A Look Between the Pages - Chapter One
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CHAPTER ONE:
A star arced towards the horizon. Another stream of light followed a heartbeat later. Iol stared at the darkness overhead. He hadn’t seen a multiple fall since the solo sail where he earned his first stripe.
“And that had been in the Northern Sea,” he muttered. “An area known for the lights that dance between the ice-covered waters and the heavens above.”
For long seconds he scanned the darkness, assessing whether the event was an omen from the water gods or a fluke of nature. “Please, water gods,” he whispered, “look kindly on your humble servant this night.” He left unsaid, too much rides on this eve’s success. Tonight, I am not a junior officer in attendance of his captain. I don’t represent only Wave Walker, but my entire trading council.
The solstice dinner was the major event of the trading houses, and the responsibility of hosting it shifted between each of the trading houses. This season the House of Cszabo had responsibility for entertaining the most important people in Katheul, Iol thought. And the ruling council of my house chose me. “I can’t let them down.”
The reminder of his duty sent Iol through the garden’s candle-lit maze to the courtyard beyond. Tonight was too important, and he too busy to deal with imaginary portents. He circled the mingling groups of officers, nodding in salute to those of higher rank. Most of his focus was on the myriad servants carrying trays of sweet treats to offer the guests or on the Wine Guild apprentices holding cloth-wrapped bottles of the special vintage ready for the pour. A hand signal sent one of the bottle carriers to refill an empty glass in a senior officer’s hand.
Satisfied everything was under control, Iol returned to his observation spot. He envied the guests mingling in the open area surrounding the dance floor. Tanned skin showed through the open collars of the junior officers. Several of the senior captains had removed their formal jackets to provide a respite from the summer heat. The orange glow from the lanterns lining the garden glittered off the seamen’s gold bracelets of rank.
Iol looked at the braided chevron on the cuffs of his jacket. “Soon,” he muttered, “I will have gold on my wrists—and a ship to go with them.” A tug resettled his tunic across his chest, but failed to loosen the high collar. He resisted the urge to pull at the stiff material.
A slight shift in the shadows behind the low stage on which a quartet from the Bard Guild performed caught his attention. With quick steps, he slipped into the maze, heading towards whatever caused the earlier disturbance. He stopped behind the tall hedge that separated two of the maze paths. The movement repeated. This time the cause was clear. A woman in her mid-twenties sat alone on a cushioned bench. She held a small guitar case on her lap and balanced a slender metal tube of a flute atop the larger instrument.
Iol searched his memory for any recall of the woman. She hadn’t taken advantage of the special table set aside for the performers or taken food or drink from any of the servants. He was sure of it.
She’s probably an apprentice about to give her first solo journeyman performance. Memories of his own exam and the nervousness before it surfaced. Loathe to disturb the woman’s quiet solitude, he slipped back to the more boisterous courtyard where he sought out the head servant and questioned him about the woman in the arbor.
“No, she hasn’t eaten or taken a cup all night. I’m sure of it.” The other man glanced towards the stage. “I even took her a plate myself.”
“Thank you, Latrell. It’s not your fault. You did as you should. If she refused, it was her right.” Iol laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You have outdone yourself this evening.” He glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing range. “Even old Second Seat of the House of Pirri was seen to crack a smile tonight.” Straightening, he resettled his tunic. “Keep an eye on things, Latrell. I’ll see what we can do with our mysterious bard.
Leod guided a dark-haired beauty through the intricate steps of the current popular dance. He spun her on the final note of the guitar ending up on one knee. In a lithe movement, he rose to his feet. “Thank you, Lady Gràinne, for the honor.” Still holding her close, he lifted the back of her hand to his lips. Her parted lips and quickened breath followed.
““I’ll see you tomorrow eve,” the dark-haired beauty whispered. “The guest house garden gate will be open.” Her voice dropped even lower. “My husband could never work the latchkey, so he leaves the gate unlocked whenever he goes ‘visiting.’” A flick of her kohl-darkened eyelids and the woman turned to join another group.
“Sire? The wine is chilled. Would you like a glass?”
The voice at Leod’s shoulder startled him. Damn. He realized while his attention had been on the retreating townswoman, the servant had approached in silence. What had the man heard? A quick replay of his movements since the dance revealed Gràinne’s proposition.
Reassurance rose. Gràinne didn’t say why she would see me.
Leod turned back to the servant who held out a tray with several crystal goblets filled with wine gracefully balanced on it. He took a glass. Might as well have another drink. Without any ship duties, my days—and nights—are free. Over the rim of the glass, he discretely reviewed the crowd. He had two sevendays in port and Gràinne was only good for a single evening’s entertainment. Her husband only went out one night a sevenday. Whether the merchant distrusted his wife’s wandering eye, or more likely, Leod admitted, the gray-beard couldn’t handle more than a single night of passion before needing to rest and recover.
Leod smirked and returned to his search for suitable diversions. One woman after another was ranked as to their usability in achieving another stripe on his collar or cementing his future position on the house council. Beauty and a vacuous brain were sufficient for an interlude at a foreign port, but here in his homeport of Stratven, a woman had to offer something else, such as a friendly vote on the next promotions board.
The rustle of leaves underfoot shifted his focus from a fiery red-head standing off to the side by herself to one of the paths leading from the maze. Nothing of interest appeared. Damn, Leod cursed in silence. No senior officer in an inappropriate embrace left the darkness, merely a servant whose dress tunic bore the colors of the House of Cszabo.
But the satisfied smile on the other man’s face intrigued Leod. Any secret is a good secret, for knowledge is power. Silently, he slipped into the path. Each step took him away from the courtyard and into the shadowed maze. He was about to return to the party when the flickering light revealed a woman perched on the edge of a bench. Moonbeams danced on blond curls surrounding a bent head. The woman lifted her head and tightened her grasp on the instrument cases across her lap
The sight of her red lips excited Leod. There were few female bards, but he had heard whispers of their ability to satiate a man. Finally a prize worthy of the chase.
Loud strumming from the courtyard warned the current tune was about to end. If he wanted to get closer, he had to move before the music ended.
But what of the servant? Worry hissed.
Warmth at the memory of the satisfaction in the other man’s expression rose up Leod’s neck. He stared at the woman who once again contemplated the skies overhead. Had he lost the prize before the chase even begun?
“No, that is unacceptable,” he breathed. “I’ll find out who that servant was and destroy him. And if the bard graced him with her favors, then she will be next.” Again he evaluated the features now cast in moonlight. But until then, she’ll provide a distraction not even council members enjoy.
His decision made, he slipped from the shadows into the light of a lantern hanging from a tree limb. “My lady, I am Leod, a seated member of the ruling council of the House of Pirri.” He rose from his best court bow. “At your service.”
Surprise stopped his hand in mid-gesture of offering her the glass of wine. The “come hither” smile that normally resulted from his introduction was missing. Instead, there was just silence and a raised eyebrow. He’d heard the bards could strip a man to the bone with a glance or single word. But he’d never believed it. Until now.
“The best wine in Stratven for the most beautiful woman.”
Assurance filled him. That line had never failed to win over a woman. This one might be a bard, but she was still a woman. However, instead of an encouraging smile, his response was a chilled, “No, thank you.”
He shifted to the approach that had bedded him many a fair maiden. “Then may I have the honor of this dance? A man only has the opportunity once in his life to have such a beautiful companion, let alone one bard-trained.”
The slight tightening of her lips gave Leod little insight into what he had said wrong. Still, he held the smile that had won over so many women.
His target still didn’t submit. Instead she gave a slight shake of her head. “I appreciate the compliment. However, I am quite content where I am. Maybe you should return to the dance.” Her head-to-toe scan she did added to the fire building under Leod’s skin. “There should be someone there suitable for you.”
What had been a slow burn grew hotter. No woman had ever rebuffed his advances. The image of the servant’s satisfied smile returned. Anger flared. This female chose a servant, someone not only of a lower rank, but one from a lesser trading house, over me?
For long seconds, he remained frozen. His thoughts swirled in a red maelstrom, but his muscles refused to move.
No, pride asserted. The prize will be mine—and so will revenge.
“Your refusal is not accepted. I will have my dance. Since you won’t join me in the company of others, the heart of the maze will be our dance floor.” He looked around the small cove, his gaze lingered on the cushioned bench. “Then after the music stops, we can make our own.”
One stride closed the distance between them.
His slap rocked Pelra’s head back against the hedge. A hiss escaped her lips. Leod’s hard grip on her arm numbed her fingers, and the cases clattered to the ground. Instinctively, she shifted her feet to avoid stepping on the cases and damaging the precious instruments inside.
Leod’s yank hauled her to her feet. “We will dance, my lady. If not on your feet, then on your back.”
Shock and fear fought for control of Pelra’s legs. One emotion wanted to run, and the other held her in place. Anger that she would be attacked rose above the other emotions. I am at a party in the king’s garden. Even worse, her attacker was a member of her own trading house, in essence, kin. That slight reminder of who she was broke Pelra’s paralysis. A sharp twist of her wrist and she was free of Leod’s grasp. Two steps not only gave her room to maneuver, it drew her attacker away from the instruments.
Strategic options whirled in her mind. A glance revealed no weapons at hand. It’s up to me. As commander of a caravan, she’d been in plenty of fights. Just not, she admitted, hampered by a long gown. With one hand she gathered the skirt and hiked it a mere finger-length, so the hem rose to her ankle. The other hand reached as if to smooth an errant curl.
Leod’s eyes widened. His lips parted.
Pelra’s fingers tightened around the longest of the pins that held her hair in a crown around her head. That one will get a surprise, she thought. I am no tavern girl selling myself for a few coins. Instructions from the guild’s weaponsmasters solidified a strategy in her mind. Let him come to you—then strike.
The length and heft of the hairpin limited the damage it could do. The eyes, she decided. Although she had practiced the move, she had never actually used it to blind someone. Shifting her weight into a combat stance, she calmed herself to wait—and fight.
END OF EXCERPT
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