Son in Sorrow (An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom Book Two) Read online

  Nevertheless, he put the Baroness on his list. Always good to have new faces; he'd gone through so many of the room's beauties already.

  In the last year, he hadn't enjoyed his list as much as he had in the past. He chalked it up to the presence of his wife. For most of the last eighteen years she'd been living at her family's estate near Whithorse's ducal capital, raising their children. Her bride price had been simple: In exchange for her coveted hand, she was to be allowed to raise her children away from the Keep. She wanted to give them a normal childhood, she'd said. Harsin's main advisor Teacher had approved; it would ground the Prince in ways the traditional aristocratic education at Parkdale could not. Harsin had agreed; after all, it gave him a free hand with his own…interests.

  What a mistake. Temmin grew up too comfortable among commoners, and Sedra grew up too fond of study. He could not complain about Ellika, he thought as his giddy daughter whirled past. Beautiful, happy and addicted to gaiety—a rather frivolous girl he'd have no trouble marrying off to a suitable ally, unlike her overly-serious sister.

  Harsin rarely admitted to himself that Ansella's absence had aggravated him the most. Yes, he'd visited her at the Estate, official visits taken by carriage or the new train and secret visits taken there via Teacher's magic, but over the years they'd grown apart. A thousand miles separated them, as did the list. She was unwilling to cross the former, he to cross off the latter.

  They'd spent the early days of their arranged marriage struggling against one another in bed and in life. He'd always wanted her, list or no, and before Temmin's birth he knew she wanted him in spite of herself. She might have even loved him. She was porcelain over a malleable metal he never quite shaped to his will. Her resistance thrilled him, aroused him and ultimately frustrated him.

  Ansella looked particularly well tonight. She always did in blue. It so suited her porcelain-and-roses skin and golden hair, and it matched the shade of her eyes. The cut of her dress displayed her still-splendid figure without vulgarity, and he once again rued the distance between them. She was squeezing Sedra's hands as if in parting but she was looking over her daughter's shoulder. He followed his wife's gaze up into the galleries to Sister Ibbit.

  Harsin was unused to rivals. It galled him. Why must everything always be so complicated with Ansella? Ibbit left the gallery as Ansella left the ballroom with nary a nod his way.

  Corland's approach broke into his thoughts. "Dashed impudent of that son of yours to give Princess Ellika to Litta for the first dance," he said. "Belonged to Fennows, I should think. Everyone knows he's first among her suitors."

  "'Everyone' does not know that, my Lord," replied Harsin, a chill in his voice. "Ellika's marriage is still not settled and won't be until I complete negotiations for Sedra's. I would ask you to remember that."

  "Beg your pardon, Your Majesty," said Corland meekly.

  "Temmin played the moment well, singling Litta out for the honor."

  "Litta and his honor. He's dashed unreasonable in council!"

  "I share Litta's opinions on your slaves, Borney. I don't want so many Incharis on Tremontine soil, especially under conditions where they might revolt."

  "Why would they revolt?" Harsin raised a brow, and Corland grimaced. "Well, yes, there were those damned impudent agitators I had to put down on my plantations in Endar."

  "Your 'damned impudent agitators' were three thousand strong."

  "The Seventeen Gentlemen of Inchar have had greater rebellions—"

  "And the Seventeen have company troops to put them down. Imperial troops had to put your rebellion down, not you."

  "I remember. I'm still paying the Treasury," grumbled Corland. "I don't know why you mightn't give me permission to move my own troops to Inchar. My own troops, Harsin, bought and paid for!"

  "I need them at the border with the Northern Wastes."

  "There hasn't been an incursion in years!"

  "And I will keep it that way. It's not negotiable," said Harsin. He cast a restless eye around the room in pursuit of his other interest.

  Fennows was talking to a nervous young girl standing away from the dancing. A small circle of men were clustered around her as she blushed under their attentions. Beautiful thing, quite out of her element judging by the way she held her fan. She reminded Harsin of a foal still finding its feet, a foal who'd be a thoroughbred once she got them under her. The girl had astonishing eyes, as large and blue as a spring sky over the mountains, and brown hair the color of mink welled in ringlets over her shoulders. Her cherry dress walked an exquisite line, cut to draw maximum attention to the swell of her breasts, a dress meant for men's eyes and thus unusual; in polite society, women dressed for one another. The dress seemed to make her uncomfortable; her free hand constantly wandered to her neckline, only for her to yank it back down to pluck at her fan.

  Harsin had no idea who she was, and rather doubted she was even minor nobility. How had she gotten past his social secretary? Lady Olster made exceptions at more casual affairs for prominent members of the gentility—at the most casual, even for members of the merchant class if they were wealthy enough and not too coarse. Any kind of commoner was not usually on the list for state occasions like the Heir's birthday; the King might make exceptions for a beautiful girl, but Lady Olster would not. "Borney, who is that girl talking with your son?"

  "Her? Nice little piece, ain't she?" grinned Corland. "Curves in all the right places. Don't approve of commoners at the Keep, I should think, but it's not up to me, is it?" His small eyes squinted in disapproval. "Ever heard of Shelstone and Sons?"

  "The tailoring concern? I believe my man Gram has applied to them for his own needs, and pronounced them quite satisfactory. Is the father Shelstone or Son?"

  "Neither—grandson. Elbig Shelstone. Revolting little man. Social climber."

  "It is hardly my habit to invite tailors to state occasions no matter how zestfully they climb."

  Corland waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, he's not a tailor any more—not any kind of merchant. Sold out and bought himself some gentility. Paid off a relation with a better name to launch his daughter into society. Has hopes for her—if not a brilliant marriage than a brilliant…liaison, shall we say? Recognized only, though. Kept proper."

  "Does she belong to Fennows?"

  "Not to anyone as far as I'm aware, though not for lack of applicants." Corland noticed his son—the son supposedly devoted to Princess Ellika—flirting with the girl; he blanched and cleared his throat noisily. "Percy was unavoidably introduced to her father—good friends with their relations, d'you see—and he made them known to me for the obvious reason. Might become that brilliant liaison myself if I can manage it. Certainly no other suitor's presented himself who's dazzling enough for Daddy." Corland gave a low, throaty chortle, choked off when he saw his wife across the room, a dry woman covered in a great wave of diamonds breaking in sprays against her desert shore. "I've got the rank, but damned if I can find a way to publicly keep her without hell to pay. Have to keep my girls on the quiet side. Neya bless that little Cosetta of mine. Say, would you like an introduction to the Shelstone chit, old thing?" He jerked his head at his son; Fennows dutifully led the increasingly nervous girl through the throng to the King.

  "Your Majesty," said the lordling, "may I make known to you Miss Twenna Shelstone, daughter of Mr Elbig Shelstone of Newtown."

  She was even prettier up close—stunning, in fact, with a peach complexion and an unfeigned sweetness suggesting her supposed ambitions were entirely her father's. She made her curtsey. "May I have this dance, Miss Shelstone?" said the King, raising the astonished girl to her feet.

  He expected her to giggle, but instead her face lit up in a radiant smile. "I would like it above all things, Your Majesty!" He led her onto the floor.

  "Oh, sir!" she burbled as they began the long graceful loops of the dance, "I have lived in the shadow of the Keep my whole life and have hungered to be inside and see its splendors! Now that I am here, I am filled w
ith—with—" she stammered, aiming for the right word and missing with room to spare— "with vehemence! And I never thought I'd dance with the King!" she added.

  Usually wide-eyed girls bored him, but Twenna's artlessness extended to an unwitting, innocent physicality. She leaned into his touch like a little animal enjoying its fur being stroked—a natural voluptuary. Harsin found himself increasingly charmed: a beautiful, inexperienced girl ripe for the plucking, uncomplicated and begging to be molded. To take such a girl under his protection might be charming indeed.

  Later that evening, The Duke of Corland watched the King and the tailor's daughter disappear within moments of one another. Twenna had caught the royal eye much faster than he'd expected. So much the better. A tremulous voice interrupted his happy musings: "My Lord Corland!"

  At his elbow he found an overly elegant little man, his round belly supported on spindly legs. "Oh. Hullo, Shelstone," said Corland; he'd almost forgotten the girl's father was here.

  "I do thank you so very much for your notice of myself and my daughter."

  Corland shifted his weight from uneasy heel to toe. "Not a-tall. One always wishes to see interesting people at these things, I should think."

  The former tailor beamed, his smile as pomaded as his hair. "But putting in a word to the royal family's social secretary—!"

  The Duke winced. Lady Olster had owed him a great favor; it had galled him to spend such dear coin on Shelstone and his daughter, but it served the greater purpose. The Duke pulled the former tailor to one side. "Listen, old thing. Let's not bandy that about, eh? Just between us. Tell your girl the same. Discretion is the watch word."

  "Discretion?"

  "In fact, I do not wish to be seen speaking with you."

  "Discretion, certainly," said Shelstone, bobbing his head in confusion. "Nevertheless, I shall always be grateful—"

  "Just remember that gratitude. Excuse me." Corland sidled away toward the buffet. As the Crown owned the best vineyards, the King always had the best wine, and the Duke wanted a great deal of it.

  Temmin, meanwhile, was enjoying his birthday party immensely; he'd been in society such a short time before Supplicancy. He liked dancing, he liked pretty women whose sole aim was to charm him, he liked sparkling wine, and above all he liked studying Allis and Issak as they sailed through the room's political shoals and depths. He'd learned a great deal about politics in the year he'd been in the Capital, both in and out of the Temple. He escorted his latest partner to the sidelines and her next partner.

  Thirst pounced on him, and instead of taking a new partner he went in search of something to drink. Wine was all very well, but it wasn't quenching. Temmin spotted a curtained-off servants' hallway to one side of the room. A year ago there had been water in that hallway for the servants, and he wanted water. He pushed open the curtains and went inside unnoticed.

  Temmin's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. Exactly a year ago he'd danced here with Arta Dannikson, an extremely pretty downstairs maid. In his father's attempts to stop his Supplicancy, Arta had been both human bait and hostage. Temmin remembered the knife at her throat as Harsin tried to force him from the Lovers' Temple. She and her sweetheart Fen were safe at the Estate now; Arta was learning to read and write, and Fen was learning the care of horses. From what their letters told him, especially Arta's painstakingly copied ones, they were busy for the moment, but he'd have to figure out what to do with them longer term at some point.

  Temmin drank three dippers of water and strolled back to the hallway's opening to observe the brightly dressed throng. Last year was his first chance to enjoy the company of beautiful women—any women, at least those close to his own age who weren't related to him. Even Mattie. Pretty, hazel-eyed Mattie, the young servant girl he'd almost raped in a drunken haze the night before he left home. Mattie, who'd turned out to be his half-sister. Temmin shuddered. More than once he'd wondered what had become of her, and whether she knew they were related. Letters from home said she and her mother had left Reggiston in a great hurry; he suspected his parents had a hand in that. He wished he knew where she was. He wanted to make amends to her himself.

  Temmin sighed. He would find her when he left the Temple next year. For now, duty required him to rejoin the dancers.

  Early spring in Corland could hardly be called spring at all, especially in the little city of Arren. It sat far to the north, just on Tremont's side of the border with the Northern Wastes, and winter loved it far too much to leave on time. Downy snow still fell from the sky, determined to smother the streets like an overstuffed featherbed. Mattisanis Ambleson—the former Mattie Dunley of Meadow House, Whithorse Estate—thought it beautiful. The cold rimed everything in brilliant, magical whiteness, hushed, as a breath held. Or perhaps lost. Ever since meeting Adrik Adrikov just after Neya's Day the year before, she had been breathless.

  Tonight at the Heir's Birthday celebration in Arren's most modern public ballroom, Mattie's mama sat frowning with the other chaperones, but Mattie sparkled as brightly as the snow outside as she swept down the floor in Adrik's arms. The gaslight gilded her dark hair and shone in her hazel eyes. "How wonderful of you to buy us tickets, Mr Adrikov!"

  "How could anyone deny you such a pleasure—anyone knowing how you love to dance," he smiled, his Corrish accent silky and rich as good chocolate. Mattie loved it when he smiled; his large, deep brown eyes turning down at the outside corners gave his face a melancholy cast otherwise. When he smiled, his eyes took on a sly kindness, as if he contained happy surprises within surprises like a Corrish nesting doll.

  Among the chaperones, Mistress Ambleson's fidgets increased, and Mattie's pleasure wilted round the edges. "Mama could."

  Mama could, indeed. There had been quite the argument when Mr Adrikov's invitation arrived. Tellis Ambleson insisted they could not attend such a public event, that "we must keep a low profile, Mattie, I have told you this and told you this!"

  "But never why, Mama, and until you tell me why we changed our name and moved away from Reggiston, I see no reason why I mightn't go out—oh please, Mama, I don't wish to be beastly! See? Mr Adrikov has provided you with a ticket as well, there is nothing unseemly about it, you will be with us." Mattie's wheedling, and Mama's reluctance to part with the secret, had finally procured her permission, but clearly she was thinking twice.

  "Mistress Ambleson is a loving mother," said Adrik. "She worries about letting her beautiful lamb of a daughter out of the fold, where all the wolves might pick up her scent."

  Mattie laughed, pleased at flattery she knew was still true: she was beautiful. Her mother had been beautiful, and was handsome even at the decrepit age of thirty-eight. Mattie had inherited her heart-shaped face, neat figure and hazel eyes, but Mattie's almost-too-pronounced nose and near-black hair must have come from some unknown ancestor. Her Papa'd had kind if watery pale blue eyes, a button nose and sandy, receding hair that almost blended into his forehead. For a moment, his memory squeezed at her heart; he'd found great joy in music and dancing, and would have loved being here tonight to dance with her mother. Mattie would have loved for him to meet Adrik Adrikov, the love of her life, but Papa was five years gone.

  Adrik encircled her waist to guide her up the form; the warmth of his body so close to hers brought her to the present. Warmth bloomed every time he touched her, no matter how slight or decorous the contact. He had not made an offer yet and of course had thus not won the right to kiss her, but in bed at night she thought of little else but Adrik, how it would feel when he finally did kiss her. Would his mustache tickle? Would she like that? She thought she might.

  "Miss Ambleson?" his voice interrupted her musings. "I do wonder what you're thinking, your eyes sparkle so."

  She returned her attention to the room and laughed. "Some day you'll know!"

  Pawl the footman opened the Amblesons' front door, dull-witted and stifling more yawns than usual. "Why did we have to come home, Mama?" said Mattie.

  "What d'you mean, why? It
's two in the morning!" answered her mother.

  Mattie trailed upstairs after her. "But everyone was still there! They weren't scheduled to stop dancing until four at the earliest! Mama, why have you taken such a dislike to Ad—Mr Adrikov?"

  Tellis paused at the drawing room door long enough to call for tea and aimed herself at her favorite chair by the drawing room fire. Once the two were settled with their tea before them and the door firmly closed, Tellis let out a great sigh. "Oh, Mattie. It's too soon."

  "Too soon? Mama, we've known one another since Spring's End last year, and here it's Spring's Beginning—almost an entire year!"

  "No, no, not that. It's too soon since we left...Reggiston!" she whispered loudly.

  Mattie bounced in her chair. "Until you tell me why, that will never be explanation enough!"

  Tellis tapped her fingers together in her lap, a nervous habit that sometimes sent Mattie into exasperated fits; now, it signaled that perhaps she might finally learn the secret. "Mattie...you must believe me when I tell you this is a very great secret, a burden I'd always hoped to carry for you. I never wanted you to know this. You must tell no one, do you understand?" Huge tears pooled in Tellis's eyes; Mattie bit at her lip in alarm. "We are in danger if you tell anyone, Mattie, do you understand? Promise me!"

  She nodded.

  Tellis exhaled and tried to pick up her teacup but trembled so hard she gave up. "You thought you were dismissed from Meadow House last year, because...because of what happened between you and the Heir."

  Mattie's stomach clenched at the memory of that night, a year ago almost to the day. She wouldn't have minded the Prince's attentions in a different context. He was quite handsome but he was also quite drunk when he'd discovered her half-dressed in the hedge alley with her sweetheart. If she hadn't done exactly what the Prince said, she knew she'd be cashiered though he'd said otherwise. She'd done what he asked—no more than a few kisses and some fumbling gropes at her breasts before he threw up—but her mother had fetched her home before the spoke was out, just as she'd known would happen. "If that wasn't it, then what was it?"