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“You’re sure Ferris is going to be there?”
Avender looked closely at Redburr as they neared the King’s Gate. The outer town’s stalls and bazaars, fat with melons, summer squash, and the first golden ears of corn, tugged at them like greedy beggars. Dark roe spilled from the plated bellies of oldfish almost as long as a man.
“She’ll be there.” The Shaper scratched his belly where it threatened to burst free of his shirt and ogled the gleaming fish. “There isn’t a woman in Malmoret—or Valing, either—who’d pass up an invitation to the prince’s coming of age celebration.”
“And Nolo?”
“Nolo’s in Issinlough. Taking a vacation from humans.”
Flipping a heavy coin to the nearest fishmonger, Redburr scooped up three bowls of the salty roe and gobbled them down before he and Avender were halfway to the gate. In two years of traveling together, Avender had seen no sign of the Shaper’s appetite ever abating.
“Come on.” Redburr gave a loud, savory belch. “We’re going to be late.”
The King’s Gate rose before them. Evening light splashed brightly against the lofty walls, making the pale stone look more like the sides of a yellow barn than the first defense of the wealthiest city in the world. Inside, deep carvings covered the cool, dark rock with scenes of triumphant kings. But beyond the wall the city teemed.
Avender sniffed the air. No place else smelled like Malmoret: all odors drifted here eventually. Awful at first, because of the slaughterhouses by the river, but gradually improving. Bread was baking somewhere, and washing hung to dry. A few steps down the road the scent of a scholar’s ink clung to the air like words on parchment before being scratched out by the sharp tang of an apothecary’s herbs. Smoke of all kinds whirled and spun from fires seen and unseen. Birch and cedar burned, and the matted press of cow pies, and firestone, and gumwood from the Wetting, and incense thick with midnight meetings, and the bones of horses and the piercing fetor of the tanneries upriver. Best of all, as far as Avender was concerned, were the smells of a thousand meals being cooked around him: lamb and goat, soup and stew, eggs and beans. If he enjoyed it so much, he could only imagine the temptation to Redburr’s much more easily distracted nose.
“Are we going to the Ox and Plow?” he asked as they shouldered their way through the crowd.
“Not this time, boy.” Redburr turned sideways to avoid a conk on the head from a milkmaid’s yoke. “We’ve better lodgings to look forward to tonight.”
They headed south and east toward Edgewater and the New Palace. Houses stood straighter and gutters ran cleaner as they moved into the more prosperous parts of the city. Fewer people jostled on the path. Shade and fruit trees stretched green branches over courtyard walls. The scent of the river joined the medley in the air.
“So, where are we staying?” demanded Avender as Redburr led them out of Pucker Street and onto Newkin Way. On their right, pennants fluttered from the villas lining the banks of the river.
“You’ll see.”
The mansions grew more magnificent as Redburr led them farther east. Most impressive of all, the New Palace loomed at the end of the avenue like a great cream-colored cat sleeping at the bottom of a thick hedge, its terraces bright with vines and flowers. Few lights gleamed in the wide windows: the ball that night was to be held in the Old Palace in the center of the city. King Brannis preferred the thick stone of the older keep to the dancing fountains and terraced gardens of the new, where Queen Loellin had once held court with her Wizard consort.
Before they reached the New Palace, however, the Shaper led Avender into the last, and grandest, villa. A crested flag marked the entrance, where a pair of guards in Dwarven armor stood at strict attention. Avender recognized the standard at once: three white swords crossed on a black field. Only three people in all the world might fly that flag and two of them, if they still lived, were in Ussene. The third was Prince Gerrit, Lady Giserre’s brother.
A bowing footman led them inside. They hadn’t half crossed the front hall when a whoop sounded from the stair. Ferris bounded down in a dressing gown, two and three marble steps at a time. Avender caught a glimpse of Hern as well before Ferris caught him and the Shaper in hugs the equal of any bear’s.
“Finally you’re here! We’ve been waiting for days! Not that it’s been boring, of course. We’ve had picnics on the river and Brizen’s been by and I’m teaching Pattis and Lemmel how to sail. Why weren’t you here yesterday? Did you forget the ball’s tonight?”
“Ferris, please calm down.” Hern joined them on the orange and black paving in the hall. “The prince and princess gave up all hope of your arriving on time, Redburr, and are off preparing for the evening. Which is what Ferris and I should be doing, and you two as well.”
“Mother’s already ordered baths for you,” laughed Ferris. She pinched her nose delicately between thumb and finger. “Redburr, you smell like you’ve been at the slops again.”
The Shaper gathered himself majestically. A button popped off his vest and rattled across the marble floor. “You will not believe the transformation I am about to undergo,” he intoned.
Hern waved a hand in front of her face to scatter the oldfish fumes spreading through the hall.
Upstairs, Redburr and Avender had adjoining suites with views of the Edgewater where it met the main stream. The curtains in their wide windows fluttered in the evening breeze. Off his room Avender found a second chamber with a copper tub, filled and steaming. He enjoyed his soak, but turned up his nose at the scented soap set out for him. The warmth dredged the road from his bones, and he only climbed out when the water was nearly as tepid as the air.
Back in his room, he found a magnificent set of clothes laid out on the bed. The jacket was a little tight, but it had been several months since the steward had last seen him and he was still growing. Scowling, he discovered the breeches only reached the top of his calves, with pearl buttons to fasten them tight below the knee. At least the shirt wasn’t too ruffled. He had to unfasten the breeches again when he realized the long, white stockings were supposed to fit inside, then squeezed his feet into fancy shoes that wouldn’t last a quarter mile on a muddy lane.
Ferris and Hern were waiting on the terrace when he went back downstairs. Evening had fallen, and stars sparkled in the darkening sky to match the dance of light upon the water. But Avender had eyes only for Ferris. Her figure was still slight, and her hair the color of mud, but when she smiled or spoke there was nothing plain about her at all. Leaning over the wide banister, she pointed across the garden at the boat she had taken Pattis and Lemmel sailing in, one foot lifted girlishly for balance.
Hern pulled her daughter back from the rail. “Remember what I told you, Ferris. This isn’t Valing. No jack-rabbiting.”
“We’re not at the ball yet, Mother. Allow me to have some fun.”
Bathrobes billowing, Prince Gerrit’s daughters raced down the terrace to meet the new guests, but Ferris was the person they really wanted to see. Sweeping the two girls up in her arms, she kissed them both before their governess arrived in their wake, red-faced and puffing. The prince and princess followed, beside whom Hern, in what Avender knew to be her most special gown, looked like a brown hen caught beside swans.
Dowdy though she seemed, Hern retained the full measure of her dignity. “Prince Gerrit, Princess Arenne. May I present Avender of Valing.”
To Avender’s surprise, Prince Gerrit dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Beside him Princess Arenne dipped in a deep curtsy, and the children and their nurse as well. Blushing to the ears, Avender bowed in answer.
“Welcome to Malmoret,” said the prince graciously as he regained his feet. “We are honored to host such a hero in our hall.”
Though it still embarrassed him, Avender had learned over the years how to receive such praise. He bowed a second time and said humbly, “You honor me too much. Reiffen was my friend.”
Prince Gerrit’s face contracted, reminding Avender of Reiffen when he was angry. “You believe my nephew dead?”
“Reiffen will always be my friend,” replied Avender, recovering as best he could. Evidently Prince Gerrit, like Ferris, refused to recognize what must have happened to Reiffen in the three years since he had been gone.
The prince relaxed. Even when he smiled, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Reiffen in a temper. But he was as gracious as Giserre.
Princess Arenne stepped forward, slim and tall as her husband, with the golden hair of southern Banking. “Welcome to Malmoret,” she said, extending a delicate hand. “How do you find our city?”
“It’s very beautiful.” Avender stammered, somewhat overcome by the woman’s resplendence. It was almost too much, like spooning sugar on top of Mother’s Spinner’s maple candy.
“Have you visited Malmoret before?”
Avender nodded. “We never stayed in a palace, though.”
“You have been in Malmoret previously?” The sharp look rose once more in the prince’s eyes. “With Redburr? And he has not brought you here so that I might pay my respects?”
“Usually we stay at the Ox and Plow.”
The prince frowned, looking more like Reiffen than ever. “Wine-bibbing and gluttony are ever the Oeinnen’s favorite pursuits. However, he has been prompt this evening. I believe he is waiting by the carriages. Madame Steward, if I may?”
Hern accepted Prince Gerrit’s offered arm. Avender was afraid he, as the only other male present, would have to escort Princess Arenne out to the carriages, but she was busy kissing her daughters goodnight. Instead Ferris placed a green-gloved hand in his and laughed.
“There’s one more surprise,” she said. A thin chain gleamed beneath the lace shawl around her shoulders, a borrowed jewel dazzling at her throat. “I only saw him because he came to our rooms so Mother could let out his jacket.”
They found a tall, stately baron waiting with his back to them at the door. One hand fiddled with a black-ribboned monocle as he examined a portrait in the hall. His tight, velvet breeches and snow-white stockings showed off his muscular calves to great effect; his long blue coat covered a towering frame. Ringlets of red hair cascaded down his back beneath his fine beaver hat. Although he seemed a trifle heavy, his heaviness bore the look of prosperity and dignified age rather than gluttony and sloth.
“Redburr?” asked Avender in astonishment as the baron turned around.
His little finger arched, the Shaper screwed the monocle securely into his eye. “Ah, Avender. I was wondering what had become of you.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” Ferris laughed merrily. “Have you ever seen him so clean?”
“Not unless one of us was doing the cleaning. How’d his hair get so long?”
“It’s a wig, silly.”
Redburr’s eyebrows rose. Clearly he thought Avender’s question both presumptuous and uncouth.
“It’s not polite to mention a gentleman’s wig,” said Prince Gerrit.
“It is all the rage,” said the Shaper. “You shall see for yourselves tonight at the Old Palace.”
“Wigs and girdles can’t hide a glutton, if you ask me,” said Hern.
“I think he looks quite civilized.” Princess Arenne graced the Shaper with a small, approving nod as she came in from the terrace.
“But where’d you get the clothes? And the hat?” Avender rubbed the fine fabric of Redburr’s jacket between his fingers.
“Although he has not seen fit to bring you with him,” said Gerrit, “this is not the first time Sir Redburr has been our guest.”
“You should look at the trunk in his room,” said Ferris. “It’s filled with all sorts of fancy clothes. The next time he turns into a bird I’m going to ask him to be a peacock, now I know how vain he is.”
“Vanity, my dear, is the least of my sins,” advised the Shaper gravely.
Ferris snapped a finger against Redburr’s tight jacket. A hint of the same soap Avender had refused wafted sweetly from the back of her neck as she stood beside him. “I think Hern might have let this out a little more. Avender, be a dear and fetch my sewing bag from upstairs, will you? Just in case he loses a button on the way.”
Hern tapped the reticule on her arm. “I’m ready for anything, Ferris. Now, let’s get going.”
They traveled in two carriages, the prince and princess in one, Redburr and the Valingers in the other. The Shaper moved stiffly and, by the time he had settled into his seat, small beads of sweat dampened the roots of his artificial curls.
“What’s wrong with you?” Avender regarded the Shaper with concern. “You look like you’re about to have a fit.”
“He’s wearing a corset,” confided Ferris.
“A corset?”
“I’m waiting to see how long it takes before he explodes.”
Hern glared at her daughter. “You behave yourself. He’s only doing it for you. Do you think any of us want to be here? Hmph. I’d rather be knitting by the fire.”
Avender tugged at his starched collar, and checked to make sure none of the buttons on Redburr’s shirt had burst from the effort of climbing into the car.
Other carriages joined them as they wound their way through the streets to the Old Palace. The horses’ hooves clattered like a parade; the carriage wheels hummed. Avender had never been in such a well-sprung vehicle in his life and decided there could be few better ways to travel on a lovely summer night. Overhead, the stars drifted past houses and trees in time with the spinning wheels.
Passing through the wall of the Old Palace, the coaches stopped one by one in the crowded courtyard to let off their passengers. Though the grounds and entrance blazed with light, the high towers remained darker than the starlit sky. Hern and her charges followed the prince and princess inside to wait their turn in the receiving line.
“Ferris!” Brizen exclaimed when he saw them. “And Avender, too! Welcome. Hern, I’m so delighted you and your daughter were able to attend. And is this Redburr? I should never have recognized you, old fellow.”
The heir to two kingdoms clapped the Shaper on the arm. Redburr grimaced politely in return. Although the prince had grown taller and less boyish since Avender had last seen him, his guileless face remained clear and open. He shook all their hands, but lingered longest over Ferris. Avender watched them so closely he almost missed Baron Sevral’s greeting.
The baron’s severe face pinched even more sharply. “My wife, the Baroness.”
“Very pleased to meet you, milady,” said Avender.
The baroness’s limp hand inside her pale beige glove matched her smile. Avender bowed and moved on. Brizen followed Ferris with his eyes as the party ascended the broad stairs to the King’s Hall. A peculiar look passed over the prince’s face, as if he had just stepped into a bucket of ice cold water and not even noticed.
The new arrivals found themselves in a looming hall. On a balcony at the far end, musicians sent a soft song swirling above the crowd. Below them, on a raised dais covered in dark red cloth, sat King Brannis. Thick pillars ran down either side of the hall, dividing the room in three. The middle portion was for dancing, which hadn’t yet begun, with the outer aisles reserved for watching and drinking punch. Garlands of white lilies dripped from the arches, and bouquets of gladiolas and mums and dogwillow covered the pillars, but the effect only increased the gloominess of the high, vaulted ceiling. Ravenously, the tall darkness swallowed the torchlight.
Hern sniffed. “They haven’t done much of a job making the place cheery, have they, Ferris.”
“Look at the people, Mother, not the decorations.”
More extravagant than flowers, the guests filled the room with bright fields of color. The men looked as brilliant as the women, though the women, with their twirling gowns, took up more space. In their tight pants and stockings, the men revealed more leg, but the ladies, their gowns cut low in front and behind, showed far more shoulder. Ferris’s face fell as girls younger than she twirled by in dresses twice as ornate, their busts trussed like the prows of sailing ships, their hair packed with jewels. Settling her shawl more thoroughly over her shoulders, she retreated to the nearest pillar.
“I think you look beautiful,” said Avender gallantly.
“Of course she looks beautiful,” scolded Hern. “She looks like a real girl, not some trumpery good-for-nothing bedsheet like the rest of them. Ferris, anyone who looks at you can tell you know how to pluck a chicken and beat a rug.”
Ferris glared at her mother, who returned the look exactly. Avender couldn’t hide his smile, which caused Ferris’s scowl to shift his way, his compliment forgotten.
Redburr gathered the last of his strength and wheezed. “Hush, woman. You’ll ruin your daughter’s good time.”
Hern’s eyebrows rose. The Shaper took an uneasy step backward. Redburr would pay for that remark the next time he came to Valing, but here in Malmoret the best the steward could do was glare.
A stick thumped loudly on the hard stone floor. The King’s Hall fell quiet. In a loud, clear voice that carried the length of the room, a herald announced, “His Majesty requests the ball begin!”
A space cleared in the center of the room. Skirts rustled; new shoes scuffed on worn stone. The king descended from the dais, Princess Arenne’s hand held above his shoulder. Except for a long purple plume extending from his wide-brimmed hat, his outfit looked dull beside the princess’s reams of silk and buttered gems. They bowed, then stood for a moment side by side, their fingers barely touching. The chief musician snapped his baton forward. Music filled the hall. The king and the princess began the dance.
It wasn’t at all the sort of dancing Avender was used to. Neither participant was doing the brisk hopping, head-bobbing, or heel-kicking he recognized as dancing. Instead they looked as if they were uncertain they had ever been introduced, stepping toward and away from one another with trim, measured paces, their heads and shoulders barely moving. They spent as much time standing still as they did dancing.
Prince Gerrit approached Hern and bowed slightly. “Madame Steward. Would you honor me?”
“I would be delighted, my lord.” She held out her skirts in an old-fashioned curtsy.
Ferris rolled her eyes. Her mother paid her no mind. Avender watched the couple proceed out onto the floor and wondered if he was supposed to follow with Ferris. Before he could make up his mind someone else jumped in before him.
“Um, Ferris, would you care to dance?”
Her face glowing, Ferris placed her hand on Prince Brizen’s arm. He led her onto the floor beside his father, where her bright smile tamped the brilliance of every other woman in the room. Avender sighed. His chance had come and gone. He looked around for someone to talk to, but Redburr had vanished in the direction of the nearest punch bowl. With Hern and Ferris dancing, there wasn’t another soul in the place he knew.
But not for long. A soft voice startled him and he turned around.
“How well do famous slayers of manders dance? I would be very interested in finding out.”
Out of the press of piled hair and glittering gowns came the prettiest girl Avender had ever seen. Although not quite so plain as Ferris’s, her lemon-colored dress was far simpler than the billows and buttresses of her peers. Her eyes were dark but her hair was fair, a combination Avender couldn’t remember seeing in anyone before. Her bare shoulders were round and smooth.
Accepting his silence as assent, she slipped her gloved fingers into his.
“I, um, I don’t know how to dance,” he finally managed to say.
“I can teach you.”
Other couples followed them onto the floor. Though intricate, the dance was slow enough that Avender recovered easily from his missteps as he learned. He suspected his partner was an excellent teacher.
“Don’t you want to know my name?” she asked as he began to catch the pattern.
“Don’t you want to know mine?” Vainly, he thought a little cleverness might offset his earlier awkwardness.
“I already know yours.” Tiny dimples danced at the edges of her mouth. Avender blushed. Of course she had known who he was. Hadn’t she already called him a famous slayer of manders?
“I suppose you’d better tell me yours, then,” he said. “Just to make us even.”
“My name is Wellin, Avender.”
She noticed him glance toward Ferris as the other couple paraded close by. “Your friend is very lucky to be dancing with the prince. Every woman here wishes she were as fortunate.”
Avender gathered himself bravely for another try at wit. “Would you believe me if I said I’m luckier than the prince?”
Wellin laughed, a rich laugh for a girl, filled with good fortune for her partner. “No, but you learn quickly, for a country boy. I suppose that’s only natural. They say you were raised by Lady Giserre alongside her own son. Is that true?”
“Reiffen was—is, my friend.”
The music stopped. Wellin regarded her partner with eyes that seemed to observe much more than the brilliant dresses and jewels that filled the hall.
“I have never met Giserre,” she said. “But, if she is anything like her brother, I expect she is a stern taskmaster. Come, I claim this next dance with you as well. Do you see, Prince Brizen is ignoring Lady Reiss’s mute pleading, to dance again with your friend. Which means I may get no further opportunity to dance with him myself than you may get with her.”
Before he had a chance to protest, Wellin whirled him away on the galloping tune. The room spun round, much as the Bavadars did when one rode a tray wildly down the Shoulder on hard-packed snow. Avender caught sight of Ferris and Brizen twirling nearby, their faces brighter than the candles on the walls.
He examined Wellin more closely. She appeared to be his own age, though she sounded much older. But there was no time for talking as the couples bounded round the hall, especially not for beginners trying hard not to tromp on their partners’ toes or careen into the other dancers. When they were finished Avender found himself out of breath, his face flushed, and his legs eager for more.
Wellin’s shoulders rose and fell; her eyes sparkled. “Look,” she said, “your friend seems exhausted. Perhaps we should join them.”
Pulling him behind her, she bore Avender off the floor as fresh dancers advanced to pace off a new pavan. Her yellow dress brushed through the other guests like the tip of a fox’s tail in a thicket.
Beyond the pillars they found a station where white-gloved servants poured cups of bitter red punch. A crowd had already gathered round the prince, who was busy with a glass in either hand, one for himself and the other for Ferris. Avender despaired of getting any closer than the outer ring, but Ferris spotted him at once. Laughing, she called,
“Avender! Come join us!”
He didn’t see how he could: the crowd was disinclined to let anyone else near the prince on the word of some chit from the mountains. But Brizen, noting Ferris’s desire, opened a narrow way. Avender bulled his way in. Wellin tightened her grip on his hand and allowed herself to be dragged behind him.
“Brilliant musicians, don’t you think?” The prince handed glasses round to the new arrivals. “No one plays so well in Rimwich. Though our bards are good, you know.”
“I don’t like bards,” said Ferris, sipping.
“You don’t? I love them. Oh, but that’s right. The fellow who kidnapped my, um, cousin was a bard, wasn’t he? So sorry to have mentioned it.”
Avender found the punch far stronger than the cider favored at the Ox and Plow. He thought about how Brizen, who was two years older than Ferris and he, sometimes seemed younger. Following the same line of reasoning, he wondered if that meant Wellin, who seemed so much older, was actually the youngest of them all.
“I am so glad your majesty has found something to enjoy in Malmoret. You visit us so rarely.” Wellin cupped her glass carefully in both hands, hardly drinking.
Prince Brizen turned reluctantly from Ferris. “Rimwich is the seat of government. You know that, Wellin. As my father’s heir, I have to learn my statecraft at his side.”
“But do you have to be there all the time? Many of your subjects would adore seeing you more often in Malmoret.”
Ferris smiled prettily. Avender saw she had taken an instant dislike to the other girl.
“Why don’t you go to Rimwich?” she asked.
“Me?” Wellin looked enchanted at the thought, then sighed regretfully. “Mother would never permit my going alone. Nor can she take me, as she finds the climate terribly uncomfortable. Too damp in summertime, too cold in winter.”
“The Barony of Lansing is in the south, you know,” Brizen informed Ferris.
“How unfortunate for you.” Ferris gave Wellin a pitying look, then laid her hand on Avender’s arm. “Avender, I saved the next dance for you, just as we arranged. I think I’m recovered from that gavotte.” She drank the last of her punch and handed her glass to the king.
“When did we ar—”
“You remember.” Her fingers tightened on Avender’s arm. “On the way over in the carriage. We discussed it all.”
“Dis—”
With an elbow to his ribs, Ferris pushed him away with her through the crowd.
“What was that all about?” he asked as they lined up with the other couples. “Why’d you hit me?”
“To make sure you remember better next time.”
The music began. They found themselves in another slow dance that involved a great deal of parading and changing partners. Chances to talk came frequently, but didn’t last.
“Remember what?” he asked when he next held Ferris’s hand.
“To know when I need rescuing.”
“Rescuing from what?”
They changed couples again. Avender found himself dodging the massive coif of his new, shorter partner. Ferris had her own troubles with the woman’s doddering husband.
“From the prince,” she answered a minute later.
“I thought you liked the prince.”
“I do like him—”
His next partner was a matron who wondered whether summer ever came to Valing, and was it true the people lived in huts made of ice that melted every time they tried to have a fire? She didn’t seem to care whether Avender answered or not before he was paired with Ferris once again.
“—but he’s in love with me,” she finished.
“That’s plain enough.”
“I don’t want to encourage him.”
Another change. Another round. This time Avender never even noticed his partner.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because I’m not in love with him, that’s why.”
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
She whirled away once more. Avender’s heart raced faster than his feet, but neither was swift enough to bring him back to Ferris as quickly as he wanted.
“Of course I’m enjoying myself. It’s a ball. But I’d like to have more than one partner for the evening.”
“I’ll dance with you.”
She laughed, her voice rising gaily above the somber music. She meant no harm, but Avender understood it all. Dance with a childhood friend when princes and barons were lining up for the opportunity? Every eye in the hall was fastened on her: Brizen had chosen her over all the rest.
And, when their dance finished, there was the prince waiting for another turn. Ferris cast an imploring look at Avender, but he really didn’t know what he could do. It was Brizen’s ball. Wistfully he looked for pretty Wellin, but she was already in the arms of a handsome officer. With a smile and a wave she whirled away. Avender turned from the floor and found himself face-to-face with a woman almost as tall as he, and at least as broad-shouldered. Clearly she had come for her turn with the hero from the north. Other girls and women waited behind her. Careful not to show his regret, he bowed and led his tall partner out into the press. By the time they were done he felt as if he had just finished an all-day hike to the top of Whitetooth, banging his shins on every stone along the way.
The music stopped. Another young beauty appeared before him. Ferris glowered from across the floor, but all Avender could offer was a helpless shrug. No doubt his arm would ache as much as his feet by the time Ferris stopped punching him in the carriage.
He had finally begun to get the hang of it when the musicians took a break. Wellin had slipped in as his last partner, which almost made him regret the music’s stopping. Gratefully he brought her back to where Hern stood beaming at the side of the pillar. Ferris and Prince Brizen joined them, but there was still no sign of the Shaper. Never had Avender seen the steward look so proud, not even the time Ferris’s quilting had managed third prize at the Eastbay Fair. Quilts were one thing, but the son of a king was something else entirely.
“Your Highness,” said Wellin as Brizen reached them. “Avender was just telling me he has something important to say to Ferris. Perhaps if you could fetch me a fresh glass of punch.” Without waiting for an answer, she wrapped her arm around that of the good-natured prince and escorted him into the aisle behind them.
Hern turned dagger eyes on Avender.
“I never said that,” he protested, but his face grew hot because he wished he had.
The steward shifted her irritation toward Wellin, whose back might have begun to bleed had she not already disappeared into the crowd. “Devious little schemer.”
“Well, if you didn’t say it, I’m glad Wellin did,” said Ferris. “I like her much better for it. The next time Brizen makes me dance with him, I’m going to talk about nothing but gorgeous, sensible Wellin.”
“Ferris!”
“I want to enjoy this party, Mother. I’m sure we won’t be having one like it in Valing any time soon.”
“You can be sure Prince Brizen won’t come chasing after you, if we do.”
“I’m not so sure of that at all.”
“Why you have to be so willful, I just don’t know.” The steward opened her fan with an angry flip and attempted to cool her temper. “It’s not as if he isn’t nice.”
“He’s too nice, Mother.” Ferris tapped a finger against her cheek and studied the room. “He might even be handsome if he’d stand up a little straighter. But look at that tall guardsman over there, and the cavalry officer with the attractive sideburns, and that one with the good-looking legs—”
Hern smacked her daughter with the fan.
“Mother!” Ferris rubbed her shoulder angrily. “What is wrong with you?”
“You were being flip.” Hern waggled the fan menacingly under her daughter’s nose, reminding Avender of more than one encounter between steward and bear. “I am still your mother, you know. Dance with as many young men as you like, but I’d have thought any daughter I raised would have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”
“I’d rather catch cold.”
“Say, where’s Redburr?” asked Avender, trying to change the subject before mother and daughter came to actual blows.
The musicians began to play again before Hern could answer. There was a quick rush for Ferris, with the guardsman beating out both the cavalryman and the baron with the good-looking legs. Avender, lacking the experience to pick up the musical cue as quickly as the others, found himself last in line once more. Wellin, on the other hand, reappeared with Prince Brizen still attached to her arm. Avender wasn’t sure whether he was more jealous of the prince or the guardsman as the young woman soared, light as a feather, across the floor in Brizen’s arms.
He had already made up his mind to be jealous of the guardsman, when a husky voice said, “Excuse me, ma’am,” from behind his shoulder. He hoped it wasn’t the tall, awkward girl again, though her voice hadn’t been quite that deep, but she was already dancing with a tall, gaunt baron old enough to be her father.
Turning, he found a footman bowing to the steward.
“If you would follow me, ma’am.”
Hern’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“To the kitchens, ma’am. You are needed.”
Neither Hern nor Avender waited to hear more. Redburr had been missing too long. They followed the footman to the far end of the crowded hall, bowing respectfully to Brannis as they passed the dais. Torches lit the gloomy passage beyond, filling the corridor with a sharp, smoky odor. Servants hurried by with fresh trays of food and drink, or brought away the old.
In the kitchen bedlam reigned. Redburr had taken the high ground, perched on top of a tall cupboard. An army of cooks shook their rolling pins and saucepans at him from below. His clothes were in tatters; the buttons on his front had all burst and great swaths of red-haired belly bulged through the rips in his corset. In one hand he held a half-eaten pie, most likely blackberry from the color and consistency of the filling dripping onto the cooks below; in the other was a large slab of cake. The ruined tower that marked the rest of the pastry was now topped by a red wig and broad-brimmed hat. Splotches of custard and cream covered the walls.
“What’s going on here!” Hern pushed a pair of cooks out of the way and waded into the scrum. “Redburr! What are you doing up there! Get down this instant!”
The Shaper lolled forward on his perch, his eyes glazed from a surfeit of flour and fruit. Quick as a diving hawk, he heaved his handful of cake at Hern, her plain brown dress suddenly conspicuous in the field of white cookwear. But Hern was quicker and, with a snap of her wrist, caught the flying dessert on her open fan.
“That does it.” She shoved the remaining undercooks out of the way and advanced to the foot of the cupboard. Smashed crockery crunched beneath her shoes. For the first time a dash of fear appeared in Redburr’s face.
“Get down from there at once,” she ordered. “You’ve had your fun.”
The Shaper looked uneasily from side to side as understanding gathered in his eyes. At the back of the room a young scullion, still caught up in the excitement, launched a muffin that burst in a shower of crumbs against the wall beside the Oeinnen.
“That does not help.” Hern picked bits of muffin off the front of her dress and glowered into the crowd. The cupboard creaked ominously as Redburr took the opportunity to slide closer to the door.
Hern’s attention shot back to the wall. “The only place you’re getting is down, mister. I mean it. Unless you want to ruin Ferris’s good time completely, Avender is taking you home.”
The Shaper could only handle the steward’s glare for so long. Setting his pie gently on the cupboard beside him, he set about climbing to the floor.
The head chef, who had worked his way from the back of the crowd to the front once it was apparent that Hern had the situation under control, spoke up at once. “But, madam, my cake! What shall I serve the king?”
“I’ll deal with the king.” Hern waved the poor man’s objections aside. “You must have something here for dessert. We can always make pancakes. And an extra barrel of beer usually helps, too.”
“Pancakes!” Aghast, the chef raised his hands to his cheeks, leaving small frosting smudges behind.
“Yes, pancakes. Folks like them in Valing and I’m sure they’ll like them here, too. If you want them fancy, we can spread jam on them and roll them up into little tubes.”
“Ah, you mean crepes!”
“No, I mean pancakes. Just get me an apron and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
The chef drew himself up stiffly, the tuft of beard at the end of his chin quivering like a pastry brush. “I assure you, madam, crepes are something we can take care of ourselves.”
“Really? The same way you took care of him?” Hern nodded over her shoulder at Redburr, who had made little progress trying to reach the ground. Every time he lowered a careful foot, the whole structure tilted dangerously, sending the last unbroken bowls smashing onto the heads of the undercooks below.
“I think he needs a ladder.” Avender handed a bowl he had caught to the scullion beside him.
“Someone get a ladder,” snapped Hern. “And I still want that apron.”
A stepladder was fetched; Redburr transferred himself gingerly from the cupboard. Avender and two footmen held the ladder steady as he descended.
“I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.” Hern poked the Shaper in the chest with a long spoon once he was safely on the floor. “Now you know why I told Gridlin to send for me if there was any trouble.”
The Shaper hung his head and eyed an untouched tray of cupcakes lying temptingly near to hand.
Avender stepped neatly between Redburr and the cakes. “Why do I have to take him home?”
“I have to help here.” Her apron tied around her waist, the steward began to roll up her sleeves. “Besides, you don’t expect me to let you chaperone Ferris, do you? That’s my job.” She tapped her chest with her spoon. “Yours is him.”
The Shaper sighed. Avender led him toward the door, only to have Hern call them back at once. “Not that way.” She waved her spoon in the other direction. “The back door for you. And don’t go taking our carriage, either. I don’t want Ferris spoiling her dress with blackberry filling. You’ll walk if you have to.”
A potboy guided them away. They came out of the keep at the side of the courtyard, away from the front of the house. A good-sized tip from Redburr bought them passage in one of the waiting carriages, though the coachman made sure to spread a horse blanket across the seat before he allowed them inside.
Redburr refused to talk at first. Instead he picked grumpily at the bits of cake and frosting in his beard. But he cheered up immensely when Avender brought out the cupcakes he had stolen just before they left.
“It’s not like we wouldn’t have had a couple anyway when they were served.”
“No need to explain yourself to me, boy.”
“If you had more self-control, we wouldn’t have had to leave.”
“True. Then again, maybe I control myself better than you know.” The Shaper turned a beady eye on his companion. “But why are you so interested in going back to the ball? It couldn’t have been all those young ladies flocking to dance with you, could it?”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Avender admitted.
“Of course it wasn’t. You should have seen me in my day. Nothing like summer in the woods, especially if the strawberries are out early. Cuff a few rivals, chase a few sows. Of course I’m too old for any of that now.”
“Good. Because I really don’t want to hear about it.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” The Shaper settled comfortably into his seat as the carriage rattled off King’s Road into Nibling Street. “But you know what I’m saying. And Ferris, too. Brizen did have his eye on her, didn’t he? Not that she seemed too interested.”
“She told me she wasn’t interested at all.”
“That’s probably just the reason he likes her.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Sometimes the tastiest honey’s in the hardest tree to climb.”
“Ferris is different,” Avender grumbled.
“As different as Lady Wellin?”
Avender snorted, a little more than necessary, perhaps. “Lady Wellin? She’s not like Ferris at all.”
“You and Brizen may be the only people at tonight’s entertainment who thought that. Though Wellin might have been a lot less nice if she thought Ferris was interested in the prince.”
“She should have done a better job of keeping him out of the way then, if she’s so interested in him.”
“That’s the spirit, boy! Have you told her?” Redburr’s small eyes twinkled.
“Told who? Ferris? Told her what?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Being coy only works for girls. Males have to come right out and say it. Stand up, boy. Tell Ferris how you feel.”
His ears burning, Avender hunched deeply into his seat. “I might have said something tonight,” he confessed. “If Brizen hadn’t gotten in the way.”
“You’ll get other chances.” Redburr looked past the driver as the carriage pulled through Prince Gerrit’s gate. “It’s not as if you’ll never see her again. Just don’t wait too long. And make sure you time it right. I think Hern was afraid Ferris was going to take a swing at the prince tonight, if the fool had said what was on his mind.”
A footman helped them from the car. He looked twice at Redburr, not quite certain if this was the same person who had left earlier in the evening. Redburr paid him no notice and, settling his torn jacket more properly around his shoulders, ascended the steps to the villa.
“Aren’t you going to clean up?” asked Avender as the Shaper walked past the stairs toward the terrace.
“I’d rather take a dip in the river.”
“You know you can’t go traipsing through this house all wet, don’t you? It’s not like swimming in the Hartrush. You’re going to need towels and a robe.”
Redburr scratched his hairy belly where it rolled out over the top of his pants. Sloppiness was so much less unattractive in a bear. “So bring me some. I’m going swimming.”
Grumbling, Avender climbed the stairs. Sometimes it seemed all he ever did for Redburr was fetch and curry. To think he could have been dancing with Ferris instead. Or Wellin.
He had only just started to hunt for a robe in Redburr’s room when the Shaper appeared dripping at the door. Somewhere along the way Redburr had lost his jacket, his stockings, and his shoes, and his shirt and breeches were dripping wet. His round stomach was the only thing keeping the torn corset in place.
“If you think Hern was mad at you before,” Avender began, “just wait till she hears—”
“Hush, boy.”
His broad feet slapped wetly on the floor as Redburr crossed to the window. Separating the curtains with his hand, he peered down toward the river. Avender waited for the Shaper to explain what was going on.
“It’s too late now.” Redburr let the curtain fall back across the glass. “They’ve already gone inside. We’ll have to see if we can catch them on the way out.”
“Catch who?”
With a sly wink, Redburr fell to changing out of his wet clothes. “That’s just it. I don’t know. But while I was swimming a rowboat started in toward the dock. It stopped when whoever was rowing heard me in the water, but the boat’s tied up at the end of the dock now. I only came up so they’d think I hadn’t seen them. I’d guess whoever was in it is meeting with Gerrit right now.”
“But Prince Gerrit’s at the ball.”
“So were we, boy. But a man on horseback can go back and forth without being missed at all.”
Without bothering to towel himself dry, Redburr pulled on the dirty clothes he had arrived in that afternoon and asked Avender how well he could move in his fancy dress.
“It’s only the jacket that’s tight,” said Avender.
“Then take it off. And your shoes, too.”
Barefoot, Avender followed the Shaper out the window. He found the big man sitting on the ledge outside, quietly shaking the leafy vines growing up the back of the house. A thick green scent tickled at Avender’s nose.
“This won’t hold me,” the Shaper said, “but you’re light enough. I’ll have to find another way down.”
“You want me to climb down the outside of the house?”
“You’ve done it often enough at the Manor. And there aren’t any vines to help you there.”
“Then what?”
“Get as close to the dock as you can. I’ll be there as soon as possible. But don’t do anything but watch, whatever happens.”
Avender crawled out the window onto the ledge, his bare toes gripping the rough stone. Climbing down the vine was easy, though the ruffles on his shirt kept catching on the leaves. Too much rustling for a night bird or sleepless squirrel, but no one was around to notice. At the bottom he darted across the wet grass to the river. He was certain it was too dark for anyone to notice him among the flower beds and sculpted shrubs unless he made too much noise, but that meant it was too dark for him to see anyone either. What little light glittered on the dark water came from the brightly lit hall of the prince’s villa, still awake for his guests’ return.
The Edgewater lapped at the dock posts; a night heron squawked from the reeds. The scent of jasmine and river filled the air. Worming his way closer through the shrubbery along the bank, he wondered how long it would take Redburr to follow.
As Avender’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the boat as an empty smudge at the end of the dock. Nervously he waited for the Shaper to join him. He had no idea what to expect, though he supposed it was some sort of secret meeting. Prince Gerrit had always been suspected as being the leader of the rebel barons, but no one talked much about them any more. Except for a few pirates in the Toes, King Brannis had rid Banking of all the malcontents in the last few years. Or at least that’s what everyone said.
Shoes scraped on the terrace; voices whispered in the air. Avender had no idea whether five minutes or half an hour had passed since he clambered down the vine. His heart raced. Where was Redburr?
Three figures, two cloaked from head to toe, appeared on the steps to the garden. The uncloaked man was Gerrit, his fancy dress glittering in the light from the house. The other two figures were unrecognizable, though they looked like men from their height and bearing.
Their footsteps crunched on the path. At the edge of the dock they stopped, not five feet from Avender.
“I look forward to seeing you again, uncle,” said the smaller of the cloaked figures, his voice muffled. Prince Gerrit grasped his hand warmly in both his own.
“And I you, Reiffen,” he replied.
Broad fingers clamped over Avender’s mouth before he could cry out. “Hush,” whispered the Shaper in a voice softer than down. His rough beard scratched Avender’s ear. Strong as Avender was, he remained helpless in Redburr’s heavy grip. He could only fume, and worry desperately why the Shaper didn’t want to try and rescue their friend. No one knew they were there: surely the two of them could handle Prince Gerrit and the second cloaked figure.
With Redburr’s knee jammed into his back, Avender watched helplessly as Reiffen and his companion walked out on the dock. The stranger climbed into the boat first, while Reiffen unfastened the moorings and followed. The blade of an oar flashed briefly in the light from the house; the dark smudge of the rowboat, taller now with two more shadows seated at the oars and stern, pulled slowly away toward the darkness at the middle of the river.
Prince Gerrit returned to his villa. Avender panted savagely against the Shaper’s palm.
“Will you be quiet if I let you go?” Redburr allowed the young man enough room to nod. “Good.”
The hand and knee were removed. Avender turned on him in quiet fury.
“We could have rescued him!”
“No we couldn’t.”
“All we had to do was grab him!”
“He was with Fornoch, boy. The Wizard would have slain us both before we had taken two steps. He may be a coward, but he fights when he has to.”
Redburr rose, his broad feet squishing against the soft ground. The sound of oars had disappeared. Avender’s anger flailed uselessly at the night. They had been so close.
“We were lucky,” said Redburr. “Had I known Fornoch was on the river, I would never have left the house.”
“Are you going to tell anyone?”
The Shaper scratched his chin. “It’s hard to say. Maybe Brannis. It’s not as if we learned anything new. Everyone knows this was bound to happen sometime. It’s why the Three captured Reiffen in the first place. Gerrit is the obvious contact.”
“We have to tell Ferris.”
“Do we, boy?” The Shaper gave Avender a curious look. “Why does she need to know, above everyone else?”
Avender wondered himself why he had been so quick to think of telling Ferris. “So she finally understands Reiffen is gone.”
“And why does she need to understand that? You think that’ll make her happier?”
Avender made no reply. The heron cried again, low and throaty like a frog. No one wanted Reiffen back any more than he did, but at least he knew that was no longer possible. The sooner Ferris understood...
He didn’t dare think any further. Even if Ferris did finally accept the fact that Reiffen was gone, she probably wouldn’t think of him any differently anyway.
All the same, he wished he were still dancing with her.