Lord Elis steps forward, his youthful face suddenly savage. “I will not stand by the side of a dracori!”
“And why not?” Prince Joro the pirate smirks, tossing a lock of ginger hair back from his sun-kissed face. “Your people are practically handing their kingdom over to the dracori on a silver platter. My people, meanwhile, have held them at bay by the blood of our brave men and women for the last twelve years and more!”
“Is that why they raid our shores every spring, burning and destroying everything in their path?” Elis demands, whirling on the prince. “Because your people are doing such a fine job of defending the high seas?”
Joro curses colorfully, but before he takes more than a single lunging step toward Elis, Prince Bryon snarls, “Enough of this. Let us not quarrel with one another when our enemy stands before us. See here, my brothers, our first trial! Let us rend him limb from—”
I don’t know when I decided to act. I don’t know if there was ever any real decision in the matter. My body seems to make the choice for me before my mind quite catches up, for suddenly I’m on my feet, standing on the brink of the dais, my head above every other person in that massive chamber.
“While I wouldn’t want to speak for the company at large,” I say in the loudest voice I can summon, “personally I am quite ready for the dancing to begin.”
7
Rosie
Every eye in the hall turns to me.
I swallow hard, suddenly almost crushed under the sheer weight of scrutiny radiating from all those startled faces. The champions, the king, the courtiers, and the guards…they stare at me like I’ve just grown two heads.
Only the man in black—Valtar—doesn’t stare. His expression is one of quiet contemplation, as though nothing about this situation has taken him by surprise.
I look away from him quickly, turning my attention instead to the king, who stands with his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw set in a hard line. I flash a smile and toss my elegantly pinned curls. “The truthseer has had his say, has he not?” I keep my voice bright and brisk, as though the tension in the hall has simply failed to impress me. “The matter seems to be decided, so why should we not dance?”
“Princess Roselle,” Taigan growls, “it would be best if you remained silent and let the men decide these matters.”
A flicker of movement from Prince Valtar. I could swear he’s going for one of his knives, gods damn him. But I don’t look too closely, for that might give him away, and then where would we be?
Laughing merrily to drown out Taigan’s protests, I lift the hem of my gown and descend the dais steps in a cloud of pink silk and embroidered roses. “Oh, come, Prince Taigan!” I cry. “Surely you’re not so keen for a fight you’d choose violence over dancing? Hardly what a girl looks for in her future champion.”
“Indeed, Taigan,” Alderin growls, shooting a glare his nephew’s way, “this night is meant to honor our princess.” Looking at me, the grim lines of his face soften into that same gentle smile which never fails to send a chill down the back of my neck. “As she says, the truthseer has spoken. It would seem Prince Valtar’s presence here is ordained by the gods and necessary for the ultimate success of this venture. We’ll decide tomorrow whether or not he shall be permitted to compete in the trials. Perhaps the gods who sent him here will deliver us a sign. In the meanwhile…yes. Yes, let us have dancing.”
With those words, he signals to Captain Norlan. The guards raise their lances and retreat, rather reluctantly, to the edges of the room, melting into shadows just outside the range of thescintilglow. Prince Valtar stands alone in the center of the great hall, his head slightly angled, his gaze still resting on me. There’s something in his eye which I cannot quite read. Surprise, perhaps. Amusement, maybe. And…is that a hint of admiration? No, surely not. I must be imagining it, for it’s not as though I’ve done anything particularly brave or clever. There’s a cautious sort of watchfulness to him, however. As though he’s curious to see exactly what I will do next.
King Alderin moves to my side, leaving his nephew behind. “Well done,” he says as he draws near. “I thought for a momentthat we should have bloodshed, but you seem to have forestalled the worst. Now, who will you choose to help you lead the first dance?”
I don’t hesitate. After all, we’ve kissed already; what could a dance possibly hurt? “Him,” I say, and point. All those eyes, which had been fastened on me, swivel now to Valtar. “I shall dance with the prince of Inithana,” I continue, with far more confidence than I feel, “and bid him welcome to the trials.”
The six champions shuffle their feet, muttering and cursing. None of them dares utter a protest, however. Only King Alderin drops his mouth close to my ear and murmurs, “Are you quite sure?”
I nod firmly.
“Very well.” Alderin turns and addresses the gathering. “The princess has made her choice. Let the celebration begin!”
At once, music bursts from the musicians’ gallery; pipes and drums and stringed instruments pour forth a merry tune. To my great surprise, it’s a song I know—not one of the solemn, staid pieces Philippa has been trying to acquaint me with, but the Springhopper Jig, an old country tune I’ve danced to many times on festival nights back at Gartsworth. I flash a glance the king’s way. He smiles benevolently and says, “I wanted to be sure our princess enjoyed her first dance and asked the musicians to play something familiar.”
And there I go again, feeling a warm flush of gratitude for the man who kidnapped me. How am I ever supposed to keep my head on straight?
Swallowing back words of thanks, I hasten across the hall to where Prince Valtar stands. My footsteps slow the nearer I draw to him. My gods, but I’d forgotten how much taller he is up close! Even balanced on heeled shoes, I’m obliged to crane my neck, looking up and up and up some more to meet his eye. Howeverdid I manage to catch the back of his head and drag his mouth down to mine earlier? It probably helped that I couldn’t see him all that well at the time, hidden in that alcove as he was. Seeing him now, all six and a half–odd feet of him, towering over me, his face fully lit byscintilglow, well…I doubt very much I’d have the courage to make such a bold move again.
He bows solemnly as I draw near. When he straightens, he catches my eye. That faint hint of what might be a dimple flashes so briefly, I wonder if I imagined it. “Greetings, Princess Roselle,” he says. There’s something…I’m not sure. Something lingering about the way he saysRoselle. As though sounding it out takes particular care. Though I hate to hear it, hate every time someone calls me by this stranger’s name, I possibly don’t hate it so much coming from him. “Have you any particular need of my services this evening?”
Heat races up my neck at memory of the last service I required of this man. Hastily, I drop my eyes, unable to meet his gaze one second longer, only to find myself staring at that awful dragon-shaped scar. Not to mention the undeniably impressive display of muscle beneath it.
“Your shirt,” I say, and flutter a hand his way. “It’s all…it’s still…”
He looks down at his unfastened garment then back at me. “The music?”
“I’m sure they can play through a few measures while you pull yourself together. This song is rather repetitive in any case.”
