Fate’s Edge (The Edge #3)(87)
Author: Ilona Andrews

She was actually talking Kaldar up to her. Audrey almost laughed. Cerise loved her cousin. But her matchmaking was as subtle as a bulldozer. "I wish you would stop trying to hook me up with your cousin."

"I’m not very good at it, am I?" Cerise grimaced. "Kaldar is a son of a bitch. He steals, he brews wild schemes, and he drives my husband crazy, on purpose, because it amuses him. But Kaldar is also kind and brave and loyal. It’s hard to get close to him, but those who do gain a friend for life. I love him like a brother. He always watched out for me. And you should know that when we passed him and Morell, he looked at you as if you walked on water."

Audrey drew back.

A shadow came over Cerise’s face. She looked away, at the window and the clouds in the distant sky. "My family has suffered enough. Kaldar has suffered enough. I just want him to be happy. Give him a chance. If it doesn’t work out, you can always find me and punch me in the face afterward."

THE dinner was served in the grand dining room. Kaldar decided that he didn’t much care for castles, especially that one. The dining room, with its vast walls, ornate arches decorated by an elaborate red-and-gold border, and carved white columns, was beautiful. Majestic even. But it felt cold and impersonal. He always preferred the happy chaos of the Mar kitchen, where space was in short supply, and everyone talked while they ate.

He was seated near the end of the table, with George to his left and Jack straight across from him. A lanky young man with glasses occupied the seat on his right. According to George, the man’s name was Francis, he was a traitor to Adrianglia, and at the first opportunity, William and Cerise would grab him and drag him back to the loving embrace of the realm.

The dinner consisted of five small courses. Francis wasn’t eating much of it. He picked at his food, rolling the tiny tomatoes with his fork, and cast sad glances at Cerise, seated across the table four people down to their left.

Cerise looked lovely. Her gown was dyed in a distinctive sunset pattern, popular in the Weird last year: almost plum red at the off-the-shoulder sleeves and pleated, turned-down collar that left most of her cleavage exposed, the fabric flared into red as it clasped her breasts, brightened to near orange at the waist, then spilled in a glorious cascade of pleated blush, a shade too provocative to be called pink. It was a good choice. The gown was slightly out of season. It took time for the dress styles to filter from the North to the South. A saltlicker’s wife wouldn’t have access to the latest fashions. Red signaled sensuality, and Francis was eating it up.

Next to Cerise, Audrey turned toward him. For a moment, Kaldar forgot where he was.

Francis sighed next to him. The sound snapped Kaldar out of his reverie.

"A beautiful lady," Kaldar said confidentially.

"She is." Francis sent a look of sad longing in Cerise’s direction.

"I believe she is married," Kaldar said.

"To a brute." Francis glanced at William, seated across from Cerise. "A saltlicker smuggler, which is just another name for a pirate. He made his money robbing other ships, stole a fortune, and married her. Her family is noble but poor. He practically bought her. Can you imagine?"

George cleared his throat carefully. "You don’t say."

"Trust me, the man is a savage. He treats her like a slave."

"Perhaps you should be more careful with the display of your affections," Kaldar suggested. "Saltlickers are known for their temper."

"He can’t do anything to me." Francis pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I’m the baron’s guest. She’s chained to that monster. A woman so refined, so delicate, should be shielded from the rigors of the world, so they don’t bruise her. She is completely helpless, you see . . ."

Jack choked on his food and made some coughing noises that sounded suspiciously like feline laughter.

"Did I say something funny?" Francis peered at him.

"Not at all," Kaldar said. "Please continue."

"She should be free to make her own choices."

"And are you determined to liberate her?" Kaldar asked.

"Indeed I am."

"You have a noble heart," George said.

Francis preened. "Any man of honor in my place would do the same."

The naive idiot. Cerise was playing a dangerous game. Francis could do something rash, then William would kill him. "Perhaps you would listen to the advice of an older and jaded man?"

"Of course."

"In my experience, despite what outer appearances may indicate, married couples are much more alike than people realize. Take care, my friend. Tread softly."

"I thank you for your counsel." Francis raised his chin. "But I have nothing to fear."

Young moron.

The last of the dessert had been finished. The double doors opened, revealing a wide ballroom. Morell was doing this party by the book: they were permitted to mingle, treated to a dinner, and now, predictably, they would be given the opportunity to dance under the watchful eyes of the Texas sharpshooter’s magically augmented rifles.

Kaldar rose. "My young lords, it is time to dance."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Do I have to?"

"I’m afraid so, master."

Jack sighed and made his way to the ballroom. George followed him.

"Youth is wasted on the young . . ." Kaldar mused, but Francis’s gaze was fixed on Cerise.

"Excuse me," he muttered, and trotted over to her.

And so he was left to his own devices. Kaldar started toward the ballroom.

He positioned himself near the wall and watched the gathering. Music rolled through the disguised loudspeakers on the walls. The rhythm was brisk and familiar. The dancers were making a hash of it on the floor: some tried to dance according to the Weird’s customs; others were attempting a Broken waltz. George was whisked away almost instantly by a young girl with too much mascara and a prom gown that put her square into Broken territory rather than that of the Weird. As soon as the dance ended, another candidate, this one at least three years older, stepped up to claim his attention.

Morell wanted a court. He wanted a taste of the upper-crust life – blueblood or those who reached their status by merit, he didn’t particularly care. He had a beautiful castle, but the means by which he’d obtained it would get him barred from most polite gatherings across realms. So he made his own court. He invited his neighbors, robbers, added a few attractive young people with ambitions and an eye toward climbing the social ladder, and lured the lords and ladies of the Weird and movers and shakers of the Broken with promises of fine art that couldn’t be bought anywhere else. Now they sized each other up, and Morell watched the culture clash with great amusement.