“You remind me of a lantern whose flame burns bright, my lady. Your eyes are dancing, though you are not.” Sir Velus raised a questioning eyebrow, his own eyes green as the coveted sea glass brought over the mountains by the intrepid trade caravans and sold as jewelry to rich noblewomen.
Jahna grinned, still riding on a swell of elation. “I don’t dance because I’m never asked, Sir Velus.” She hurried to qualify her statement in case he thought her remark a clumsy attempt at garnering an invitation from him. “And I value my feet. Too many drunk lords fancying themselves butterflies on the dance floor when they’re really oxen.” His low laughter joined hers, and she thought his as delightful as his speech. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
He’d been scrutinized, measured and admired the moment he walked through the doors. A person would have to be without eyes or blindfolded not to see it. That he hadn’t been swallowed up by the spinning, swaying crowd, a partner on his arm, puzzled Jahna.
Wry humor played across his mouth. “Because I’m not important enough or high enough in status to warrant the time. You’re young, but I suspect you know how this works. This is a dance only on the surface. Underneath is a battlefield and those who strategize best are the envy of even the most successful generals.”
She blinked. He had just neatly summed up why she disliked this particular festival dance. Its air of calculation, of desperate purpose, stripped the joy from it. People used the event as an excuse to maneuver for position in court and negotiate marriages and trade alignments. Her father waded into the thick of it, never dancing but flitting from one cluster of nobles to the next as he bargained and gleaned information that would expand his influence.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t participate, but from here, it feels like I’m watching a battle instead of a dance sometimes. I like the courtyard dances much more, especially the Maiden Flower Dance. Have you seen it?”
Her companion nodded. “I have. The villages closest to Ilinfan come together to celebrate Delyalda. The Maiden Flower Dance and the Firehound story are always the favorites.”
“I love the Firehound story!” Jahna blushed, mortified by her enthusiastic outburst. She sounded more like an overly excited seven-year-old than the dignified young woman her father so desperately wanted her to be.
Sir Velus grinned, the expression one of appreciation instead of mockery. “Mine too. One of the older swordmasters possesses a touch of sorcery and can create the Hound from flame, though to be honest there’s been years where it looks more like a rabbit or piglet.” He winked at her. “Keep that between us.”
A bubble of laughter escaped her, and she captured it by covering her mouth with her hand. She had met this man only hours earlier, knew almost nothing about him other than his profession and his purpose in being here, but oh, she liked him very much. There was about him a steady confidence, as if he was very sure of his place in the world, with no need to prove his worth to anyone. He’d shown her great kindness, even before he knew she was his employer’s daughter.
He tipped his chin toward the crowded dance floor. “Your brother is enjoying himself.”
She followed the direction of his gesture, spotting Sodrin twirling a girl Jahna recognized as the youngest daughter of a lesser aristocrat. Her father stood not far away, watching, a disapproving frown pinching his face. “I’m glad,” she said. “As the heir, he’s ever reminded by our father of his duty to the line and the inheritance.”
She shuttered the rest of her words. It wasn’t her place to gossip about her family’s personal interactions nor the swordmaster’s place to be privy to them. It put them both in an awkward position. The heat of embarrassment flooded her face once more. She was a clumsy creature, socially inept and too free with her words when someone showed an interest in talking to her.
Unlike her, Sir Velus didn’t look the least ruffled and took up the threads of the conversation she abandoned. “Sodrin gave me a quick demonstration before supper of what he knows. He has a natural talent for the blade. He just needs to be lighter on his feet.”
“And forget for a moment that he isn’t always right.” Jahna loved her brother, but his insistence that he was never wrong, just misunderstood, drove her mad sometimes.
Sir Velus’s amused snort coaxed a smile from her. “Spoken like a true sibling,” he said. “Taking instruction is the hardest thing for a student of any endeavor to master, and some resist more than others.”
The wisdom of those words settled within her and stayed. “You have your challenge then with Sodrin.”
“You know he’s said something similar about you.”
She scowled. “Is that so?”
Their conversation was interrupted by Lord Uhlfrida’s sudden appearance in front of them. “Jahna isn’t trapping you here with her is she, Radimar?”
Her father’s thoughtless question robbed Jahna of breath. Had she trapped the swordmaster here with her awkward attempts at witty conversation? Did he only linger because of her relationship to her father and his own sense of diplomacy?
Beside her, Sir Velus stiffened and his voice was much cooler than it had been a moment earlier. “No, my lord She was just telling me how much her brother looked forward to his training.”
Uhlfrida nodded, swirling the wine in the chalice he held before taking a swallow. He dabbed at his mouth with a silk handkerchief clasped in his other hand. “So he is, which is why I want to discuss something with you regarding his lessons.” His eyes flickered over Jahna. “Jahna, you should be dancing.” It was more command than suggestion.
Jahna bowed her head. “Yes, Father.” It was futile to remind him that to dance in this arena, a woman had to be asked, and her chances of that happening were non-existent. Even if some aristocrat’s son approached her, she’d refuse. She knew of the standing wager among her peers. Whoever managed to coax or trick ugly Jahna Uhlfrida onto the dance floor would win a sizeable sum.
Satisfied with her ready agreement, Uhlfrida clasped Sir Velus’s arm. “Come, I’ll retrieve Sodrin so we can talk.”
The swordmaster executed a short quarter turn toward her which served to shake off Uhlfrida’s grip. The move was subtle, unnoticed by Uhlfrida himself, but Jahna noted it. The glint in Sir Velus’s eyes confirmed it. He bowed a farewell.
“Thank you for your insight, Lady Uhlfrida. I’m eager to start training your brother.” He left out any reference to other parts of their conversation that might provoke a litany of questions from Jahna’s father.
“Enjoy your evening, Sir Velus.” She offered her father a quick smile. “You too, Father.”
He acknowledged her valediction with a grunt and gestured for the swordmaster to keep pace with him as they braved the crowd toward the still dancing Sodrin. Jahna sighed. Poor Sodrin. He’d come to the Delyalda festival to revel, not spend the evening listening to their father’s lectures.
She was in front of the great hall’s doors when a dreaded voice halted her.