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Chana cut through the crowd, pulling Lin and Mariam after her. For once, Lin was glad to be led. She felt naked in the crowd, as if her intentions were surely visible on her face.Stop it,she told herself. These were all people she knew, all familiar faces. There was Rahel, laughing among the other married women; nearby Mez sat tuning hisliorat a circular table, surrounded by several other musicians. In addition to thenarit—young women like Mariam and herself, all in blue dresses—there were young men of marriageable age, awkward in rarely worn finery. They sprawled at long tables, joking with one another and drinking reddish-purple wine from silver cups that had been liberally distributed by the Sault elders.
The Festival was a celebration, Lin reminded herself; people were supposed to be relaxed here, and happy. She forced herself to smile.
“Stop that.” Mariam shook her arm. “Why are you glaring?”
Chana had guided them to a space under the fig trees where they had a good view of the square. Directly in front of them was a cleared space scattered with petals, meant for gathering and dancing. At the foot of the Shulamat stairs a raised plinth had been erected. Upon it stood a purpose-built wooden chair intended for the Maharam, garlanded with flowers. When the festival was over, the dais and the chair would be broken down and burned, the sweet scent of almond wood filling the air.
“I’mnotglaring,” Lin whispered. “I’msmiling.”
“You could have fooled me.” Mariam ducked out of the way asOrla Regev, another of the Sault elders, rushed up to Chana for a whispered consultation.Someone,it seemed, had garlanded the Maharam’s chair with hyacinth flowers, when everyone knew they were supposed to be roses. Also, the wine had been put out far too early, and many of the older men were drunk, and some of the younger ones, too.
“Oh, poor dear,” said Mariam sympathetically as Chana was whisked away by Orla, complaining as she went that the Maharam was unlikely to notice what kind of flowers were on his chair, and the Goddess, blessed be the Name, unlikely to care. “Why can’t Orla leave her be to enjoy herself?”
“Because this is howOrlaenjoys herself,” Lin said just as a young man approached them, smiling. Lin recognized him immediately as Natan Gorin, Mez’s older brother, the one who had just returned from the Gold Roads.
Like the rest of the young men at the Festival, he wore plain white cambric with silver embroidery, a crown of green spikenard leaves on his head. (For a moment, Lin was reminded of another crown, a gold circlet with winged sides, gleaming against dark curls.) His hair was coppery, his skin sun-browned. He smiled easily, extending a hand marked with the black-ink tattoos of the Rhadanite traders to Mariam.
“I happen to have a friend among the musicians”—he winked over at Mez—“and have been informed that the dancing is about to begin. If you would join me?”
Blushing, Mariam took Natan’s hand. Mez greeted this with a trill of thelior,and a moment later the music had swelled, and Natan and Mariam were dancing.
A swell of happiness cut through Lin’s nerves. She looked over at Mez, who was grinning. Had he asked Natan to dance with Mariam? It didn’t matter, Lin told herself; Mariam was happy just to be dancing. Her face was shining, and in the moonlight she did not look the least bit tired or ill.
Other couples had begun to join them. Lin leaned back againstthe rough bark of the tree trunk, letting the moment carry her. There was laughter all around her, and the brightness of a community that was glad for an excuse to come together. Something cold snaked under her ribs, even as she watched Mariam. A feeling of dread.
You can’t do this,said the voice in the back of her mind.Not to all of them. The stubbornness of the Maharam is not their fault. And surely there is some other solution. Something less extreme.
Though she had not thought of it, yet.
“Lin.” She stood up straight; it was Oren Kandel, looking down at her somberly. He really was immensely tall. She felt as if she had to crane her neck back to see his face, which was set in somber lines. He was not wearing a leaf crown, like the other boys, and his clothes were somber, without embroidery. He said, stiffly, “Would you dance with me?”
Lin was too surprised to refuse. She let Oren lead her out among the other dancers, let him take her hand and draw her close. He smelled faintly acidic, like bitter tea. As he turned her awkwardly in his arms, she could not help but remember the last time she had danced. And made a fool of herself, she thought, Conor watching her with that bitter light in his eyes—
Not Conor, she reminded herself. The Prince. She was not Mayesh, to use his given name. Besides, he hated her now. She had told him he was broken, and he would be unlikely to forgive an insult like that.
“Lin,” Oren said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. For a moment, Lin wondered if he was going to say,You look troubled,or,Why do you seem sorrowful, on such a joyful occasion?“Lin, do you remember when I asked you to marry me?”
Lin winced inwardly and wondered why on earth she had thought Oren Kandel might have noticed she was unhappy. If he had not had all the insight and empathy of a slug, she might not have refused his marriage proposal in the first place.
“Yes, Oren,” she said. “That sort of thing is hard to forget.”
“Did you ever wonder why I asked you?” His dark eyes were brilliant as he looked down at her. “Though you are obviously unsuitable, and would make a very difficult wife for an ordinary man.”
What was that expression Kel always used? And Merren, too?Gray hell,Lin thought.
“I had not wondered,” she said. “Though, I confess, I am wondering now.”
“I know you’re angry at me,” Oren said. “I helped the Maharam take your books.”And begged him to punish me more,Lin thought grimly. “But I think you’ll come to understand, Lin, that the things I’ve done have all been to help you, even if you couldn’t see it.”
“Taking my books does not help me, Oren.”
“You think that now,” he said, “but that is because you are corrupted. Your grandfather has corrupted you with his worldly values. He wants to make you like those women out there”—he jerked his chin toward the Sault walls, a gesture that seemed to encompass all of Castellane—“too proud, too arrogant, thinking they’re better than we are. But I can save you from his influence.”
“Oren—” Lin tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
“Reconsider my offer,” he said. His eyes were still shining, but it was not with happiness. It was with a mixture of revulsion and desire that nearly turned Lin’s stomach. He might have told himself he wanted to save her, she thought, but what he really wanted was to change her beyond all recognition. And she could not help but think of Conor, who—drunk as he had been, wild and uncontrolled—had told her she was perfect as she was. “I still want to marry you,” he breathed. “Iwantto—and marrying me will raise you up in the estimation of the Maharam, of all the Sault—”
“Why?” Lin said.
