Endgames Read online

  “You can’t please everyone,” replied High Holder Almeida.

  “That’s true, and most people understand that. But none of us likes feeling ignored.” Charyn gestured toward the sideboards. “Please enjoy yourselves.” He inclined his head to Marenna. “You, especially.”

  Then he moved toward Kayrolya D’Taelmyn and her parents, fully aware that Alyncya and her father had not yet arrived. He’d suspected that they would be the last.

  Kayrolya was blond and willowy, with an effusive warmth communicated by a broad smile as Charyn stepped up to her and her parents. “Thank you so much for including us, Your Grace.”

  “With a smile like yours, how could I not? You didn’t smile like that at the Spring Ball.”

  “I felt lost amid so many people.”

  “You won’t feel that way here, I hope. Almost everyone’s here.” Charyn half-turned and gestured. “You see the tall blond young man in blue and gray. That’s my cousin Ferrand, High Holder Delcoeur. There are three other women your age, with one to come, and two other High Holder heirs, in addition to the parents of the other young women.”

  As Kayrolya eased away from Charyn, her father moved closer and said, “Your Grace, I appreciate the careful way in which you have chaperoned this evening.”

  “I could do nothing less, that is, if I wanted the young women and their families to be at ease, which is my goal.”

  As Taelmyn followed his wife and daughter, Charyn moved toward Shaelyna D’Baeltyn and her parents. The daughter offered a poised and polite smile. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “Good evening and welcome to the Chateau. I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.” Charyn nodded to Baeltyn. “High Holders Taelmyn and Almeida are already here, as are Lady Delcoeur D’Priora and Lady Plessan D’Priora.”

  After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Charyn turned toward the last arrivals, High Holder Shendael and Alyncya. “I’m very glad to see you both.”

  “We could scarcely refuse such an invitation,” replied High Holder Shendael, with an amused smile, some of which amusement, Charyn suspected, was comprised partly of rue.

  “Nor did we wish to,” said Alyncya, adding, “for it does give us the opportunity to see more of the Chateau.” There was a slightly different kind of amusement in her eyes.

  Charyn inclined his head. “And it gives me the opportunity to continue a conversation with you that will not be interrupted by the end of a dance and the obligation to keep moving in order to talk to everyone possible.” He gestured toward the sideboard. “Might I guide you both to some refreshments?”

  “You don’t have others to greet?” asked Shendael.

  “You two are the last. So I’m now at liberty to enjoy the company of my guests.” As they neared the sideboard, Charyn went on. “There’s a very good Tacqueville white, although some prefer the Tuuryl red. There’s also a golden pale ale or a dark lager.” He looked to Alyncya. “What would you like?”

  “The white.”

  “Two of the white,” Charyn said, adding to Alyncya, “That’s my preference as well.”

  “I’ll have the red,” declared Shendael. “Always felt that suited a man more.”

  Charyn handed the first goblet of white to Alyncya, and took the second for himself. “I’ve always thought each man—or woman—should determine for themselves what suited them. It’s amusing, in a way, how so many people want to choose for others but resist letting others choose for them.”

  “As Rex, you choose for others,” countered Shendael.

  “Yes, there is that, but any Rex who can’t determine what suits most of the High Holders and factors isn’t likely to remain Rex all that long. Not these days. You might have an interesting discussion about that with High Holder Taelmyn, there.” Charyn inclined his head in the direction of where Taelmyn and Almeida stood talking, then guided Alyncya away from her father.

  “Are you going to keep me to yourself, Your Grace?” asked Alyncya, her voice gently inquiring.

  “For a moment or three. Then we will join some of the others closer to our age. I apologize for separating you from your father more abruptly than I might have wished, but it appears that he is less than enthusiastic about being here or having you here, most likely both.”

  “Did you not suspect that would be so?”

  “I did. I just didn’t expect him to be quite so direct so quickly.”

  “I fear I share that trait, Your Grace.”

  “Do you wish not to be here?” Charyn looked directly into her hazel eyes. “I had hoped you might at least have wished to continue our last, and slightly interrupted, conversation.”

  “I had hoped we might continue it as well, perhaps at the Autumn-Turn Ball.”

  “Another six months between conversations would have been excessive, I fear.”

  “I would not wish to become too familiar too quickly. They say that such familiarity breeds contempt.”

  “Only if those involved share few of the same beliefs and concerns. Holding back from learning about another seems a form of fear, fear either of being disappointed or of being far too greatly attracted.”

  “There’s a great danger to finding the Rex disappointed in one. Had you not thought of that?”

  “I have.” Charyn had, and he understood her fear that if she were not interested in him that he might force her either never to marry in order to hold on to her holding or to marry someone else and have to give it as dower. “But in matters between women and men, disappointment is always a risk. One must accept that disappointment, should it happen, lies in false expectations on the part of the one disappointed … and not hold that disappointment against another. You cannot be other than you are, nor should you be. Nor should I.”

  “Are hearts really that cold and logical, Your Grace?” An amused but slightly sardonic tone colored her words.

  “Alas, no,” returned Charyn as melodramatically as he dared.

  A gentle laugh replied to his words and tone.

  “Do you play the clavecin, Alyncya?”

  “Does not every High Holder’s daughter?”

  “Do you enjoy playing, even when no one is listening?”

  “That’s when I enjoy it the most.”

  Charyn nodded.

  “And your nod signifies what, Your Grace?”

  “That I share that feeling.”

  Alyncya frowned, if but slightly. “I had not heard that the men of the Chateau played.”

  “Perhaps we should adjourn through the archway into the music room…”

  “Your Grace … is that not…”

  “I did not mean that in the way I fear you took it. First, there are five string players there. Second, there is a clavecin there. Third, I was going to suggest that I might play a short piece for you, or just a part of it, and you could decide for yourself whether this man of the Chateau can play well enough for your taste. You have always struck me as a lady—”

  “I’m scarcely that old.”

  “No, but you are the heir, and that reminds me. Last Finitas, when we danced, you said that you were ‘a High Holder’s unwed and older younger daughter trying to hold to her wits when every word must count for everything and commit one to nothing.’ I didn’t catch that at the time, but later I realized that could not possibly be true, not with you as the heir.”

  For an instant, Alyncya froze before replying. “You flatter me with your memory. I am the younger daughter, or I was. My sister died of the flux a year ago, and I was so surprised when you began to talk to me that I said what I had often said, before … that is, except I mixed up the words. I should have said unwed surviving younger daughter.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “You had no reason to know that. She was never in the best of health and had never attended a ball. How could you have known?”

  “I can still be sorry for your loss.”

  “I was going to ask how you could know about such a loss … and that would have been thoughtless
and stupid … after what happened at the Year-Turn Ball.” After a pause, she added, “If you still would like to play…”

  “I would, but just for you … and the musicians.”

  The two eased into the music room, and toward the clavecin. Charyn looked back. No one had followed … so far. Or they had studiously ignored the pair, which was far more likely.

  The lead violinist looked to Charyn, questioningly.

  “You can take a break for a few moments.” Charyn wasn’t about to try “Pavane in a Minor Key,” not when he still had difficulty with parts of it. He settled before the keyboard and began Farray’s Nocturne Number Three. He was almost afraid to look at Alyncya as he played. So he didn’t.

  When he finished and looked up, he discovered that not only had Alyncya been listening, but Ferrand was there, along with Kayrolya D’Taelmyn, as was Zhelyn, accompanied by Sherrona D’Plessan.

  Ferrand stepped forward, shaking his head. “I never knew you played … or were that good.”

  “Thank you. I’ve had some good teachers.” Charyn stood and looked to Alyncya. “Would anyone else like to play?”

  “I’ll play,” replied Alyncya, with a smile.

  Charyn surrendered the clavecin to her.

  As Charyn watched and listened, he realized almost immediately that Alyncya was far better than anyone he’d heard—except Palenya—and that she clearly felt what she played. He just listened. When she finished, Charyn wanted to applaud, but didn’t, even as a broad smile crossed his face. “That was excellent. I don’t recognize the piece, but it sounded a little like Farray.”

  “It was. Farray’s ‘Pavane for a Forgotten Dancer.’”

  By now, most everyone was in the music room. Charyn looked around. “Would anyone else like to play?”

  No one spoke … except Alyncya. “Some of the others didn’t hear you. Perhaps you should play another piece.”

  “Only if you’ll agree to play another one after I do.”

  She raised her eyebrows, then nodded, standing and moving away from the clavecin.

  Charyn seated himself and played the less tariffing Farray piece he’d learned before the nocturne, then rose and surrendered the clavecin to Alyncya.

  She played another work, shorter, one that was likely by Covaelyt, but her fingering, timing, and musicianship seemed faultless to him.

  “Covaelyt?” he asked when she finished.

  She nodded. “Variations on a Khellan Melody.”

  “I’ve never heard it before. I’ve never even heard of it.”

  “Most people haven’t.”

  “I did enjoy it.” Charyn extended a hand, not that she needed it, but she took it and rose from the clavecin.

  “It’s not every day that we get a recital by a lady-heir and the Rex,” said Ferron. “You both were impressive.”

  “Alyncya’s better than I am,” said Charyn. “And I’m not being charitable.”

  “But you’re both better than most players I’ve heard,” said Shaelyna.

  “Lady-heir Alyncya is much the better. I’m just happy I didn’t disgrace myself playing at the same time she did.” Charyn turned to Alyncya. “More wine, perhaps?”

  “A little would be nice.”

  The others moved aside as they made their way back to the reception room and the sideboard. Behind then, the string quintet resumed playing.

  “I never would have guessed,” Alyncya said in a low voice.

  “Nor I,” he replied.

  “All daughters play.”

  “Not the way you do. You’re better than all but the very, very best professional musicians.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, and the honesty.”

  “I don’t think anything else would be right with you.”

  Two goblets of Tacqueville white were waiting for them, and Charyn handed one to Alyncya, then took the second, lifting it slightly. “To your performance.”

  “And to yours.”

  “I think you made me look better than I am. I only know a handful or so of difficult works. I imagine you know a score or more.”

  “Those I know well … barely a score.”

  “And you’re still learning more, I’d wager.”

  “You still frighten me, Your Grace,” she murmured.

  “Me? Or because I’m Rex.”

  “Your being Rex, mostly. Your recall of everything I’ve said, or so it seems, is flattering, but also…” Her eyes dropped for an instant. “You don’t play at anything, I think.”

  “I used to.”

  “What changed you? I don’t mean being Rex. You were already changing at the Year-Turn Ball.”

  Charyn laughed, but not harshly. “That I couldn’t aim a pistol well enough, and my desire to blame it on the pistol.”

  Almost instantly, she smiled softly. “And?”

  “I confronted the pistol-maker, and he told me that no pistol in the world could correct for bad technique.” It had been far more complex than that, but that was the gist of what had set Charyn on revisiting his life’s aims.

  “And you didn’t shoot him?”

  “I likely couldn’t have hit him. Besides, he was right. So I listened to him, and that changed everything. Eventually, I even got to be a better shot, but that mattered less by then.” Although it did save your life … twice.

  She shook her head. “If only…”

  “If only what?”

  “‘If only’s’ don’t matter. We all must deal with what is. I scarcely have to tell you that.”

  “No … but I enjoy hearing you say that.”

  Charyn would have liked to have heard more, but at that moment, High Holder and Lady Almeida appeared, escorted by Elacia, who smiled brightly and said, “Your Grace, they wished to say a few words, but did not wish to intrude.”

  Charyn unhappily understood what Elacia wasn’t saying. “You certainly aren’t intruding.”

  “Your Grace, Lady-heir D’Shendael,” began Lady Almeida, “we just wanted to tell you how much we appreciated your playing … and the example it set. So many of the young people … they don’t appreciate the beauty of the arts.”

  “That is true,” replied Charyn, offering a sheepish grin. “And until the past year or so I was one of them. While I was trained to play, I really didn’t appreciate it, not until I heard someone who truly did play with the skill of the sort Lady-heir Alyncya just demonstrated.”

  “That is so good to hear. You know, while she wouldn’t say so, Marenna was most impressed with the way you both played.”

  Elacia glanced at Charyn.

  In turn, he smiled once more at Lady Almeida and said, “Apparently, my presence is required elsewhere, but, if you would,” he nodded to Alyncya, “you might tell them just how long it took you to master the Covaelyt piece you played so beautifully.”

  “You’re too kind, Your Grace.”

  “Too honest, I fear. Now … if you will excuse me…”

  As Elacia guided Charyn toward a group that held Zhelyn, Ferron, Marenna, and Sherrona, she murmured, “Nicely done, if rather later than desirable. You’ll need to spend a long time here.”

  Charyn understood that as well, but smiled once more as he looked to Marenna D’Almeida. “I just had a delightful talk with your parents … about the arts.” Then he grinned. “I suspect you’ve heard it before. And no, you don’t have to look appalled. I’ve heard similar talk for years.”

  “Your Grace … I am so sorry…”

  Charyn laughed. “For what? Parents being parents? At this moment, my younger brother is on his way to Rivages, dreading, no doubt, the lessons and quiet instruction he is going to receive from our mother. I still remember the glasses I spent poring over legal tomes in the study of the Minister of Justice … and him offering profound statements.”

  “Do you even remember any of them?” asked Ferron.

  Charyn squared his shoulders and intoned solemnly, “When you are Rex, do not make a law you cannot enforce because that will do more dam
age than no law at all.” While Ferron was still smiling, Charyn added, “The problem is, I discovered, that he was right.” He added humorously, he hoped, “It’s a terrible thing to discover that so many of the boring bromides you’re fed growing up often have a great deal of truth behind them, especially when you become Rex suddenly and so much younger than you ever thought possible.”

  He looked to Marenna and grinned. “Have I removed the awful embarrassment of your parents declaiming on the importance of the arts?”

  He received a nod in return … and the hint of a smile.

  He just hoped he could maintain a certain amount of wit and lightheartedness until they adjourned to the large and seldom-used dining hall.

  By the time the soft chimes announced dinner, Charyn had managed to converse with everyone, including parents, although he trod very carefully with High Holder Shendael.

  The seating arrangements were not exactly by precedence, but roughly so, with two alterations. Elacia was seated at the far end of the long table, with the parents of the young women seated from her in precedence, while Charyn sat at the head of the table with Alyncya to his right and Marenna D’Almeida to his left. Ferrand was seated beside Marenna, and to his left was Kayrolya. Beyond that younger adults alternated between young heirs and young women. Each diner’s place was noted by a place card in a silver holder.

  As Alyncya eased into her chair, her eyes went to Charyn.

  They held each other’s gaze for just a moment longer than proper before she smiled and said, “Not exactly by precedence.”

  “Your father is seated precisely by precedence. If those of us who are younger were seated precisely that way, it would be so much less enjoyable.” He looked at Marenna, and then Ferrand. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

  “Absolutely.” Ferrand grinned.

  Once the wine goblets were filled, Charyn raised his. “Since tonight is Harvest-Turn Eve, here’s to a good harvest, with appreciation to all of you for sharing your evening with me.”