Page 82 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
Kesley shrugged again, but this one had a defensive bite. “She said you had asked her to make adjustments to the bodice. It looked like she meant to do it as she rode in the coach.”
Valeraine contemplated the alterations Selaide could be making. Would she be making it more stylish and feminine? Or destroying it completely as an act of revenge for who knew what?
There was a chance she was repairing and reinforcing the costume as an act of peace and kindness.
It seemed terribly unlikely.
“And you gave it to her? On her word?” Valeraine asked, incredulous. Kesley should know Selaide better than that, to trust her with something so important. “I’ll go get it at once.”
And so Valeraine pushed through the milling dragoneers to where the spectators would be watching. If she had thought standing with a dragon in this field was abominable, it was nothing compared to walking through it as an unaccompanied woman. There were jeers and dirty flirtations shouted from the anonymity of the crowd. Dragons snapped at her, encouraged by their riders for a bit of fun. She dodged claws, groping hands, and men walking right in her way.
Finally, she reached the edge of the mass of dragons and found the field set aside for spectators. Compared to navigating the dragoneers, it was no trouble to listen for her mother’s trilling voice and find her bragging to another woman about Alyce’s engagement.
Selaide was sitting on a blanket nearby, leisurely watching the clouds passing overhead. Merna had disappeared, no doubt to run wagers or smuggle eggs, and Alyce was obviously with the Nethenabbi party. Papa had fallen asleep on the blanket, hat covering his eyes.
When Selaide saw Valeraine approaching, the peaceful look melted off her face.
Valeraine crouched down, and started the conversation as civilly as she could manage. Her anger was a monster she could not restrain, so she half-snarled, “Where is my costume, Selaide?”
Selaide jumped right into the mess, saying, “You won’t be needing it, anyway.”
“Just because you tricked poor Kesley into giving it to you doesn’t mean it’s yours. Now, where is it?”
“Val, you paint me as an evil temptress. I’m simply acting for the best interests of Longbourn.”
“I don’t have time for your games,” Valeraine said. The derby would be starting in less than half an hour now. How much time did she have? Twenty minutes? She turned to the travel bags next to the Longbourns’ blanket and rifled through them. “Did you bring my costume, or did you cook it in your witch’s brew?” What if Selaide hadn’t brought it at all? All Valeraine found in the first bag was the typical accoutrements: gowns for the later ball, snacks, fans.
Selaide stood up and moved as if to block Valeraine, but Valeraine dodged and moved on to the next bag.
“I don’t know why you’re being so silly,” Selaide said, starting to get truly frustrated. “You would make a mess of it. Kesley should race.”
“I’m the only one with a chance of leading Lelantos through the maelstrom. Tell me where my costume is, or I will start going through your bags with a knife.” Valeraine wished she had a knife on her person to execute this threat, but the only knife was the one sheathed in her flying leathers. At least, she hoped it was still there. Selaide might have emptied the pockets to complete her sabotage. Valeraine had to satisfy herself with finding the bag with Selaide’s gown and dumping it over the ground. The fabric fluttered down, but none of it was the masked rider costume.
Some people nearby were turning to look at the commotion. Valeraine didn’t have time to give them excuses.
“You are such a liar!” Selaide said. “I know Kesley rides better than you do at every one of your practices.”
Valeraine laughed. It was only in part a laugh of humor. It was also a laugh of desperation, of incredulity, of the stress ofthe moment. “I don’t know who told you that, but I thought you smarter than to believe it. Kesley’s never been on good terms with Lelantos.”
Selaide tried to grab at Valeraine’s hands to stop her, but lacked the nerve to turn this into a physical confrontation, and stood angrily next to Valeraine instead. “Kesley and I agree that him riding is best for Longbourn house. It’s only your selfish nature that deludes you into thinking you’re the better rider.”
Valeraine stopped in her rummaging, and turned back to Selaide. “Wait, Kesley told you to do this? To keep the costume from me today?”
The petulant anger on Selaide’s face was answer enough.
“You are the worst sister I could ever imagine.” Valeraine returned to her searching, almost to the last bag. “To think that I’ve ever had a kind thought about you. The one who was so incompetent to fall for...” It was easy to be angry with Selaide. She was accustomed to being angry with Selaide.
Valeraine’s heart kept slipping around the other half of this conspiracy: Kesley.
“You want us to win this derby, don’t you?” Selaide said.
“I swear to you,” Valeraine said, giving Selaide her full attention, “if Longbourn has any chance of winning this derby, it will be by my hands on the reins.” She prayed Selaide would feel her sincerity, her truth. Despite all their flights and wars, they had always at least understood each other, and been cuttingly honest.
Selaide snapped away, and hurried to a trunk in the back of the pile of things. She opened it and dug into the bottom to pull out the familiar costume bag. “Prove it, Val. Fly.” It was a challenge, but it was also a surrender.
Valeraine lunged and snatched the bag from Selaide, already turning to run to their coach where she could change clothes.
“Val?” Selaide called.
