The Laurentine Spy Read Online Free PDF Page B

women of the court mingle. Ornate silver keys gleamed at her waist: the key to her husband’s strongbox, the keys to the properties he’d inherited, to the Citadel. There was no real power in those keys, and it was well for Laurent that her authority was limited to arranging marriages; her mind was razor-sharp.
    Saliel turned her head slightly and focused on a bearded face. She studied the man. Why are you growing a beard? And why is the officer alongside you not?
    She turned to Marta. “The officers look so handsome in their uniforms. Don’t you agree?”
    Marta nodded.
    “There are so many of them and they all look alike. I swear, I can’t tell them apart! I can’t even make out your husband.”
    Marta obligingly pointed. “There he is, standing with the Admiral.”
    “Of course,” Saliel said. “How clever of you. Can you tell all the officers apart?”
    Marta shook her head. “No. Only those on my husband’s ship.”
    “And which ones are they?”
    Saliel observed carefully as Marta indicated the men in question. Every one of them had facial hair.
     
     
    S ALIEL SMILED POLITELY at her dance partner. “I notice that beards are becoming quite fashionable.”
    The man touched his chin in a self-conscious gesture. “Yes.” The straggling whiskers on his chin were a different shade of brown to his hair.
    “You shall all look like pirates soon,” Saliel said, wide-eyed. I sound like a fool.
    The officer laughed uncomfortably. “Yes.”
    “Are you a Captain?” she asked, noting from his epaulettes that he was a junior officer. “Which is your ship?”
    “The Glorious Conquest ,” the man said. He didn’t correct her assumption of his rank.
    She and the officer were parted by the dance. Saliel traced her way sedately through the intricate steps and halted opposite her newest partner. She looked at him with distaste.
    “Noble Petra.”
    She sank into a curtsey. “Lord Ivo.”
    Lord Ivo bowed leisurely and held out his arm. Saliel placed her fingertips on his sleeve. The puce-colored satin was warm from his body.
    “I spoke with the Consort this afternoon,” Lord Ivo said as he sauntered beside her, keeping lethargic time with the music.
    “Oh.”
    “I understand that you’re desirous of entering the married state.”
    Saliel stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Perhaps I was mistaken. I confess I wasn’t paying strict attention to her words.” Lord Ivo glanced at her from beneath half-closed eyelids. “But my understanding was that we were discussing a marriage. Yours and mine.”
    The dance parted them briefly. When Lord Ivo claimed her hand again she kept her eyes downcast.
    “The Consort speaks highly of you,” he said.
    “The Consort is most gracious.”
    Lord Ivo yawned. His attention seemed to wander. “I’ve recently purchased a piglet. For racing.”
    “Oh.” Saliel stared at the floor. It was paved in squares of dull red and black stone.
    “Her coloring is similar to yours. I believe I shall name her Petra, in your honor.”
    She glanced at him sharply. “There’s no need to do so, my lord.”
    “But she reminds me of you.” Lord Ivo’s smile was amiable, foolish.
     
     
    A THAN WATCHED L ADY Petra out of the corner of his eye. She danced with one of the officers of the Fleet, moving sedately through the sequence of steps. Her hair was bright above the gray of her gown.
    He’d almost decided that it wouldn’t be terrible to marry her. Certainly, she was docile and biddable—which were synonyms for boring—but she had the wit to dislike him. Perhaps it was perverse, but he enjoyed the spark of irritation in her eyes when she looked at him and the careful, disdainful politeness in her voice. True, her figure and coloring were unfashionable, but her slimness gave her an undeniable grace and the red-gold hair coiled so neatly on top of her head was quite striking.
    Athan allowed himself to imagine for a moment that Lady Petra was his wife. He imagined unbinding that