Azalea stared at her porridge, nudging the mushy grains with her spoon before she decided she wasn’t hungry. She pushed her bowl to Ivy’s spot and slipped out the folding doors, the last scene meeting her eyes being all the girls, flanking Mr. Bradford, chattering and waving spoons, Kale tugging on his suitcoat and trying to get a spoonful of porridge in his mouth, Ivy sneaking a bit of porridge from his bowl, Lily climbing on him and grabbing his nose, and the King staring at the green-seal letter, deep in thought.
The gallery was breath-puffingly cold, but Azalea did not stir up a fire. She ignored the mourning rules and pulled open the drapes of one window, letting in bright snow light. Flakes fluttered past the glass in swirls. The shadows of the flakes danced over Azalea and the sword on the pedestal.
Azalea stared at it for a long time.
It was already on its last leg. Cracked and nicked and dented. It would snap in half without much trouble. Did she possibly dare destroy it?
It would free Keeper. Azalea’s mind twisted at the possibilities of that. Keeper magicking the palace all over again. Trying to take over the kingdom, and there would be another reign of terror. And…the blood oath. Azalea’s feet curled in her boots, along with her stomach. He would go after the King, surely.
Azalea stepped away from the pedestal. She refused to put more of her family in harm’s way.
Although…if she did free Keeper, the King would finally know about everything. He could get rid of Keeper before he did anything, couldn’t he?
Except…the blood oath. Keeper couldn’t die until…
Azalea pulled sharply away, leaning up against the frosted window, curling her fingers. She still felt Mother’s cold hands on hers. She felt awake in a nightmare.
At the end of the hall, the doors burst open in a melee of delighted voices. The girls shaded their eyes against the light and flocked to the window, pressing their hands and noses on the cold pane to watch the blizzard.
“I thought you were going to play spillikins?” said Azalea, backing away so the window had more room.
“Changed our minds,” said Bramble. “We’re taking Mr. Bradford on a tour of the palace.”
“An’ we’re not even charging him a penny!” squeaked Hollyhock.
Mr. Bradford, who had Ivy tugging on one hand and Kale tugging on the other, managed a bow.
“My ladies are most generous,” he said.
His brown eyes caught Azalea’s, and they had a mischievous sparkle in them. Though he was solemn faced, Azalea knew he was grinning inside. The girls sat in the rectangle of light beneath the window, smoothing their skirts and scrutinizing him.
“You once said you had studied at the university,” said Eve shyly. “What did you study, please?”
Azalea blushed. It was all right for the girls to interrogate normal gentlemen, but this was one she wanted to keep.
“Ah,” said Mr. Bradford, coloring as well. “Politics, actually. Some philosophy, and sciences. But…mostly politics, I’m afraid.”
“How very appropriate,” said Bramble. Her face was completely blank.
Flora raised her forefinger. “Please, sir,” she said. “Did you study dancing?”
Mr. Bradford smiled and inclined his head to Flora.
“One cannot enter a dance floor in Delchastire,” he said, “save one has a dance master.”
The girls let out a unanimous gasp of delight, and the air buzzed with excitement. Ivy actually clapped her hands.
“We learned,” said Mr. Bradford, now smiling his crooked smile in full, “how to escort a lady, how to turn her in an under-arm turn without clipping the flowers in her hair. How to bow to a lady at the end of the dance.” Mr. Bradford bowed with one arm at his waist, the other behind his back. “And how to hold a lady’s hand.” He took Goldenrod’s hand and folded his two gloved hands around it. “As gentle as a dove’s wing.”
As Flora’s shadow, Goldenrod never harbored much attention, and she blushed pink to her ears. She beamed. The girls begged Mr. Bradford to teach them the fashionable Delchastrian dances. He wavered, glancing at the draped windows.
“I’m not very good,” he said.
“That’s all right!” squeaked the younger girls. “Oh, please!”
“You can dance with Azalea.” Clover smiled a honey-sweet smile. Mr. Bradford’s face lit.
“May I?” he said. He bowed to Azalea, his eyes twinkling part hope, part nervousness, and part mischievousness. “If my lady isn’t engaged?”
“Take his hand!” cried Hollyhock.
Azalea took it. It dwarfed and encased her own hand, and she felt the large knobbliness of knuckles under his gloves. She resisted the impulse to stroke them with her thumb.
Her stomach fluttered as he led her to the middle of the hall, away from the glass displays and red velvet ropes. Leaning on his steady arm, she felt a touch dizzy. She caught the faint scent of fresh linen, and her heart began to beat in an Esperaldo jig stomp.
Azalea’s skirts swished as he brought her into dance position. He was tall; she straightened into the best form she could, her eyes level to his chin. The girls leaned forward, memorizing each movement as Mr. Bradford placed his hand on her back, just beneath her shoulder, and lifted her other hand, gently. He had excellent form.
“It will probably end up with Azalea leading,” said Delphinium, across the hall. “She’s so bossy.”
Azalea closed her eyes. Sisters! She could strangle them!