swell of elation. “I don’t dance because I’m never asked, Sir Velus.” She hurried to qualify her statement in case he thought her remark a clumsy attempt at garnering an invitation from him. “And I value my feet. Too many drunk lords fancying themselves butterflies on the dance floor when they’re really oxen.” His low laughter joined hers, and she thought his as delightful as his speech. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
He’d been scrutinized, measured and admired the moment he walked through the doors. A person would have to be without eyes or blindfolded not to see it. That he hadn’t been swallowed up by the spinning, swaying crowd, a partner on his arm, puzzled Jahna.
Wry humor played across his mouth. “Because I’m not important enough or high enough in status to warrant the time. You’re young, but I suspect you know how this works. This is a dance only on the surface. Underneath is a battlefield and those who strategize best are the envy of even the most successful generals.”
She blinked. He had just neatly summed up why she disliked this particular festival dance. Its air of calculation, of desperate purpose, stripped the joy from it. People used the event as an excuse to maneuver for position in court and negotiate marriages and trade alignments. Her father waded into the thick of it, never dancing but flitting from one cluster of nobles to the next as he bargained and gleaned information that would expand his influence.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t participate, but from here, it feels like I’m watching a battle instead of a dance sometimes. I like the courtyard dances much more, especially the Maiden Flower Dance. Have you seen it?”
Her companion nodded. “I have. The villages closest to Ilinfan come together to celebrate Delyalda. The Maiden Flower Dance and the Firehound story are always the favorites.”
“I love the Firehound story!” Jahna blushed, mortified by her enthusiastic outburst. She sounded more like an overly excited seven-year-old than the dignified young woman her father so desperately wanted her to be.
Sir Velus grinned, the expression one of appreciation instead of mockery. “Mine too. One of the older swordmasters possesses a touch of sorcery and can create the Hound from flame, though to be honest there’s been years where it looks more like a rabbit or piglet.” He winked at her. “Keep that between us.”
A bubble of laughter escaped her, and she captured it by covering her mouth with her hand. She had met this man only hours earlier, knew almost nothing about him other than his profession and his purpose in being here, but oh, she liked him very much. There was about him a steady confidence, as if he was very sure of his place in the world, with no need to prove his worth to anyone. He’d shown her great kindness, even before he knew she was his employer’s daughter.
He tipped his chin toward the crowded dance floor. “Your brother is enjoying himself.”
She followed the direction of his gesture, spotting Sodrin twirling a girl Jahna recognized as the youngest daughter of a lesser aristocrat. Her father stood not far away, watching, a disapproving frown pinching his face. “I’m glad,” she said. “As the heir, he’s ever reminded by our father of his duty to the line and the inheritance.”
She shuttered the rest of her words. It wasn’t her place to gossip about her family’s personal interactions nor the swordmaster’s place to be privy to them. It put them both in an awkward position. The heat of embarrassment flooded her face once more. She was a clumsy creature, socially inept and too free with her words when someone showed an interest in talking to her.
Unlike her, Sir Velus didn’t look the least ruffled and took up the threads of the conversation she abandoned. “Sodrin gave me a quick demonstration before supper of what he knows. He has a natural talent for the blade. He just needs to be lighter on his feet.”
“And forget for a moment that he isn’t always right.” Jahna loved her brother, but his insistence that he was never wrong, just misunderstood, drove her mad sometimes.