Belinda lifted her eyebrows again as she offered Javier her hands. "Is she going to want to murder me in my sleep, my lord? Ought I sleep with one eye open every night from now on?"
"You sleep enough nights with me that I think you're safe." Javier lifted her hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. "Perhaps sleep with both eyes open those nights you don't."
"So you'd have me get no sleep at all," Belinda teased. "Very well, my lord. But I warn you: we may become fast friends and both toss our heads and laugh when you come calling. Women are strange creatures."
"Then I'll have gotten what I deserved for putting the two of you together. That dress, Beatrice. The one you wore to the opera."
She tilted her head, curious. "Aye?"
"It was Eliza's design. It's her true talent, making beautiful gowns. With your help, she might soon be able to begin a business of her own. It'd be good for both of you: she wouldn't be under your roof anymore, and she wouldn't be under her father's."
Belinda frowned, shaking her head. "If it's her design, my lord, why on earth hasn't she begun a business already? Certainly with your patronage-" Her chin came up. "Ah."
Javier quirked an eyebrow. "Ah?"
"She won't take your help, will she? Too much pride."
Javier inclined his head. "I remember, as a child, the beggars who flung themselves at mine and my mother's feet as we walked into church. I thought then that pride was a provenance of the wealthy. When I met Eliza I realised that the poor have an even more desperate pride than the rich. She's never let me help her, except when she was too ill to object."
"The fever?"
Javier nodded. Belinda's chin lifted again in new understanding. "Your doctors saved her but not the rest of her family."
Javier nodded a second time. Belinda stepped back, pressing her fingers over her lips. "Her mother. Her sisters." She didn't wait for the prince's nod, though it came again. "No wonder her father hates you, my lord. Four for one. I wouldn't trust your intentions, either."
"They wouldn't let me help," Javier murmured. "Her mother allowed me to take her, but not the rest of them."
"You are a prince, my lord. How could one poor woman stop you? And how could one wretched man beg your mercy for the rest of his family when you had shown preference to one?"
Javier met her eyes, helpless. "I didn't want to offend them. Does my rank give me the right to disrupt the lives of others as I see fit?"
Belinda laughed out loud, throaty and warm. "Isn't that what royalty does, my lord?"
Javier's spine stiffened, his face gone pale with anger. "Yes. And that is why I do not care to do it myself, Lady Irvine. I try to respect those around me."
"Unless they are too inconvenient." Belinda stepped forward again, curling her fingers in his shirt. "In which case, there is always the witchpower, no? An extension of yourself. You can hardly be blamed for making use of it." She stood on her toes, brushing her mouth against the pulse in his throat. "It is a peculiar and fine line to dance, my prince. But you are a rare man if you are willing to walk it at all. Most would never think twice of imposing their will as they saw fit, given the means and opportunity. I will try to help make Eliza a dressmaker with clientele all her own, as untouched by your helping hand as is possible, if you, my lord...." She lifted her eyes, bright winsome smile teasing him, "will but come back to bed now. It's very early, and you've no duties until the tenth hour." Belinda put on a pout, then drew him toward the bed. "Is it not a fine bargain I make?"
Javier laughed and let himself be drawn.
"In a pig's eyes."
"Liza-"
"Like hell, Javier, no. I won't."
"I need you-"
Eliza snorted, derisive, and turned to stare challengingly at the prince. "I need you," he repeated with as much patience as he could muster, "to watch her."
Silence. Belinda held her breath, feeling herself barely more than a shadow under the starry skies. She was not supposed to be there, no more than Javier himself was: she could feel, subtly, his pleasure at having escaped the guards that evening. Not his thoughts; those were too well-shielded, only readable in a handful of moments when she touched his skin. The impressions were enough, though, carrying Belinda with them as if she belonged inside the prince's skin herself. She'd left his chambers well before duty called him to work, intending to return home and begin arranging for Eliza's arrival. Only a few steps outside his rooms, though, she found herself filled with burgeoning curiosity. It had been rare impulse that prompted her to follow him, less to observe his day than to see if she could manipulate the stillness and the silence into making people believe she wasn't there. If she could do that under the watchful eyes of a prince's guard, under the gaze of men who were supposed to see everything that happened around their ward, then she had discovered power indeed.
It was exhausting, draining beyond anything she knew. Even now, simply thinking of what she did sent trembles through her, as if conscious recognition threatened to shatter what control she had. It had been easier earlier in the day, and as the strain grew so did her intent to maintain it. Power of any kind was worth only as much as could be grasped and held. Limits were there to be pushed and explored, but more critically, acknowledged in a moment of necessity. She had slipped after the prince for nearly twelve hours now, following him into the privacy of his bedchambers and into the courtly halls of the palace. No one had noticed her.
No one would ever know. Belinda twisted her hands, a small gesture like she held a garrote and had a slender throat to wrap it around. It would take mere seconds in the pretender queen's presence to slaughter her, and with the stillness so profoundly wrapped about her, no one would ever see Belinda to blame her. The idea of that opportunity made her heart beat harder, sending heat through her core until it became sexual excitement. Robert had not told her to kill Javier's mother. Regicide was a dangerous game, and with one royal murdered, eyes might turn to another as the next possible victim. Her duty was merely to discover the breadth of plots against Lorraine, and end them.
Sandalia's death would be a resounding note to end them on.
And that was a childish impulse toward a glory Belinda would never be allowed to acknowledge. Should she succeed in assassinating the Essandian princess, Robert might know of it. Lorraine should, could, not, though in the secret places of her heart she might suspect.
Belinda's heart fluttered in her chest, spiking sickening joy into her throat. That would be enough. To have her mother know Belinda's loyalty would be enough. For a startling few seconds tears burned her eyes, heat scalding her cheeks as she thought of it. There was little enough that the queen's bastard could do to connect herself with her royal mother. A death offered from the daughter as a gift to the mother was the greatest intimacy Belinda could dare imagine, an insurrection stopped and a kingdom preserved. That was who, and what, the secret daughter was. Belinda curled her hands into fists against the heady fear she might fly away on the breathless hope of securing her mother's throne for years to come.
Shadows glimmered and twitched around her, sinking deeper into her skin as if they'd drink up the failing pool of witchpower from which Belinda drew. She allowed herself one last shaking sigh, a sound of desire that men would count themselves fortunate to earn from her, and straightened herself, letting go of powerful wishes in order to maintain her hidden presence a few minutes longer. She quested outward, careful exploration of nearby emotion, riding that as strongly as she dared. She wasn't yet ready to try influencing those emotions, but every experience of another's mental state would help her when that time came.
Javier was easier by far than Eliza, Belinda's hours with him helping her to read him even without the witchpower. She let her eyes lid, wetting her lips as tendrils of golden power threaded outward, settling around Javier and testing him, seeing what she could read without giving herself away.
The prince cast a wordless prayer in the guise of a glance at the heavens, leaning wearily against the bridge railing. His quiet pleasure at escaping the honour guard was still there, though muted beneath wry frustration at Eliza. She, like Sacha and Marius, could forget the guard, so long as they lingered at a semi-respectful distance. Javier himself never forgot. It made the few stolen hours when he shook them off all the more precious. Spending them arguing, even with a beautiful woman, was far from his preference.
Eliza held her mouth in a pinch, eyes guarded, though at least she listened. Belinda felt almost nothing from her: faint challenge, angry acknowledgment. After a few seconds she let her sense of the other woman go; Javier was the more important of the two to understand. Eliza's voice was low and cutting, distorted by distance as Belinda severed the faint link of power she'd held to the dark-haired woman. "Don't you trust her?"
Javier groaned and looked to the sky again. Thin clouds, pale against the blackness, blocked out patches of stars, and his breath steamed to wash away another handful of nighttime diamonds. Belinda's own gaze flickered upward, half expecting the stars to be blocked by the shadows that wrapped her. Instead, a handful of them glittered hard, picking out the form of a dragon in the sky.
It brought with it memory, a cold winter night when Belinda was a child, so clear that for a moment it overrode the discussion held by the two she watched. Robert had stood beside her, his warm arm around her shoulders to ward off the night's chill as he'd picked out figures in the stars. A lion here, a bear there, a hunter presiding. A dragon, his spray of fire a scattering of stars across the night sky. Belinda had turned a dubious look on her father, insisting, "The others are real. Are there dragons, then, Papa?"
Robert lowered his hand from the stars to study her with a grave expression. "There are, Primrose."
Belinda's eyes widened until cold crept into their corners, a chill of ice lacing through her vision. "What are they like?"
"Nothing like you would imagine, Bella. Nothing like you would imagine." He'd picked her up then in a rare and unexpected hug, and carried her back into the house to warm up over a cup of mulled wine and sweetmeats left out by the cook. Belinda smiled at the stars in thanks for the memory, then brought her mind back to the conversation she spied upon.
"I trust her," Javier had already murmured. "But my judgment may be clouded."
Eliza laughed, sharp in the chilly air. "What confession, my lord prince! How much did that cost?"
"More than I'd like." The impulse to snap was there, to draw himself up and wield insult like anger, cowing the woman into her place. It was an easy trick, a thoughtless flexing of the witchpower he carried inside himself. It was, to Eliza and the others, a mark of royalty, a sign of position he held over them. Javier could not remember the last time he had knowingly used the witchpower on his friends. When they were children, certainly, not more than twelve or thirteen. Before he understood that no one shared his gift; before he understood that using it could only deepen the space between his station and their own. Friendship was rare and precious to him, more fragile than his three companions understood. In his life, they were the only things he was truly certain of.
They, and now Beatrice. Relief and gratitude swept through him, an alleviation of loneliness that took Belinda off-guard. She bit into her lower lip, reaching for the bridge railing as she struggled to shake herself free of that passion. Struggled to ignore a similar welling within herself. Understanding Javier was one thing. Wearing his needs and fears on her own sleeve was a greater commitment than she was prepared to make.
"What is it about her, Jav?" Belinda heard the note of frustration in Eliza's voice and watched Javier drop his chin to his chest, exhaling heavily.
"I couldn't tell you." Merely an evasion. Belinda knew as well as he did, and knew as well that he couldn't-wouldn't-tell, not Liz nor their two brothers in arms. "But this is something I need."
Eliza snorted again. Javier half smiled, turning his gaze down the silent bridge. Belinda steeled herself, ready this time for the influx of sentiment from the prince. It was easier, prepared, to absorb what he felt without being subsumed by it. The bridge was one of his favourite places in the city, particularly at night, with the Sacrauna running through it undisturbed by daytime travellers. Torchlight reflected here and there against the black waters, and when the surface lay very still, the stars. As a child he had laid on the banks, reaching to touch those stars only to watch them ripple away when his fingers broke through the water tension. It left him melancholy, with a sense of loss he could neither explain nor share with others. Belinda curved a humourless smile at the water, familiar with the remoteness that Javier felt, and more comfortable with admitting it than she was with acknowledging the loneliness and recognition of a similar creature that she'd sensed from the prince moments earlier. Even so, she broke away from too deeply pursuing that connection, wary of anything that might alert Javier to her presence.
"What do you need me to watch for?" Eliza broke the silence, staring at the stones beneath her feet rather than meet Javier's eyes. "Her spending habits? If she keeps secret lovers? You could find those things out without me, Jav."
"I trust," Javier said tartly, "that there are no secret lovers." Eliza breathed out laughter.
"That's because you're a man."
"What does that mean?" He straightened, affronted. Eliza shook her head.
"Only that men see what they want to see, and women must see the truth. We have no other power."
Cold anger curdled at the back of Javier's throat, Belinda tasting it with sudden and aroused interest. "Eliza." His voice came low and dangerous, the witchpower responding even when Belinda could feel he would have it otherwise. A wind snapped up, icy and sharp, and Belinda retreated from her own investigation of his emotions, caution overcoming curiosity: with his power alert, the chances of discovery were far greater, and not worth the risk. Eliza frowned and drew her cloak around herself more tightly, lifting its hood. "Eliza," Javier repeated. "Are you saying that Beatrice has another lover?"
Her head pulled back as if she'd been hit, complete startlement in the movement. "Don't be ridiculous. I may not like her, but the woman's not a fool. I'm just saying if she did you'd be the last to know."
"No." The anger and power was still in his voice, deepening it. Belinda could see Eliza react to it, not in fear, she knew him too well for that, but respect, perhaps submission, though she barely lifted her chin at all. More telling than either of those, her stance changed, weight rolling forward through her hips, a subtle offering of desire. It was easier to see in Eliza, with her breeches and men's shirt, than in court-dressed ladies. Even burdened by her winter cloak, the lines of her hips were more blatant than any woman under a half dozen petticoats could hope for.
"No?" Eliza's voice had deepened, too, fueled by want, not anger. Belinda caught her breath, tip of her tongue between her teeth, and let her shaking power reach forth again, desire to read the truth of Javier's interest in Eliza far greater than her fear of being noticed.
Impulse rolled over her in heady waves, anger cutting away intellect. It would be easy-it would be welcome welcome-to crowd Eliza against the bridge railing and take her. Her desire and his power had danced a knife's edge almost as long as either of them could remember. It was a dance that had to remain unconsummated; anything else would too drastically change the power structure among the four friends. Javier forced his hands to loosen and glanced away, Belinda finding herself doing the same, even to letting a breath out in a quiet sigh. Javier felt, and Belinda through him, Eliza's bright burst of hurt and anger, even without looking at her. He waited a few moments before looking back. Her expression was under control when he did, fresh and open but for a sliver of disappointment that would someday fester into hate. Belinda shivered with pleasure, not at that truth, but at Javier's recognition of it, and retreated again before her presence was detected.
"Liz...."
"Don't." Eliza turned her head away sharply. "Don't, Jav."
Javier curled a fist again, then let it go. It was a visible moment before he trusted himself to say, lightly, "I wouldn't be the last to know, because you would tell me. But it's not her spending or her lovers I want you to watch. It's simply what she does through the day. I must know if she can be trusted."
"Do you intend to marry her?"
Javier's eyebrows went up. "Beatrice? She's practically a commoner-" And then his thought rolled across his face, so clear Belinda needed no power to read it: She's practically a commoner-" And then his thought rolled across his face, so clear Belinda needed no power to read it: ah, Javier, you are a fool. ah, Javier, you are a fool. Eliza turned a gaze of daggers on him. "Eliza-" Eliza turned a gaze of daggers on him. "Eliza-"
"You know I can't tell you no." She looked away again.
"Yes," Javier said, almost regretfully. He stepped closer, lifting his fingers to brush them over Eliza's cheek. She stiffened, refusing to look back at him. He produced a wry grin and added, "Because I could order you, anyway, and you're bound by oath of fealty to do as I say."
It worked admirably enough that even Belinda smiled. The tension broke, some of the sting leaving Eliza's eyes as her full mouth curved slightly. "I was ten, Jav."
"And I was eight. Do you think it meant less to either of us for all our tender years?"
"You were going to have me thrown in the dungeon." Eliza's smile grew, and Javier laughed.
"It seemed like a good threat at the time."
"I was terrified!"
Javier laughed again, shaking his head. "Now that, Liz, I do not believe. I don't think you've ever been terrified."
"I am." Amusement left her and she turned to lean on the railing, staring down into the black river. "But the fears that haunt me are very different from yours, Jav. Things you wouldn't understand. It's the worlds we come from."
"You've never let me understand." Javier leaned beside her, fingers dangling over the rail. Eliza shook her head.
"No. And I never will."
"Why?" Belinda tasted the impulse behind the question: he had wanted to ask it a hundred times, never daring. But there was something raw in the wind tonight, letting them touch on topics they had let lie fallow for fifteen years of friendship. Belinda found herself curling her fingers against the stone railing, wondering if that strangeness was her. She could sense tight control in not only the prince, but in his common-born friend as well. They never spoke of desire or the positions in the world that helped keep them apart. It was harder, too hard, for Eliza; that was what Javier told himself. "Haven't I been there for your life, Eliza?" He reached over to touch her hair, catching a short-shorn lock between his fingertips. "I remember when we cut your hair," he murmured.
"The first or the second time?" Eliza gave the river an unhappy smile. "Those were the best years, you know, Jav. Before God saw fit to grant me tits and hips that made sure I could never really pass as one of the boys again."
"You were a stick," Javier said. "Narrow everywhere."
"I was a child. We all were. But you're a man, Jav, you wouldn't understand the change in freedom." Eliza touched her own hair. "My hair was my vanity then, you know. And you three pinned me down." She laughed, clear sound that Belinda found herself savoring, just as Javier did, for its rarity. "You pinned me down and cut it all off."
"You were fashionable," Javier protested, grinning.
"For a ten-year-old boy!"
"I never asked," Javier murmured. "What did your family say?"
Eliza shook her head, the action draping stillness of soul over her. Her voice went quiet. "They were angry. But in deference to the station of my friends"-a minute shrug-"they let me keep it shorn so short for a whole two years. Until I got my blood."
"Is that that what happened. I remember you being sulky for weeks and looking like a hedgehog while your hair grew out." what happened. I remember you being sulky for weeks and looking like a hedgehog while your hair grew out."
"No one would marry a woman with a boy's haircut, Jav. And an unmarried woman is only a burden on her family. My father had daughters enough without the added trial of trying to marry off one who wears a boy's haircut."
"I would have taken care of you, Liz. Of your whole family."
"Oh, aye. My whole family. And the cousins, Jav? And their babies? And the hangers-on and the families down the block who were related by blood three generations back? Until you had all the poor of Lutetia in your chambers, maybe. Maybe then you'd understand what you can't. It isn't your fault, Jav. You come from places that are too high."
"And you won't let me walk in the low ones, Liz."
"No," Eliza agreed. "Because you can't save us all. You can't even save one of us."
He reached out to touch her hair again. "I saved you."
"And my mother and three sisters died, Jav. Sacha and Marius should never have brought me to the palace."
"You had the fever, Eliza. What were they to do, let you die? They would have brought you all. They say your mother refused. That she only let them take you because you were so very ill. I remember the second time, too, Liz. You looked so damned fragile, so pale and sick. They were afraid your hair took too much of your strength, and you needed it all to live."
"And I looked like a shaved skull when I woke up. My mother thought I was Death come knocking on the door when I went home." Eliza fell silent. "And she was right, Jav. They all died."
"I would have tried to save them," Javier whispered. Eliza sighed and put her hand over his. Belinda flinched, feeling the warmth of the woman's hand on hers, and jerked her gaze to her own hand before looking back toward Javier and Eliza.
Eliza had long fingers, her hands nearly as big as the prince's, for all that he was a half-hand taller than she. He turned his palm up to lace his fingers with hers, holding on hard for the few moments that she let him.
"I know, Jav. But we all have our pride." She stared down at the river. When she spoke again her voice was carefully neutral. "It left me barren, you know that? The fever. I used to dream of marrying a prince." Her smile had no humour in it, only years of resigned sadness. "I knew it was only a dream. Royalty doesn't marry commoners, no matter how pretty they are. But still, I dreamed. Then the month after the fever my blood didn't come, nor has it in the five years since. Not just common, but common and barren. No dream can survive that."
"Eliza." Cold flooded Belinda's hands, Javier's horror her own. He tightened his fingers around Eliza's, uselessly, and she flashed him another sad smile.
"Sacha knows, can you believe that? I got piss drunk a few years ago and he asked me point-blank, I don't know why. And I told him. Made him swear not to tell you. Then we fucked. It hasn't happened again, so he thinks I don't remember, but I do. Nineteen, I was nineteen and despite looking like this this," she jerked her hand from Javier's so she could gesture at herself, "I was a virgin."
"Really?" Javier's voice broke with surprise and he glowered at the black river below. Eliza laughed without real humour.
"Really. I'd wanted-" She shrugged, stiff, and leaned on the railing, her elbows hyperextended with the pressure she put on them. "I'd make a fine rich man's mistress, Jav." She strove to keep her voice light, stretching her throat long to do it. "He'd never have to worry about by-blows."
"You're better than that, Liz."