Chapter 112: REHEARSAL

DIANA’S POV

Raigoro was expected only for the final partnered confirmation. He already knew Blackharrow’s formal set. Diana was the one whose feet kept trying to follow the Southern count.

The Great Hall looked less threatening with half its furniture moved against the walls.

Raigoro was not there.

Useful.

This was only a rehearsal.

Diana stood near the edge of the open floor while three musicians argued over tempo and two household servants measured the distance between the first dance markers.

A fourth servant moved one marker.

The senior musician immediately moved it back.

Blackharrow apparently had very strong opinions about ceremonial dancing.

Mistress Hale stood beside the household program with the expression of a woman personally offended by every unnecessary tradition ever invented.

"Again."

Diana looked at her.

Mistress Hale pointed toward the floor.

"The Valence version turns after the fourth measure."

Diana wrote: I KNOW.

"Blackharrow turns after the sixth."

ALSO KNOW.

"Then why did you turn after the fourth?"

Diana stared.

Because the Southern turn came after the fourth.

Valence had stopped training Diana for public court life when she was still a child. It had continued training Selena where Diana could see it: rehearsal rooms, musicians’ galleries, open practice halls, and formal celebrations watched from the edges.

Diana knew the Southern sequence because she had watched it for years.

Tomorrow evening she would have to perform Blackharrow’s version with a husband who had spent days avoiding every unnecessary moment beside her.

None of those facts improved the rehearsal.

Diana returned the slate to her belt.

"Again," Mistress Hale said.

The musicians restarted.

Diana moved through the first sequence alone: three steps, a turn, a pause, then six counts before the Blackharrow rotation.

Better.

The second sequence required a partner.

A household officer had been volunteered.

Watching partnered movement for years had taught Diana where people were supposed to go. Actually having another person moving against her timing was different.

The man looked more frightened of touching the Grand Duchess’s hand.

Diana felt a little sorry for him.

"Your Grace."

He held out his hand.

Diana placed hers in it.

The musicians began.

He stepped left as Diana stepped right, and they nearly collided.

Mistress Hale closed her eyes.

The household officer turned red.

Diana wrote: BLACKHARROW’S FAULT.

"Certainly," Mistress Hale said.

The second attempt went better.

The household officer counted under his breath.

Diana did not need him to count the Southern figures. She had heard the same measures through too many Valence rehearsals, and years of violin made losing the rhythm difficult.

The Blackharrow timing was the problem.

She knew where the hand should be offered, when the couples separated, and what shape the figures were supposed to make. Her feet were less certain when the Northern version delayed a turn she had watched happen earlier for most of her life.

By the third attempt, Diana understood the difference between the two court versions.

Valence emphasized display, Blackharrow spacing.

Even dancing had apparently become military logistics in the North.

The musicians stopped.

Diana flexed the fingers of her left hand.

At least Raigoro had been raised with the Blackharrow count. He needed only the final partnered confirmation; Diana was the one retraining nineteen years of Southern observation.

He still had to come, and Diana did not need to think about that.

Servants returned to placing tables along the walls.

Tomorrow the entire floor would be filled with Blackharrow officers, Valence delegates, territorial officials, and enough observers to notice if the Grand Duke did not cross it toward his wife.

Diana looked toward the main doors.

Empty.

Good. She preferred that, probably.

"Refreshments," Mistress Hale said.

Diana turned.

Lady Jessa Harrowen had entered with Lord Cassian Rovel and three members of the Valence delegation.

A servant followed carrying a tray.

Honey cakes.

Diana immediately distrusted the entire arrangement.

Lady Jessa smiled.

"We thought rehearsing might be less unpleasant with food."

Diana looked at the cakes.

Selena loved them.

Diana had always found them aggressively sweet.

Alma had reminded her of that before the wedding.

Selena eats the honey ones first.

The kind of knowledge that once determined whether Diana performed another woman convincingly enough to survive.

Lady Jessa offered the tray.

"Do you still prefer these?"

Diana took one but did not eat it.

Lady Jessa smiled.

"Some habits survive everything."

Diana looked toward the musicians instead.

Lord Rovel noticed the untouched cake and said nothing.

A younger Valence diplomat watched the servants resetting the dance markers.

"This reminds me of the winter banquet when you hid three cakes in your sleeve."

Selena had.

Diana remembered because melted honey had ruined a green cuff and Selena blamed a maid.

Diana wrote: I REMEMBER THE DRESS.

"Blue," the diplomat said.

Diana looked at him.

GREEN.

The man paused.

Lady Jessa recovered first.

"The blue gown was the following year."

Perhaps.

Diana did not care.

The household officer returned to the floor.

"Your Grace?"

Good. Movement.

Diana handed the slate to Alma and stepped back into position.

The musicians began again.

Turn, six counts, Blackharrow rotation.

When Diana returned to the edge of the floor, Lady Jessa was still watching her.

One of the musicians began checking the opening melody.

Lady Jessa glanced toward him.

"Do you still play the harvest song?"

Diana stopped as a Valence clerk smiled.

"On harp?"

Lady Jessa looked directly at Diana.

"Violin."

Wrong sister.

Selena preferred harp and voice because both placed her where audiences could see her, while Diana had learned violin. Lady Jessa had known that once.

Diana wrote: SOMETIMES.

Lady Jessa went quiet.

Lord Rovel noticed.

Diana did too.

The hall no longer felt like rehearsal. It had become measurement.

The question was no longer whether Diana remembered. It was which girl remembered.

Then the main doors opened.

Diana looked before she could stop herself.

Raigoro entered with Daric and the senior Citadel steward.

He wore working black rather than formal court dress and carried two folded documents under one arm.

He took in the musicians, household staff, and Valence delegates before his attention reached Diana.

Then he turned toward the steward.

"How long?"

"Ten minutes, Your Grace. We only need final confirmation of the opening sequence."

Raigoro nodded.

Diana looked toward the cleared floor.

So they were actually going to rehearse together.

Good, probably.

He stayed near the side of the hall rather than approaching her. The distance was correct, and he was still there.

Diana hated how quickly she noticed.

Lord Rovel watched Diana complete another turn.

The music stopped.

The senior musician lifted his hand toward Diana and Raigoro.

"Your Graces, if you would take the opening positions..."

Lord Rovel spoke before either of them reached the floor.

"The west gallery."

Diana looked at him.

Lady Jessa turned toward Rovel.

He continued.

"Queen Elara used to sing there during the summer."

Diana’s pulse changed.

This was no longer Selena.

Selena had not been born when Elara died.

Rovel knew that.

Diana knew that he knew.

The hall suddenly felt too large.

One musician adjusted a string while a servant moved a chair along the wall.

Ordinary sounds.

Nobody else understood yet.

Rovel looked at Diana.

"Do you remember the little song she used to sing?"

Diana’s chalk did not move.

Alma stood behind her without speaking.

Lady Jessa turned sharply toward Rovel.

Even she had not expected him to go that far.

Across the hall, Raigoro was watching now.

Rovel waited.

"Do you remember?"

Raigoro’s voice crossed the room.

"Enough."