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He danced well, was her first surprised thought, as he guided her through the intricate turns and sweeps. He was older than she had guessed, with deep lines etched into his weathered face. Thirty years at Duenne’s famous court. She tried to imagine him as a youth, dancing at the king’s balls. She could hardly picture such a scene or such a place.
“You are thinking hard,” he observed.
Therez recalled herself with a blush. “My apologies, my lord. I was thinking about Duenne. And the King’s Court. And, well, what the city is like.”
“Ah, that is right. Your brother mentioned your plans to visit a while. Next summer, no? Have you alerted all the booksellers?”
Therez dropped her gaze. “My lord teases.”
“Not at all. It’s rare to find a young woman who reads seriously. Or perhaps I’m being unfair to young women in general. Tell me … what kind of books do you prefer?”
“History. Legends. Poetry.”
“Then you must certainly know about Tanja Duhr.”
Ehren must have mentioned her love of poetry. But it was true, Tanja Duhr was her favorite poet, and she welcomed the new topic. With Baron Eckard taking the lead, they talked about the woman’s poems and how language had changed in the four hundred years since she wrote them. Then, because Duhr had witnessed the empire’s final years, they talked about the old emperor and his many heirs, all executed for treason, except the youngest daughter. About Leos Dzavek coming to court as a young prince. About his theft of Lir’s jewels, the downfall of the empire, and the founding of Károví. About magic and war and times of great change. There were no constraints, no examining every word before she spoke. It was like breathing for the very first time.
All around, the dancers flowed between the beribboned columns, and Paschke’s music spun through the air.
“Duhr wrote what she witnessed,” Eckard said. “Both the larger events and those small intimate stories of lovers and grief and trust and betrayal. And we, who come after, are made richer for her works. But then, I believe we all carry a book within our hearts. Our dispositions. Our ambitions. Our secrets. It takes great trust to let another person read that book.”
“Have you found such a person?” Therez said.
His mouth curved into a pensive smile. “Yes, I did. We loved. We married. We had children, and then she died. What about you, Mistress Therez? Have you a favorite book?”
He had phrased the question so she could answer either meaning. Even so, she found herself tongue-tied a moment. “I don’t know yet, my lord. I enjoy so many different books, but to choose one … I don’t know,” she repeated.
The dance was drawing to a close. Baron Eckard spun Therez around but before he released her hand, he bent close. “When you do choose a favorite book, if ever you do, remember to choose for friendship above anything else.”
He was gone before she could reply. Therez turned and came face-to-face with Baron Mann.
“Mistress Therez. Will you honor me with the next dance?”
She hesitated, but a glance to one side showed Theodr Galt approaching. “Gladly, my lord.”
Mann’s mouth tilted into a smile. “A quick-thinking girl. No wonder Maester Galt treasures your company.”
So he had seen Galt, too. Therez lowered her gaze, keeping her eyes and mouth under control. Mann liked to flirt. And he liked to provoke other men.
Baron Mann kept up a stream of light compliments throughout the dance. Therez would have found his conversation diverting, except for the look she had noticed on Galt’s face when they passed in the dance. Mann had seen it, too, for he made an offhand comment about avid collectors. She wished she could tell Mann’s character better, but he was like a book with latches and locks, its ornate cover deceiving. Whomever he did allow to read his pages would find the contents interesting, she suspected.
As she expected, Galt claimed Therez for the third dance. “Mistress,” he said.
“I am honored,” Therez said with a curtsy.
His hand was warm, his skin as smooth as her father’s. He spent his time in counting houses, she thought, or at elegant affairs such as this one.
The dance’s first notes floated through the air—a slow-moving traditional dance, where the partners circled each other in wheel patterns. As more couples joined the dance, the smaller patterns joined in a single, larger one. The steps required all her concentration, which gave her an excuse for keeping silent. It was just as well. Galt’s dancing was polished and assured, but more constrained than Baron Mann’s, and his expression less inviting than Baron Eckard’s.
“Your father tells me you were your mother’s chief assistant in planning this evening,” he said unexpectedly.
Therez nodded cautiously.
“Do you often do so?”
She nodded again and felt his fingers press against her shoulder. She glanced up, startled, and caught a brief tight smile on his face. It was not a happy smile.
“You talked more with Baron Eckard,” he observed.
