Yellow strips of silk, as far as she could see. Yellow for Andreus.
But . . . there were also blue bands. More than those of her brother’s castoffs who had joined her on the viewing stand. More than Lord Errik, who was standing not far from the Council of Elders at the front of the Hall. A strip of light blue set off against the dark blue velvet of his tunic. For every two yellow bands, there was at least one of hers. In this room where she had so often been condemned for her behavior, the show of approval cut through her resentment and warmed her.
When they reached the front of the Hall and turned to face the crowd, she could see the tightening around her brother’s mouth. His eyes met hers for a moment, and even through the haze of the Tears of Midnight she felt the accusation burning through her.
Trumpets began a new fanfare and Elder Cestrum stepped forward to address the crowd. “The Council of Elders and Prince Andreus and Princess Carys welcome you to this ball and the second of the Trials of Virtuous Succession. We thought it was fitting to hold the trial for temperance here, in the place where it is most needed. Strong monarchs must have control over their actions, thoughts, and feelings—especially when seated on the Throne of Light with the fate of our kingdom in their hands. Now the Council will bear witness to the actions of Prince Andreus and Princess Carys during this evening of celebration. The successor who demonstrates the best control over his or her actions will be awarded with a point on the scoring board.”
Elder Cestrum turned to Carys and Andreus and smiled. “Let the festivities begin.”
With that, the musicians began to play and an acrobat bent forward, performed a handstand, and then began walking across the white stone floor on his hands.
“That’s the contest?” Carys asked. “Temperance. How do you judge that?”
Elder Cestrum glanced over to where Garret stood not far from the steps leading to the throne, where he was speaking with Elder Ulrich. When he turned back to Carys, his smile grew even broader. “Any way we wish to, Your Highnesses.”
“I am certain the Council will not be disappointed with me, Elder Cestrum,” Andreus said, giving his sister a look. “Now, if you will excuse me, I see Lady Lillian. She must be heartbroken by Mother’s illness. Perhaps a dance will raise her spirits.”
Andreus crossed the room to the woman in question. Their mother’s friend put her hand to her chest and looked ready to cry when Andreus offered his arm and escorted her onto the floor. Soon they were gliding around the center of the Hall with what seemed to be all of the court nodding in approval.
When the dance was finished, Andreus gave the woman a charming smile and then asked another, older member of the court, instead of the younger girls he typically favored, to dance. Tempering his behavior, Carys thought. Well, that gave her an idea.
Carys strolled into the crowd that she would normally avoid and spotted three of the girls who had been on her viewing platform earlier today. All of them had bands of blue on their arms and several had their hair, two of brunette and one of bright red, tied back at the neck in the simple style Carys had worn during the tournament instead of the elaborate twists and turns those in the court normally wore.
“Princess Carys,” the redhead stammered as she and the others performed hasty curtsies. “Is there something we can do for you?”
The nervous glances the girls exchanged made Carys aware once again of how out of place she was in court. All three of these girls had grown up here at the castle. Carys had known them all of their lives and still they viewed her as a stranger. Well, that was going to change now. Smiling, Carys said, “I was hoping you might be willing to show me how to have fun at one of these things. I fear I’m out of practice.”
The redhead looked too stunned to speak, but the taller of the brunettes—Carys thought her name was Lady Shelby—smiled and said, “We’d be honored, Your Highness. How about we start with the entertainers? I’m not sure if they throw knives as well as you do, but we can ask them to try.”
Carys laughed and suddenly the other girls lost their worried expressions and included her in their chatter as they wove through the room to where half-dressed acrobats were walking on their hands and doing flips on the hard, stone floor.
When Carys admired one performer’s skill aloud, the other girls rushed to praise him as well.
“Anyone can do that. It’s not that special,” a man called.
Carys glanced around for the source of the words and smiled when she spotted a young man holding a goblet of wine, standing with a bunch of his friends.
“I could easily walk on my hands,” he said to his laughing companions.
Carys turned to the girls. “I’ll be right back.”
She made her way over to the young man.
“Excuse me,” Carys said, “What is your name?”
“I’m Lord Trevlayn, Your Highness,” he said with a grin that told her the drink in his hand wasn’t the first he’d had. “At your service.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear you say that you can walk on your hands. Is that true?”
“Well, I think so, Your Highness. I mean—”
“Excellent! We would all like to see you show your skill. And any who succeed will be rewarded with a dance with one of my ladies.”
The blond lord’s friends slapped him on the back. One took his drink and the acrobats that had been performing stepped to the side to allow the braggart a chance to display his abilities. Left with no other option, the lord put his hands on the floor, hesitantly kicked his feet up, and fell back to the ground with a thud. His friends burst into howls of laughter. The young lord pushed himself up off the floor, scowling, and started to stalk off the floor. But one of the girls with Carys, a petite, curvy brunette, stepped forward and said, “I believe you can do it, Lord Trevlayn.”