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  A mantel of ombre fur was fastened about his shoulders to ward to the autumn chill, coal black hair, shot with silver wings, swept back from his handsome face, held in place by the Rose Crown. Heavy gold and rubies glittered in the firelight. He had a close cropped beard, split by a stern mouth. Laughter lines framed soft brown eyes as he looked down at his radiant wife, a tender expression on his face.

  Llew hated the fact they looked so good together. She was leaning into the curve of his father’s arm, laughing at something he was whispering in her ear. Her pale brown hair pulling free of its elaborate coif, to float about her face and she wore the consort’s crown the gold bringing out lighter glimmers in her hair. Her gown was a dusky purple, heavy silk, its watermark pattern shifting as she moved. to reveal pleated underskirts in layers of maroon taffeta. The waistline was cut high beneath her breasts, to allow for her swollen belly, ripe with his father’s seed. Llew still wasn’t sure how he felt about having a sibling. Well, a real sibling, not like Mera.

  He looked about him in discontent, the earlier excitement forgotten. Where was she anyway? He wanted this bit over with, it was so boring just waiting about. He wanted to find some of the boys his age, perhaps Gosmore. They could hunt down some of the knights, listen to their tales and debate amongst themselves who they would want to be paged to. Though, obviously, Llew always got first choice. He just had to remember not to act surprised when he found out at the midwinter Solstice. His heart beat faster at the thought, come spring he would finally start training; to be a man, a warrior, a Knight of the Realm. No more playing at it with the little boys.

  He let out a huff, and tried to get comfortable in the stupid seat. His coronet was chafing his brow, and a strand of hair had got caught at the back so it pulled every time he moved his head. He couldn’t even stop it because it would look weak and foolish to fiddle at himself like an oaf. He didn’t suppose warriors were bothered by a little hair being pulled, and nobles wouldn’t deign to look so common. He couldn’t fight the scowl off of his face, he couldn’t see Gosmore, or anyone else nearby, he had no one to talk to and his wine was gone. Where was Mera?

  As if his thoughts had summoned her, he wished it was that easy to get her to do what he wanted, she appeared through the crowd on the arm, as if she were already a lady grown he scoffed to himself, of what looked like some scruffy beggar. The tall man’s clothes were dirty, the cut and style way out of date. You couldn’t even recognized the colours! Who was he and how dare he approach the king like this? What was Meredith doing with him? He knew she was stupid, and didn’t understand how the Court worked, but surely she should know not to bring her urchin friends here? He felt a smirk curve his lips. Surely now she would get in trouble, she always got away with running wild, her mother and his father had to notice now.

  The King and Queen looked up at her arrival, each settling into their own seats once more. At least they had finally let go of one another.

  “Princess Meredith, it is nice of you to join us. What has been keeping you?” His father asked.

  Meredith paled, what you could see around her mask. You weren’t even supposed to put them on till after the ceremony. He shook his head, she was so ignorant. She stepped free of the scruffy man, the scarecrow Llew named him, and folded into a deep curtsy, staring at the grass as she spoke. “I am sorry, my King. I thought I would wait here for you, and then…”

  At the ‘my king’ his father had something that looked similar to disappointment flash across his face. Jessamine reached across to hold his hand, sharing the look with him. What did that mean?

  Scarecrow stepped forward, giving the royals a quick bow, opening his mouth before he had even been acknowledged. “King Gaillardia, Queen Jessamine, Prince Llewellyn. My greetings to you on this fair night. Princess Mera failed to mention that she found me wondering lost, fool that I am, and was an excellent host, guiding me to your generous celebrations. So truly any tardiness is my fault. I beg of you your forgiveness.”

  This time he gave a deeper bow, with a flourish. Who was this man? It annoyed him that he had used his full name. Llew hated it, it was so girly and old fashioned.

  The king stood, smiling down. “Meredith rise, you have been a dutiful daughter. Come now, greet your mother. Ah, Tomas old friend and never a fool, it is good to see you again. It has been too long, and I thank you for coming.”

  Llew gaped as his father stepped down to clasp forearms with the scarecrow, Tomas, clapping him on the shoulder like a war brother. Meredith looked just as surprised, standing by her mother. So it was not a ploy to curry favour then.

  The king took up his throne once more, Meredith moving closer to her seat, which mirrored his own, set slightly before and below the King and Queen’s. His on the side of his father, her’s on the side of her mother. Jessamine’s hand on Meredith’s shoulder stopped her from sitting down, keeping her by her side, as she amplified her charm for those watching… even wasting a smile on Llew. “ ‘Tis fortuitous indeed that Meredith should find you. Time rolls ever onwards, our children are growing, soon to be presented to the court in their own right. Mera, it is time and past come for you to set aside your childish freedom. Tomas has kindly agreed to stay and be your tutor. He shall teach you such things a Princess of Danua, a daughter of the Houses of the Samphire Straits and Rosalind should know before you are sent to the Place of Budding Blooms.”

  Mera had stepped slightly away from her mother during her speech, clearly trying to hide her horror. Llew fought not to laugh, at last she was being put into line! His father spoke. “Tomas has also agreed to teach you, my son. It seems to my Queen and I that our the Heir could benefit from a tutor not solely interested in the themes of battle. You need know of Dania's fruitful heritage, and the history of those we inhabit this world with.”

  The laughter was wiped from Llew’s mind. The scarecrow was going to teach him? He thought it was going to all be training, learning how to fight, how to battle, to seek glory for his country, but… history lessons?! He didn’t want to be stuck in some stuffy room, reading parchments and listening to this old man.

  “ I am honoured by your request, King Gaillardia. And look forward to meeting the fruit of your court. Have no fear, my Prince, Princess, I shall begin teaching as soon as this festival is over. You will not have to wait till the spring, I shall take advantage of winter’s embrace, and fill your minds whilst we yet shelter by kindly hearths.”

  The scarecrow looked positively happy at the thought, or at least looked like he was laughing at something. Llew had been looking forward to the winter, to a full court and intrigue thick once more, his friends of the summer returned, the games hall always full. Now that too had been taken away. He sunk lower in his chair, not bothering too hide his displeasure. There was tittering laughter from the crowds.

  A priestess moved to his father’s side. She wore a long black vestment, leaving her arms bare to the cool night air. Silver circling her upper arms, a white masque, like bone, upon her face. She had a spill of dark hair down her back, some few strands woven with silver. He found the Masques for the Priestess of the Dark, those that symbolized the crone aspect of the Goddess, sinister. Specially when he could tell, by her smooth plump arms, that this priestess was young. She whispered to him, standing tall in his presence, as was her right. His father stood, raising each hand slowly upwards, a regal bid for silence. That quiet spread from him, moving through the crowds, until all was still. Even the town was silent, its usual distant hum muted, as they too waited. He raised his hands slowly, never trembling, until they reached high above his head. His fists gently uncurled, his palms forming a cup. There was a pause, a moment that seemed filled with pressure, then suddenly the moon tipped over the peak of the oculus, framed by his father, full in the King’s hands. The moon bathed everything, everyone, stealing the vitality and bringing a sharper focus to everything. The King slowly lowered his hands.

  “My people, the time has come. Once more it is Samhain night. Once more a y
ear finishes its turn. Once more we gather to shelter by the light together, to share our wisdom, our joys, our sorrows. To await the coming of life, wait for the wheel to turn again, and the new year to start. On this night we stand on the apex of what was, and what shall be. Now the veil between all worlds is thin, now is the time to remember, our past…” He looked into the distance, lines of sorrow marring his beauty, and turned that face to Llew. “ our present…” The sorrow was chased away by pride as he smiled upon his son, then over his people “… and our future.” He looked down upon his wife and her swollen belly, determined joy lighting up his face once more.

  “ So my people, we drink deep in honour of our ancestors, and we remember!”

  He took up a goblet that a kneeling servant offered, raising it high. Llew looked to his side and found a servant and goblet too, they must have come when the priestess had. He hadn’t noticed. He stood and raised his high with his people by his side. They drank it down in one draught and poured the remaining gulp onto the earth. A thunderous cry thrummed through the air. “We remember, we remember, we remember!”

  “ My people, let the merrymaking unravel, let the wine flow freely, let the food fill your hunger, and may the dancing steal your feet!”

  Cheers erupted throughout the crowds, cheers and laughter. The king reached down taking his masque from the same kneeling servant. Another came up, the rose emblem emblazoned on her breast, with two guards at her back. Jessamine stood and removed his crown, and he her’s. They placed them upon the waiting pillow in the House Mistresses’ hands, who then swiftly left, the guards close at her heels. His father and Jessamine started to laughingly help one another fasten their masques of oak and woven grass. Musicians had already struck up, it seemed that his father was trying to convince her to dance.

  A gentle cough at his side drew his attention, a young maid was waiting there, nervously fingering the rose emblem at her chest. He welcomed the relief as he removed his circlet, thinking as he did so that this must be the daughter of that other servant. Or at least looked a lot like her, but prettier. He placed the circlet on the pillow and she curtsied, her lace framing budding breasts. Definitely prettier. He felt his face go red, all unsure of where to look.

  She left, followed by guards, saving him from his uncomfortable feelings. He put his masque in place, fans of holly leaves, softened by ferns. As he was tying it he looked through his now narrowed vision and saw Mera. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, one leg folded beneath her without a thought of etiquette, and gazing up at the moon with a strange expression on her face, from what he could see of it, and as ever chewing her lip. Some trick of the light seemed to make her eyes glow for a moment. Llew shook his head, who knew what the silly girl was thinking. Then he noticed that the priestess hadn’t moved, and was watching Mera too.

  “Prince Llew, would you care to join me in finding a glass of wine?”

  Distracted Llew glanced away to find Gosmore, a lordling of a lesser branch of Arabis House, standing before him. He knew Gos was nearly a year older than him, but suddenly it was obvious. He must have grown a couple of inches since he last saw him, and learnt a few more manners as well. He felt a flash of resentment, but it faded when he noticed that Gos was going a odd shade of puce. He grinned. “What have you been doing Gos, eating your dad’s fertiliser?”

  “Obviously. I don’t know what happened, just woke up like it.”

  They both grinned at one another, the lost months forgotten, companionship rekindled in the face of their changing selves. They dashed into the night in search of tales of glory and adventure.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ace of Wands, Reversed

  Llew and Gos had been heading to the throne room, to join the feast and dance, but they had got further distracted along the way.

  Already they had run riot through the crowds outside, watching the entertainment; fire breathers, jugglers, those who imitated still life, unfreezing at odd moments to startle those nearby. They had unmercifully tried to get one to move for some while, before giving up in pursuit of more lively activities. They had also managed to sneak more wine than their parents would have allowed, had they known. Llew felt flushed and giddy, unable to fight his grin or his happiness. He and Gos had managed to collect quite a few other boys during their wanderings. Some were already pages, and had been telling them all sorts of tales about what was to come. Llew couldn’t wait.

  What had distracted them was a dance troupe, set to either side of the grand entryway to the throne room, whose vast doors were thrown wide open, revealing glimpses of the sumptuous ball within. But none of the boys really paid attention to that. Their attention was securely fastened on the dancers. Wearing nothing but loin clothes and glittering body oil.

  The dance troupe was not made up of Danuans, though no one was sure where they originated from. Maybe Merida, they were a mixed enough bunch. Their skin ran from milk pale to a rich brown, hair from golden to black. They all had a certain similarity though, all muscled, lithe, all with hair to their waists, including the men. Most were of a height, though two women, light and dark, were tiny and delicate. They had been limbering up when the boys ambled up, getting into their starting positions. Soon a crowd had gathered.

  A deep thrumming started up. It surprised Llew, whose eyes tore from supple flesh to find their musicians sitting along the wall. He hadn’t even noticed them. The dancers began their dance, slowly circling one another, extending legs and arms in unison. They were graceful, true, but this was nothing new. Llew didn’t know where to put his eyes, everywhere there were mostly naked men and women. He had never seen a woman’s form with so little clothes, and was suddenly grateful for the flush the wine had given him, that so readily hid his embarrassment and confusion. Some of the older boys didn’t look confused at all. They openly stared, elbowing one another and grinning. “That’s the firmest pair of peaches I’ve ever seen…” He overheard one whisper to another. Peaches?

  The tempo rose to become something faster, deeper. The dancers spun away from one another, holding their pose, leaving the men lonely. Who then began to writhe to this new tempo, flinging their bodies into the air only to twist about, landing spry on their feet. With a start Llew realized they were imitating a fight, graceful kicks arching over one another’s heads, coming close together to grapple, entwining with one another. Seeming to tie their bodies into knots, only to come loose. They peeled off to tie themselves to a woman waiting, mirroring. The women pulled themselves free, and the men rejoined their fight. The women began to twist their bodies, raising a leg high above themselves, to settle gracefully over their shoulder, arms spread, weaving, they began to rotate. They men sparred off again, to touch another pair of waiting women, leaving the petite ones still. These pounced into the air, landing on their hands, balancing on the tips of their fingers of one hand, the other hovering above the floor. They used their legs to dance, bringing them down level with their hips, spreading wide, to curve gracefully up again. Llew had never seen anything like it, he didn’t even know it was possible to do such things with your body. Surely it wasn’t supposed to bend like that?

  At once the two remaining women leapt upon the shoulders of the men, rolling their bodies out until they were doing handstands. The men grasped the women’s wrists thrusting them into the air, then throwing them back. Each was caught by a pair of women, who caught their ankles, the men reaching for them again. As the drums grew insistent the petite women seemed to cartwheel, flip and pounce across the other pairs of dancers, never once touching ground. Caught in a clash of cymbals, they were grasped wrist and ankle, thrown high into the air. Falling, they were snatched again, again. With each throw the petite women spun, twirled in the air, as each apex got higher and higher, they began to cross one another, spinning many times, throwing out their limbs to form stars with one another. On one such fall it seemed that they were dropped, disappearing from view. The crowd gasped, crying out into the silence that lurched where music had goaded.<
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  The men did standing somersaults, the women folding out from one another, so it seemed they floated, only anchored to the ground by two feet. The men knelt by those feet, gripping and lifting them, extending one leg in smooth line behind them as the did so.

  There was a pause. A crowd had gathered from the ball, the nobles had dropped their polite façade and ululated their approval. He could see his father holding Jessamine close, laughter lighting up their faces. His father beckoned the dancers to him, his words lost in the babble of voices. But he seemed to be praising them, he removed his own brooch, dark gold and garnets, presenting it to one of them. They all sunk into graceful bows, lowering themselves almost to the floor. Llew thought they were certainly worthy of such an honour. He hoped they would winter here.

  At the edge of the dance floor he could see Meredith clapping and grinning, the scarecrow with a hand on her shoulder as muttered something to her. She turned with a surprised look on her face and they engaged in a rapid conversation as the cheers died off. They were both gesturing at the dancers, and she looked at them with a considering look. Maybe the scarecrow would be useful for something.

  A cool hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to find the Ambassador at his side. Ambassador Salvias of the Empire. He had seen him at the formal introduction in the throne room earlier, before the festival truly began. He cut a powerful figure, and seemed much more interesting than the previous ambassador. That one had been an old prig, but when the old Emperor died last year, the new Emperor had appointed Salvias.