Palace. Clearly the way was not much used; instead of glass lamps, empty torchbrackets hung upon the walls.
Lissa walked ahead with a taper in her hand. “We thought it best to be discreet; some gossips out of malice love to speculate, and could to their advantage turn the seeming impropriety of your visit to my Mistress’ chambers.”
“So why give them the chance?”
“The Princess willed it.”
Ah. “I bet this wasn’t your idea.”
Pause. Carefully, Lissa said, “The Princess is so well-equipped with judgements of her own, she seldom feels the need to borrow mine.”
Mark grinned. “I’ll bet.”
Thrown by the light of Lissa’s taper, their shadows snuck after them like cut-throats. “What if someone sees us going into Gail’s chambers?”
Lissa turned and cast Mark an amused glance. “Anyone who wishes to outface the Princess is very welcome to try.”
Gail’s quarters were not what Mark had expected.
On a peg near the door hung a heavy, ravelling felt cloak that had once been brown. Below, a pair of battered leather walking boots leaned like drunks against the wall.
Still smelling of smoke, bits of newly cured leather were scattered across a worktable under the far window. Also on the table was a woman’s corset; a strip had been cut from it, as if to make a belt. A stuffed goose stood just left of the fireplace, peppered with spark-holes.
Somehow Mark had imagined more lace. More pinkness. More finery. He looked at his bride to be.
“I shot him,” Gail said.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, hunched over the worktable, sharpening a skinning knife as long as her forearm. The whetstone circled expertly up and down the blade: sliz sliz sliz sliz.
Mark looked at Lissa, but her smile was blank as winter. “Uh—shot him?”
“The goose. On my fourteenth birthday. I’m a good shot. Very good, for a woman of the Court. I practise most days. I ate him too,” she added. Sliz sliz sliz. “I hope you’re not one of those stupid people who kills for sport.”
Mark looked at Lissa again, beseechingly. She replied with a tiny, definite shake of her head.
Gail put away her whetstone and wiped the blade of her skinning knife with a rough oiled cloth. “I was hoping you would break the rules and try to see me, but frankly you don’t seem the wooing type, and I hate waiting.”
“You said I wasn’t supposed to—”
“Of course you aren’t.” Gail frowned up at him; it made her triangular face even sharper. “I just hoped you would try. But you are here now, so let me tell you how we will proceed.”
“Princess.” Mark bowed as correctly as he knew how. Turning, he bowed also to Lissa, a little less deeply. “My lady.” He stepped politely back into the corridor. “1 look forward to seeing you both at the wedding.”
“Where are you going?” Gail demanded. “You just got here.”
“I am going to bed,” Mark said. “I’m not a servant, Princess, nor a dog neither. I come when I’m asked, not when I’m called. I’m a free man born. I didn’t grovel for your father, and I won’t do it for you.”
Gail was looking at him in genuine surprise. “But—”
A spark smouldered in Mark’s voice, of anger and desire. “Your eyes, your hands, and even your bloody proud highhanded manners are in my heart like fishing hooks, Princess, but by the Devil you’ll get a fight before you land me.”
Gail blinked. “Lissa? Was that a curse or a compliment?”
“I would ask the gentleman,” said Lissa diplomatically, biting her lower lip and trying very hard not to meet Gail’s eye.
Gail turned to Mark and cocked her head on one side with the strangest expression, commanding and vulnerable at once. A real person peeped around the Princess then, like a child peering shyly from behind a mask. “Well?”
Like iron leaping to a magnet, Mark’s spirit jumped to meet her, the woman who would be his wife. “I meant to curse, but my tongue tripped ower my heart.”
To his
Lissa walked ahead with a taper in her hand. “We thought it best to be discreet; some gossips out of malice love to speculate, and could to their advantage turn the seeming impropriety of your visit to my Mistress’ chambers.”
“So why give them the chance?”
“The Princess willed it.”
Ah. “I bet this wasn’t your idea.”
Pause. Carefully, Lissa said, “The Princess is so well-equipped with judgements of her own, she seldom feels the need to borrow mine.”
Mark grinned. “I’ll bet.”
Thrown by the light of Lissa’s taper, their shadows snuck after them like cut-throats. “What if someone sees us going into Gail’s chambers?”
Lissa turned and cast Mark an amused glance. “Anyone who wishes to outface the Princess is very welcome to try.”
Gail’s quarters were not what Mark had expected.
On a peg near the door hung a heavy, ravelling felt cloak that had once been brown. Below, a pair of battered leather walking boots leaned like drunks against the wall.
Still smelling of smoke, bits of newly cured leather were scattered across a worktable under the far window. Also on the table was a woman’s corset; a strip had been cut from it, as if to make a belt. A stuffed goose stood just left of the fireplace, peppered with spark-holes.
Somehow Mark had imagined more lace. More pinkness. More finery. He looked at his bride to be.
“I shot him,” Gail said.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, hunched over the worktable, sharpening a skinning knife as long as her forearm. The whetstone circled expertly up and down the blade: sliz sliz sliz sliz.
Mark looked at Lissa, but her smile was blank as winter. “Uh—shot him?”
“The goose. On my fourteenth birthday. I’m a good shot. Very good, for a woman of the Court. I practise most days. I ate him too,” she added. Sliz sliz sliz. “I hope you’re not one of those stupid people who kills for sport.”
Mark looked at Lissa again, beseechingly. She replied with a tiny, definite shake of her head.
Gail put away her whetstone and wiped the blade of her skinning knife with a rough oiled cloth. “I was hoping you would break the rules and try to see me, but frankly you don’t seem the wooing type, and I hate waiting.”
“You said I wasn’t supposed to—”
“Of course you aren’t.” Gail frowned up at him; it made her triangular face even sharper. “I just hoped you would try. But you are here now, so let me tell you how we will proceed.”
“Princess.” Mark bowed as correctly as he knew how. Turning, he bowed also to Lissa, a little less deeply. “My lady.” He stepped politely back into the corridor. “1 look forward to seeing you both at the wedding.”
“Where are you going?” Gail demanded. “You just got here.”
“I am going to bed,” Mark said. “I’m not a servant, Princess, nor a dog neither. I come when I’m asked, not when I’m called. I’m a free man born. I didn’t grovel for your father, and I won’t do it for you.”
Gail was looking at him in genuine surprise. “But—”
A spark smouldered in Mark’s voice, of anger and desire. “Your eyes, your hands, and even your bloody proud highhanded manners are in my heart like fishing hooks, Princess, but by the Devil you’ll get a fight before you land me.”
Gail blinked. “Lissa? Was that a curse or a compliment?”
“I would ask the gentleman,” said Lissa diplomatically, biting her lower lip and trying very hard not to meet Gail’s eye.
Gail turned to Mark and cocked her head on one side with the strangest expression, commanding and vulnerable at once. A real person peeped around the Princess then, like a child peering shyly from behind a mask. “Well?”
Like iron leaping to a magnet, Mark’s spirit jumped to meet her, the woman who would be his wife. “I meant to curse, but my tongue tripped ower my heart.”
To his
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