She jogged behind him, unresisting, as they wove through rivers of people and trekked between islands of vendor stalls set up for the festival. The light dimmed as the torches thinned, until they traveled through a heavier darkness clotted with shadows splintered in spots by moonlight.
Radimar didn’t stop until they reached rusted gates entwined with the withered vines of dead or dying ivy. Beside him, Jahna clapped her hands, a delighted glitter in her eyes he could clearly see, even in the broken darkness.
“I thought I was the only one to know of this garden.”
Radimar had discovered this abandoned sanctuary the previous year in his exploration of the palace grounds.
What had once been manicured landscaping had been left to run wild, and nature had obliterated the orderly footpaths and trimmed designs in favor of a chaotic profusion of plants, flowers and trees that had climbed pergolas, choked gazebos, and swallowed benches whole. Most of the garden was brown this time of year, the leaves shriveled to dust under a covering of snow, but here and there hints of color beckoned. Crimson roses masqueraded as black ones in the dark, with the occasional flicker of stray torchlight revealing their lie to the viewer.
Radimar pushed the gates open with a squeak and led Jahna inside, his boots snapping twigs underfoot as they went. They stopped in an open space where a towering fir held court and cast a triangular darkness over the ground.
Jahna’s hand slipped from his so she could draw patterns in a nearby snowdrift with a stick she picked up nearby. “I’ve always loved this garden more than the one the royal household enjoys now.”
He joined her, watching as she drew a fair rendition of one of the roses in the drift. “There’s a wild beauty to it, as if being left to its own path has brought out something winsome a gardener’s hand can’t create.”
Her eyes rounded. “Yes, that’s it exactly!”
She was far more at ease here, away from the teeming crowds. Strains of a new tune drifted toward them, clear and sweet on the cold air. Radimar had brought her here for one reason.
He held out a hand. “Shall we?”
She dropped the stick in favor of eyeing first his hand and then him as if wondering what lay behind so ludicrous a request. “I don’t know.”
Had no one ever asked her to dance? Not even her brother or father? She had attained a natural grace, enhanced by her training with him. He found it hard to believe she might be clumsy on her feet, even if she didn’t know the steps.
“My lady, to be blunt, I’ve knocked you on your backside more than a few times during bouts in the past year. I certainly won’t judge you if you stumble or step on my feet. And we’re the only ones here to witness it if you do.”
Jahna laughed, her body losing the tension that stiffened her shoulders. “I can’t argue such sound reasoning.” She took his outstretched hand. “But no complaining if I trample your toes.”
They started off a little awkwardly, Radimar at first taking the steps at a snail’s pace until he realized Jahna knew how to dance them better than he did. Soon they danced together as if they’d done so for years.
“You’ve kept a dire secret, Jahna.” He twirled her until she faced him again. “You dance these steps better than most.”
She grinned, not at all repentant. “My father hired an instructor to teach Sodrin and me when we were younger. Sodrin found it dull. I liked it.”
“Probably because he balked at taking instruction like he did with me at first.” Jahna had been accurate in her warning to him that his greatest challenge with Sodrin would be in making him listen.
“Oh, he did,” she agreed with a fervent nod. Her hood had fallen back, revealing her hair, swept back in a simple bun at her nape.
“Should I ever meet your teacher, I will thank him or her for lessons well taught. You haven’t crushed my toes yet.”
He led her through another set of steps, twirling her in a slow rotation that stopped with the tune’s ending. The tireless musicians halted for no more than the space of a blink before starting another tune.
Radimar bowed and spread his arm in invitation. “Again, my lady?” He’d brought her to give her the gift of a dance partner and discovered he enjoyed dancing with her as much as he hoped she liked dancing with him.
She nodded and reached for his hand, only to snatch it back at the sound of voices passing close on the other side of the garden wall. Her joyful expression gave way to a wary one as they both stood silent until those who spoke moved on toward their destination. They were gone, but the magic of the garden was broken.
Radimar sighed inwardly when Jahna pulled her hood up until he could barely make out her pale features in its concealing shadows. “I thank you, Sir Radimar,” she said, another smile—this one a ghost of its predecessor—flitted across her mouth and glittered in her eyes. “I enjoyed our dancing, but I have to go. Goodnight.” She left without waiting for his reply or offer to escort her back to where the crowd now sang with the newest song the musicians played.
He hurried to catch up and keep her in sight, making certain she wasn’t accosted by some drunkard or the vindictive cats who had hunted her the previous year.
Once she disappeared through the doors of the Archives, and he assured himself she was safe, he returned to the festivities. He didn’t stay. The celebrations seemed hollow somehow, the crowd a surging clot of humanity that lurched from one song to another. He returned to the guard house where others like him spurned the celebrants outside in favor of drinking, dicing, or whoring. It was a far different environment from the abandoned garden, but he preferred it to the hordes crowding the bailey.
Radimar awoke the next morning well before the rest of Uhlfrida’s household, dressed quietly in the dark and tiptoed out in stocking feet. A few servants were about, casting him puzzled looks as they passed him in the corridor where he sat and laced up his boots.
While the palace was relatively quiet, the lists were not. Men from across Belawat had traveled to the capital not only for Delyalda but to compete in the exhibition fights. Several were already on the training field, practicing their sword form.
Radimar was on his third cup of tea, watching the combatants, when Sodrin arrived, sleepy-eyed and a little green.
He reluctantly took the cup Radimar gave him. “I don’t know if I can hold it down,” he said in a thin voice.
Unsympathetic to his plight, Radimar pushed the cup toward his face. “Drink it. If you vomit it up, I’ll pour you another one. I warned you not to sink too deep in your cups last night.”
He didn’t admonish him beyond that. Radimar remembered his own anxiety prior to his first combat against someone other than one of his teachers. He’d made the same mistake as Sodrin—calmed his nerves with an overindulgence in spirits. Training while suffering from a pounding head and roiling stomach was its own punishment.