Herald of the Storm

FIFTEEN

In the end she had gone for something modest. In fact the only thing that could have been considered daring about her dress was the lacing in the bodice. It was in the Valdoran style — long billowing sleeves, high and tight in the neck, cut from a thick slab of blue floral velvet that was already beginning to chafe at the waist and armpits. How did those northerners stand it?

Right now though, the cut of her dress was the least of Janessa’s problems. Right now she was fighting the urge to vomit, waiting in the vestibule, about to be announced to the crowd and paraded like the prize heifer.

At her side was Odaka, her ever-present shadow. He stood in silence, his stern, lean features fixed on the archway ahead from which flooded the sound of music and merriment. There was a big crowd, that much was obvious. All the great and good of the Free States come to Skyhelm to gawp and preen and fawn, while their nation was under threat of invasion, its king far to the north facing who knew what kind of danger.

The Feast of Arlor was traditionally held at the Autumn Equinox, and the streets of Steelhaven had already been filled with revellers celebrating the victory of their ancient hero of legend. For the great and good of the Free States, though, it was different: Arlor forbid that they observe their rites on the same day as the peasants. Consequently, a banquet was held at Skyhelm several days after the rest of the Free States, where the nobility could gather without having to feel they were on a level with the thronging masses. The arrogance of it sickened Janessa. She would much rather have been celebrating in the streets with everyone else.

Nevertheless, she had her duty to perform. She would have to walk out and smile and greet them all with the proper airs and graces. She could do with a friend by her side right now, but she had no idea where in the hells Graye was.

An old stentor, ready to announce her to the world, approached from beyond the archway. He was an ancient man, his thinning white hair swept to one side of his head, his back crooked, but still he looked impressive in his official regalia of red and gold. The old man gave a nod to Odaka.

‘It’s time,’ said the regent, not deigning to look at her.

Janessa felt her stomach churning, the blood draining from her face. Odaka took a step forward but she was rooted to the spot. When the regent had reached the edge of the archway and realised she was not at his shoulder he turned to glare at her. The old stentor glanced towards her too.

The crowd would be expecting her. All ready to look and judge, to snigger and laugh in their little conspiratorial factions. It was as though she was condemned to the gallows and the crowd was waiting with rotting cabbages, their mouths full of phlegm to spit on her as she passed. Who would help her? Who would come and save her from this?

Then the old stentor smiled.

It was a smile of reassurance that wrinkled up the old man’s entire face. She’d never met him before, didn’t even know his name, but there was something in that smile that reassured her — that made her realise everything might be all right. It reminded her of the smile her father used to give when she was hurt or lonely. That one gesture alone made her realise she had a duty to perform; a duty as important as that of any soldier on the front.

With a deep breath, she walked forward.

As she reached the arch she saw what awaited her. The nine flags of the Free States had been draped from the ceiling, hanging down in all their heraldic glory. To the right hung the flags of the five provinces: the mountain leopard of Valdor; the rose of Braega; the red dragon of Dreldun; the black warship of Ankavern; and the hunting hawk of Stelmorn. On the left were the flags of the four city states: the gauntleted fist of Ironhold; the portcullis of Coppergate; the mountains of Silverwall; and at their centre, the largest and most prominent, the crown and swords of Steelhaven.

Below these, their faces covered in an array of brightly coloured and bejewelled masks, were the nobles and their courtiers. The crowd milled about, winding around and through itself like a seething mass of snakes, locked in a seemingly endless dance of pomposity, insincere flattery and snide calumny.

It sickened Janessa. All she wanted to do was turn and run, but it was too late now. At a signal from the stentor the orchestra, positioned high on a gallery overlooking the crowd, fell silent. In turn, once the music had ended with the clumsy parp of a bass horn, the masked throng slowly ceased its squalling and looked to see what was happening.

‘Her royal majesty, the Princess Janessa Mastragall,’ bellowed the old man in a voice deep and rich. How he managed to conjure such a sound from his frail and withered body Janessa had no idea, but it was not the time to ask.

Odaka paused at the top of the marble staircase, glancing down sternly at those below him. She waited with him, following his example, standing stock-still and regarding the crowd with all the hauteur she could muster. It really was like she was being paraded at market — all eyes were on her, assessing her, judging her suitability. It didn’t help that she was practically the only person present without a mask. But it wouldn’t do for the future queen to hide her beauty from the masses, would it?

Janessa almost laughed at the thought. Beauty indeed!

She’d been plucked and primped and perfumed before the Feast. Bathed in oils, her red curls washed and combed and bound, but she still felt like an urchin inside. Still felt wild. Only now it was as if the wolf inside her had been caged. Locked behind bars to be leered at and prodded with sticks until it performed — until it bit back.

‘Shall we?’ said Odaka, taking the first step down towards the waiting throng.

It wasn’t a request she could refuse.

Janessa followed Odaka down the staircase, her hand on his arm. For that, at least, she was thankful. She wasn’t used to navigating staircases in such formal attire, and had he not been there to support her she was sure she would have tripped over her hem or toppled over in the impractical shoes she’d been forced to wear, then gone tumbling down into the crowd. It would certainly have made an impression.

The crowd parted as she reached the bottom of the stairs, all eyes on her as Odaka led her across the carved stone floor of the dining hall. Janessa suddenly felt unable to breathe in the stifling air, but managed to hide her discomfort. Everywhere she looked people were staring, whispering behind their hands. In moments she was surrounded, hemmed within a tightly packed mass of heaving, seething bodies. All she could smell was a rich mix of perfume, all she could hear was the low hum of voices interspersed with the shrill giggles of ladies of the court.

Then the orchestra began to play.

It was like the first rush of rainfall in a storm, and it relieved the black cloud that had been hanging over her head. Suddenly the crowd was diverted, its attention taken. Yes, some still stared, but most went back to their previous conversations, as though they’d lost interest in a brief distraction. Janessa felt relief wash over her, but she knew this was just the start; she had an entire evening of preening sycophants to endure.

As though on cue, the fat waddling form of Chancellor Durket huffed its way through the crowd, eager to be the first to greet her. He was easy to spot, despite his full face mask. It was a bejewelled face of a fawn, but a pig would have been more appropriate. Durket had been her father’s Master of Coin for as long as she could remember. During that time his waistband had swollen as the Crown’s coffers had shrunk. With the many wars and the plague which the Free States had been forced to endure it had been difficult for the chancellor to keep his accounts balanced. But Durket had always managed to find enough coppers to fill his beak, even when the king had little to spend on his subjects.

‘Your majesty,’ said Durket, bowing as low as could be managed over his barrel-sized gut. ‘May I say how stunning you look this evening? Your dressmaker has clearly worked wonders.’

Nice! Backhanded compliments about her dress, and superb that they were coming from a boar wrapped in ribbons.

‘Thank you, Chancellor,’ Janessa replied, trying to sound regal. She was pretty sure she didn’t. ‘And might I say you look somewhat resplendent yourself, this evening.’ Janessa tagged the last on as an afterthought, but it sounded quite genuine as she said it. She couldn’t help but be pleased with how well she was settling into the fawning insincerity of it all.

‘Your majesty is gracious with her praise.’ Durket smiled, but she could see his eyes behind the mask, and they most definitely weren’t smiling. ‘Now, if I might have a word with the regent, there is a matter of state to discuss which I’m sure would not interest your majesty.’

‘Of course,’ she replied, her hands balling into fists, though she resisted the temptation to punch Durket’s condescending face.

The chancellor took Odaka by the arm. The tall regent gave her a glance, which Janessa couldn’t quite read. It was a curious mix of concern and threat, as if he was both ordering her not to make a fool of herself, whilst at the same time wanting to stay there to protect her. Nevertheless, Odaka allowed himself to be ushered away by the portly chancellor to discuss whatever grave matters of state they considered beyond her understanding.

Once alone, she barely had enough time to accept a goblet of wine from a passing serf before she felt a presence at her shoulder.

‘Your majesty.’

It was a female voice, one that Janessa didn’t recognise, and its honeyed tone made her skin crawl slightly. A small, middle-aged woman stood beside her, a half smile on her weathered face which, just as Janessa’s, was not covered by a mask. Her dress was immaculate, purple satin with silver filigree, the sleeves night black.

‘In the absence of your chaperone, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Baroness Isabelle Magrida of Dreldun, and this is my son, Leon.’ She gestured to a youth beside her. His fox mask was pushed up far enough to expose a mouth, currently being stuffed with a goose leg. He couldn’t have looked more uninterested.

Seeing the ill manners of her son, the baroness frowned. Young Leon dutifully concealed the goose leg behind his back and bowed with surprising grace.

‘It is an honour to meet you,’ Janessa replied, inclining her head, not too much, not too little, as she had been shown by her governess. ‘And please accept my condolences for the loss of your husband. I know my father thought very highly of him.’

In fact he had considered Baron Harlan Magrida a devious snake whom he was well rid of, but even Janessa knew that at court many truths were best left unsaid.

Isabelle’s mouth twitched slightly as though she were about to smile her thanks but thought better of it. ‘Yes, we are all deeply aggrieved at his loss, not least his subjects who loved him with a vigour, and are now forced to bear the brunt of the Khurtic hordes.’

By all accounts Baron Harlan’s subjects had considered him an ogre, and would probably thank the Khurtas given the chance.

‘And I am sure my father will do all he can to see the invaders driven from our lands and your people restored to their rightful place.’

‘Indeed. And on that day, my son Leon stands to inherit a powerful kingdom. He will be Baron of all Dreldun and Steward of the High Forest.’

Actually it was a province rather than a kingdom, since the establishment of the Free States, but Janessa was prepared to let that go.

‘And a fine lord he’ll make too, I’m sure.’ She glanced at Leon, who had by now restored his mask, but still looked as though he would rather be anywhere else.

‘We would love for you to come visit us, when finally this conflict is ended.’ Oh no, here it comes. ‘I’m sure the Dreldunese air would suit you.’ Almost on cue, Leon slipped his mask up, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

Janessa had to admit he was handsome, though his manner smacked of arrogance — the way he stood, his disdainful insouciance, even his lacquered hair. She found herself lost for words. What was she supposed to say to such an invitation? What was the proper response? To refuse would be seen as an insult but to accept might be tantamount to betrothal.

Janessa felt the oppressive air pervading the dining hall once more. The massive chamber began to spin at the edges, the music seeming to grow louder and discordant.

Where in the hells was Odaka? Wasn’t it his job to ensure this kind of thing didn’t happen?

‘Please excuse the interruption, your majesty, but the Lord Governor of Coppergate wishes an audience.’

Janessa turned away feeling relief wash over her as she recognised Graye’s delicate features beneath the slight gold mask she wore over her eyes. About to accept gratefully, she checked herself.

Don’t seem too eager. This is all a game. Neither offend nor flatter; that is the way of kings and queens.

‘As you can see, I am speaking with the baroness.’

‘I’m afraid the Lord Governor was most insistent,’ Graye quickly replied. ‘There are grave matters in Coppergate which, in the absence of the king, require your royal attention. And he is unable to remain for long at the Feast.’

‘Very well,’ said Janessa, trying to affect the suitable level of disappointment. ‘If you would excuse me, Baroness. Leon.’ She inclined her head to each, and was rewarded with a curtsy and a bow, though Isabelle looked as though she had just sipped from a wine glass and tasted horse pissle.

Graye led them both off through the crowd, with Janessa nodding graciously to everyone she passed, until they found a shadowy alcove at the edge of the hall.

‘Where have you been?’ Janessa said admonishingly, though she couldn’t help but feel grateful.

‘You’re not the only one who needs to find a husband,’ Graye replied with a grin, her perfect teeth almost dazzling in the torchlight.

‘Young Leon Magrida’s evidently free. Soon to be Baron of all Dreldun.’

‘No thanks,’ said Graye, her mouth twisting in disgust. ‘I’ve heard he’s a nasty little toad, just like his mother. And you’re welcome, by the way. I could have just left you in their clutches.’

Janessa smiled her thanks. ‘Where would I be without you to come and rescue me?’

‘Betrothed to some northern weasel, no doubt. And you’ll get no more help from me until you admit how indispensable I am.’

‘Well … you’re fairly good for picking out shoes. Although the heels on these did turn out to be too high, as I predicted.’ She hiked up her skirt to exhibit her impractical footwear.

A shadow fell over them both, and Graye looked up with a guilty expression.

‘Lower your dress, majesty,’ came Odaka Du’ur’s deep whisper.

Janessa quickly released her skirts and composed herself before turning to face the regent.

‘I was merely-’

‘Never mind what you were “merely” about to do. There are people you must meet. Gossiping with your lady in waiting is not the reason you are here.’

Clearly not — being sold at market is the reason I am here. ‘Then let us proceed,’ Janessa replied, lifting her chin and stepping from the privacy of the alcove and into the crowd.

She couldn’t tell for how long she was exhibited before the various nobles of the Free States as Odaka made introductions and she smiled dutifully, doing her best with the mindless small talk. Most of the governing dukes and barons of the Free States were away north with her father, but they had sent their envoys. Magistrates, stewards and ministers were paraded in front of her, as well as the High Abbot of Ironhold, who, she noted, had yellow bruises about what could be seen of his face and a bandage covering one hand. If a lord should be absent, his wife or one of their offspring was present in his stead. Janessa tried to remember all their names, but there were simply too many. Only those with particularly offensive breath or unpleasant facial features made a lasting impression; like Judge Burtleby’s black teeth, or Lady Morgana Hirch’s enormous nostrils.

Just when Janessa thought she could take no more, Odaka guided her towards a tall, haughty, but handsome-looking man in his early twenties, and made his introduction. ‘Lord Raelan Logar, son of Bannon Logar, Duke of Valdor and Protector of the North.’

Janessa inclined her head as she had so many times already, smiling the necessary smile and hoping this would be the last.

‘Lord Raelan. It is a pleasure. I know our fathers think very highly of one another.’ Unlike most of the platitudes she’d uttered tonight, at least this one was true.

‘Indeed,’ Raelan replied. ‘I only hope they return to us safe and victorious.’

Janessa tensed at the sudden reminder that her father was in mortal danger. ‘We can but hope.’

‘I only wish I could be by his side — but here I am.’ Though his expression was composed his tone spoke accusation. Did he think her responsible for his presence at court? That she’d requested he abandon his father to the front that they might be forced together like stallion and mare in the rutting season?

‘I can assure you, Lord Raelan, that I feel the same.’

‘I’m sure.’ He glanced around the dining hall as though seeking a more interesting companion.

She was leaning in closer, shame and anger rising within her, desperate to tell him she hated this mummers’ farce as much as he did, when the orchestra unleashed a raucous tune. Whatever she might have said was drowned in a blaring torrent of music. Odaka leaned towards them.

‘The dance begins, my lord,’ he said to Raelan. ‘Perhaps you might offer her majesty your hand?’

Raelan inclined his head very slightly and offered his hand, as was tradition.

Janessa glanced around in panic. She wanted to refuse, but her conversation with Raelan had already turned heads and they were being watched by a score of courtiers. To refuse him now would only make her look scornful.

Reluctantly, she accepted his proffered hand.

He led her to the centre of the room where perhaps a dozen courtiers had assumed their positions: men on one side, ladies on the other. Someone in the surrounding crowd clapped as a gleeful audience gathered and Janessa could only look around in panic at the prospect of making a spectacle of herself.

Desperately she tried to recall the steps. She had been trained in courtly manners, and dance was one of the many things she’d been forced to learn, but she had completely forgotten the type of dance that went with this tune; even what the first step was.

The row of men bowed as one to the ladies before them. The ladies bowed in their turn, and Janessa managed to join them. With that one simple gesture it all seemed to come back to her.

Both rows advanced, touching their raised right hands and turning in unison, weaving in and out in time to the rhythmic beat of the music. Occasionally partners would switch, and she’d find herself with another of the young dancers who would invariably look at her in wide-eyed fear. But she always came back to Raelan. It didn’t take her long to relax into the repetitive steps and she was even starting to enjoy herself.

‘You dance well,’ she managed to say to Raelan on one of their passes.

‘Yes. We do have feasts in the north, your majesty,’ came his gruff reply.

She was going to get nothing from him. It was clear he hated this as much as she did. Possibly more.

With a blare of pipes the dance came to a halt, with both rows of dancers bowing to each other as they had at the start. When Janessa looked up she saw Raelan was pushing his way through the crowd to disappear amongst a press of bodies.

She immediately felt alone and vulnerable. It didn’t help to see Baroness Isabelle Magrida scowling at her, clearly enraged that it was someone else’s son who had managed to poach a dance from the heir to the throne.

Janessa turned, summoning as haughty and proud a manner as she could, and the crowd parted before her. She would not hang around for someone else to take her hand and lead her out for another dance. She’d had more than enough. Let them stare, let them gawp — she wouldn’t play this game any longer.

Two of Skyhelm’s Sentinel Guard moved aside as she left the banquet hall, desperate to find some place of solitude. Nowhere in that massive palace was empty; every corner she turned concealed a gossiping courtier or vigilant guard. Eventually she reached a mezzanine overlooking the palace gardens where she paused for breath, looking out into the dark, fighting back the tears.

Where was her father? Why couldn’t he be here to take care of her? To fight off all the unworthy suitors, the gossiping prigs and toadies.

But she knew why he wasn’t here. She knew why he had been forced to leave her to her fate.

‘Your majesty, I was worried.’

Odaka — her shadow. Deep down she’d known he would be watching her, following her, anticipating her every move. She should have been grateful that there was someone so concerned for her, but all she felt was resentment.

‘Was that a good enough performance for you, regent?’

A pause. She could almost hear him calculating the proper response.

‘I do not understand, my lady.’

‘I’ve played my part. I’ve met your preferred suitor and made all the right noises. I even danced with him. Is the deal done? Is the covenant sealed?’

Odaka conjured up a smile. Even in the dark she was aware of it.

‘My lady, apologies if I have led you to believe otherwise, but the choice to marry is yours. Your father has made that most explicit. Should you find Lord Raelan wanting we will find another, more suitable, match.’

Janessa stared in disbelief as his words sank in. She had flogged herself over this for days, weeks, and now it seemed as though she had done all that for nothing.

‘You mean I have the choice to marry whom I wish?’

‘Of course. Your father and I discussed this at length. He knows how … wilful you are. He realises there could never be a match with anyone you yourself had not approved.’

Janessa felt foolish. Of course she should have trusted her father — he would never have condemned her to a loveless marriage.

‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, Odaka.’ And she meant those words of thanks. Odaka was showing a side she had never seen before. Perhaps that deep, powerful chest of his housed a heart after all.

‘Your majesty.’ He bowed. ‘I am here to serve.’

‘Really?’ A wicked thought began to form in her mind. ‘You could start by ridding the palace of a few gossiping courtiers. How about the Magridas, for a start?’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my lady. Your father has offered them refuge within the palace until his return. With the loss of Dreldun to the Khurtas they have nowhere else to go.’

Oh well — you can’t have everything.

‘Very well, Odaka. I will retire now. Could you make my excuses to our guests?’

‘Of course.’ And with a bow he was gone.

She looked out again into the night, knowing that far to the north her father might be fighting for his very survival as well as that of the Free States. But here she had to face battles of her own, though from what Odaka had told her, she knew her father was doing his utmost to help her fight those too. For that she could only thank him.

And, despite the chance he had given her — to choose her own suitor — she knew there would never be one suitable, not even the handsome Raelan Logar. There would never be one who could capture her heart … because her heart already belonged to someone else.