Page 20 of The Faceless Mage

Prince Vaniell, Leisa suspected, despised peace.

“He’ll never change, you know.” Her antagonist from earlier in the evening took the seat next to Leisa without bothering to ask, casting a knowing glance from the corner of her eyes. “I saw you watching him. If you marry him, you’ll always be jealous of his flirts and his paramours, so if you have any illusions of him being faithful, perhaps you should look elsewhere for an alliance. Danric, perhaps? I can promise you he’s as rigid and impossible as he looks.” She let out a little trill of laughter. “But then, I suppose that might actually appeal to you.”

“Lady Marceline.” Leisa greeted her with a nod, unsure of the woman’s position but doubting she was anyone a princess would be required to curtsy to. “I appreciate your efforts, but I assure you, I know my duty.”

She snorted softly. “Oh, but do you?” She looked Leisa up and down with an insulting gleam in her eye. “With your… indispositions, I can’t see you bearing heirs anytime soon. Perhaps I should simply stop interfering. After all, you’ll be dead before long, and then the prince will be free to do as he pleases.”

Outrage snapped Leisa’s head around to meet Lady Marceline’s mocking smile. No matter what the other woman chose to think in private, her comment had been poorly calculated. After all, Evaraine might be ignorant and lacking in flounces, but she was still a princess, and Marceline was not.

But her words had also been unspeakably cruel. The truth was, no one knew what afflicted Evaraine, only that she was weak and often ill. But she never complained. Never showed anything less than courage and the determination to participate in life however she could. For this harpy to so calmly speak of death in front of a person she believed to be vulnerable…

Leisa started to rise. Probably would have done something to blow her cover for good, but there was suddenly a solid, black wall between her and Lady Marceline.

Her response died in her throat as she stared at the Raven’s back. What was he going to do? Defend her honor by cutting some poor woman’s head off in the ballroom? She might not like Marceline, but she certainly didn’t think the woman deserved to die for being a heartless viper.

His sword. It was still in its scabbard on his back. Not that Leisa imagined he wasn’t perfectly capable of doing unspeakable things without resorting to weaponry, but at least they weren’t likely to involve bloodshed. Perhaps he would settle for intimidating the harpy instead.

He was a full head taller than she was, Leisa realized, swallowing convulsively as she looked up towards the top of his lowered hood, relieved to be able to stare at him for a moment without feeling the pressure of his gaze. And his hands… At that moment, they hung at his sides, still covered in black leather gauntlets. But even allowing for the bulk of the leather, he could probably wrap just one of those hands completely around her throat.

A point of which Lady Marceline seemed very well aware. She squeaked and retreated, abandoning her dignity along with her chair. All without Leisa’s new personal shadow either speaking or brandishing a weapon.

Come to think of it, perhaps there were benefits to this new arrangement.

The Raven didn’t move, even after Marceline disappeared, and Leisa began to wonder whether there was a royal protocol for this sort of thing.

“Er… thank you?” she said.

He didn’t move. Not even an inch, but somehow she got the distinct impression that he was listening.

“I’m quite safe now. You’ve vanquished Her Snippiness, so you may go back to lurking, if you like.”

It had to have been her imagination, but she had the oddest notion that the looming mountain of menace was suddenly feeling… amused?

“Evaraine, there you are!” Queen Portiana appeared by her elbow, the older woman’s face plastered liberally with false cheer. She took Leisa’s arm and steered her in a tight circle, all but dragging her away from the Raven and away from the ballroom floor. “I do apologize for neglecting you this evening, but this reception has been so very popular—so many subjects to speak to. I hope you’re not offended.”

“No, of course not, but…”

“I’m sure you must be exhausted after the day you’ve had, so I’ve spoken to His Majesty, and he’s agreed that you’re to be permitted to retire. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to meet other members of the court.”

As she spoke, the queen continued to pull at Leisa’s arm, her fingers digging in like claws as she drew her further and further towards the margin of the room.

And then Leisa understood. There was something she wasn’t supposed to see. Something she wasn’t meant to know.

Was it Vaniell? Had the queen only just realized that her son was making a fool of himself and a mockery of their potential alliance? Or was it something worse?

“I’m grateful,” Leisa said, “but I’m really not all that fatigued. Perhaps…”

“Oh, and here’s Lady Piperell to walk you to your suite.” Portiana’s smile had become a grimace. “I do hope you’ll rest well and allow yourself to be at ease. You’ll be quite safe.”

And then she was gone, disappearing so entirely into the crowd that Leisa wondered whether this was some sort of talent Garimorans shared.

She cast a glance back at the Raven, opened her mouth to ask, and thought better of it. It wasn’t as if he would answer, and it probably wasn’t a very diplomatic question.

Apparently, Evaraine was going to bed whether she wanted to or not—like an unruly child, or one considered too young for the featured entertainment.

“Would you walk with me, my lady?” The even voice of the newly arrived Lady Piperell helped Leisa recall that there was nothing to be gained from protesting. In fact, it was probably to her benefit to establish a reputation for retiring early.

“Yes, thank you.” She cast a quick, sideways glance at the other woman, then another, when she realized that Lady Piperell didn’t quite fit in with anyone she’d seen at the Garimoran court thus far. For one thing, she wasn’t wearing a single flounce.

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