Lerial can see the glint in her eyes and replies, “I was instructed not to inflict my presence upon you or your mother too often.”
“Too little is as bad as too often. For that, you should pay.”
“Oh?”
“You must dance the next one with Mother, and then again with me.”
“I can do that.”
“Can?”
“I can dance with your mother and would enjoy dancing with you after that.”
Kyedra offers a shy smile, but does not look directly at Lerial.
As they continue to dance, he finds even the shy smile charming, especially the warmth beneath it.
“You didn’t dance with any unconsorted girls, did you?”
“Only once with any one.”
“Why not more often?”
“It didn’t seem … appropriate.”
“Do you care what other people think?”
“It all depends on what they think and why. Sometimes, they have good reasons. Sometimes, they don’t. And sometimes, even when they have the worst of reasons, you can cause even worse problems by not considering why they think the way they do.”
“You sound like Mother.”
“Not like your father?”
“No … my mother … but we shouldn’t talk about that.”
“Thank you.” Lerial’s words are low, but warm, trying to convey that he understands what she has revealed by the way in which she has changed the subject.
“You understand, don’t you?”
Lerial is afraid he does. “People always think that men are the wisest. Often men should listen to their sisters, aunts, mothers, or consorts … and have the wisdom to know whom to heed and to what degree. Not that they shouldn’t listen to men as well, but they should be skeptical.”
“Why should they be more skeptical of men?” There is a hint of amusement in Kyedra’s voice.
“Anyone who has power needs to be skeptical, but a sister, a consort, or a daughter is more likely to have a man’s interest at heart.”
“Because his successes or failures will affect her more?”
“Isn’t that true?” Lerial asks gently.
“From what little I have seen, I fear so.”
“And you dislike being a hostage to any man’s weaknesses?”
“Or his strengths,” Kyedra replies firmly, if quietly. “Do you think that is awful?”
“No.” Lerial struggles for a moment, trying to think who it is that Kyedra reminds him of. Emerya! They’re not the same, but there is a definite similarity. “Your mother is a strong person, in a quiet way.”
“She has to be.”
“Both quiet and strong?”
Lerial can feel and sense Kyedra’s nod, although she does not speak.
“I haven’t seen your brother…”
“He’s taking advantage of his position and that he can go anywhere in the palace.”
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“Not for him,” replies Kyedra dryly. “He does have enough sense—or cunning—to offer to show the palace to women who are already consorted and whose consorts don’t seem to care. They’re the men who have other interests.”
As the music of the dance dies away, Lerial guides Kyedra back to the edge of the dais, where Rhamuel stands. Lerial glances at the arms-commander, who gives a small shake of his head, then turns to Kyedra. “Thank you. I enjoyed the dance.”
She only smiles and inclines her head.
Lerial turns to Haesychya, who has been standing between Rhamuel and Atroyan. “If I might have the next dance?”
Like her daughter, Haesychya merely smiles and nods, belatedly murmuring, “Of course, Lord Lerial.”
Neither speaks for several moments, and Lerial finally says, once they are out of earshot of Kyedra and Atroyan, “You have a lovely daughter, you know?”
“Lovely? That is a word men use when they don’t know what else to say.”
For an instant, Lerial is taken aback and can say nothing. “Perhaps I should have said that she has a lovely smile and that she is quite perceptive and very good-looking.”
“Perhaps you should have.”
Lerial thinks there is a hint of amusement in her words, but he is anything but certain about that. “As are you, Lady.”
“Flattery, yet.”
“Truth … and you and I both know it.”
“As far as the duke is concerned, you’re the wrong brother, you know?”
“I’ve known that for years.”
“Is he as charming as you are?”
“Since I don’t consider myself charming, he’s likely more so.” That is certainly true, because, so far as Lerial is concerned, charm embodies a certain elegant dishonesty, and he tries, not always successfully, he fears, to avoid dishonesty. He has some doubts about his brother on that count.
Haesychya is silent for several moments, and from the change in the patterns of order around her, Lerial has the feeling that he has surprised her, at least slightly.
“You have a sister, I understand,” he says after some silence. “I would guess that you share some attributes, and not others.”
“That is true.”
“But neither of you says more than is necessary?” he prods lightly.