Page 41 of Thorn Season
I drew my attention back to Perla. Her family, the Byrds, ruled Avanford, a coastal province renowned for their naval forces and fishing economy. Of all the ruling families, I knew the least about them. But any information I gathered could aid my search for the compass.
So, I said, “Introduce us.”
Carmen’s eyes sparkled. Then she prowled forward.
“Lady Perla!” she called, startling the poor girl. “Meet Lady Alissa Paine. It’s her eighteenth season too.”
I smiled, nodding in greeting. “It’s a pleasure, Lady Perla. We met once as children, but I wanted to officially make your acquaintance.”
“I remember it well,” Perla murmured, though we’d had an unmemorable meeting at Erik’s coronation, both eleven years old and mereshadows behind our ruling fathers. Now drowning in a bruised-plum gown and clinging to the gloom of her alcove, Perla didn’t look much changed. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Alissa.”
She didn’t smile, but inclined her head lower than I had. As she drew up, her gaze snagged on my plunging neckline, which revealed the faded edge of my blueneck fever scar—a faint bluish splotch creeping up between my breasts. Perla must’ve mistaken it for a bruise because she glanced away, her mouth pinched tight as if by a drawstring.
“You girls have much to look forward to,” said Carmen, oblivious. She’d secured a pot of chocolate mousse and now spoke around a heaping mouthful. “We Henthornians pride ourselves on Rose Season entertainment. Oh, and the fealty ceremony, of course,” she added as an afterthought. “But take my advice, and don’t challenge Lady Sabira to a game of Aces if you want to keep your gold. She’s been working the Games Hall like a shark this year.”
Before I could reply, a fanfare trumpeted through the room. Perla flinched, wine sloshing over her flute. Not just timid. Jumpy, too.
Despite the mass of people, it wasn’t hard to spot the king. Erik never weaved through a room; he walked straight across it, expecting the crowd to scatter for him like birds in the way of an oncoming carriage. Because unlike the rest of us, he didn’t need jewels to announce his power. His power announced itself.
The gentry bowed, servile and reverent—all except Carmen, who went for another bite mid-curtsy, her spoon clacking inside the pot.
As the music resumed, Erik strode toward Lord Rupert Brogue of Creak. The older man’s walrus mustache twitched in delight at the king’s attention. With their teeming fields of grain and dullroot, the agricultural province of Creak had always experienced preferential treatment from the Crown—and Rupert, its retired ruling lord,had made himself a particular favorite.
True to form, he now guffawed at something the king had said, the sound so exaggerated that it sent him into a coughing fit.
Carmen muttered, “If Rupert stoops any lower to lick Erik’s boots, he’ll need a back brace.” Then she glanced at Perla and froze, as if she’d forgotten the girl was there. “Tell me, dearest Perla”—with a new, dazzling smile—“did Rupert really purchase a house on the Avanish coast?”
Perla gulped. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
“Oh, if the news reached us here in Henthorn, you must have some idea!”
Perla squirmed like she wanted her gown to swallow her, rickety shoes and all. “I’ve heard rumors—”
“Aha!” Carmen jutted her spoon at me. “That’s his third summer home this year, each one worth a treasury. Is he growing gold alongside the grain?”
I shrugged. “Maybe’s he’s taking pointers from Lady Sabira at the cards table.”
“That oaf wouldn’t know a winning hand if it sat on his lap and sang him a sea shanty.” Carmen scraped up her last spoonful and dropped the pot with a passing server. “Well, ladies? Shall we relieve my cousin of Rupert’s company?”
Perla tensed, color rising to her ivory cheeks.
“Lady Perla,” I interjected before Carmen dragged her away by her sleeves. “The Verenian jewelers have been eyeing your rings.” I nodded to the white pearls adorning her fingers. “Perhaps you could indulge them with a closer look?”
Perla looked pitifully grateful as she scurried off—in the opposite direction of the king.
Carmen was watching me, her azure eyes keen and bright. “Clearing away the competition, I see.”
“What competition?” I said sweetly, then weaved between the spun-sugar towers. Carmen hurried after me, not one to be excluded.
At our approach, Erik sent Rupert off with a good-natured pat on the back—a clever little gesture that had Rupert beaming, even as he was being dismissed.
Then the king turned to me with a knowing half smile. I’d left him searching for me in this very ballroom after his almost-proposal, and his roses had arrived with an almost-threat.
We didn’t finish our conversation. Soon.
Now here I was, curtsying before him, a present glittering in silver wrapping.Is this soon enough?I wanted to bite out.
“Lady Alissa.” He took my hand to draw me up from my curtsy, then dropped a kiss to my knuckles. “I see the princess beat me in welcoming you to our home.”
