THE TERRORS OF SOCIETY
The ball, despite the crush of curious islanders in their gaudy finery avid for a glimpse of the Narnian King, proved all the Countess had said of the tedium of Brenn-ish society. Lucy was thankful for the company of her friends and determinedly stayed with them at the Count's dais, except when forced by politeness to accept the unblemished soft hand of a councillor in the dance. The Count himself watched his wife whirl with first one visitor then the next, shunning his friends for those she considered to be hers.
"Enough of these stately pacings!" she cried at last, tossing back the loose mane of her onyx hair, sparkling with tiny diamonds on fine gold chains. "Husband, what nonsense have you told these scratchers and scrapers you call the court orchestra? Cousin: does not Your Majesty ache for the freedom of a jig?"
Caspian wagged a finger. "Your Highness must excuse me; I am a sedate dancer, not a madcap!"
"Come, Vissarin, I must have a jig. You know I detest these slow, simpering dances. I should call for Robrin, but he cannot take a step without crushing his partner's toes!"
"My Lord Drinian has been known to represent Us in this arena with the same success he shows in matters of policy," Caspian suggested. Count Vissarin clapped his hands.
"There! If you, my Lord, are agreeable…"
"Gladly, Sir, if Her Serene Highness will allow it."
Anelia was halfway to the floor before the words were out of his mouth, her hand extended and a decidedly pleased smile on the face that turned back over a shoulder to him. "The pleasure will be mine; I recall, my Lord, that you dance remarkable well, for a tar."
"Your Highness may also recall the strictures I endured from my kind aunt on the subject." They looked well together, Caspian noted idly, moving with the fluid ease of familiarity. As Vissarin called for a merry tune from his musicians, and a dozen other couples skipped to the floor, he watched them; his best friend and his cousin, hardly known and less trusted, sharing a smile that was one part flirtation, one part mischief, and a third part of something on which he had no desire to speculate.
Anelia was beautiful. She was Royal. Her name had been raised in his council chamber when first Cornelius and Trufflehunter had begun to fret about getting an heir, by which they meant finding a bride for their king. And then, no less suddenly, it had slipped from their calculations.
He had not liked the idea. His mother's niece! A cousin! A girl!
Well, he excused himself, he had been barely sixteen; and he had never come near a lady younger than Nurse in his life.
They danced exceptionally well; she leapt higher than most of the men, her head thrown back, hands outstretched. He moved with a lithe, powerful grace worlds away from the frantic hopping of his fellows as the pace picked up and the feet began to fly. And when he lifted his partner and twirled around, the Countess was hoisted high above any other person in the room.
"Oh, good show, Drinian!" exclaimed Edmund enthusiastically. "Jolly good show!"
"Oh do be quiet, Ed!" cried Lucy, clapping to the music. "Goodness! The other people had better move back, her feet are going to hit somebody's head any moment!"
Somehow, Anelia's silk-slippered toes managed to avoid the nearest dancers before coming down, dainty as a doll's, to the floor. Her eyes shining, she caught the hands of her partner and spun the length of the ballroom with him. Edmund wasn't surprised to see the couples they passed not merely moving aside, but stopping to admire the skills acquired by two children of the Archenlandish court.
"My wife considers us shockingly backward in these more refined arts," Vissarin informed his guests, sounding (Lucy thought) quite complacent. "And it must be conceded, she lacks for partners here with the skill of your shipmate."
The music rose to a flourishing finale, the dancers spinning and leaping to a stop before the dais. Head thrown back, hair flying, the Countess let fall a shriek of real, honest laughter.
People gaped. "I dare say they've never seen her actually happy before," whispered Lucy. "She must have a ghastly life!"
"Indeed." Caspian was busy watching his cousin's animated face, and the admission slipped past his defences. "She was once considered - by certain of the Council - as a possible consort for me, you know."
"Fancy marrying your own cousin!" exclaimed Edmund.
"Horrid!" said Lucy and Eustace together.
"It is allowed, though, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes; Caspian the Conqueror wed his cousin, and his son, Caspian the Confused, married his heir to a cousin as well. Also, the alliance with Archenland is of great value (as Cornelius often tells me) to Narnia."
"But…" Celesta hinted, almost too serene with the subject for his liking. Caspian shrugged.
"I've not the remotest idea," he half fibbed. "Perhaps that I was barely sixteen, and two years my cousin's junior, was considered an impediment: to say naught of her mixed Archenlandish and Telmarine blood."
"Hardly likely!" Edmund scoffed. "I say! That was jolly good dancing, you two!"
They both had the good grace to appear at least a little breathless from exertion, the lady summoning a liveried servant with drinks and handing one to her companion, her fingers just brushing his. "We danced often, King Edmund, when my Lord Drinian could be persuaded to quit the sea for the court during his service with our fleet. The Lady of Westerwood never forgot her nephew was born to the palace as much as the ocean."
"Aunt Katharina would have seen me a professional courtier." He could imagine few worse fates (unless being trapped for ever at Redhaven). Caspian chuckled.
"There's more to such a profession than elegant dancing, and her nephew has too frank a manner to ever be its master! Lion Alive, my dear Count, that's no insult to the most dependably honest friend a sovereign ever had. Drinian's inability to murmur a bland answer is invaluable to me - and to Narnia!"
"Still, you have not forgot all your courtly skills at sea, my Lord," Anelia murmured.
"My aunt once told me, Madam, that a skill truly learned is never entirely forgot."
"Ugh!" muttered Lucy. "She's flirting with him!"
"Must say, Lu, I thought he was flirting with her," Edmund corrected.
"What is flirting?" enquired Celesta helplessly as the Countess patted Drinian's cheek.
"The Lady of Westerwood was wise," she said.
"Aye." Again they smiled at each other, and it seemed to Caspian their company faded away.
"Lion bless me!" he murmured. "What a fool I was!"
"Why, Caspian, dear?" asked Lucy, looking concerned.
"Hm? Oh, nothing, Lucy, nothing at all." And then, more quietly, so she should not hear again: "I wonder. I really do wonder."
"Golly, I'm melting!"
"I see an open doorway beyond this crowd, Queen Lucy." Caspian proffered his hand. "What say you we seek to slide through it?"
"Yes, please!" the girl replied fervently, slapping her palm against his. With a smile, the King ducked his head and plunged into the throng, firing apologies left and right as startled citizens were jolted out of his path. "Aslan, a breeze!" she heard him gasp, and a moment later a gust of delicious air struck her glowing face.
"Ssshhh!" Lucy had spied it the instant she looked up; on the wall opposite, beyond a large fountain playing merrily, water spouting from the mouths of four friendly-looking dragons, two large shadows were swaying, cast up by the moonlight. Caspian stopped dead.
"Oh," he whispered. "I rather think we're interrupting."
Lifting their feet high, as if they expected their footfalls on the cobbles to be heard, they started to ease back into the doorway. The owner of one of the shadows - slim, willowy, plainly female - whimpered.
Her companion - taller, broad about the shoulders, unquestionably a man - sighed. "Truly, Anelia, you knew my answer before the words were spoken."
Caspian and Lucy were stopped as completely as if the White Witch of old had turned them to stone. Only the King's lips moved, to form the speaker's name. Drinian.
"Am I so much less appealing now?" The Countess of Brenn was crying: or rather, Lucy thought unsympathetically, she wanted her companion to believe she was. She watched his arm lift in silhouette, resting over the trembling shoulders of the lady. He chuckled.
And, though she didn't understand why, she shivered, feeling the sound run through her.
"Never that! But you are wed, I'm betrothed: and a Lord of Etinsmere, a Lord Admiral of Narnia, is not the same as a common seaman of King Lune's fleet."
"Wed? I am less to Vissarin than the runt of his Duckhound's newest litter! Have you never yearned to be held, Drinian?"
"Aye." There was a wistfulness in his friend's tone Caspian had never heard before. "Still, longings cannot change realities. You are Countess of Brenn; with our honours come burdens. We choose to bear them."
"How you're changed, my rash, heedless sailor!"
"Perhaps one must change, with changed duties." His shadow stooped. Caspian tensed, relaxing when the shadow play on the wall showed Drinian's mouth to have brushed nothing more intimate than the lady's brow. "I do feel for your troubles, Anelia."
"But I chose to endure them?" They watched the movement of her hand, rising toward his face; for an instant, Lucy thought she might be intending to slap him. Goodness, she thought, I ought not to have the faintest idea of what they're talking about. Mother would send me to bed without supper!
"I wed to content my father, Drinian, that he might see me honourably settled before he dies; and he cannot see the year's end. As to my bridegroom… my past intrigues stand as a barrier to better."
"For which I'm in part to blame." Drinian tightened the arm around her shoulders. The lady laughed.
"My dear, bold Captain, was I not a reckless Princess, responsible for my own conduct?" Lucy gathered that they had moved apart, for a moment later the Countess's silhouette swayed, merging with his. "You were not the first nor last with whom I was so connected."
"But was I not among the best?"
Her laughter pealed, shaking Caspian from his stricken state. "You speak as one who needs no answering!" she purred, and if it were possible for two people to stand closer, the King of Narnia trusted he would never see it. "I hope this betrothed, for whom you scorn my offer, is worthy of you."
"The question, in truth, is whether I can ever be deserving of Daniela." The way he said her name tugged Lucy's heart.
"When do you sail?" She had accepted it now, though with regret plain in her voice. The pleasure in his answer was no less apparent.
"On the spring tide, tomorrow morning. The King will understand if our going is too early for your attending."
"Have you not lectured me on duty?" She rounded the fountain, her eyes getting wide at the sight of the two still, silent figures. "Cousin. Queen Lucy. I must return to the ballroom."
She flitted beyond them before either could speak to stop her. Drinian took one look at their shocked faces and sighed.
"You have been there some time, Sire," he stated. Caspian managed to nod.
"We didn't mean to eavesdrop," Lucy began, unsure whether she felt more embarrassed for herself or for him. "We came out for some air, and - well…"
"I had the same idea myself; there was no intent on my part, Your Majesties. I've been trying to avoid the noble lady since she first hinted at a desire to talk."
"Plain enough the advances were hers." His friend looked cautiously relived, and Caspian was astonished to feel laughter bubbling in his throat. "Lion Alive, man! A boggy patch you were in, when we stumbled out! Our delightful hostess eager to - ahem! - renew old acquaintances, if I might put it so…"
"Better that way than any other, in the company of a lady." Drinian grinned broadly. Lucy giggled.
"Don't let me get in the way of a man-to-man chat," she said, halfway to the door before they could react. "And don't look so guilty, Captain! Seems to me you've behaved perfectly honourably - tonight, at least!"
The two Narnians stared after her, faintly embarrassed in each other's company as neither recalled being before. "I believe I understand now," said the King, slowly, "why Cornelius suddenly ceased to consider my Archenlandish cousin as a consort of Narnia."
"He hinted he was conscious of - certain rumours," admitted Drinian. Caspian gave him a hearty slap on the back.
"Aslan bless you, man!" he exclaimed. "Do you know what a state of terror I was cast into, at the very prospect of being affianced to her? If the connection of one of Our most senior noblemen with the Princess preserved me from a like happening - and brought some amusement to your shore leaves, of course - 'tis naught to be regretful of! Come, we'd best show ourselves to the good folk of Brenn before the festival ends. Do we sail particularly early tomorrow? Good! We'll make our legitimate excuses and return to the Dawn Treader; I dare say my fair cousin will be as glad as you to be spared a more private leave-taking! Edmund! Eustace! Gather yourselves, boys, we must be away! No, my Lord Count, I must insist; my Captain informs me the best tide for so great a ship as ours comes an hour after dawn; we dare not miss it, lest the men mutiny at delay in returning to Narnia!"
