The Seer Page 17

  At that amusement rippled from both Jolar and Bruscan and, while Arissa couldn’t hear the words, she knew they were likely thinking the same thing: Like the best trained Ornaments in the Realm.

  “I understand the beaches on the southern continent are considered the most beautiful anywhere,” Arissa said.

  The Ambassador inclined his head. “But natural beauty aside, I think you’ll find the Niman people as devoted to learning and the arts as the Apovians.”

  “In fact,” Bruscan said. “I was just admiring this piece. It’s breathtaking.”

  The sculpture Bruscan indicated stood nearly a story high. Done in icy blue crystal, it very much resembled ocean water frozen in mid-spout. Interesting, but it lacked to Arissa’s eye—and she knew to Bruscan’s—that elusive something that took a work from attractive decoration to masterpiece. Still, it certainly would have been very expensive.

  Arissa tilted her head. “From the third wave of the Niman abstractionists, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I believe you are correct,” the ambassador said warmly. “It was a gift to the embassy.”

  “Well,” Bruscan said. “I should like to meet whoever has such exquisite taste.”

  The ambassador glanced around. “Unfortunately I don’t see . . . Ah, there she is! Allow me to introduce you to Mistress Renn.”

  As they followed the ambassador, Jolar leaned forward to mock grumble in her ear. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m needed on this trip at all. You two would probably do just fine without me.”

  Arissa gave him an amused glance then turned her attention to the woman that the ambassador was embracing. Carlea was of middle height and attractive in a very obvious way. Her yellow gown was too low cut for her large bosom and her hair very elaborately styled, her makeup well done but heavy. Carlea had the unfortunate appearance of one who had spent a great deal of money only to look quite cheap.

  And her brown eyes gleamed with lust as her gaze raked over Jolar.

  “So, you like the sculpture, Master Legan?” she purred to Jolar after the introductions were made and the ambassador moved off to mingle with the other guests. “It’s rare to find a man who appreciates art.”

  Jolar gave her a dazzling smile. “Well, I’ve always had a soft spot for the third wave of Niman abstractionists.”

  Arissa controlled an urge to roll her eyes.

  From the confused pulse and blank look that Carlea gave him it was plain she wouldn’t know an abstractionist sculpture if it toppled over onto her. Likely she had selected that artwork based on the impressiveness of the price tag but in the next instant the woman simpered. “They’re my favorite too. I wonder what else we have in common?”

  Bruscan gave a soft cough. “It’s terribly dry in here. I really must have something to drink.” His hand went to Arissa’s elbow. “Come along, let’s get you something too.”

  She couldn’t sense anything but lustful desire from Carlea and as soon as Arissa allowed Bruscan to pull her away from Jolar, Carlea took the opportunity to take a step closer.

  “We were most definitely an impediment back there,” Bruscan murmured as he escorted her to the lower galley.

  “You intended all along to get them alone. You knew she’d zero in on him,” Arissa said, her voice low and angry. Carlea was inches away from Jolar now, her face tilted up at him, an inviting smile playing on her lips. The Niman woman’s hand came up to rest lightly on his chest and Arissa scowled to see that Jolar made no effort to remove it. “And that she has a great weakness for blond men.”

  “Blond, handsome men—to be precise.” Bruscan gave her a sly smile. “And Jolar’s great weakness is you. And that my dear is interesting in itself.”

  Arissa flushed and throwing her focus at him found in his mind a befuddling mix of amusement and regret. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Bruscan took two glasses of sparkle wine for them from a passing waiter when they reached the lower galley.

  He handed her a glass and took a sip from his own. “Hmm, they brought out the good stuff. Must be eager to impress upon the local officials that what they’ll lose in tariffs they’ll make up in bribes with a new trade agreement.”

  “What did you mean ‘interesting’?” Arissa persisted. She wasn’t getting anything now from Bruscan now but world-weary resignation and didn’t dare risk a deeper probe.

  “Just take it as assurance that you have nothing to fear from Mistress Renn.” His eyebrow quirked upward. “Although Jolar might. I hope he’s kept up with his self-defense training because, yes, she has quite the reputation.” He tilted his head, his smile rueful now. “You love him.”

  Arissa flushed.

  “It’s obvious, really,” he said when she didn’t answer. “A lot of your feelings show on your face.”

  She looked away. Having had the life she did, being what she was, she had never learned to school her features as other’s had. She’d never needed to. “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s not a bad thing, necessarily.”

  “But it’s something I need to learn to control.”

  He took a casual sip of his wine. “You might be well served to do so . . . at least while you’re here.” His expression brightened. “The buffet looks sumptuous. Shall we?”

  Arissa sighed and let him lead her over. The food looked wonderful, dozens of offerings filled the tables but for once Arissa had little appetite. Not so Bruscan, who ate heartily and managed to socialize and play escort to her without his considerable charm being in the least bit taxed.

  Determined or not, Arissa struggled to hide her grumpiness as the evening wore on and Jolar didn’t reappear. Worse, she reached out to him to find that, wherever he was, he was intensely focused on his companion and in no hurry to leave her.

  After supper she and Bruscan took a turn through the embassy’s courtyard. Cleverly arranged with plantings and charmingly lit with hanging lanterns, the veritable maze of greenery provided enclaves for private conversation and allowed the courtyard, small in size in expensive Tano-Sertar, the feel of a much larger space.

  She was sourly wondering if he would be gone the whole night when Jolar finally came upon them.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you two,” he said.

  “We only just came outside,” Arissa said, annoyed that she couldn’t keep the sulky tone out of her voice.

  Jolar pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

  “Well,” Bruscan said. “Our evening was pleasantly spent. I hope yours was . . . productive.”

  “It went quite well actually.”

  Arissa turned her face away.

  “Give us a moment, Bruscan?” Jolar suggested.

  “Of course. I think I’ll have another look at the center fountain.”

  Jolar waited till Bruscan was out of earshot. “What is it?” he asked softly.

  She couldn’t look at him, he would see in her face how miserable, how insecure she felt.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled.

  “Because if you’re wondering if I’m interested in Carlea, nothing could be farther from the truth.” He cupped her face in his warm, broad palm. “You, sweet, are all I want.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she looked up into that tender blue gaze.

  “I love you,” Jolar said softly.

  She swallowed. “I love you too.”

  He brushed his mouth against hers. “Let’s go back to our room,” he said huskily. “I missed you and I’d be more than happy to show you just how much.”

  She managed a smile. “Okay.”

  Jolar took her hand in his and they found Bruscan waiting for them at the fountain.

  “I think we can bid good evening to the ambassador now,” Jolar said to him. “I’m ready to get out of here, that’s for sure.”

  “Excellent,” Bruscan said, pulling a comm unit from his pocket. “I’ll have the groundcar brought around.”

  The crowd inside had thinned considerably and the recept
ion was coming to an end. No doubt at this hour a number of guests were also making their goodbyes now.

  Just as they reached the doorway the breeze picked up and lifted Arissa’s delicate shimmersilk wrap from her shoulders. She let go of Jolar’s hand, hurrying to retrieve it before it could be carried off into the courtyard by the wind. Bruscan, a few steps behind them, managed to catch it and she smiled her thanks as he handed it back to her.

  Jolar waited at the doorway to the embassy and a young woman just stepping out into the courtyard nearly collided with him.

  She was tall, elegantly so, and her red silk gown showed her to be possessed of a slender, graceful figure. Strikingly beautiful, the woman’s hair was a pale golden blonde, her face fine-boned.

  The blonde blinked, her smile was instant and dazzling. “Jolar!”

  His horrified recognition made the breath catch in Arissa’s lungs.

  “Jasa,” he said hoarsely.

  The blonde gave a light laugh. “Well, I’m delighted to see you too! What are you doing here?”

  His arm shot out and he took her by the elbow. “I need to speak with you outside.”

  Bruscan’s sense went grim and Arissa’s heart picked up speed. “Jolar?”

  He froze but didn’t look at her.

  “Hello,” the blonde said leaning around Jolar to regard her with crystal blue eyes and a polite smile. “Jolar, who is this?”

  “Jolar?” Arissa said again.

  The sound of her trembling voice seemed to snap him out of his paralysis but he avoided her gaze. “Jasa, come outside with me now.”

  “Jolar,” the woman chided but the dimple that appeared at the corner of her mouth tempered her scold.

  She gave Arissa an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him when he gets like this. I suppose we shall have to introduce ourselves. I am Lady Jasa d'Akan.” She linked her arm with his. “Jolar’s betrothed.”

  Nineteen

  Jasa’s betrothal bracelet caught the light as she shifted closer to Jolar; it was of a heavier, more traditional and wider setting than Arissa’s. The metalwork bore the look of an antique, the Zartani firestar at its center absolutely brilliant . . .

  Jasa tilted her head. “And you are?”

  Arissa’s lips parted but she couldn’t speak. She was vaguely aware of a couple coming up behind them from the courtyard, moving past into the embassy, murmuring apologies as they slipped by, of people inside the building, the slow drifting of guests as the evening wound down.

  Jolar stood unmoving at the blonde beauty’s side, his face colorless, his eyes blazing as he met her gaze.

  Arissa felt the stones of the courtyard pavement tilt away from her feet. . .

  Bruscan’s hand closed around her upper arm.

  “This young lady is one of my customers,” Bruscan said. “A pleasure to meet you both but if you’ll excuse us, Arissa and I were just leaving.”

  “Of course,” Jasa said, blinking. “Well, it was lovely to meet you.” Jasa's mind as she'd looked up at Jolar was elated as if she had just been given the most precious of gifts. And now, she pressed herself to his side with a confident sense of ownership. “And it’s very good to see you, darling. With the wedding so close, there are still some small details I would like to discuss with you.”

  Only Bruscan’s hand gripping Arissa’s arm got her moving and kept her upright. He pulled her past Jolar and Jasa smiling up at him and through the doorway. The inside of the embassy was too bright now, the Niman flutes discordant.

  Arissa felt dizzy and suddenly realized she had forgotten to breathe.

  He couldn’t have lied about how he felt about me. He couldn’t have. I would know!

  But that woman—Jasa—was she really his betrothed? She reached out to touch Jolar’s mind then stopped short, desperately frightened of what she would find.

  Bruscan was grim and determined. She could hardly feel his tight grip on her arm but knew he was the only thing holding her upright.

  He never asked me to marry him.

  “Please,” she croaked. “Bruscan, that woman . . . Is—is she—”

  She’s so very beautiful. He must love her.

  Bruscan’s mouth narrowed to a tight line. “Just a little farther. The groundcar will be right outside the door.”

  He must have always loved her . . .

  Her breath caught with a sob. Bruscan responded by walking faster.

  The ambassador was ahead, standing with what could only be his wife, shaking hands, wishing everyone a good evening.

  Was it all a lie? But how could I not have sensed that?

  The ambassador’s brow creased in alarm as he turned toward them. “Mistress Legan! Is everything all right?”

  “Yes,” Bruscan said jovially, his voice too loud. Several startled guests at the door followed their progress with raised eyebrows. “A simple matter of too much sparkle wine. Lovely reception!”

  Arissa pressed her hand against her mouth.

  How could he?

  The ambassador hurried behind them. “Can I get you—”

  “No, no!” Bruscan was already waving the ambassador’s offer away. “My groundcar should be just pulling up—ah, there it is! Good evening! Good evening!”

  “These young women…” the ambassador’s wife sniffed behind them as Bruscan shoved her toward the groundcar, “They drink like trollops.”

  The driver who had come round to open the door threw a questioning look at Bruscan.

  Bruscan shook his head. “Just get us out of here. He’ll find his own way back.”

  Bruscan shut the door of the groundcar behind him himself and took a seat across from her. Arissa gripped the edge of the velvet and silk seat as the groundcar started forward.

  “You knew,” she whispered. “You knew all along.”

  He didn’t deny it. “I’m sorry.”

  He said he loved me!

  “How could—? But why?” Arissa’s vision blurred. “Please! I don’t understand!”

  Bruscan’s brown eyes reflected his pity. “I know.”

  He said we could talk about life together.

  But only after Sertar . . .

  “He wanted—he was worried I wouldn’t do my part here.” She looked at Bruscan, tears overflowing. “Is that why he led me on? He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t betray him?”

  Bruscan seemed to collapse into himself. “I’m afraid the only one who can answer your questions is Jolar.”

  I really thought he loved me and all along he was going to marry—

  Arissa shook her head, her hand covering her mouth, sobs shaking her body. Bruscan turned his face away as the streets and buildings of Tano sped by, the sympathy coming off him in waves.

  How could I not have known he’s been lying to me all along?

  How could he? Oh, gods, why?

  It took everything Jolar had not to run after her.

  His movements stiff, he disentangled his arm from Jasa’s and nodded her toward the courtyard.

  Jolar followed Jasa numbly. His heart was thumping so hard he felt sick.

  The hurt in her eyes . . .

  “So do I get to know why you’re here?” Jasa asked as soon as they reached the privacy of a quiet grove.

  “This is work,” Jolar said hoarsely. “This is important. And I’m Jolar Legan.”

  “Something for the Fleet again, I suppose.” Jasa said, sighing. Then with a resentful tone creeping into her voice, “Or another favor for Dacel.”

  “He’s the elected Senior Councilor from Zartan.”

  She raised delicate blonde eyebrows. “He’s a commoner and he treats you like an errand boy.”

  Jolar turned his face away.

  Arissa was a Seer. She would read the truth in his heart.

  She had to.

  After a time, Jasa said: “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

  “I can’t.”

  “We have been betrothed for five years
, Jolar,” she reminded. “I will be your wife in a few weeks. Surely I have earned your trust, your respect, by now?”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” he said roughly. “What are you doing on Sertar anyway?”

  She gave him a hurt look. “I came for the trade conference. You want a political career after we’re married. It was your idea that I start making connections, showing interest in commerce. I’ve spent the last few months attending such things.”

  “How soon can you leave?” he asked bluntly.

  Her posture stiffened. “Well, I had planned to stay for the whole conference. But if my presence is going to impede whatever it is you’re doing here, I suppose I can return to Zartan at the earliest convenient time.”

  He gave a nod. “Thank you.”

  “Shouldn’t you admire my new gown?” she asked, holding out the skirt of her red dress.

  “All your gowns are new,” he replied flatly.

  She let go of the skirt edges, the shimmersilk catching the light of the lanterns as the folds fell back into place. She stepped closer. “I am happy to see you, darling. It’s been too long since my last visit to Tellar. I couldn’t possibly arrange to leave Sertar for another few days. Perhaps you could visit me? Tonight?” Her full mouth curved into a smile. “Or slip away to see me for a few hours tomorrow afternoon?”

  He looked away. “Not this time.”

  “Ah,” she said then continued, her voice growing cooler: “I hope can expect you will at least do me the courtesy of appearing for our wedding.”

  “If my work here is completed by then.” He felt his mouth tighten. “But yes.”

  She was silent for a few moments. “Of course, if you need me to change the timing again—I shall.”

  He passed his hand over his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Well,” she said, straightening her back. “Send word to me as soon as you know. Five years is quite long enough to wait, Jolar.”

  “I’ve told you before.” He gave a bitter half-smile. “We can end our betrothal whenever you wish, Jasa.”

  She lifted her chin. “Our heritage demands certain obligations. Arranged or not, we are both bound to this marriage contract. People such as we do not have the option of disregarding tradition, Jolar.”