CHAPTER ONE
A SACRIFICE FOR FRIENDSHIP (PART 2)
"So — you're here with Raoul?" Emma inquired curiously. Buri answered with a nod. "Are you friends?"
"Yes, we are," Buri answered.
"He's a really nice man," Emmalen said, and Buri nodded agreement. "I don't think he's mentioned you lately, though," Emma said, her forehead creasing in thought. "He was here last Midwinter, and he didn't say anything about any women he knew. . . ."
"Well, we know each other from our work," Buri said. "The King's Own and the Rider Groups have been in the Grand Progress together," she explained.
"Oh!" Emma exclaimed, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Forgive me," she said a moment later, "but I hadn't recognized you. You're Buriram Tourakom, Commander of the Queen's Riders, yes?"
"Yes, I am."
Emma laughed her tittering giggle again. "I'm sorry, Buri. Yes, Raoul has mentioned you and the Rider Groups when he's talked about traveling on the road and other things. Eventually, Aunt Sebila tells him to stop talking about dusty roads and bandits in towns and the like.
"I myself am positively engrossed with the Queen's Riders," Emma continued. Buri blinked, wondering when and how the young woman had taken a breath. "It's an honor to meet you. I was wondering if you would tell me about the Riders. Is it hard to train? Is it true we can't marry if we're part of the Riders?" She pursed her lips. "What about the Queen's ladies? How is that different from Rider life?"
Buri didn't know which question to answer first. One thing she disliked about court parties was the chattering dinner partners she was always paired with. The K'mir was not an avid talker, and she had never enjoyed enthusiastic, rapid-fire speakers. This time, however, she would have to deal with the irritation.
Buri gulped down more of her juice to buy time while she scrambled for an answer. Resigning herself to the proper etiquette, she set her cup aside and began to answer Emmalen's questions, one by one. She told the younger woman about the requirements for the Riders, and the differences between Queen's Riders and Queen's ladies. Emma listened with rapt attention; she seemed sincerely interested in the work of the Riders, Buri noted.
When the chief steward announced that dinner was being served, Buri was spared from further questioning. Relieved, she excused herself from Emma and made her way to Raoul; he was easy to find, because he was as tall as or taller than the other guests.
"Ah, the duties a member of this clan must endure," Raoul murmured when they rejoined. "Thank the gods I only see them every half-year — sometimes it's once every year, if I'm lucky."
They entered the dining room, which was decorated as grandly as the main hall had been. A huge table carved from the finest mahogany stood in the center of the room, piled high with miniature candy creations. At each seat there was a sugar-spun animal decorated with nuts; in the center of the table stood a gigantic cake made in the likeness of an ornamented tree, decorated with swirls of colored sugar frosting.
Raoul courteously seated first Buri, then himself. As the guests settled in their chairs, the servants of the house began to bring in the food. Other young servers poured cups of steaming hot cider to ward off the frigid winter air.
Raoul sat on Buri's right; on her left was a blond stranger. Because he didn't look like anyone else she had seen, Buri guessed that this man was one of the guests family members were allowed to bring. On Raoul's right was a stocky woman with reddish-gold hair that was gathered up in a hair net similar to the one Sebila wore.
A warm potato-and-leek soup was served first. As Buri blew on her spoon to cool off the food, the man next to her leaned over. "Do you hail from Corus?" he asked.
Buri nodded and swallowed her spoonful of soup. She immediately brought another spoonful to her lips, hoping the man would catch the hint that she didn't care to talk.
The blond-haired man tried two more times to start a conversation, failing both times. Finally, he smiled politely and turned to the woman on his other side, with whom he had more success and was soon talking avidly with.
Raoul had also found no luck with his other dinner companion. He turned away from the redhead and found himself staring into Buri's eyes.
She smiled ruefully. "Neither of us makes a good dinner companion."
"I wouldn't say that," Raoul returned. "We just don't talk about fuss and feathers like everyone else." He searched her face, his own expression curious. When he caught her look of disdain, he smirked. "Enjoying yourself?" he taunted.
"Why, of course," she returned, her words dragging with sarcasm. "This is the best family gathering I've been to."
"That bad?" Raoul asked, eyebrows raised. "Are you close to breaking point?"
Buri shook her head and smiled slightly. "It's not that bad."
Raoul winced. "Then it'll get worse; I'm sure of it."
The next course came soon; it was a simple salad adorned with tomatoes and vinaigrette dressing. The other people didn't try more conversation with Raoul and Buri. The two were glad for the lack of attention; they turned toward one another and talked as they ate.
Between courses, the small sugar sculptures were served. Buri was finishing hers — a sculpture of a mythical mermaid perched on a shell — when Raoul pushed his toward her.
"Oh, no thank you," Buri replied, discreetly watching for his reaction. "I would hate to grow fat," she added impishly.
"Don't you start!" Raoul cried. "If you even begin to act like one of those self-conscious, stick-thin psychopaths that I see too many of, I will personally smack you."
"I'm only joking," Buri assured him. "I can't resist sweets." She broke off a piece of the sugar and sucked on it until it melted in her mouth.
"Hey, I was kidding," Raoul announced hastily, trying to snatch the sweet back. He grinned when he had taken it from Buri, and he popped some in his mouth.
Soon the main course arrived, splendidly prepared. It was a huge wild boar; the best kill from a hunt one of Raoul's cousins had participated in, the knight told Buri. The boar lay atop a silver platter, steaming hot from the oven. The aroma of combined spices of all kinds wafted from the meat, filling the room with a pleasant smell that had some stomachs growling.
The food was served and glasses were refilled with drinks, and soon everyone was talking and eating and complimenting the cook.
"So, what do you think of the Grand Progress?" Buri asked Raoul as he cut a piece of meat.
He swirled the piece around in gravy as he thought. "Which part?" he asked. "If it's the riding to different towns and gaining ooh's and aah's from people, I can honestly say that I enjoy it. But if you're talking about the parties, and the different dukes and earls, lords and ladies that we are forced to talk to and act as if we are even remotely interested in their business —" He stopped and saw Buri grin. "Well, you can see which part is my favorite."
"I think it's a good way to show off the royal family to the realm, as well as the Yamani princess," Buri said. She took a bite of meat, mentally appraising the cook for the delicious food. "It makes the marriage easier, if everyone knows their future king and queen. I wonder if our future rulers know each other very much, though. Have Roald and Shinkokami spoken very much?"
Raoul shrugged. "I can't know for sure. But Kel is friends with both of them, and she says that they're just beginning to understand one another. They do have some things in common, thank the gods. But arranged marriages are tough."
"You would know at least some of that," Buri said with a smile and continued to eat. Once the guests had had their fill, their plates were taken away and replaced with desserts made of delicately spun sugar and the like.
Buri leaned back casually against her chair. "Is it true that Jonathan asked Alanna to be his Queen, some time before Thayet and I came to Corus?" she asked.
Raoul grinned, white teeth flashing against his dark complexion. "As true as my name is Raoul. Alanna wasn't expecting Jon's proposal, and she was royally afraid — if you'll excuse the pun. I don't know everything that happened when Jon asked her — neither likes to speak much of it — but she refused him in the desert and continued to refuse him, even though he still held out hope until Thayet came. It was Alanna's idea, you know, for Jon to marry Thayet. And look how well that turned out."
A huddle of musicians began a classic Midwinter song, and people rose from their chairs to approach the dance floor in the middle of the hall. Raoul and Buri remained at the table, like some other guests, and continued to talk. They discussed the Grand Progress some more — their thoughts on where they would go next, and how they would be received by some of their less-than-friendly neighbors. Once the topic was exhausted, they sat in comfortable silence.
Buri watched the couples spinning around on the dance floor; then she looked back at Raoul with an inquiring eyebrow raised.
Raoul stood up from his chair and offered Buri his hand. "May I have this dance?" he offered with a teasing grin.
"I would be honored," she answered, placing her hand in his. Raoul tugged her to her feet and pulled her over to the dance floor. Other couples were already waltzing, mostly people Raoul and Buri's age. A young couple, both in their twenties, talked as they danced. Most of the young people – Raoul's nieces and nephews – hovered near the refreshments table, chattering amongst themselves and taking no notice of anyone else.
Buri draped her arm over Raoul's shoulder as he slipped one arm around her waist. Their other hands remained clasped as they began to dance in the one-two-three, one-two-three step.
Buri noticed Emmalen dancing with a young man wearing a charcoal-gray tunic and white shirt. Emma chattered merrily, and her dance partner didn't do much more than nod politely when she took a breath. Buri was glad that someone else, not her, had to endure speech with the girl.
"Who're you looking at?" Raoul asked. Buri jerked her head in the direction of Emma, and Raoul followed her gaze.
"Ah, I see," he said with a small laugh. "You know those people I mentioned, who like to talk a lot? Emma is like that."
"Oh, definitely," Buri muttered under her breath.
"She's got a good heart," Raoul said. "She's just a bit overly-enthusiastic."
They finished the waltz in silence. Soon, the musicians struck up a livelier dance, and Buri forced Raoul to accompany her on that one.
"Have I mentioned that I don't like to dance?" Raoul reminded her as he twirled her. "I took lessons as a squire, but I never really cared for this part of parties." Of course, the swishing of Buri's skirts was strangely enticing. He blinked and brought his gaze to her face again as Buri stepped back to him.
"I don't know," she said, slinging her arms loosely around his neck. "I rather like watching you be tortured."
Raoul rolled his eyes and looked over her head at the rest of the hall. "Don't look now," he murmured after several heartbeats, "but we've got an audience."
Buri turned her head and caught sight of Sebila, chattering with a group of women her own age, as well as some ladies closer to Raoul's age. They all were watching the two commanders with interest.
"I told you not to look!" Raoul hissed. He shook his head and grinned. "Seems Aunt's at the old matchmaking game yet again. When will she learn that I'm a big boy now and I can find my own wife?"
The faster dance came to an end. Before Raoul and Buri could sneak off the floor, slower music — similar to the waltz of before — started up, and they were hemmed in on all sides by couples dancing close together. They had no choice but to resign themselves to another dance.
The group of women, headed by Sebila, was still watching them. Raoul sent his great-aunt a mild glare; either it didn't reach her or her sight was beginning to fade, because Sebila took no notice. Instead she was speaking to two or three of the five women and occasionally pointing at Raoul to emphasize her point.
Buri looked up at her friend and saw a sly grin spread across his features.
"What say we give them something to talk about?" he suggested. Buri's eyebrows knitted in confusion.
"Just follow my lead," Raoul assured her. He bent his head to her level and pressed his cheek against hers. Buri nearly jumped at the close contact of his clean-shaven cheek against her skin.
"Is this all right?" Raoul breathed into her ear. Buri nodded, still clueless as to what he was planning.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, turning her face slightly. Their noses touched, and Buri thought: This is the closest I've ever gotten to a man without kissing him.
"They won't think to interrupt us if we're in the middle of a kiss," Raoul reasoned, and Buri's heart seemed to beat a slight bit faster. Raoul shifted a fraction so that his body blocked Buri's somewhat, giving the court ladies less of a view of the K'mir.
Raoul didn't kiss her, but his face remained close to hers, giving the illusion of a kiss. Keeping up the pretense, Raoul shamelessly pulled Buri closer to him with one arm around her waist. She placed her hand on the back of his neck and bit her lip to keep from bursting out with laughter. This would be one of the funnier stories to tell Thayet, Buri thought. She reminded herself to tell the Queen about the entire party the next morning.
Their "display of affection" received the attention and the result they had hoped for. Buri sneaked a glance around Raoul and saw that the group of ladies had dispersed. Three remained with Sebila, still watching intently and with expressions of dismay, but the rest wandered off, shaking their heads and drawing their shawls tighter around themselves.
"Is it all right?" Raoul asked, his head still bent.
"It's as fine as it's going to be," Buri replied. "You've still got some admirers, but I think we chased off the less-serious women."
Raoul finally lifted his head, bringing one hand behind him to massage the crick in his neck. "That's something," he commented brightly.
As the song wound to a finish, Raoul and Buri edged their way off the dance floor. Other couples immediately took their place. The song finished, but the crowd of people surrounded them on all sides. It was difficult to push a path through the many guests.
"I must thank you for not one, but three, wonderful dances," Raoul said with all the flourish and charm of a court entertainer. "You kept me on the floor for more than one dance — not many women have been able to do as well."
"You're a better dancer than you think," Buri returned as she tried to brush past a man in a black coat edged with ermine fur.
Someone politely tapped Buri on the shoulder, and she turned to see a slender man her height with dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes. "Would you be so kind as to allow me to cut in, sir?" the man asked Raoul with a bow.
Raoul traded a glance with Buri; it would be impolite and unchivalrous for either to refuse. "Of course," he said, handing Buri off to the man. She sent him a glare, and Raoul shrugged helplessly before threading his way through the crowds to the hearth.
The man struck up a conversation about his studies of magic — he was a mage, working in weather-magic — at one of the best academies in the land. He was also very interested in horses; he knew the different breeds, and he said he enjoyed riding them. Buri smiled and nodded occasionally to show she was listening.
"You dance very well," the man complimented her. Buri smiled and thanked him. Once Thayet had become Queen, she had had to learn the distinctive dances of Corus. Not to be the only one suffering, she had dragged Buri to the lessons with her. The K'mir was secretly glad that the lessons had paid off.
"Yet," the young mage continued, "you have the callouses of an archer." He lifted their clasped hands and lightly touched her tough skin.
Buri shrugged in answer. "Well, we women of the court pride ourselves on being diversified in our skills."
The man smiled in understanding. "Ah. Does that mean you're one of the Queen's ladies? Beautiful but deadly, they say."
"In a sense," Buri answered.
The mage's smile widened into a grin. "And are the Queen's ladies allowed to be involved with men?"
He was flirting with her! Unable to think of a fitting answer, Buri murmured that she didn't know. Luck was with her, because the dance ended soon after, and it was custom for the man to release the lady he had asked to dance.
The mage kissed her hand courteously. Buri excused herself and was able to hurry off the dance floor before he thought to ask her for another dance.
Raoul wasn't at the hearth, where he had been before the next dance started. Buri scanned the room until she caught sight of Raoul dancing with the redheaded woman he had sat next to at dinner.
Buri was surprised that it even mattered to her that Raoul was dancing with another woman. For a moment, she felt a pang of possession. Buri looked away from Raoul and the redhead and firmly told herself that it was only concern for her friend that had her glaring at the other woman.
Buri returned to the refreshment table. Now there was a keg of hot cider, and a young servant handed her a steaming cup. Buri nodded her thanks and blew on the scalding liquid before taking a sip.
The women who had been watching Raoul earlier were now clustered at the table. Sebila was nowhere to be seen. The women were gazing at Raoul, who at the moment was twirling the young woman with red-gold hair.
"You know, he looks rather good for forty," one woman commented; she wore an ice-blue gown covered by a heavy midnight-blue shawl. She had seemed the most interested in Raoul. "After all, he's trained as a knight for so long — he's in excellent shape."
"I wonder if Lord Raoul would be interested in a dance," one lady murmured to herself. "He's already forsaken his other companion for that young thing."
"Well, all the more chance to snag at least one dance with him," the third woman said.
Buri cleared her throat. When the ladies all looked her way, she set down her cup of cider and gave them stare for stare. The first lady — who had commented on Raoul's age — met her gaze levelly, while the other two flushed pink.
"Excuse us," the third woman said with a small nod. "We mean no offense."
Buri knew from experience that court ladies, who were as nasty as could be, were as insincere as they were rude.
Buri answered the nod with a curt one of her own. "I don't prefer myself or Raoul to be spoken of as such," she said, making her voice as haughty as one of the pompous women she had encountered in her first years at Jonathan's court.
"Begging your pardon," the lead woman said frostily, "but as Lord Raoul hasn't found a wife yet, we didn't think you two were . . . well, that closely involved."
These hawks looked ready to swoop in on the kill. Knowing she had to save Raoul from such opportunistic vultures, Buri prepared a quick story to keep the ladies away from Raoul. As an afterthought, she sent a quick prayer to the Horse Lords that she wouldn't botch this up.
"Well, we are involved," Buri replied, injecting a tone of hurt into her voice. The lady still didn't look convinced, so Buri rushed on, "We're lovers, you know." Now where did that idea come from?
The lady arched a dark, pencil-thin eyebrow, her first sign of interest. "You don't say?"
"We have been for some time," Buri continued. "Yes — it was some winters ago, when we were patrolling —"
"We don't need the details, dear," the woman said in a clearly condescending tone. Buri bristled with anger, but she kept a firm hold on her smile and swiftly jumped ahead.
"He really is a sensitive man," she went on. "He's kind, and considerate, and he has a great sense of humor . . ." She trailed off and realized, to her dismay, that rather than be deterred, the women hung on her every word.
"And he's mine," Buri added firmly, hoping the ladies would back off. "Actually, this year was our" — Second? No, the more years, the better — "third anniversary of . . . of being together." The two younger ones, women in their twenties, blinked and drew back the slightest bit. The first woman — Buri's own age — however, still looked unperturbed.
"How is he as a lover, then?" the woman asked, smoothing her skirts. The ice blue color matched her attitude perfectly, Buri was tempted to say.
"Well — that's very personal," the K'mir said, trying to edge around a subject she knew nothing about.
"But surely you could tell us just one thing," the woman persisted, her smile merely a tiny curl of her lips.
Buri smirked in spite of herself. Here was a way in which she knew she could drive them away; it was their fault for asking, she would say once the ladies fled. Since she was a teenager, she had picked up rowdy bar songs in various low-level towns, and she knew just what details to bring into the conversation.
"As for a lover —" She paused, and the others were deathly silent. "Well, you know what they say about big men . . ." Buri's eyes sparkled wickedly. The younger women coughed delicately and exchanged conspiratorial glances at the mere suggestion.
Yet, they also seemed more interested. Buri started to weave the next part of her tale, and she noticed that the ladies all leaned in close, as if she were confiding in them a secret. "At night, I ride him like a stallion," Buri said in a whisper, fighting to keep from bursting with laughter. Now there rose quiet gasps, and Buri couldn't blame the women for being shocked. She continued with her story, finding that she was quickly warming to her topic. She didn't notice the tiny, green-clad figure sneak up and listen to their conversation.
"We're having a great time together," Buri said by way of a finish, making her voice sound smug, "and I don't think Raoul will be looking for other female companions for a while."
"What did you say?" a creaking voice demanded. Buri spun around, startled, and she was aware of the other women laughing, which they quickly hid behind coughs.
"What profane tales are you saying in my household?" Sebila snapped. "I'll have you know, I have no wish in the world to hear what you have to say about your relationship, if it could be called even that, with my nephew."
Sebila was bellowing again, and Raoul hurried over. "What's going on?" he asked, short of breath, for he had hurried across the room the moment he heard Sebila's voice raise.
Buri's heart sank with a plop, and she suddenly regretted everything she had just said. "Oh, gods," she whispered, desperately praying that she would get out of this alive.
"I don't believe you, Raoul," Sebila scolded, "letting your . . . companion tell such tales."
"What are you talking about?" Raoul demanded to know. His gaze snapped to Buri, and she gave the slightest shake of her head; at the moment, she knew that repeating her story would only make things worse.
"What tales?" Raoul asked.
"She was telling these women about less-than-respectable acts that you two engage in," Sebila told him, trying to keep her words as delicate as possible.
Buri winced, but the look Raoul sent her was one of amusement. "Good job," he muttered so only she could hear. But Sebila saw his lips move, and she snapped, "What are you saying?"
"Nothing" was his hurried reply, but Sebila still regarded him disdainfully.
"This is exactly what I told you would happen," Sebila told Raoul. "She isn't fit to be a wife; I'll bet she isn't even a noble."
"Rank has nothing to do with this," Raoul shot back. His voice had gone dangerously quiet, and Buri recognized her friend's mounting anger.
"All she's interested in is a good time," Sebila said. "She'll never be serious. You deserve better."
"Buri is my friend, and — and she's close to me," Raoul said, his voice unwavering, his dark eyes snapping with fury. "You will not speak of her that way; not behind her back, and definitely not when she's standing right next to you.
"As for the prospect of marriage, I will figure that out in my own sweet time. I don't need to be poked and prodded, nor do I need you treating me like an infant and doing this for me. I can take care of myself," he said, his voice matching Sebila's low anger of a moment before.
This was the trick with Sebila, as Raoul learned right then and there: When she yelled, yell back. Sebila was so stunned that he had stood up to her in such a forcible way that she immediately fell silent.
Raoul was proud of himself, but his anger still simmered furiously. He knew he had to get away from her as quickly as he could and blow off steam.
"Excuse me," Raoul murmured politely. He tugged on Buri's arm, and she willingly followed him outside onto the balcony. The snow had stopped falling, but the grounds were carpeted with white drifts.
"I'm sorry," Raoul said, "but I was having trouble breathing in there. It's so stuffy, with all those egos in just one room."
"Don't be," Buri replied. "To be honest, I don't think I could have lasted much longer with that inquisition in there."
"How was your dance?" Raoul asked, his tone teasing.
"Fine," Buri replied. "Yours?" she shot back. "Is that redhead one of your persistent admirers?"
Raoul grinned. "I think we must not be convincing enough, if both of us have ladies — or men, in your case — so eager to ask for our time."
"Raoul!" a man called, striding over to them with proud, decisive steps. He had neat dark brown hair, tanned skin, and he wore a purple tunic and scarlet hose. On his feet were soft leather shoes with curled toes.
"My cousin Foster, more full of it than a Midwinter goose," Raoul muttered in Buri's ear.
"The old bachelor's at it again, eh?" Foster greeted them as he approached.
Raoul forced a tight, insincere smile. "Hello, Foster."
He went on to make quick introductions. "Buriram Tourakom, Foster of Bugolt Lake. Foster, Buri."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Foster proclaimed, bowing deeply over Buri's hand. He straightened and gave Buri an approving look, his eyes sweeping over her figure briefly.
Foster turned to his cousin. "Did a mid-life crisis strike?" he teased, landing a playful punch on Raoul's arm. The big knight barely felt it, but the flicker in his neutral expression showed that his patience was wearing thin.
"Why else would you have such a young and lovely lady as your companion?" Foster continued, sending Buri another flirtatious wink. She gave him a polite smile tinged with ice; she wasn't in the least bit interested.
"How's your wife, Foster?" Raoul asked pointedly. "How are your children?"
Foster glared at his cousin, looking like a sullen child. They indulged in pointless small talk about the weather — it was snowing; there wasn't much more to say — for some minutes before Foster excused himself, much the same as Raoul had done earlier.
"They say, you can never choose your family," Buri remarked, watching Foster's retreating head.
"It's not so bad with Foster, actually," Raoul replied. "At least with him I can fight – not literally. We duel verbally until one calls it a night and slinks off in defeat. With people like Aunt, though, you can never win."
Buri rested her elbows on the snow-covered railing and leaned forward to survey the houses around them. "It's beautiful out here," she commented softly.
Raoul yanked his thoughts away from griping over his great-aunt and followed Buri's gaze. "The winter is always nice," he agreed, assuming a similar position, with his elbows on the rail.
"Before we came to Corus, we were fleeing our homeland," Buri explained in a quiet voice. "We had to spend a winter foraging for ourselves, barely getting enough to eat. We were forced to make shelter in rocks, where it was always ice-cold, always windy. . . . I learned that summer that while snow is pretty, it can kill you too."
A shiver jolted her stocky frame, and Raoul, immediately concerned, asked, "Are you cold?" She inclined her head in a slight nod. "I could keep you warm, you know," he offered, half teasing, sliding his arm around her waist.
"Oh, could you now?" Buri had meant to tease, but the laughter died in her throat when she looked up and realized Raoul might be serious. For the life of her, Buri couldn't decipher from his carefully neutral expression if he were joking or not.
Before she had a chance to voice a question — she was trying to find the right words — another of Raoul's relatives stepped onto the balcony. He raised a hand in greeting and began walking toward them.
Buri grimaced and looked at the ground again. "We've got another visitor," she informed Raoul.
Raoul looked over her head and grinned when he saw who was approaching. "No need to worry," he assured her, "Milos — another cousin — is the opposite of Foster. He's sort of charming — at least, that's what the ladies say. We're on much better terms than Foster and I."
Raoul's other cousin had straight hair that was as black as a raven's wing, cut under his ears. His eyes were a brilliant emerald-green, and he wore a tunic of the same color to emphasize those eyes. Milos looked to be in his early thirties, but he must have retained some of his boyish looks, because he appeared much younger.
"Milos here is the artistic one of the family," Raoul explained. "He's always had a way with words, and he can sing — unlike other members of his family. Yes, I'm talking about me. Anyway, a knight's life was too gory for him, so he never went to the palace, at least not for training. You could say I was the Alanna and he the Thom of our family."
Milos grinned at the comparison; stories of the famed Trebond twins were legendary. He told Buri, "Of course, having no Gift and therefore no chance at sorcery, I took up a job that I actually had skills for; I'm a bard. Instead of fighting in the King's Own, I get to sing songs about them."
"Then you've probably sung one or two ballads about my companion Buri," Raoul said. "She's part of the Riders."
"Forgive me for not noticing your companion," Milos said first to Raoul. Then, "Buri, was it? It's nice to meet you. Now, please, tell me more," the bard said, directing his words to Buri. He seemed sincerely interested.
"I'm Commander of the Queen's Riders," Buri explained simply.
Milos whistled. "A beautiful lady, who also works for the realm. Raoul, you couldn't have done better."
He sighed good-naturedly. "I think I hear Sebila calling. Have you already had the pleasure of speaking with dear Aunt?" he asked Raoul.
"Unfortunately, we had to cut our conversation short," Raoul answered with mock regret. "But I will allow you some time to visit with her; I'd hate to keep you from . . . dear Aunt', as you call her."
"That's ever so kind of you," Milos shot back, his eyes dancing. "Be seeing you," he called over his shoulder as he trotted back inside Sebila's house.
Raoul raised his hand in a short wave. As Milos disappeared inside, Raoul dropped his hand and sighed. "At least there are some sweet apples to balance out the rotten ones."
"To add to your metaphor: I think I've met every person in your family tree," Buri commented. "Is there a guest in this party who hasn't come up to greet you?"
"They're a friendly, if huge, lot," Raoul admitted. "We all go off in different directions, as you saw: I, the Knight Commander; Foster, the desk lord; and Milos, the budding poet. And I haven't even started about the women of my family. So, it's actually quite a while before we come together for these holiday parties." He sighed deeply. "Now I remember, all over again, why I despise and enjoy my family, at the same time."
His arm hadn't moved from her waist; Buri leaned against his shoulder. "You can't choose your family, but you end up loving them all the same," she murmured.
"You're right," Raoul agreed ruefully. Upon gazing at her, he caught the sad look that flitted across her features. "Mithros, Buri — I'm sorry. I hadn't thought about . . . your family, and —"
The K'mir smiled; it was bittersweet. "It's all right; really, it is. I think of everyone in Corus as my family, now."
Raoul sneaked a glance into the hall. The music was now wafting through the air in a slow holiday tune, and most of the guests were perched on chairs by the hearth, sipping cider.
"The party's winding down," Raoul reported. "It's already close to midnight; now would be a good time to take our leave."
Together they went inside and began the slow process of pushing their way past Raoul's other relatives toward the doorway. It took them ten minutes alone to say their good-byes and embrace the others. Finally, they reached the heath, where fresh pine logs burned and crackled. Sebila sat by the fire, her shawl wrapped around her bony shoulders for warmth. As they approached her, Sebila looked up and smiled pleasantly; miraculously, all traces of her previous disdain seemed to be erased.
"It's time for Buri and me to go," Raoul told his great-aunt. "Aunt Sebila, thank you for a wonderful party."
"Did you meet some of the ladies who were interested in speaking with you?" Sebila inquired hopefully.
Raoul and Buri traded glances, and he sighed. Nothing would ever stop Sebila, and he would have to deal with the irritation. "Yes," Raoul answered haltingly. It was the truth, after all; he had meet several women, he just hadn't been interested in any one of them.
"Raoul, give Aunt a hug before you leave," Sebila implored, waving her hands impatiently. Raoul nearly bent in two to reach her level, and Sebila wrapped her stick-thin arms around his shoulders, squeezing with a surprisingly strong grip. She kissed him on both cheeks and released him.
"Buriram." Sebila nodded curtly toward Buri, and the K'mir knew it was the best she was going to get from the old woman.
"I'm sorry, Aunt, but we must go now," Raoul repeated. Sebila nodded reluctantly and turned them toward the doorway. Milos popped by to shake Raoul's hand and smile at Buri as servants opened the huge doors and nodded politely.
"Please visit again soon, Raoul!" Sebila called before the doors closed. "You know I love your company." Surprisingly, her voice was sincere.
Raoul threw his hands up in defeat and walked back toward the carriage, which was located right outside Sebila's home. Shaking his head, he helped Buri up and climbed into the carriage behind her. He turned back for another wave to his aunt, then slumped against the plush seating with a sigh.
To no one in particular, he muttered, "Ladies and gentlemen, my great-aunt Sebila."
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