“Oh, no,” Haesychya says with an amused lilt in her voice. “Sophrosynia speaks often and most cheerfully. She has to, you know. Fhastal is most sober.”
“I’d wager that for all her cheer, she says not one word that is not exactly what she meant, and that most of her words reveal nothing.”
“For someone who has not met her, that assumes much.”
Lerial laughs lightly. “Then you must tell me that I am wrong, for I wouldn’t want to hang on to a mistaken notion.”
“Ser…” After the single word, she shakes her head and laughs as well, if also quietly. After a silence, she says, “You should leave Swartheld soon. It would be for the best.”
“I was commanded, in effect, by the duke to remain until after the ball.”
“He could do no less.”
“Then I will make plans to depart soon and when it seems appropriate.” Even as he says those words, Lerial wonders if uttering them is wise.
“There is such a thing as…”
“Overstaying one’s welcome? I worry greatly about that, Lady.”
“Then we are agreed.”
“We are.” In principle, at least.
When Lerial turns from Haesychya at the end of the dance, Kyedra actually steps forward into his arms, but Lerial can sense a certain dismay from Atroyan, as well as observe a fleeting frown. Haesychya’s face reveals nothing.
“What did Mother say? She looked rather stern.”
“Besides suggesting that it is likely that I will be leaving soon?”
“She said that?”
“In effect.” Lerial does not wish to lie, but neither does he wish to depict Haesychya as unduly harsh, concerned as she is for her daughter. “I had not meant to come to Swartheld at all, but your father’s invitation was not to be refused, and I cannot overstay my welcome. That would be good for no one.”
“You’re right. One must consider these things.”
“One certainly must,” Lerial banters. “We must, must we not? Oh, the tragedy of being born into a ducal line, the endless responsibility, the unending stream of polite phrases concealing murderous thoughts … or terminal boredom with continued trivialities, punctuated with occasional unforeseen disasters, and family fallings-out that must be concealed at all costs … while smiling so often that one risks snaring bugs with one’s teeth…”
For an instant, Kyedra stiffens, and Lerial worries that he may have gone too far, but then he realizes that he must have gotten the tone just right, because the stiffness is the result of her trying to contain her laughter. Finally, she looks at him. “You’ve been so sweet, so polite, and with only a hint of not being absolutely proper … I didn’t expect…”
“Mostly … I am proper … mostly.”
“I’m glad it’s not all the time.”
“And you’re proper all the time … in public.”
“I’m to be proper all the time, anywhere.”
“Is that the dictum from your mother?”
“She doesn’t have to say anything. She just has to look.”
“I’m familiar with that.”
Kyedra doesn’t say anything for a time, and Lerial just enjoys dancing with her, realizing that it has been almost two years since he last danced, and that was at the year-turn ball at the palace, but he has no recollection of those with whom he danced, except Ryalah and Amaira.
“What are you thinking?” Kyedra finally asks.
“That it’s been years since I danced, and the only ones I remember dancing with are my sister and cousin.”
“You’re the only one I’ve danced with who isn’t either an older merchanter or officer who’s consorted … or my uncles.”
“Then I am fortunate indeed.”
“You are.” The slight hint of a smile softens the arch tone of the words.
When the dance ends, Lerial asks, “Might I have the last dance?”
“You may. It won’t be long now. Dafaal will announce the last dance, and Father and Mother will dance it together. It’s a very short dance. Father believes endings should be quick.”
After relinquishing Kyedra, Lerial glances toward Haesychya, who offers the slightest of headshakes, to which Lerial responds with a smile and a nod. He turns away and moves to a sideboard, where he takes a beaker of lager and sips it, watching and waiting.
When Lerial finally sees Dafaal stepping up onto the dais he makes his way to Kyedra.
Atroyan looks at the pair, then glances at his consort. In turn, she bends forward and murmurs something, and the duke nods, if clearly reluctantly.
Once they have moved away from the dais, letting the duke and his consort dance away from them, Lerial looks to Kyedra.
“Father says that I am not to become attached to you. At least, not now.”
“That has many meanings.”
“I’m sure you have thought of them all.”
“And you haven’t?”
Kyedra’s smile turns mischievous. “I might have missed one or two.”
“There are only so many heirs in Hamor.”
“What if I don’t want to consort an heir?”
“Then I imagine you’ll have to settle for an old and very wealthy merchanter,” replies Lerial.
Kyedra grimaces.