Midwinter

The promenade wound through the streets of Southmarket, past the market stalls themselves, and then out through one of the southern gates, the soldiers there standing at attention as the parade went by. Outside the city, the wide Nest Pirsil Road had been decorated with paper lanterns that glowed with pink and blue witchlight in honor of the family Purane. The lanterns marked their way up the hill to Villa Diosa, and the members of the promenade experienced the evening's "perfect moment" with a simultaneous sigh of approval. Just as the sun came to rest on the western horizon, painting the sky scarlet and orange, a vast collection of colored birds was released from hidden cages near the villa. Their wings caught the fading sunlight and they glowed in its warm radiance, beating out across the Emerald Bay and away.

In the comfort of the spellwarmed garden, the Lady Anne sipped a drink from a tall glass, wondering where she ought to stand in order to appear both indomitable and inconspicuous. She touched her hair lightly and felt around it to make sure the butterflies were still there.

Her dress was, as in days past, a Cucu original, a one-of-a-kind floorlength gown of deep royal blue silk, with a tastefully dipping neckline and a tight waist that accentuated her hips. Periwinkle and lavender glamoured butterflies dipped and swayed across the fabric of the gown, their motions carefully subdued to avoid distracting the gaze from the gown's wearer. They plied the two-dimensional sky of the dress slowly and gracefully, passing beneath her arms and twirling together at the skirt's hem. Cucu had added a floral comb to the ensemble, complete with a pair of its own butterflies that swooped around her head, remaining graciously out of her line of sight.

"Good evening, Lady," said a voice behind her. She turned and saw a man approaching her, tall and lean, wearing the dress uniform of a commander in the Royal Guard. He was young, with fair skin and glossy black hair that fell in a comely tangle of victory braids over his left shoulder. His face was serious as he bowed, but his eyes lit up and he smiled when their eyes met. "It is unkind of you to deprive the rest of us of your company. Such beauty must be shared; I cannot let you remain alone a moment longer." He took her hand and brushed his lips across it.

She looked around quickly, suppressing a smile. "There is no one convenient to introduce us formally," she whispered, looking past him.

"Then we must be bold," he said, copying her gaze, "and introduce ourselves."

She drew herself up to her full height, hesitating before she spoke. If her presence here was merely an exercise in cruelty, then the lovely young man would blanch and turn away when she spoke her name. Now was the time to find out, before she began to enjoy his company too much.

"I am the Lady Anne," she said regally, "daughter of Corwin." She studied his eyes for a trace of horror and found none. Instead, he grinned.

"Lady, I am honored," he said, bowing lower. "I am your host, Purane-Es."

She started. This was Purane-Es? She had expected something different, someone more military and detached, like his father. What game was this?

"It is I who am honored," she said. "The deeds of your family are well known, and your father has carried that tradition well."

He nodded. "You are gracious as well as beautiful, Lady. But come, the musicians are anxious, and it is our turn to dance." He held out his hand, and she reached out slowly, her own hand shaking though there was no chill, and took it.

Whatever else he was, Purane-Es was the most excellent dancer she'd ever encountered. He moved her effortlessly across the terrace in front of the bandstand, dipping and spinning her as though they were choreographed. The other couples on the floor paused and watched them move, awash in the music and the joy of their motion. As they danced, he held her waist firmly, his palm pressed against the small of her back. She felt the warmth in his fingers and experienced a sensation she hadn't felt in years: she felt safe, protected from what was unsure and fleeting, happily cocooned in the arms of another.

When the music finished, she was flushed from the exertion, her breathing a bit heavy. The other dancers applauded politely, smiling in their direction. It was joyous.

"Would you care for some refreshment?" said Purane-Es. She nodded, letting him lead her by the hand in her excitement.

The mechanical rabbits brought out trays of sparkling wines and PuraneEs took two glasses, handing her one. "I did not know that noble-born girls could dance as well as the traveling show waifs," he said, teasing her gently.

She pretended shock, then confided, "Perhaps I am no lady at all; you have not checked my credentials."

"In that case, I should have you thrown out. But," he said, shrugging, "you're making such an impression that I may wait for a while."