Moving as swiftly as she can in the ball gown, she counts herself fortunate that Master Soleil had her practice nearly everything in the horrid mockup that Milvara threw together for her. The mockup was truly terrible, with its mismatched sleeves, pieced-together bodice, and wildly clashing colors. Her actual gown, fortunately, is every bit as stunning as the mockup was horrible.
She’s caught the nasty little clique giggling about the dreadful mock dress several times. What those girls haven’t realized is that the mockup was just for bulk and weight. It’s served its purpose and gone off to the rag bin. Because of those practice sessions in the hideous mockup, she can now walk, navigate stairs, dance, sit, and socialize confidently in her ball gown. Master Soleil has also included etiquette lessons to ensure she doesn’t unintentionally offend.
Arriving at the thrown open doors to the high priest’s residence, she follows the steady stream of visitors inside and up the grand staircase. At the top, just outside the ballroom, one of the liveried footmen hired in for the occasion offers to take her cloak. Emlyn gratefully hands it over. Another bustles over and asks who he should announce. Emlyn smiles and replies, “Nia ferch Hayden ap Rhys.” It takes a few tries, but he gets the pronunciation close enough.
At Emlyn’s signal, the doors are opened, and she’s announced. Following the example of those in front of her, she stops on the balcony overlooking the dance floor and drops a curtsey to the Duke, the Prince, and the Duke’s sons. The coterie of girls and their mothers are insanely jealous that Emlyn has been announced while they were simply ushered in through one of the side entrances from the garden.
What they don’t realize is that if anyone liked them better, they might have been told that they could use the front entrance. As Emlyn makes her way down the staircase gracefully, heads turn to look at her, and many of the males present start to make their way toward her. Robis moves swiftly toward the stairs but peels off toward a server passing food at a covert signal from Emlyn.
She makes her way sedately to the refreshments table and takes a cup of cider. Wandering around the periphery, she’s being stalked by several of the young men in attendance who are hoping to meet her, but Emlyn is on a prowling hunt of her own. It’s not long before she has her prize in her sights. One of the duke’s sons is being accosted by a member of the group she’s mentally labeled as ‘the harpies’. It’s pretty clear from his expression and his attempts to move away from her that he’d prefer to be almost anywhere else. Smiling to herself, Emlyn sails in to rescue him.
“I was hoping I’d run into you here,” she says with an incandescent smile. Once she’s turned where the twit can’t see, Emlyn drops him a quick wink and mouths, “She doesn’t like me much.”
Eyes twinkling merrily, he bows over her hand and kisses it. “You look stunning. I don’t believe you’ve met my brothers. Come, let me introduce you.”
He offers her his arm, and she takes it, giving him another incandescent smile. Chuckling slightly, he glances down, “My thanks for the rescue.”
“It was my pleasure,” Emlyn purrs.
“I’m Dranor, by the way,” he says with a grin, “but you’ll have to remind me where we met.”
“We hadn’t,” Emlyn says quietly, “I’m Nia, and you can just name some recent Temple function. I seem to have been attending quite a lot of them these last two months I’ve been here in Harito.”
“I do hope I haven’t traded bad for worse,” Dranor sighs.
“You have not,” Emlyn assures him with a smile, “I’m happy to be a mummer in your drama so long as you don’t mind being a mummer in mine. I want nothing from you or your brothers other than a few dances and some intelligent conversation. In return, I can provide you with a degree of protection for the evening from the harpies and the furies.”
Dranor laughs at this and nods agreeably, “Harpies and furies… That’s a fairly apt description.”
“It is particularly applicable to that group. If I understand the customs here correctly, you and your brothers are probably some of the most sought-after bachelors here,” Emlyn shrugs, “I’ve been in similar situations myself. It can be very taxing.”
“Very well, you have a deal, Nia,” Dranor says, “but only if you tell me what you get out of our little arrangement.”
“I get to launch myself into Temple society, and I get to snub those rude girls all in a go,” Emlyn grins back, “I take my vows as a paladin two days from now.”
Surprised, he looks at her, “Truly?”
“Truly,” Emlyn replies, “I have already made binding oaths to the Goddess that I would take them as soon as I am able. Tomorrow night I will be keeping my vigil.”
“In that case,” Dranor grins, “Since I have caught you before you become stuffy and serious, would you care to dance?”
“If you think paladins are stuffy and serious, you should meet my brothers in arms. They’re just there by the staircase.”
“I had wondered why they were watching us so closely,” Dranor chuckles as he leads her to the dance floor, “Thank you for explaining it.”
Dranor leads her expertly in a waltz and walks her to the table he’s sharing with his brothers. “Nia, allow me to introduce my younger brothers. This is Garret, Robard, Jessop, and Dru. The other fellow is our childhood friend, Prince Armeniel. Emlyn drops a curtsey to the prince as Dranor pulls out a chair for her.
“Leave it to you, Dranor, to go get a slice of cake and come back with the loveliest girl here,” Robard grouses good-naturedly.
“Oh, no. I snatched him… away from the harpies. He seemed to need my protection,” Emlyn says with a small smile, and Prince Armeniel practically spews his wine.
Dru leans forward, “And how do you plan to protect him?”
“By sitting here, chatting with you,” Emlyn grins, “Let’s just say that the harpies and I are not on friendly terms. They’ve avoided me – quite studiously - since I offered to take them to the practice grounds to settle our differences. I rather expect that if I’m nearby, they’ll be forced to avoid you too.”
“She’s taking her vows as a paladin,” Dranor explains, “day after tomorrow.”
Eyeing her, Prince Armeniel sighs, “If that works, even for a little while, I’ll be in your debt. Those shrews won’t leave me alone. Their mothers are worse than they are. Do you know that their mothers accosted me in the privy?”
“That is unfortunate,” Emlyn agrees, “I have had some similar… issues with them, which is what prompted my offer to take it to the training grounds. I even offered to use wooden weapons, and they still not so politely declined.”
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
The liveried servants swarm through the tables of chatting guests, replenishing food and drink. Emlyn gratefully accepts a cup of cider and a small plate of sandwiches.
Out of the corner of his eye, the prince spots one of the girls angling toward him. “Nia,” he says with a gallant bow, “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”
“I would be delighted,” Emlyn replies, putting her sandwich down. Upon seeing the prince escorting Nia to the dance floor, the girl fumes for a moment and then flounces off.
Each time one of the girls tries to approach any of the duke’s sons or the prince, they ask Nia to dance, and she obliges. They excuse themselves to tend to the various social duties that their station requires and return to the zone of protection she’s managed to weave about them.
Toward the end of the evening, Nia smiles at them, “I have been very pleased to meet you all, but I have promised a dance to each of my brothers, and if I don’t go dance with them soon, there won’t be enough dances left.”
“I think the harpies are leaving anyway,” Robard says with a nod toward the door where the frustrated group is filing out. “Thank you for a delightful evening.”
“You are most welcome,” Emlyn replies. She drops a curtsey to the prince and sails off.
“Winter in the Forest,” sighs Jessop, “never looked that good.”
“You’re the third son,” Dranor shrugs, “You could go after her.”
“I have a feeling,” Dru replies, “that she’s at least as high-born as we are, but something’s happened to her family. There’s probably not enough of a dowry there to make Father happy, even if you are the third son. I can make inquiries at the Temple and find out. She certainly handled those girls neatly enough.”
Emlyn returns to her paladin companions, and Benger grins at her, “Well, how’d it go? Will you end up as Princess Nia after all?"
Frowning, she shakes her head, “No, most definitely not. I might have made a few friends, but nothing more. None of them would be permitted to marry a penniless orphan, and I’m not cut out to be… anything else to them.” Grinning back, Emlyn chuckles, “Did you see the look on Terian’s face when the prince asked me to dance to get away from her? That alone was worth it. Now, which one of you am I dancing with first?”
The party winds down, and Emlyn collects her cloak. Wrapped in the dark green, she’s practically invisible if she sticks to the unlit side of the path.
One of Terian’s clique launches herself into the path and starts screeching at Benger. “Where’s your stupid friend? I’m going to get her kicked out of here, and you with her.” She starts punching and kicking at Benger ineffectively. Emlyn moves deeper into the shadows and realizes quickly that they’re not alone on the path. Thinking quickly, she assesses her chances.
Deciding against direct action, she changes tactics. Taking a deep breath and throwing her head back, she lets out a blood-curdling scream. Before anyone can stop her, Emlyn screams again, sounding for all the world like she’s being murdered. In short order, temple guards and the duke’s bodyguards come pounding up, carrying torches. Following well behind the Duke’s bodyguards are her dinner companions. The torches revealed what Emlyn had sensed: several armed men hiding in the bushes and preparing to ambush the group while they were distracted by the screeching girl.
Dranor recognizes the group, looks around for Emlyn, and spots her. “Gods! Nia, are you alright? Was that you we heard screaming?”
Smiling a bit, she nods, “It was, but I’m fine. Thank you for coming so quickly. I was hoping that you would and that this wouldn’t devolve into bloodshed.”
“I’m not sure how much of a fight it would have been,” Benger growls, “None of us were armed.” Emlyn elbows Benger, and he subsides, still glaring.
The temple guards round up the girls and their hired muscle. One of them starts to shout about how much her family gives to the temple, and the guard shrugs, “You getting to stay on is up to Master Bozell, but I don’t think he’s going to be very happy with you. You tried to assassinate a novitiate on Temple grounds – one that the Goddess has a particular and personal interest in, no less. I’d leave off, if I were you.”
With that, the Temple guard shoves her toward the entrance. When she tries to turn away toward the acolyte barracks and her room, the guard tells her, “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re going downstairs to the cells.” She turns and tries to swat at him, but the guard uses his pike butt to push her in the direction he wants her to go.
“That’s rather gratifying,” Dranor says with a grin, watching the guard herd the brat toward her cell, “Let me send a couple of men with you to see you to the Temple door at least.”
“That would be most appreciated,” Emlyn replies with a bow. The temple guards and two of the duke’s men walk the group back to the temple. Before the duke’s men turn to go, Emlyn stops them, “Give my thanks to the Duke and Dranor.”
Nodding, they turn and jog off. “Gods above!” Benger explodes once they’re out of sight. “None of us were armed.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Emlyn says, “I’m strong enough now to call my blades.”
“What in the ninth layer of hell are you talking about?” Saris asks.
“My blades were made with ancient magic that my people practiced,” Emlyn explains, “One houses the soul of my father and the other my grandfather. By rights, they’d have gone to my oldest brother, but since I’m the last of my line, I have them. They’re bonded to me, instead. If I call them, they’ll come to me.”
“If I let you talk to them, you have to call me Nia. They don’t know my real name.”
“You disowned your House?” her father demands angrily.
“No, never,” she replies hotly,” They don’t want my real name to appear in any of their records, just in case anyone should think to check. What chance would any of them have against Elphame or Tannis or whatever else I might have angered?”
“She’s right, Terwyn,” her grandfather replies, “She hasn’t disowned us. There are a few of them who know who she is. Gethin has most certainly recognized you. He’s there in Harito, I think. The Goddess knows, too. Best it stay that way.” Grumbling, Emlyn’s father reluctantly agrees.
Slipping out of her cloak with one hand, she hands the encumbering garment to one of her friends. “They said that they’d talk to you, if… if anyone wants to talk to them.”
She holds out her blades, hilt first. Urlin reaches out and grabs one of the hilts, and his eyes go wide, “It’s not a prank. It is her father.” One by one, her friends take turns speaking with her blades.
“If I hadn’t spoken to them myself,” Saris starts…
“It is certainly not something I’d ever heard of anyone doing,” Urlin nods, “but having them to advise you would certainly be valuable.”
“My grandfather was one of our greatest generals,” Emlyn agrees, “Having his guidance has been invaluable. My father was one of the best in the annual trials. His advice in a fight is quite helpful.”
“Why share this with us?” Benger asks.
“Because,” Emlyn replies, “We’ll be travelling together, working together. I wanted you to know that when I tell you something that’s not ordinary, that I just might be telling you the truth. I wanted you to understand that I screamed to bring the guards, not because I was afraid, but because I didn’t want to have to kill those silly, stupid girls and their hired flat-footed muscle. I didn’t want a charming evening marred by bloodshed, but if they had attacked you, I’d have been forced to kill at least most of them, if not all of them. As much as I dislike them, being inept, low-bred, crass cretins doesn’t merit a death sentence.”
“That’s probably true,” Saris allows, “and probably not the entry into Temple society you were looking for, either.”
“You’ve done more,” Robis chuckles, “to put those shrews and harridans in their place than anyone else around here has managed. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to pull it off, but you did manage to dance with every single one of the duke’s brood and the prince himself, twice. That alone is bound to have their tails tied in knots.”
“Had I known that they would try to attack me physically,” Emlyn shrugs, “I’d have handled them differently. They were such cowards when I invited them to the practice grounds, even with wooden weapons, that I didn’t expect it.”
“That’s backward,” Hiltar advises, “If they’re that cowardly, they’re just the type to go hire a bunch of thugs to try to do what they know they can’t do themselves, which is beat you.”
“You are most likely correct,” Emlyn concedes, “and so I owe all of you an apology for my grave tactical error.”
“Now you’re trying to own the wind,” Madil says, shaking his head, “Those girls are a nasty bit of work. I’m just glad that you thought to warn Benger about them, and he thought to pass that warning to us. They’ve tried to arrange things between them to catch Benger, me, Garmer, and Saris alone with them. I’m sure that they were planning to try to accuse us of trying to force them.”
“You didn’t tell me that they’d tried anything,” Emlyn frowns at Benger, who swallows hard.
“You were right about the whole thing,” Benger admits, “They came after me first, and when I wouldn’t take their bait, they went after my friends.”
“I see,” Emlyn nods, “Next time, tell me.”
“Why is that important?” Falnor asks, “What difference would that have made?”
“Had I known that,” Emlyn says with a tight smile, “I might not have called down the guards on them.”
“Enough of that. It’s been a long and eventful night,” Garmer chimes in, “we all need to get some sleep.” Pointing at Emlyn, he says, “You in particular need to get some sleep because you’ve got a long vigil to keep tomorrow night.” Without waiting to see if any of the others follow him, Garmer heads off to take his own advice. Emlyn grins for a moment and turns to go to her room.