Yes, rocks. Indeed. But the dull, gray ones that cut your knees when you fell from exhaustion during training in the Calma Desert. Vala help her.
“It’s…” She shuttered her eyelids, hoping he’d let it go. “It’s just—” She searched for words—lies. “—it’s just so beautiful, and I can’t take any gifts from you.” She had already taken Brax’s necklace—which securely rested under her pillow with her mother’s. And Nehelon’s knife and dagger. If she took another gift, Vala might never forgive her.
“Not a gift.” Armand grinned that full-hearted grin again. “I’ll need that back after tonight.”
Because that’s how long she would stay here. One night. Like the others, if she believed Deelah.
“Then keep it.” Gandrett’s words were out before she could restrain herself.
She expected Armand to kick her out, to get upset, to show his evil nature, the one that the Brenherans had warned her about.
But nothing. He just dropped it on the sofa behind her and offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Armand led her down a torch-lit hallway followed by a twisting stairwell where the distant sound of music greeted them alongside the scent of spring herbs and blossoms. She marked every turn they took, every door, every painting. She’d need those for later when she went exploring on her own.
“It’s older than the Battle of Ithrylan,” Armand commented on her seemingly random glances. Just another girl impressed to death with the wealth and pompousness of the young lord’s home.
“It’s—” Suffocating. “—breathtaking.”
He smiled and tucked his free hand behind his back as he led her down the next flight of stairs.
Gandrett followed along, one hand lifting the hem of her skirts just enough so she wouldn’t fall over them, and quietly counted the stairs.
Music filled the air by the time Armand led her into a wider hallway, his eyes, Gandrett noticed, on her rather than the guards in black positioned in regular spacing along the walls. They must be close to the dance, for ahead of them, at the end of the hallway, lights greeted them with the warm shades of fire.
“Wait until you see the great hall,” Armand chuckled from the side as he commented on her gawking.
Garlands of flowers were draped over the columns right where the light emerged together with a carpet of voices, all cheerily and happily chattering. She swallowed and let the Denderlain heir lead her forward and into the great hall.
She had no words. Not because the flowers from the columns spread all across the ceiling and walls of the great hall—she had seen arrangements like that in Everrun—but because of the sheer size of the space they filled, the people in finery floating through the open space, carrying glasses of sparkling wine and the music…
An orchestra played the songs she remembered from her childhood. More refined than the simple versions on a piano or a lute she knew, but they were the melodies that brought her back to the smells of grain in summer and fresh bread in her mother’s oven.
Gandrett forced her heart to stop singing with it.
She needed a clear head—something that would not be easy considering the scent of flowers smashing her brain into a fuzzy substance. Focus. Find the exits. Mark details.
“After today’s hunt and a party like this, Demea will surely make certain you’ll never miss a shot in your life.” Gandrett gave Armand an appreciative glance.
He just shrugged—“I never miss a shot anyway.”—and stepped into the hall, pulling Gandrett with him.
She hid her grimace, faking interest in the wall behind them, and spotted a wide set of stairs at the far end of the corridor that led away from the festivities. The entrance. This led to the entrance. She knew from the maps there was only one stairwell in this castle that was wide enough for ten armed guards to walk beside each other, and it led to the main gate in the south-west.
As if to confirm her thought, a breeze of fresh air blew into her face, accompanying the guests in finery stepping past them from the direction of freedom.
“Wine?” In the meantime, Armand had taken the opportunity and waved over one of the servants carrying trays of delicate, crystal glasses, picking up one of them and holding it out for her with his free hand.
Never. Gandrett had sworn an oath to Vala. Her body, that of a fighter, needed to be pure at any time to keep at full strength and mental clarity. She was about to shake her head then reconsidered. No one could know what she was. If she even pretended to drink that wine, it wouldn’t raise unnecessary questions.
She un-looped her arm from his and took the glass from his long, sure fingers, swirled it, raising it to her face, and took a whiff. “Beautiful,” she remarked. “The color, the bouquet.” She had picked up some phrases during her time in Ackwood. Nothing that would pass her as an expert but enough to keep her inconspicuous.
He smiled and took a glass for himself before he led her further into the hall, Gandrett dodging the poofy skirts of swirling dancers.
At the end of the hall, a dais hosted a wide table filled with foods on silver platters. On the throne beside it, Hamyn Denderlain sat and watched in boredom how his court was enjoying itself.
It took Gandrett a while before she noticed people staring at her, some whispering behind their lace fans as their eyes devoured her like a sensation.
“Ignore them.” Armand took her hand, his calloused fingers firm around hers. “They stare at anyone I bring to our parties.”
Gandrett wasn’t certain she wanted to laugh or cry at his words. So she decided to put on a mask of polite smiles and keep it for the rest of the night.
“So you do this frequently, milord?” she shuttered her eyelids and pretended to nip at the wine.
“Do what?” He grinned.
“Rescue young women and bring them back to your castle to show them what life could be like?” She wanted to sound charming, tried, but the words came out a tad sharp.
Armand laughed. “Only when it serves my purpose.”
“And what purpose may that be?” She withdrew her hand from his and took a step closer to the dance floor, leaving Armand with the view of the cascade of curls Deelah had created, and smiled at the young man on the other side of the dancing crowd.
“That, milady, is my concern,” he stepped on the dance floor, blocking the young man on the other end from view, and held out his hand, “not yours.”
Gandrett eyed him, breathing through the annoyance the young lord induced despite his pretty face, and said, “I’m afraid this room is spinning without me even having to dance.” She gestured at the spot on her head that had been bloody when she woke up in the forest.
Armand’s hand remained extended in front of her, his eyes insisting she take it.
So she took it. She could always fake a sprained ankle later as Lady Crystal Brenheran had suggested.
The young lord’s eyes flared with excitement as she set down her glass on a nearby table, placed her hand in his, and let him pull her to his chest.
Vala help her. This was real. She had envisioned how she would have to lie, pretend, snake her way into Armand’s interest, and here she was, already in his arms. One of those locking around her waist as he pulled her into a spin and into the moving row of dancers.