Midwinter

For days, the name of Purane-Es had plagued her. She knew of a Lord Purane who had replaced Mauritane as Guard Captain. Purane-Es was, of course, his second son. But that was not it. What about the first son, PuraneLa? Was that name familiar?

Purane-La.

It was he that Mauritane had murdered, the commander in Beleriand. Of course.

How could she be so foolish? How had she not remembered the name? Two years ago the name of Purane-La had been on many lips, spoken quietly behind waving fans. At her husband's tribunal in the Aeropagus, the elder Purane sat on the side of the kingdom, whispering back and forth with the Queen's solicitor. The high tribunal was a long smear in her memory, three months of shame and horror that culminated in her exile. She had not wanted to remember.

Surely this Purane-Es was not as stupid as she. Certainly he had not forgotten. What, then, was his motivation? Was he an Arcadian convert, inviting her into his villa to offer forgiveness for her husband's act of cruelty? Certainly not. Arcadians did not throw lavish parties at their country villas; they gave away their villas to be used as monasteries and temples.

What did he want with her? She could not be any further humiliated, and her husband was no longer a concern to anyone. So why?

She considered not going, forgetting the whole thing. Then the courier arrived with her new dress from Cucu's and she knew that she would go, and that she would wear the dress, and the consequences be damned.

The Villa Diosa was an heirloom of the Purane lordship, a long graceful structure of white granite with open terraces and marble fountains and vast acreage. It sat astride a hilltop overlooking the city's southern wall. Its facade opened to a vast garden of fruit trees and low shrubs, narrow winding pathways meandering throughout. A staff of a dozen man-sized clockwork rabbits served drinks to the lesser nobility from silver trays; they went on two legs and wore waistcoats and spectacles, their mechanisms whirring as they bowed. The grounds had been spellwarmed at enormous expense, and a botanical mage had been called in to tease the flowers and grasses into temporary livelihood, belying the frigid weather that held outside the villa's gates.

About an hour before sunset, a horn sounded in the city below. From a garden overlook, a frail girl in pink clapped her hands and pointed down toward the city. The high noble promenade was beginning.

The Lady Anne sat in her sedan chair, her dress arranged perfectly around her with a white fur throw covering her against the cold. Her two carriers stood by at attention, awaiting the signal to lift her and begin the procession. She was third in line, following only after the Elder Purane and his current Lady, he astride a white cavalry stallion and she in a gold filigreed palanquin borne by eunuchs. Anne could not have asked to be placed more prominently in the riding order, but she felt conspicuous in spite of herself and sat low in her chair, feigning a dignified aloofness.

A horn sounded and the promenade began, to the applause and whistles of the assembled peasantry and merchant families. Standard-bearers in uniform plied the streets of Southmarket, conveying the emblems of the high nobility in attendance at the fete, walking in martial stride. Behind them came the flower girls in their petticoats and gaily colored bows, their cheeks red in the wintry air. The musicians followed, horns braying and tambourines crashing, performing popular songs so the assembled onlookers could sing along. Only when the musicians and crowd had finished a chorus of "Cir Laeana, Titania" did the nobles begin moving. By then, the Lady Anne was shivering beneath her throw, doing her best to keep her public smile in place around chattering teeth.

Cir laeana, Titania,

Tesede far'ara tila!

Cir laeana, Titania,

Tesede far'ara tila pi stel!

The crowd cheered again as the song came to an end and the musicians launched into something new that Anne didn't know. Seeing the rapt attention in the faces she passed-especially the wide-eyed little girls, the daughters of merchants and street vendors clamoring for a glimpse of her gownshe began to experience anew the feeling of nobility, the essence that she once took for granted and now had to struggle to remember. It was like being reborn. She inhaled the brisk air and beamed nobly, having found the smile of a lady hiding not so far beneath the surface of her as she'd feared.