The Kithseeker, page 29
And Liara played her part admirably. Nervous as Sophie, perhaps—Nagarath could feel the quiver in her light touch upon his arm—but brave and, at last, obedient to his prohibition on magick.
Which leaves me terribly in the dark. Again, Nagarath felt the dismal lack of magick as keenly as, he presumed, Liara did. Inert as the pendants' power was, he had come to rely upon the hum of her aura mingling with his own via the magick that connected them. He had known her expenditure of Power, yes; could check in on her whereabouts if need be. He had also been able to gauge her mood. He had become used to her magick signature leaping and wavering much like a candle flame within his consciousness.
Through his own good judgment, Nagarath had been cut adrift. And it was horrible. Especially as it occurred to him that Liara had been keeping her eyes anywhere but on him as they walked towards the gathering. Was she angry? Upset? Or was her avoidance a mere side-effect of her attention being called elsewhere? His fingers fairly itched with the temptation to witch his way to an answer. But no. There were other ways to go about it.
Again, Nagarath wondered at the look which crossed Sophie's face as the door to their rooms had opened. It was almost as if he and Monsieur Poulin had stumbled upon an argument. There certainly had been something awkward in the maid's answering of the door, long moments prior to the ladies' eventual appearance. Something that went beyond mere nerves.
The night had grown comfortable enough that they might walk. Nagarath slowed his pace so that they hung back behind Matty and Sophie. He leaned in. "Liara, I do believe most gentlemen of this court—men who traffic in words—would find themselves lacking an adequate way to express how lovely you look in that gown tonight."
"And you?" Liara looked up into Nagarath's face. Her eyes and lips twinkled their mirth. Coquettish. Beguiling. The illusion complete at last.
He smiled crookedly. "It suits you."
And now he had disappointed her. Liara's gaze fell away once more, the distance between them a howling hole Nagarath did not have the energy to fill.
Bright greetings interrupted further thought. They had arrived at a restaurant more flexible in its patronage than the palace. There were a few familiar faces amongst the throng, but not many. Nagarath maneuvered for introductions and place-taking at the dining table. He and Liara were but a small portion of the gathering, and he once more marveled at Matty's apparently endless connections.
Matty, who was on the receiving end of one of Liara's rare and dazzling smiles.
Jealousy slid into the silent space still hanging between Nagarath and Liara. What did she want of him? Some empty compliment, dressed up in flowery language? This life to which they were pretending: it was all a disguise. Liara knew that. She had rebelled against it. Or she had until arrival at court.
His Liara was changing, opening up. Take Sophie, for example. She and Liara seemed, to Nagarath, as though they were becoming fast friends. He darted a glance to the maid, discovered her hastily looking away but not without a coy glance at Liara. Liara answered with the barest shake of her head. Her dark curls quivered with the minute motion.
Nagarath frowned. Something was amiss. Some play between Sophie and Liara.
It felt, in some ways, like when he had to deal with Amsalla. Amsalla DeBouverelle with her secrets and that frustrating, unnavigable female language whose translation was hid from men.
The comparison was unfavorable. For it brought closer to mind memories of a ride through the dark countryside, a moment of weakness which Nagarath dare not indulge. He could feel such things about Amsalla. Indeed, he had done so on and off through the years. But Liara was ...
Liara is alluring, smart, talented, everything you could ever hope for, and completely unavailable to you in any romantic sense. Nagarath lost himself in his private misery. He fixed back into place his disguise of good cheer and proper mealtime small talk. He could sense both Liara and Sophie peering at him from time to time, their unknown game still playing out. Whatever those two spatted about was their problem. His was to keep his feelings to himself and his eyes and ears open to any whisper, any rumor, about the king's magick mirror.
~*~
Deprived of magick and finding supper too exotic for her simple tastes, Liara fought the urge to hunch miserably in her chair. Nagarath had complicated everything. Him with his carefully reined compliments and "let's not use any magick, Liara" sentiments. He had said they needed to blend in. At least he could have complimented her on the effort.
Effort. Hah! Liara scolded herself, settling further into her bad mood. Your only contribution was to sit still long enough for Sophie to make you up nicely.
Worst of all, Liara had come to rely upon the steady pulse of Nagarath's magick in the pendant he had given her. To have it gone, to no longer sense through spellwork what Sophie had espied through observation? Liara felt naked despite her finery. She felt exposed and bereft of all connection.
Quite simply, had she the bravery to risk it, Liara could have likely used the pendant to confirm whether Sophie surmised the truth.
But then, Nagarath would have to be wearing his.
And the bravery Liara would require went far beyond that of merely confronting the wizard's wrath over yet more unsanctioned magick. In considering Sophie's insinuation that Nagarath might harbor for Liara feelings which eclipsed simple friendship, Liara realized she was not entirely ready to confront her own. Unknowing, she could deny what she felt for the man. If she were to learn that he did not feel the same for her? Liara could not entertain such a heartsick possibility.
"Your wish for dancing is to be granted, my dear." Nagarath bent close, startling Liara from her reverie. Turning quickly, she could see the warm tones with which he'd spoken did not quite reach his eyes. Liara could read warning there and wondered at it. Nagarath explained further, having had the information passed on to him from down the table.
Monsieur Vincent's prophecy had proven true. The king had come through Paris as he returned to another of his palaces and had invited all of his friends—every courtier in France, it would seem—to a grand party. The theme? Magick.
Chapter Twenty-seven
"Up, Mademoiselle Liara. Up, up, up!" Sophie mercilessly threw wide the drapery and exposed Liara's sleep-shocked eyes to the brightness of morning.
Liara moaned her protest and tried to bury herself farther into her bedding. To rise would be to face the day. And to face the day would be to face the task given them. And the task before them? Herculean.
Not to mention terrifying.
The king was throwing a party, and Liara hadn't a thing to wear. But then, likely, nobody had just the right thing lying about, copious as most courtiers' wardrobes seemed to be. The party was not until the following evening, at least. Still, they would all have to get decidedly creative before setting off for the king's other palace of Versailles.
Truly, all these people do is shuffle around from place to place and change clothes at every opportunity.
It was all rather tiresome. Especially if the mirror was hidden somewhere within Tuileries.
Or Fontainebleau or Vincennes or any other of the king's sometime-homes. It's a pity we have to follow him around at all.
Technically, Liara did have magnificently appropriate effects amongst her belongings. She and Nagarath both did. But such accoutrements were to stay well hidden. Which left a dilemma. What did a wizard wear to a magick-themed party that looked good but not suspicious-good?
Sophie had ideas, apparently.
Liara winced as a heap of mismatched, jumbled finery thumped down onto the bed, left by the maid for her lady's perusal. Warm morning sunlight streamed through the window. It lingered over bright fabrics and exotic patterns, sighed through airy feathers, and glinted off metallic baubles, setting sparkles to dance over the walls and ceiling.
Sophie gave vent to a dramatic sigh, one that seemed dragged up from her toes, and fell to sulking on the nearby divan. "And to think I wasted the dress from last evening on something so trivial as supper. 'Twould have been no work at all to make you up into a sorceress with those pensive grays and reds."
The complaint had its desired effect. Liara felt the corners of her mouth twitch with humor in spite of her own despondency. Sophie would rescue her from her troubles. The maid's idea of "magick" was sure to be commonplace and ridiculous, as would be expected. Before the morning was through, they would have to secure a moment with Nagarath so that his aesthetic might match their horribly inaccurate one.
That or, perhaps, set Sophie on him directly. Picturing Nagarath, his courtly attire adorned in flashy runes, a peaked hat atop his head, further encouraged Liara's spirits. She had lain awake until the wee hours, worrying about the reasons behind the party's chosen theme. In the end, logic prevailed. After all, if she and Nagarath had been found out as wizards, they would be heading to jail instead of Versailles. They were safe. Liara wondered what Father Adessi might think, wondered if he would even be there for the grand event.
Liara moved to sort through the mound of habiliment. She added a sigh of her own as she encountered hammered tin medallions with crudely drawn runes—complete gibberish, of course—absolutely preposterous robes, and a fanciful, frowning mask that seemed determined to evoke the concept of a wolf-person. Safe or not, it disheartened her to be reminded of what the layman thought of magick.
Where had Sophie gotten such ...utter nonsense?
"Monsieur Jeffers and Monsieur Poulin sent some of their cast-offs here, understanding that we, as travelers new to court, might be without the resources necessary to create our own ensemble on such short notice." It seemed Sophie could read Liara's mind.
Hopefully she cannot read all. Liara tried hard not to frown at the mishmash of erroneous arcana. She, quite honestly, hadn't the faintest idea of where to begin. Her wealth of knowledge kept crowding out potential costume ideas. A little voice inside tut-tutted over inaccuracies here and wrong assumptions there. It was like having her own personal Nagarath lecturing inside her head.
"Oh, yes, Mademoiselle. Paired with the right dress, I'm certain I could make you up to look like one of the fair folk." Sophie gave a little clap of ill-contained enthusiasm.
Liara put down the circlet of silk flowers, biting her tongue and looking for something more ...more authentic. Goodness, the garland even had a tiny stuffed bird and diminutive nest tucked amongst its petals. Her eyes roved the pile, not ready to make herself such a spectacle. There had to be a mask within its depths. Hang the rest of her attire! She needed a way to hide from Nagarath and the stirrings of emotion she still felt for the man following yesterday evening's conversation with the maid.
But Sophie pressed on. "And there are any number of feathers here. With the majority of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon at our disposal, we might—"
"No, Sophie. Please." Liara remembered, belatedly, to soften her tone.
"Well, then to the wardrobe I go."
Liara did not bother to look up. She had found her mask. Silvery-white, it luminesced in the morning sun. Under the luster of palace chandeliers, it was sure to beguile. And safe within, she could observe all. Perhaps this fakery had a power all its own she could use.
A knock at the door had Liara starting to her feet. Nagarath. Her heart thumped in her chest as she turned wild eyes to the far end of the room. Hope, fear, and excitement jumbled together.
Sophie did not move from where she stood by the dressing table. Why didn't the woman answer the summons? Liara's scolding promptly died on her lips as she realized her mistake.
"Sorry, miss." Sophie reddened and gestured to the contents of the table in illustration. It had been her knocking about that had Liara thinking someone was at the door.
Vexed anew, Liara sank back down to the bed, trying to quiet her hammering heart. If she started at every little thing, she was sure to give herself away, twisted in knots as she was.
It had all seemed so easy, once upon a time. Dreams of magick, apprenticeship to the wizard of the wood. Even the task of tracking down the wayward mirror, with its promise of closer companionship with the man she'd hurt so deeply ...she hadn't bargained on what that closeness would give rise to.
Sneaking, tricky, thieving Liara was sick of secrets.
The hands that held the mask began to shake.
"Liara?"
Liara heard Sophie's soft footfalls, felt the maid sit down upon the edge of the bed.
"Nagarath—" Liara choked on the name.
"Liara, if you are you angry with me for speaking out of turn as I did, you have every right. I thought it right you should know what I could see happening. Before anyone else did. My only aim was to help. I can keep a secret, Mademoiselle. I can. I have from the moment I suspected that you were sending me off on one of your silly errands so that you might have a moment in private."
The dam burst. "I'm a mage, Sophie. Nagarath and I both. That's the truth of us."
Relief flooded through Liara's veins, warming her. The tears she'd been holding back now loosed upon Sophie who leaned close. That alone stunned Liara. Sophie was not running, not screaming. She did not call her names, throw stones. Instead she sat alongside Liara, ready to throw a comforting arm about her mistress' quaking shoulders if need be.
"And I'm afraid."
"Oh, now, Mademoiselle Liara ..."
"Myself and Nagarath. We are in danger. There are people in the king's employ. Bad people who can sense our Art if we dare use it."
Sophie turned white, her comforting arm went rigid. "Why do you tell me of such things?"
"The theme of King Louis' grand event. It scares me, for I feel the noose tightening even without your having pointed out the potential flaws in our disguise." Liara turned to Sophie, wiping her tears and clasping hands with the maid. "If you could sense that all was not as it seems between he and I, then what else might be noticed? Even if we don't perform any spells. You were right about—at least, I hope you were right ..." She blushed and found herself unable to continue. Some things were simply too personal to say aloud.
"Is this your secret to tell, Liara?"
Liara shook her head. "No. Yes. No. In any event, you needed to know. If we are walking into a trap, I wanted you to have the knowledge to keep yourself safe. You've the freedom to leave, to not follow us into danger, knowing what's really going on."
Silence.
"I'd show you, but ...again, the king's spellpiercers could be anywhere." Liara lowered her voice, afraid that even her confession might well be overheard. Relieving as it was to confide in Sophie, Nagarath's caution rang in her ears. The maid's face had retained its pale shock.
How could Liara have been so impulsive? When had she become so trusting?
"Then I must tell you something as well." Sophie cast her eyes downward. The maid's hands fidgeted with the lacework on one of the costumes. No further words came, and for a moment, Liara wondered if she'd imagined that as well. When the maid looked up, a shadow seemed to cross through her eyes, a hastily thrown veil between the two of them.
Liara suddenly felt that perhaps she ought apologize anew. "Our story was never meant to cover something so personal as you suspected. Rather, we meant only to protect—to explain—our being here."
"To the others." There was no mistaking the emphasis.
Liara flinched. "Yes. To those painted, puffed-up people outside those doors. And even then ..."
"They do not believe you, either."
Liara's heart resumed its frantic hammering, and she searched the maid's face.
Sophie moved to undo some of the damage. "Not the magick, Mademoiselle. That secret no one would guess at. But your feelings—your and Monsieur Nagarath's ...well, gossip, though not entirely baseless, is merely that. People like to talk of such things, especially when jealous. One must be close to truly suspect what I spoke of last evening."
"Monsieur Poulin ...Monsieur Jeffers and Monsieur Sauvageau—"
"Monsieur Nagarath's friends do not seem aware of the lie. I've seen the respect they give you, give him."
"Why do you suppose—?"
Sophie laughed. "Nagarath has good friends who believe what he has told them about you. They would not entertain such wild notions easily, even with rumor to support it."
"And you, Sophie?"
"We were not always friends, no? I made my conclusions long before."
This last drew a laugh from Liara. Relief.
The long-dreaded knock on their door sounded. It was followed by Nagarath's unannounced entrance into the rooms. He looked ridiculous.
"What are you supposed to be?"
"And doesn't a knock most often herald a patient wait by the door?"
Both Liara and Sophie spoke at once, giggling anew—aftermath of their conversation and in observation of the strange sight the wizard cut. Red. Crimson. Auburn. Black. Charcoal. Pale yellows, pinks, and blues. Flame and shimmer, sparkle and glint. Nagarath had somehow managed to encircle it all with his long arms, feathers and finery, satin and shine all spilling outward from within his grasp. He was enveloped in long, flowing robes of midnight.
"Rag man. That's magickal, is it not?" Nagarath huffed. He dumped the pile on the other end of Liara's bed and eyed the lot skeptically.
Sophie rummaged carefully through the finery, sorting out an outrageous amount of red feathers.
"A phoenix, Nagarath?" Liara cocked an eyebrow of her own.
"And drake scales"—he held up an ornate helm in illustration—"painted black just this morning by yours truly. I thought that Sophie might enjoy playing at being one of the fata, that is, one of the fair folk. I have the makings of some fantastical wings, if we wanted to be so bold."
Liara stared open-mouthed at the mound of make-believe, scandalized anew. She thought quickly. "I claim the dragon, then."
"Not so fast, little magpie. I am the only one tall enough to wear and not trip all over the black robe that completes the ensemble. Not sure where JJ found such a thing. I do believe you would look quite resplendent as a phoenix, Liara."
