Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

“What is the matter, my beloved? Uncomfortable?”

“There are rules in the baths that must be observed. Rule one is no touching except by the servants. If that rule is not observed, we will be reduced to the days when only men were allowed in the baths.”

“Ah, but I am ignorant of such customs. Forgive me.”

She glared at him. “Now you know, so get out.”

He set the soap in its dish and dipped his hands in the water to cleanse them.

She smashed a fist in the water, splattering him. “Get out.”

He stood and the blue-grey of his knees was wet from kneeling. He began to unroll his sleeves and looked down on her, fully dressed and standing while she sat naked in the water. “There is something we must discuss.”

“What?”

“I would ask we set a date for our joining.”

“Then ask.”

He frowned at her, puzzled, and said, “Very well, I ask that we set a date for our joining.”

Keleios sighed and stared down into the water. “Must you always ask me questions when I am at a disadvantage?”

He smiled. “But my lovely princess, I enjoy it so.”

She glared at him. If wishes could come true simply by thinking them, he would have evaporated on the spot. “You have a right to ask. I will talk to Methia and see how soon the feast arrangements can be made. Now, get away from me.”

He fastened his sleeves and said, “I do not mean to rush you.”

“Yes, you do, but I made an oath and I will keep it. I have little choice.”

He hesitated a moment, then said softly, “You are very beautiful.” She searched for that mocking smile, but it did not follow. There was a wistfulness to his face. He turned and walked away without waiting for her reaction.

The bath was spoiled. She shooed the servants back and finished it quickly herself. As she dried, one servant held up a dress for her to change into. Keleios had to smile. Her sister still hadn’t given up on her being a proper lady. Magda would have tried to get her boy’s clothing, but Methia was the Guardian. When the ruler of the land suggested something, one naturally thought it was a good idea.

She shrugged. It would probably fit, and she needed a dress for the ceremony. “I will wear this for now, but please have some men’s riding clothes found for me.”

They looked at each other in puzzlement. Both were too young to remember Keleios much. The older said, “As you wish, Lady Keleios.”

She did refuse most of the undergarments, only taking enough so that the dress fit properly. At least the shoes had no high heel or pointed toe. They were serviceable cream-white slippers. The dress was made of cream-colored silk. The large leg-o’mutton sleeves were slit, and cloth of gold showed through. The neck plunged to a rather daring triangle. A half-cloak had been brought and was artfully draped and pinned. The cloth was a soft brown with golden threads running through it. The cloak was pinned to the dress at hip and shoulder. It added nothing to keeping out the cold but was the height of fashion. A net of gold had been sent to hold her hair from her face. It was Methia’s compromise. She knew Keleios would never consent to the elaborate hairstyle that was popular. The netting was often worn by young girls too young to put their hair up. She allowed them one thick braid, complete with cream ribbon, like a half-crown across the head.

Keleios allowed them to take the armor to have it cleaned, but Aching Silver she kept with her. There was usually no way to fasten it on over the dress, so she carried it sheathed and locked in place.

The servants directed her back to the nursery. A maid said, “The room is not quite as the Guardian would wish it. If it is all right, you shall stay in the nursery until your room can be made ready.”

Keleios said that would be fine. She had wondered what, by Urle’s forge, Methia could be putting in her room.

Poth lay in a bar of sunlight, flat on her side. Only the bushy tip of her tail twitched a greeting. Groghe had managed to undress the doll and had all its clothes strewn across the floor. The doll was now wearing a red ball gown.

He greeted her with, “Why does the toy have so many clothes?”

“Because there is money to buy that many. Pick it all up before my sister comes.”

He scrambled to obey, wadding the expensive cloth.

“Carefully.”

He tried, but a demon’s idea of careful left something to desire.

A knock came at the door.

“Who is it?”

Silence and then carefully neutral, “It is Methia.”

Keleios set the sword and sheath under the bed and said, “Enter.”

Methia entered, bearing a silver tray laden with cheese, fruit, and cold meat. A bottle of wine was also included. “It is not Astranthian wine, but it is a good local vintage.” She set the tray on a small table and drew up two straight-backed chairs. Smiling brightly, she said, “And lady Gilstorpoth, your breakfast awaits you in the kitchen.” She held the door for the cat.

Poth paused uncertain and meowed up at Keleios. “Go on, Poth, down the stairs, through the big dining room, and turn left.” The cat rubbed against her legs and minced to the door. She stared at Methia for several moments from her yellow eyes, then went out. The door closed.

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“She doesn’t like being gotten rid of. Most people don’t think to ask a cat to leave.”

“But I am not most people.”

“No.” Keleios sat and had trouble smoothing the full skirt down behind. She motioned for her sister to sit also.

Methia filled two glasses with wine. “Tell me of this consort-to-be,” Methia’s eyes stared at the far wall, and she choked on the wine. “If the cat leaves, that thing leaves as well.”

Keleios turned to see Groghe putting the last of the doll clothes away. “Go into the gardens; stay out of sight and out of mischief.” He nodded enthusiastically and vanished. Keleios spared a thought for what he might not consider mischief but settled down to face the inquisition.

Methia repeated her question. “About your consort-to-be?”

Keleios bit into a piece of tart cheese, weighing her words. “He is royal, he is half-elven, he is enchanter, and a healer of sorts. I thought it was an obligation that I would take care of.”

“Now, with the keep destroyed, you exiled from Astrantha, and so many dead or missing from the keep.” She sipped the wine and picked up a slice of apple. “It seems an odd time for a joining. What if you get with child right away? You can’t tell me you don’t plan to search for your missing friends. It wouldn’t be like you not to be heroic.”

Keleios shrugged, concentrating on the food. Methia had worn blue today, the color of cornflowers, light but rich. The dress’s only decoration was a throw of rich blue-green, pinned with gold at shoulder and waist. It made her eyes look blue-green like shallow seawater over rocks.

“Do not lie to me, Keleios. We are all the family we have left.”

Keleios ignored the bid for guilt. That was what motivated Methia, not herself. “All right, I gave an oath to take him as consort.”

“The last time we talked, you said, ‘I wouldn’t lie with him if he could get me out of the seven hells.’ You were very sure.”

Keleios sighed and told Methia of the keep’s fall, a fire-threatened corridor, and an path taken.

“An oath taken under duress is not valid.”

Keleios sipped wine and tried the meat. It was good; the food was always good here. “It was taken, and it is valid.”

The green eyes sparkled, turning a darker green, like good emeralds. “How can you honor an oath forced from you?”

“Because of the nature of the oath.”

“I don’t see...”