Ch. 19: Within Tolerance and Ch. 20: Without Music

Chapter 19 — Within Tolerance

Marielle had been watching the fifth fish for eleven minutes.

It remained correct.

This was gratifying.

Not surprising. She had fixed it.

Still gratifying.

The six glass fish arced above the fountain in staggered sequence, each catching the ballroom light before disappearing beneath the water again. The fifth rose to the proper height, held its trajectory, and returned without disrupting the next fish’s emergence.

Corren stood a respectful distance behind her. Mael watched the approach from the garden doors. Since Daravan had found her earlier, they had become considerably less willing to let columns interrupt their view.

The fifth fish leapt.

Perfect.

“There.”

Corren looked toward the water. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is correct.”

“Yes.”

“You cannot tell.”

“No.”

Marielle glanced at him. “Then your agreement is meaningless.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He had been assigned to her too long.

Across the ballroom, Everly was dancing with Allandra.

Badly.

Marielle watched for several seconds. Everly moved the wrong foot. Allandra adjusted, apparently abandoning the established sequence. Both of them laughed.

Interesting.

Not technically interesting.

But pleasant.

Marielle returned her attention to the fountain.

Then she felt a sudden tug beneath the bandage on her left arm.

She frowned.

Not pain, precisely. A pulling sensation. Brief.

It had happened twice that afternoon. Once while dressing. Once while reaching for a compass.

Lia had explained that healing tissue could feel tight.

Marielle had therefore classified it as healing tissue behaving strangely.

The classification remained adequate.

Probably.

She moved her shoulder slightly.

Nothing.

Good.

“Lady Marielle.”

Daravan had appeared beside Corren without her noticing.

Annoying.

“You should wear bells,” she said.

“No.”

“It would improve transparency.”

“It would undermine several elements of my profession.”

“I suppose that is true.”

His gaze moved to the fountain.

Marielle waited.

“It is working,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You appear pleased.”

“It is working as designed.”

“Of course.”

At least he understood that.

Daravan glanced toward the place where Allandra and Everly had been dancing. They were gone now. So was Lessa.

“Her Highness has gone upstairs.”

Marielle looked around. Several guests had begun leaving. The dancers remained numerous, but the evening had advanced considerably while she watched the fountain.

“That seems sensible.”

“It is.”

“Why are you telling me?”

Daravan looked at her.

Marielle understood. “No.”

“You do not know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I leave.”

“You have been standing for most of the evening.”

“I have also sat.”

“For nine minutes.”

“You counted?”

“Yes.”

That was…not relevant.

Daravan counted everything. Doors. Windows. Guards. Potential threats.

Apparently chairs and minutes too.

“I am fine.”

His expression did not change.

This was one of his less useful habits.

“Your arm?”

“Attached.”

“Lady Marielle.”

“Captain Daravan.”

A second tug pulled beneath the bandage, sharper this time.

Her breath caught. Very slightly.

Daravan noticed.

Of course he did.

His shoulders went still. His attention narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

“It was a sensation.”

“What sensation?”

Marielle considered. “Pulling.”

“Pain?”

“Not exactly.”

“Burning?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

“No.”

His gaze dropped.

Marielle followed it.

A dark patch had appeared against the deep green fabric near the upper seam of her sleeve.

Oh.

She looked at it.

Then at Daravan.

“Bleeding,” she added. “Possibly.”

His eyes closed briefly. “That is a clear indication something is wrong.”

“It was not visible until just now.”

“I am taking you to Lia.”

“That seems reasonable.”

Daravan turned to Mael. “Find Mistress Lia. Ask her to meet us in the infirmary.”

Mael nodded and moved toward the ballroom doors.

Corren came closer.

Daravan was already looking back at her. Waiting.

“I can walk,” Marielle said.

“I did not say you couldn’t.”

“You looked as though you were considering carrying me.”

His expression went completely blank.

Interesting.

“I was considering how quickly you would move if given a direct instruction.”

“That is worse.”

“Lia.”

Marielle sighed and followed him.

The fifth fish leapt perfectly behind them. At least something was behaving.

Lia arrived shortly after they reached the infirmary.

She was wearing formal clothes, which Marielle considered sufficient evidence that she had attended the gala. The speed with which she put aside her wrap and began washing her hands suggested she had never been particularly committed to it.

She looked at Marielle’s sleeve. “Sit.”

Marielle sat.

Daravan remained near the door. Corren took his place outside.

“How long?” Lia asked.

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“The bleeding? It only started just now.”

“Anything else?”

Marielle hesitated.

Lia turned slowly.

Daravan also looked at her.

This felt coordinated.

“There has been a pulling sensation today.”

“How many times?”

“Four.”

“Including now?”

“Yes.”

“You did not tell me.”

“You said healing tissue could pull.”

“I said it could feel tight.”

“That is adjacent.”

“A new sensation is something you report. Especially when the wound is still giving us trouble.”

Marielle considered this distinction. “Fine.”

Lia moved closer. “We need the sleeve out of the way.”

“That will be difficult.”

“It has buttons.”

“Yes, but they are decorative in an inefficient pattern.”

“You chose the dress.”

“I did not choose the buttons.”

Lia began undoing them. “Can you move your arm a little?”

Marielle tried.

Pain flashed.

It was actual pain this time, not just a tug she could ignore.

She hissed.

Daravan moved half a step, then stopped.

Lia noticed.

Marielle noticed Lia noticing.

Nothing useful came from this.

“Leave it there,” Lia said.

“You just asked me to move it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Poorly designed instructions.”

“Would you prefer I cut the sleeve?”

“No.”

“Then hold still.”

Daravan turned toward the wall while Lia eased the loosened fabric down from Marielle’s shoulder.

Marielle blinked. “You have seen me bleeding before.”

“That is not relevant.”

“You have seen my arm.”

“That is also not relevant.”

Lia’s expression indicated some level of amusement. Marielle did not understand.

“What is relevant?”

Daravan didn’t answer, so Lia did. “He is giving you privacy.”

Marielle considered that for a moment. It seemed unreasonable as it was only her arm, but she chose to let it go.

The bandage had darkened along one edge.

Not disastrously.

Enough.

Marielle’s attention shifted. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Lia said.

“That is more than I expected.”

“I am delighted you have joined the assessment.”

She unwound the dressing.

The wound was still narrow. Angry. Too red around the edges.

The skin should have been farther along by now.

They all knew that.

Lia cleaned it carefully, then rested her fingers beside the cut. A pale glow spread beneath her hand.

Marielle watched her expression.

Behind them, Daravan asked, “Is it dangerous?”

“It has reopened. The bleeding is manageable, and there is no new sign of the poison.”

He exhaled.

“The tissue is still healing poorly,” Lia continued. “Repeated movement has put strain on it.”

“Repeated movement is vague.”

“Reaching for tools. Working on the fountain. Getting into fitted sleeves.”

“The fountain was earlier.”

“Your arm has not become a different arm since then.”

The light faded.

Lia pressed a clean cloth over the wound. Marielle winced.

Daravan turned his head slightly toward the sound.

Not enough to look.

Interesting.

“I want the arm supported overnight,” Lia said. “And no work.”

“I need my hand.”

“You will still have your hand.”

“For work.”

“No work.”

Marielle stared.

Lia stared back.

Daravan remained facing the wall.

Coward.

“This is excessive.”

“You are bleeding through formalwear.”

“A small amount.”

“Enough to make the Captain look as though he is deciding whether to arrest your arm.”

“I am not,” Daravan said.

Lia began wrapping the fresh bandage. “I am checking it again tomorrow morning.”

“I have an engineering review.”

“After I check it.”

“We are reviewing the independent diagnostic.”

Lia glanced up. “Reviewing?”

“The design. There are changes to make before we can rely on it.”

“Then someone else can move the pieces while you talk.”

Marielle considered that.

Acceptable.

Possibly.

“No lifting,” Lia continued. “No reaching overhead. If it starts pulling again, you stop and tell me.”

Marielle considered this. “If you write the restrictions down, it may help me remember.”

Lia fetched a folded cloth to support Marielle’s arm. “You do tend to lose yourself in whatever work you are doing. Corren and Mael can help you remember your limits.”

Marielle sighed. “Fine.”

Lia adjusted the support, checked that it was not pulling on her shoulder, and stepped back.

Marielle slid carefully off the chair.

Fatigue arrived all at once now that she had stopped doing anything useful.

Daravan apparently noticed that too.

Annoying man.

He moved closer without touching her.

“I can walk,” she said.

“I know.”

“Good.”

He remained where he was.

Marielle looked between him and Lia. “Are we finished?”

“With the bandage,” Lia said.

“Good.”

At the door, Daravan spoke briefly to Corren. Through the opening, Marielle could see Mael farther along the corridor.

“Let Harrek know I am leaving the ballroom for a few minutes,” Daravan said. “The palace posts remain as assigned. Anything that requires me comes through the duty officer.”

Mael nodded and left.

Daravan turned back and held the door.

Marielle stopped. “You are escorting me to my rooms.”

“Yes.”

“My guard is outside.”

“Yes.”

Corren was indeed waiting.

Daravan knew this.

Marielle knew Daravan knew this.

“You are unnecessary.”

“Yes.”

That stopped her.

Daravan appeared to realize what he had said. His expression shifted.

Barely.

Marielle waited for an explanation.

None came.

Lia turned away with suspicious speed and began reorganizing instruments that were already organized.

Daravan cleared his throat. “It is late.”

“That does not explain anything.”

“No.”

“And you have security responsibilities.”

“They are covered.”

Marielle considered him.

He appeared to be waiting for something.

Possibly permission.

Possibly an argument.

Possibly enough time to convince himself that escorting an engineer to her rooms was somehow a matter of national security.

She was tired.

She decided not to solve it tonight.

“All right,” she said.

Daravan nodded and they walked out together.

Chapter 20 — Without Music

The gown had required considerably more assistance to remove than Serali thought any garment should.

Mara had disagreed.

Not about the assistance. About Serali’s proposal that they cut it off.

Now it lay over the back of a chair, freed of its wearer and apparently still determined to occupy as much space as possible.

Serali tightened the belt of her robe.

“There,” Mara said. “You survived.”

“People keep saying that.”

“You keep looking surprised.”

“I am surprised. There were several points at which the evening could have ended differently.”

“And yet everyone remains alive.”

Serali glanced toward the gown. “The night is not over.”

Mara began gathering the discarded pins from the dressing table.

A soft knock sounded beside the wardrobe.

Serali turned before she had quite heard it. Familiar warmth stirred through the bond.

Mara looked at her, then crossed to the narrow door.

Allandra stepped out of the servants’ passage, wearing a pale robe with a loose wrap around her shoulders. Her hair had been unpinned, though a crease remained where one of the ornaments had rested.

For a moment, she looked at Serali without speaking.

Then her mouth softened. “Good evening.”

“It has been,” Mara said, closing the door behind her. “Whether Lady Serali agrees is another matter.”

“I agreed to attend,” Serali said.

“A ringing endorsement.”

Allandra smiled.

“Would you like tea, Your Majesty?” Mara asked. “I was about to bring some.”

“Please.”

“Something without anything in it that will keep either of you awake,” Mara said. “You have both had quite enough evening.”

She departed through the ordinary door.

Serali watched Allandra loosen the wrap.

“You escaped.”

“Eventually.”

“Did someone attempt to stop you?”

“Three people wanted a final word.”

“Were they final?”

“Not one of them.”

“That seems fraudulent.”

“And exhausting.”

Allandra settled at one end of the little sitting-room sofa. Serali took the other, folding her bare feet beneath her robe.

Without the music, the room seemed very quiet.

The fire had burned low. Somewhere beyond the windows, wheels rattled over the courtyard stones as another guest departed.

Allandra tipped her head against the back of the sofa.

Serali looked at the faint crease in her hair.

“You missed one.”

Allandra opened her eyes. “One what?”

Serali leaned closer and touched the small pin tucked behind her ear.

“Oh.”

“May I?”

“Please.”

She eased it free. A few strands followed, settling against Allandra’s cheek.

Serali placed the pin on the table.

Allandra watched her hand withdraw.

The bond warmed, then quieted again.

Mara returned with a small pot of herbal tea, two cups, and an expression suggesting she had made several decisions about the rest of the evening without consulting anyone.

She set the tray down.

“I will leave you to it.”

“Thank you,” Allandra said.

Mara inclined her head. At the door, she looked back at Serali. “Leave the gown alone.”

“I have not touched it.”

“Continue.”

The door closed.

Allandra laughed softly.

“Your attendant issues very direct instructions.”

“She has found that subtlety wastes time.”

“An admirable discovery.”

Serali poured the tea. It smelled faintly of flowers, which seemed unnecessarily aggressive after an evening spent surrounded by them.

She handed Allandra a cup.

Allandra took it in both hands.

For a while, they drank without speaking.

It was pleasant.

Serali had spent hours deciding where to look, what to answer, and whether a question had another question concealed inside it. She was grateful to be somewhere that silence did not require interpretation.

“All the fish survived,” she said eventually.

“An excellent result.”

“Everly remains convinced the silver one won.”

“She gave me a detailed account before Lessa took her upstairs. She also informed me that our dance won.”

“Against whom?”

“I did not ask.”

“Wise.”

Allandra smiled into her tea.

Serali felt it through the bond. Real warmth.

“Marielle left with Daravan,” she said.

Allandra looked up. “Was she all right?”

“Her arm. He sent for Lia.”

“Lia said it had reopened,” Serali added. “She treated it. Marielle apparently objected to the restrictions, which seemed reassuring.”

“I will ask after her in the morning.”

“She will probably be in the workshop.”

“Then I shall ask after Lia as well.”

Serali took another sip.

Across from her, Allandra traced the rim of her cup with one finger.

“Hagen did well tonight,” she said.

“He is very pleased with himself.”

“He generally is.”

“He informed several people that I belonged on the dance floor.”

“Efficiently.”

“I stepped on him. Twice.”

“I noticed.”

“He claimed to have survived worse.”

“He has.”

Serali studied her.

Allandra was smiling again, but something remained beneath it. A small, persistent ache along the bond.

Not the sharp distress that made Serali want to act before she understood.

Something quieter.

Serali set down her cup. “Did you enjoy any of it?”

Allandra looked at her.

“The gala,” Serali clarified.

“Some.”

“Everly.”

“Yes.”

“The donations.”

“Yes.”

“Watching me injure Hagen.”

“That was a comfort.”

Serali’s mouth twitched.

Allandra looked down at her tea. “I wanted to dance with you.”

There was no accusation in it. No demand.

That made it worse.

Serali glanced at the rug between the sofa and the hearth.

Enough space.

Probably.

She stood.

Allandra lifted her head.

Serali held out her hand. “Then dance with me.”

For a moment, Allandra did not move. “Now?”

“No. I am making an appointment for next spring.”

A laugh escaped her, surprised and soft. “There is no music.”

“I had noticed.”

“And you have taken your shoes off.”

“That will improve Hagen’s principal complaint.”

Allandra set down her cup.

Her hand settled into Serali’s.

Warm.

No glove.

Serali drew her to her feet and moved them toward the hearth.

They stopped facing each other.

Then remained there.

Allandra looked at their joined hands.

Serali looked at Allandra.

“I should point out,” she said, “that my instruction at Naerith Palace was very limited.”

“You managed with Hagen.”

“Hagen knew what he was doing. Do you?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Serali narrowed her eyes. “You do not.”

“I know the steps.”

“That was not the question.”

“I have seldom led.”

“You led Everly.”

“Everly was willing to forgive considerable improvisation.”

“I might be persuaded.”

Allandra’s expression softened.

She put her free hand at Serali’s waist, then hesitated.

Serali waited.

“Too high?” Allandra asked.

“No.”

“Too—”

“Allandra.”

“Yes?”

“You may move.”

She laughed again.

This time, the warmth stayed.

Allandra took a cautious step.

Serali followed with the wrong foot.

They stopped.

“Excellent beginning,” Serali said.

“I should have warned you.”

“Yes.”

“Back with your right.”

“My right?”

“Unless you have brought another.”

“Unhelpful.”

But she moved.

Allandra moved with her.

For three steps, it worked.

Then Serali’s heel caught the edge of the rug.

Allandra steadied her immediately, drawing her closer.

Serali looked down. “A defect in the floor.”

“Of course.”

Allandra shifted them away from the edge.

Her hand settled more comfortably at Serali’s waist. Serali rested hers against Allandra’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her through the soft fabric.

Without the musicians, there was no reason to hurry.

Allandra counted once under her breath, then stopped when Serali looked up at her.

“I was helping.”

“You sounded concerned.”

“I am concerned.”

“I have no shoes on. Your feet are safe.”

“That was not my principal concern.”

They turned.

Slowly.

Not quite in the way Hagen had turned her. Not quite in any way Serali remembered being taught.

But it worked.

The sitting room remained stubbornly itself. A chair stood too close to the hearth. The tea waited on the table.

Allandra’s robe brushed Serali’s ankles.

There was no one to impress.

Allandra’s gaze rested on Serali’s face.

“What?” Serali asked.

“Nothing.”

“You have acquired Hagen’s least convincing answer.”

“I was thinking that I should have come sooner.”

“You had guests.”

“I know.”

“You are here now.”

Allandra drew a breath.

Then nodded.

They moved again.

Her hand at Serali’s waist was no longer tentative. She still paused before turning, giving Serali time to understand what she wanted.

Serali found she liked that.

She liked the little correction when they drifted toward the chair. The quiet amusement when they both attempted to move in the same direction.

She liked Allandra looking at her without having to look away.

Eventually, their steps became something closer to swaying.

Neither objected.

The sadness along the bond had loosened.

Serali touched the edge of Allandra’s collar with her thumb. “Better?”

Allandra’s answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”

They stopped.

Allandra leaned down, slowly enough that Serali could meet her.

The kiss was quiet. Warm tea, a soft hand at her waist, Allandra’s breath against her cheek afterward.

Serali kept her fingers on her shoulder.

“Your hope,” she said.

Allandra smiled. “A remarkably prompt fulfillment.”

“I am efficient.”

“I have noticed.”

For another moment, they stayed where they were.

Then Allandra rested her forehead lightly against Serali’s.

“I have an early meeting.”

“I know.”

“I should go.”

Serali did not want her to.

The bond made concealing that pointless.

Allandra’s hand tightened gently at her waist.

“I know,” she said.

Serali let out a breath and stepped back.

“Go before someone decides to have a final word in the passage.”

“A terrifying possibility.”

Allandra retrieved her wrap. At the narrow door beside the wardrobe, she turned.

“Thank you.”

Serali looked at her. “You need not thank me for wanting to dance with you.”

Allandra’s expression changed.

Then she crossed back, kissed her once more, and left before Serali could think of anything sensible to say.

The room was quiet again.

Serali put out the lamps, checked that the fire was settled, and went into the bedroom.

The rabbit from First Sun sat on her bedside table.

Looking at her.

Judgmentally.

She stopped beside the bed. “What?”

It offered no defense.

Serali pulled back the covers, then looked at it again.

Its ears remained offensively floppy.

“Oh, very well.”

She picked it up and placed it on the pillow beside hers.

Allandra’s side.

Then she climbed into bed and turned toward it.

It was a poor substitute.

Still, she left it there.