“Good evening, my prince,” Thrasamund replied, though his bow was brief and shallow. “I have been waiting some time to greet you and pay my honors.”
“Yes, and I thank you for your patience. Lord Rabanus and Lady Perpetua are old friends, and we found plenty to discuss.” Liuprand’s face was delicately but unmistakably flushed. “Your attendance at this ceremony is very much appreciated.”
Thrasamund’s face, by contrast, was pale and gelid. “Well understood, my prince; however, if my house could beg a moment’s word—”
“Of course,” Liuprand cut in. To Rabanus and Perpetua, he said, “I should give my full attention to Lord Thrasamund and his son, but I will call for you again when I am finished.”
They both nodded in assent and departed, the pale-pink veil from Perpetua’s hennin floating out behind her. While Rabanus continued ahead, Perpetua gave one brief glance over her shoulder, a glance that met Agnes’s eyes. Her expression was odd, almost fearful, the happiness drained from her so suddenly, like clipping the stem of a rose.
When Agnes returned her attention to these new solicitors, Liuprand was saying, “You are most welcome, Lord Thrasamund, and I am happy now that our two houses are joined—though perhaps in an abstruse manner—through the bloodline of your grandson.”
“Yes,” Thrasamund agreed, “it is most fortuitous. The profit of this betrothal is many-sided.”
His tone was leery, lacking the gaiety that was appropriate for the circumstances. Yet if Liuprand noticed, he pressed on as if there were no discrepancy between the quality of Thrasamund’s voice and his words.
“It is my aim to cultivate familiarity and goodwill among all the noble houses of Drepane and the Crown,” he said. “I hope you can see my efforts already—or rather, the efforts of the lady Agnes, whose brilliant mind constructed the masque.”
Thrasamund’s gaze shifted to Agnes, and he dipped his head. “Lady,” he said. “I believe it has been many years since we have last looked upon each other.”
“Many years indeed,” Agnes replied. She had not laid eyes on the Master of Eyes since the desecration of Adele-Blanche, and his appearance had not much changed in that time. His bald head still shone like a polished bead, and his beard was just as boldly red. What did seem different now was his manner. She had not once heard his hearty laughter in the feasting hall. He had given none of the jocular and effusive speeches he was known for. His spirit seemed to have retreated into itself, like a fox hunkering down sullenly into its den.
“And,” said Thrasamund, in that same dispassionate tone, “I am given to understand that you have never met my son and heir, Childeric.”
With one hand, he beckoned the other man forward. In stark contrast with his father, Childeric of the House of Eyes bowed deeply to the waist, and did not stand up straight again until Liuprand said, “My lord, you may rise.”
“Thank you, my prince,” he said. His voice was heartfelt, dripping with the honeyed sweetness of sincerity, which, to Agnes, came as a great relief. “And thank you for this splendid affair.”
“You are most welcome, my lord. Your attendance is appreciated by the Crown.”
“A propitious evening it has been for us all,” Lord Childeric said. “Though I must confess that my favorite moment of the night was the masque. Lady Agnes, it is an honor to make the acquaintance of a woman so clever and so artistically inclined.”
The other guests had laid similar flatteries upon her, but Agnes felt an even greater earnestness from Childeric—perhaps it was not so much his words but the way in which his chest swelled as he spoke, as though he were anxious to impress her with his plaudits. It was innocent, in a way, boyish, though he was of an age to her and Liuprand and looked it. It occurred to her then as strange to be a man of such high status, near to thirty—and not yet wed. She could well imaginehow many ladies would be falling over themselves to marry into the most noble and most venerable House of Eyes. Yet…
It could not be his appearance that had prevented his finding of a wife. Childeric was a handsome man, though perhaps in a rather nondescript way—he looked in some respects a copy of his father, only duller. His red hair was not quite so bright, his eyes not quite so canny. But his openness was appealing. He had a distinctly congenial manner that was not common among nobles and lords.
Agnes realized she had gone for too long without speaking, and hurriedly replied, “Thank you, Lord Childeric.”
In a rather natural way, Thrasamund and Childeric came to occupy the chairs that Rabanus and Perpetua had abandoned. It became apparent that, indeed, Thrasamund also had much to discuss with the prince. The House of Eyes and its lands were not so prosperous as of late. A drought, a wildfire, a small uprising by a lesser noble house. His wife, Quirine, absent from this affair, was suffering from great fearfulness over these troubles, causing her to remain hidden in her stronghold.
Thrasamund would ask the Crown for gold and for arms, though he was not as beseeching as he ought to have been. All throughout he retained his icy manner. But—and perhaps there was the wine to thank for this—Liuprand did not appear to take offense. He continued his discourse with Thrasamund.
Meanwhile, Agnes faced Childeric. He wore a brocade of emerald green, a bit too deep and rich for his coloring. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then Childeric leaned forward, across the table.
“I must confess,” he said in a low voice, “that I have been an admirer of yours long before this moment.”
“Oh?” Agnes arched a brow. “And how did that come to be so, when I have not left Castle Crudele in all the years since my husband’s passing?”
“Words travel like falcons on the wind,” Childeric replied. “Your story is well known across the island.”
“A woeful tale,” Agnes said. “I cannot imagine why it would inspire admiration.”
“I do not find it woeful,” said Childeric. “I find it poignant. It is a tale of courage, of resilience. Another lady might have broken into pieces after such a tragedy. But you have conducted yourself with such elegance and such dignity. You have brought a renewed honor to the House of Teeth and to the line of Adele-Blanche.”
“I see.” Agnes felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She had not known at all that this had become her reputation. She knew only what occurred within the castle’s cold halls. “And do you find, upon our first meeting, that I am deserving of such high regard? That these tales are true?”
“Not quite, my lady,” said Childeric. “I find that the stories do not do you justice enough. In particular, they are lacking in praise for your beauty.”
Such facile flattery should not have charmed her, and yet it did. Agnes found herself flushing more fiercely.The wine,she thought,it is the wine and not the words.But it was a pleasant feeling to be praised, even in so unsophisticated a manner, and she reached for the carafe and poured herself and Childeric each another goblet.
